You all meet in a tavern.
Friday afternoon in Alkenstar. The sun will set soon. You know what that means: Cheap booze and easy jobs.
You approach the Powder Horn, a dingy bar in the heart of the entertainment district. A few hangers on wink and nod your way. Maybe you would pay to play on another night, but tonight it's time to look for a job.
There's always some noble or merchant who needs a bodyguard. The merchant gets drunk, says the wrong thing about a noble's parents, and they'll pay you a month's worth of cash to bail them out. Almost as fun as a noble paying you to "witness their bravery" as they skulk about during the night.
Everyone's learning how to use a firearm around here. Feels like everyone forgot a few years ago and just remembered. Like a second edition of gunslinging. For now at least, your guns and your aim are ahead of the pack.
The First Sin of Pharasma is all the rage among the rich and gullible. Fliers and posters were splatted on every wall for the past few weeks. This play will debut in this town first, at the Aldivur Company Theater House. Magnimar's jealous. Oppara is still trying to bribe the troupe to play it there instead. Even those weirdo Pathfinders in Absalom were mumbling about it. Melsa Aldthistle, the playwright will be here live for the opening show. She promises it's a “once-in-a-lifetime experience” that is “sure to go down in history!
Whatever. As long it attracts rich patrons to the nearby Aldivur Company Theater House, it's easy pickings for you. Sitting near the entrance of the bar means you won't get to hear most of it, but you do get to scope everyone entering and leaving.
The bartender walks up to you, a muscular half-elf. "Name's Martelle. Welcome to the Powder Horn... what can I get ya?"
The over-excitable goblin, Zakzak speaks up for the group. "Hi Lady! One round of fermented pickle juice and charred grub cakes for everyone!" He smiles, pleased with himself and that, thanks to his quick thinking, everyone will be happy with their meals.
The much calmer elf leans over to her goblin friend. "Now, Zakzak, we've talked about this. No ordering for the table unless you've talked it over with them. For all we know our new friends might be allergic to pickle juice or grubs," she chides, gently.
But she nods to the bartender to indicate that she'll have what the goblin requested.
"Nice to meet you two," she says to her other tablemates when the bartender is gone. "I'm Zindarel, this is Zakzak. Some people call us Double Z. We don't like that."
Martelle raises an eyebrow. "We have plenty of pickle juice, you're in luck. Anyone else?"
A mountain of a man with a dark complexion and an easy smile looks back across the table at 'double z' and grins "I'll pass on the grubs and pickles, how about a double bacon n egg breakfast sandwich with a quart of cold milk if you got it." He gives Martelle an extra friendly and slightly naive smile. I think she's gotta be the most beautiful woman in this whole town... look at those arms!
"Name's Booker." He offers up a fist bump all around, showing his youth a bit without even realizing it. "And this here is my partner Doc." He nods to the woman sitting next to him.
"You guys in town to watch the play or just passing through for a couple games of cards?"
"Quart of milk... bacon and eggs... got it." Martelle writes some more. "Sounds like three servings of what the goblin wants." She grins. "Be right back."
"Don't like pickle juice? What's wrong with you? It's good for you and tastes great. Especially with the charred grub steaks. Mmm-mmm." He rubs his belly in the universal sign of delicious food.
He continues to talk to the new companions asking them about a dozen questions a second without actually giving anyone time to respond or listening to the answers anyway.
Zakzak looks around the room "Why is everyone so excited about sitting around in a dark room watching other people? We should do something more exciting. Like ah, like... Hmmm" He falls silent for a brief glorious moment.
"Pickles aren't bad. Try dipping fried potatoes in the juice, that's pretty damn good too." Booker smiles at Martelle then keeps smiling as he watches her leave.
"All I know is people going to that play probably are gonna get drunk and do something dumb, and that's when they'll pay us to drag them out of harm's way." He looks to Doc and chuckles.
Doc smiles warmly at Booker.
"A few hands?" She says, "And I'll have whatever your specialty is." to Martelle as she leaves.
Zindarel just listens, a faintly bemused smile on her face, as Zakzak gives their tablemates the 3rd degree. She isn't even watching the exchange but rather is turned slightly in her chair, one arm draped over the back, her legs crossed at the knees while she watches the excited crowd across the street.
"Not everyone enjoys risking their lives for entertainment, Zakzak," she answers when he finally winds down.
"A play lets people get away from their every day lives and, in this case, is a place where they can be seen and people can admire their finery."
"Bacon and Eggs! Charred Grubcakes! Goose and cheese platter! Pickle Juice and Milk!" Martelle barks another order to the cooking staff.
A few patrons argue over ticket prices. Looks like one was scalping tickets and her customer didn't like her attitude. Maybe you'll have to- nope, he just storms out of the bar. Martelle grabs the woman by the scruff of her neck and throws her out. Another job opportunity wasted.
Doc is pretty good with card games. Her bluffs are rarely caught, unless Booker has another "hunch". Zakzak, on the other hand, always tells the truth like a true hero would. Also he's very excited, all the time. Good thing Zindarel convinced him to play for fun and not for money.
Martelle arrives with food. Not too bad. The egg yolk is firm without tasting like chalk. The cheese is quite savory, like some good brandy. The pickle juice hits you like a punch to the gut, just the way Zakzak loves it.
You hear clapping and cheers from outside. The First Sin of Pharasma begins. Won't be long until the first intermission hits and people with deep pockets begin pointless talks that lead to spicy arguments. And spicy arguments lead to cries for bodyguards. Expensive bodyguards.
Booker wastes no time downing his food, once the plate his the table he's on it like dogs on a bunny "Good stuff, thanks!" About the time Martelle makes it back to the bar its all gone but the milk mustache.
"Man, I might need a second round of that for dessert." He grins, wiping the milk from his barely there actual mustache. "Sounds like the play is off to a hot start huh or maybe they have those Calistre ladies dancing in the aisles again?" He remembers fondly to snooping in on a show earlier in the week.. or maybe it was a launch party or something else entirely. Either way, damn it was captivating!
Before long though Booker finally notices the crazy cannon Zakzak has "Wow, where'd you get that thing? What's up with all those blades coming out of the end?" He eyes the contraption with an eager curiosity.
His eyes light up with excitement as someone shows interest in his pride and joy. "Oh this? My Flingflenser? I made it myself! It's not super accurate, but if you want to clear a crowd of badguys, this here will do that and more!"
He jumps up from his seat to show Booker the contraption more closely. Want to see?! I could uh, shoot that barrel over there!" He starts to aim eagerly and pulls the trigger, but it just clicks as a sharpened blade or two falls off onto the floor with a clatter. Disappointed he ducks under the table to collect the pieces and get it fixed. "Err, uh, one second, I'll try again."
"DO NOT try again!" Zindarel exclaims as Zakzak starts to scramble around to begin repairs.
"This place is far too crowd to demonstrate that thing. I don't want to spend the night watching you explain to the city watch how you'll find the missing finger yourself and it was a total fluke...again."
"Looks like you have a screw loose, want help fixing it?" Book looks equally concerned, both for the operation of the gun, but also for the group's safety.
"Let's get it fixed back up and later, when we're outside, we can blast a jackrabbit or something. Make sure its up to snuff."
Zakzak looks up at Booker as he helps with the gun, genuine happiness on his face. "Thanks Booker!" Then in a lower less-excitable voice. "Thanks, most longshanks don't seem very interested in my gun and I guess I got a little too excited. Zin is always telling me to calm down and don't shoot that and blah blah. But her heart is in the right place and I know she loves hanging out with me even if she pretends not to."
He jumps back up from the table to his chair. "All fixed! Thanks Booker. We'll find something to shoot later I guess. Outside?" He casts a questioning eyebrow towards Zindarel at the last word. While he usually did what he wanted, he did try to listen to her sometimes.
"Outside," she says with a nod.
She leans over to look under the table. "It looks like we can all do some shooting later," she comments.
"It's not often me and Zakzak meet up with someone else with this kind of hardware, let alone two people with it."
She gestures to the rifle leaning against the back of her chair. Actually, it takes a moment to realize it is a rifle, the stock large and ornately carved and covered in metal so it looks more like some strange decoration than a weapon.
The anticipatory murmurs of excitement echoing off the walls of the Powder Horn are suddenly silenced by a blood- curdling scream. A man stumbles through the main door, clutching at a gushing neck wound. A gurgling gasp escapes his lips as he topples to the floor. Even as the man’s body collapses, a shambling horde of misshapen humanoids attempts to follow him through, accompanied by a fetid stench of blood and excrement.
“What th—zombies?!” The cry comes from inside the bar as the patrons begin a panicked rush for the upper floor.
As they rush for the possible safety of the upper story, the burly bartender leaps over the countertop, a heavy length of wood in her hands. “The doors!” she cries out. “Clobber those blighters and shut the door or we’re all doomed!”
The crowd quickly scrambles up the stairs. The bartender is barely phased, and she's ready to approach the door once someone smart enough is ready to clear the way.
You're not getting paid, but getting killed is worse. And by Zombies, of all things!
Zindarel
Booker
Doc
Zombies (Red Square)
Zombies (Red Circle)
Zombies (Black Square)
Zombies (Black Circle)
Zombies (White Square)
Zombies (White Circle)
Zakzak
Booker instantly spins around at the sound of trouble, his Dwarven Scattergun in hand and brandished before him like second nature "Zombies? What the heck is a zombie?" He doesn't quite wait for the answer when Martelle says to make for the door.
"You got it. I'll clear the way, you guys shut the door!" He rushes towards the closest zombie, levels his gun at his hip and pulls the trigger.
You can feel the air in the room boom and your ear drums tremble, its a familiar and pleasant feeling. A spray of knuckle sized lead shot blasts towards the red zombie and into anyone nearby, including Booker, who ignores it. He swipes out with the butt of his gun, clearing some space to reload and knocking into the red zombie with less force than he hoped. "Quick, help me get to the door!"
Doc quickly takes aim and fires at the first Zombie through the door!
◆
"Good thinking Booker! Blast them back and bar it!"
She then ◆ Dual weapon reloads and ◆ moves to support Booker.
Zindarel snatches up her Mithral Tree and jogs across the bar.
"Help that guy out, Zakzak. Looks like you're going to get to shoot that thing indoors after all. Just make sure you don't kill anyone who's not dead, already."
She gets a good line on the zombies, glancing over her shoulder, spins, plants her feet and shoots.
Doc Featherton takes aim, one of the patrons bumps into her as he runs up the stairs. "Aaaah! Eat her, not me!" He half-heartedly shoves her and her blast goes off. That's a Problem.
Zindarel takes aim, but another panicking patron almost trips in front of her weapon. Still, these zombies don't have an ounce of survival instinct, she she's able to hit one of them.
Booker shoots right into the group of zombies, hitting the one in front right in the head. It explodes into a gory mess.
The undead kick the dead patron aside as they spill into the bar. Two of them try to bash Booker. He nudges one of them aside but the other hits him across the jaw.
The others approach Zakzak and Doc Featherton.
Zakzak
Zindarel
Booker (9 damage)
Doc
Zombies (Red Circle, 1 damage)
Zombies (Black Square)
Zombies (Black Circle)
Zombies (White Square)
Zombies (White Circle)
Thick milk mucus flies from Booker's nose as the zombie delivers a mean left hook. Seeing he's about to be surrounded Booker carefully backs towards the others before unleashing another deafening blast of cannon fire at the red circle zombie by the door. The hail of buckshot sprays the three zombies.
"Watch out Doc, those things are strong!" He sends the stock of his gun up into black circle zombie's face before reloading.
With equal parts excitement and terror Zakzak jumps off the table and retreats a few feet from the zombies shambling up to him. "Haha! Yeah! Alright guys watch now! This time it'll work good!" His first strike hits the zombie in front, spraying the one behind with a scatter of sharpened blade. He then picks up a nearby discarded cloak and throws it in the faces of the zombies headed towards him. As they struggle to remove the cloak Zakzak hurriedly reloads, not taking much care in how much powder he crams in the gun and takes another quick shot at the mass of zombies headed towards him.
Booker takes a step back and splats one of the zombies against the wall, burning the other two.
Not to be outdone, Zakzak readies his weapon to deal some righteous justice. His first shot takes out the zombie Booker just wasted, and the spends a moment to quickly reload his weapon. He almost jams the thing but the shot goes off and nicks the zombie clad in red. It doesn't seem to mind.
Doc points her Duelling Pistol at the Zombie next to her, aiming to blast its brains across the bar.
"How did we not notice a Zombie infestation, Booker?"
Pointing past the black zombie to the white, Doc lets rip with a roar from her dragon mouth pistol.
+ scatter/splash damage (1) to black.
She then stabs at the black zombie with her bayonet, performing a ◆ Reloading Strike to reload the dragon mouth.
Finally, she prepares to use 'Hit the dirt' if a zombie attacks her!
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Back to back with Booker, Doc Featherton wonders where the heck these undead came from. She knows where they are going, though, and blows a hole right through the zombie's throat. It's still standing and still wants a piece of her. That's a Problem.
So she presents a Solution: a gout of flame roasts the zombies next to her. Then she pierces the undead minion and tosses it aside against a table as it falls apart.
Zindarel flips the table she's behind then ducks behind it, her hands flying across her mithral tree even as she's crouching. When she pops back up, it's reloaded.
With all the banging and booming and explosions, it seems Zakzak has found some kindred spirits. But there is more than one way to use a gun (in fact, there appear to be at least four ways...)
There is a faint smile on Zindarel's face as she takes aim. She wonders if the zombie is smart enough to even make a choice.
Zindarel wonders if zombies think. If they do, this one in Red made a bad decision to keep walking rather than crouch. She paints its remains against the doorway.
The remaining zombie doesn't seem to care much about losing its allies, and it lurches toward its next target.
Doc Featherton doesn't like the look of it, especially once it punches her in the stomach.
Zakzak
Zindarel
Booker (9 damage)
Doc (6 damage)
Zombies (White 1 damage)
"Dunno Doc, I've been paying attention to every detail since we got here!" Who's he kidding? The only details he keeps on top of are those ladies with a pretty smile or a plate of cheeseburgers. And Doc is no better with her eyes on the decks of cards!
He slams his gun into the last zombie, trying to push it away and into the bar. For as great as his gun is, its painful firing at something point blank. Besides, the others can finish it off.
He grabs a chair and heads towards the door to block off any more walking dead.
Doc quickly ◆ Dual-Weapon reloads Problem.
"Let's finish this." She says, spitting after being punched.
She then pokes it in the eye with the bayonet as ◆ Reloading Strike, putting the new round in at the same time.
Doc then ◆ strides to cover.
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Doc Featherton solves the problem with one last headshot.
As the last creature falls, Martelle runs up to the door, slams it shut, and drops the wooden bar to lock the door. "Damn zombies." She exhales and steadies her breath. "Thanks. I'm used to throwing out drunkards, but-"
The walls groan with hands and legs scrape against the bar's walls. They are outside, too. Martelle spits. "Let's head upstairs. We can get a better view of the street."
A wide, open area provides additional seating for patrons of the bar. A waist-high railing surrounds a ten-foot-by-ten-foot opening to the bar below, and each of the room’s walls sport a pair of large windows overlooking
the street and alleys below.
Most of the patrons are looking out over the northern rail. You nudge a few of them aside and watch the undead spill forth from the Aldivur Company Theater House.
Across the street is a small market catering to the patrons of the district. Just west of the market is the home of the man who runs the playhouse, which also serves as a storage facility for the theater, and west of that lies the theater itself. On this side of the street, a 20-foot-wide alley separates the Powder Horn from an adjacent two-story building.
Martelle waves you over once you get a view of the street. “So here’s the deal,” she begins.
“You all clearly have more fight and experience in you than most of the folks out this way, you’re a bit more smartly armed, and who knows what to expect of the guard. We could wait things out, see what happens, but it’s not exactly like the number of zombies out there is shrinking. If we don’t put a stop to this now, the whole city could be overrun. So here’s what I’m proposing—"
"You lot head to the theater house and see if you can’t figure out where all these zombies are coming from. Put a stop to them if you can or come back and let us know if you can’t. You put an end to this mess and you’ve got free drinks for life here at the Powder Horn. I’m pretty sure any of the rest of us that survive can probably scrape together a purse for you if the city doesn’t pay out a reward. Deal?”
Several of the patrons clamber around you, moaning and begging for your help. It's almost as bad as the zombies, except they are already pulling change out of their moneybags and accumulating a pot. This may be worth your while...
Doc looks around. She considers the desperate patrons, free booze and what this will do for their reputation.
We're probably gonna have to fight anyway. May as well get as much out of it as we can. Booker will want to help regardless.
She casts her eyes back to the zombies.
"Looks like we'll have to deal with them one way or another. I'm up for it. Booker? How about you two?" She says to her fellow gunslingers.
"I'll patch us up before we head out."
She gets her healer's tools out in readiness.
Book helps lock up the door, propping a couple chairs against the door to help. "Ladies first." He follows Martelle up the stairs, keeping an eye on the ground floor for any zombies they missed with the barrel of his scattergun.
"Wow that's a lot of zombies. So are those the townsfolk turned into zombies? Recognize any of them?" He leans over and squints but its no use, he wasn't from around here.
He sets down his weapon and pulls out some medical supplies "Better clean yourself up Doc, who knows what kind of STD zombies carry around."
"I'm in, so long as we can come up with some sort of plan. We probably don't have enough gunpowder to just pick them off from here forever. I got rope to get to that building's roof from here maybe?"
She will try again 10 mins later.
Zindarel looks out at the mass of undead below and clicks her tongue. "That's a lot of undead rich people," she comments.
When Martelle makes her suggestion and offer, she says nothing for a bit.
"I'd rather go out shooting than huddled up in a bar waiting for them to find a way in. And I'd rather not go out at all, if I can avoid it. I'm in."
She waits while her new friends get themselves patched up then looks to Martelle.
"Any way to get to the roof. Booker's got the right idea. I don't want to wade through that mess if we can get closer."
Zakzak bounces around, adrenaline pumping from the brief fight and the opportunity to show off his gun! "Holy moley! zombies in the middle of town! Didya see me blow them up? You guys did awesome too! Though, I, uh, I don't want to go back out there either, I think the roof is a good idea."
"Well. Where do we want to start? The playhouse or the guy that runs it's house?" He points to the different buildings. "We could either sneak quietly to the close by houses to the west of here and make our way to the playhouse from there, or" He spins a bit to the northeast "Or creep through that market on the way to the owner's home, then hit the playhouse after that."
He looks around the streets, trying to see if one route over the other has less zombies to avoid.
"His house is a storage facility, right? We might save more people if we went to the theatre first." Doc says thoughtfully.
"I knew you'd help." Martelle slaps a patron's back, almost doubling them over. “Way I see it, you’ve got two paths forward. The first one is hat you make a break for the house across the square. It’s owned by Aldivur, the theater’s operator, and is also used to store costumes and props from the theater. You should be able to lock it up from the inside, keep the zombies out while you look for anything useful. The other is maybe a bit trickier, but also safer.”
Martelle gestures to the window along the west wall. “That clothesline is bolted in pretty good, and the Thuss’s are good folks. If you can shimmy across there without falling into the alley, they might be able to help you out some. Rickard is a gunsmith and is likely to have some extra ammo on hand, maybe even some weapons. If you fall off the line, you can still make a break for Aldivur’s house, and if you get in there, well, they’re closer to the theater than we are, so maybe they’ll have an idea on what your best next move is.
Whaddaya think?”
Zakzak perks up at the mention of extra ammunition and weapons. "Oh more weapons! We could always use more. Although, if you can spare any silverware, that'll do just fine for me and my shiny new He holds it up triumphantly, somehow in the last few minutes he'd torn down the flingflenser for a more mobile one-handed pistol. "This way I can climb across those ropes and still have one hand free for shoot'n"
"Alright, Well then. There's a house across the street, their clothesline is connected to this bar. Come on." Martelle waves you over to your means of progress.
A thick hemp rope stretches 20 feet across the alley below. The window of the opposite building is open enough to fit in a grown human. You'll have to get across. Zombies walk to and fro, keeping their eyes at the dirt they want to return to.
Zakzak nearly loses his balance right off the get go.
He's just having a really hard time while trying to carry his new gun in one hand.
"Err, maybe someone else should go first?"