GM Tyranius (PF2) Night of the Gray Death (Inactive)

Game Master Tyranius

Execute here

A little history / background on Galt and the Gray Gardeners for those not familiar with them.

Revolution has been a way of life in Galt for more than 50 years. The country cut its ties with imperial Cheliax in the Red Revolution of 4667 ar. The interim government set up to oversee the nation after the ouster of its wealthy nobility, the Revolutionary Council, has been overhauled dozens of times, as new leaders insist they can rule more intelligently, fairly, or peacefully than the last and rise up in bloody rebellion against the prior regime. The former leaders are often sent to the final blades, magical guillotines that trap and contain the souls of those they behead (that the guillotines have fanciful names like Razor Jenni or Sharp-Tooth Hana doesn’t make them any less ominous to the populace). Whether renamed as the Common Council, the Eye of Law, the Galtcreed Pact, or any other moniker, each Revolutionary Council merely follows its predecessors in an ongoing cycle of chaos and revolution that Galt can’t escape.

Galt’s only stable organization is the Gray Gardeners, its secret police and executioners. They operate the nation’s prisons and own the menacing final blades. Gray Gardeners always wear masks, rarely speak, and perform their grim business throughout all of Galt. Beneath a Gray Gardener’s mask might be a stranger, a neighbor, or a relative; even speculating about a Gray Gardener’s identity in public invites intense scrutiny from the organization. The Gray Gardeners are only nominally subject to the Revolutionary Council’s authority.

Past Galtan governments have called upon the executioners to unmask and reveal their identities. The Gray Gardeners refused. Other leaders have called upon them to give up the secrets of their final blades. The Gray Gardeners refused. Civil inspectors have demanded accounting of Gray Gardener expenses and scrutiny of its facilities. The Gray Gardeners not only refused these requests, but often named the requestors criminals and sent them swiftly to the final blades. Everyone in Galt fears the Gray Gardeners, and many whisper that it’s the masked executioners, and not the fickle politicians on the Revolutionary Council, that keep Galt shackled in chaos.

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Shard's voluminous cloak is darker than black. His bare chest, eyes, and hair are dusky grey — the only slash of color on his body a razor-thin red ribbon around his neck. His shadow opens doors for him and snuffs out the candlelight. It walks with his polearm, a tenebrous branch tipped with a petal-shaped blade and black thorn.

When Shard dances in the shadows he is worshiping in his sacred place, what he calls the Black Butterfly's Silent House. It's everywhere and in everything — from the eternal gulf between stars to the lacuna between breaths.

Those who travel with Shard find that the universe smiles on them in mysterious ways; good things sometimes do happen to those who deserve it. A piece of luxuriously dark chocolate among the trail rations, a lost letter from an adoring fan in an old notebook, a paper moth drifting down from the moon.

… And just once in a while, bad things also happen to the ones who deserve it.

Martius is a striking man of just over six feet and fourteen stone. He looks more like an Opparan painting than an experienced adventurer. His long flaxen hair falls over epaulets on his radiant armor. Deep cerulean eyes soak in everything around him, and he meets any gaze with a genuine and warm smile.

He uses a glaive as a walking stick. The many colored ribbons tied to the base of the blade cover his gauntleted hand halfway down the weapon. If there's no walking however, he's strumming an exquisitely crafted lute and humming a tune in accompaniment.

He wears a beret in the latest style, which somehow doesn't clash with the rest of his warrior's gear. About his head dance a pair of Aeon stones. The reflected light from their geometric shapes change the highlights and shadows of his handsome face.

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Over the years each of you have undoubtedly earned a great deal of fame and met with movers and shakers throughout the Inner Sea region. It comes as little surprise, then, when you each receive an urgent invitation from Camilia Drannoch, leader of Galt’s Revolutionary Council.

Rumor holds that Camilia is ill with some mysterious malady, and she’s confined to her humble manor in the capital city of Isarn. The short missive states that she needs your assistance with her health.

One by one you arrive and Camilia’s steward ushers the you into a gloomy study that has been repainted and redecorated with each change in Galt’s leadership—that is, a dozen times or more in the past generation alone.

Please go ahead with Character introductions.

Before:

That morning something small and nice happens to each of you. Perhaps the dishes you forgot about last night are clean, or the wind seems to blow your hair just the way you like it, or the beret you left crumpled in the corner is found folded neatly on the nightstand… or something else.

____
Now:

Shard leans in a corner of the study, shrouded in his carnifical cape and wisps of fetchling gloom. His shadow is cast across the floor in a way that doesn't follow the light. How much blood do you think they've had painted over since the last time? His voice is soft as velvet. He runs a black-gloved finger along a peeling sliver of paint. It's all for naught.

He sighs. One wonders why Camilia’s even bothered… or why she's reached out to us, of all people.

”Isn’t it obvious?” Miloban sucks on a hard candy he found in his boot, a calling card of his friend Shard. ”She’s desperate.”

He is slim and pale, just under 5’7” and shaved smooth in the style popular in Nidal. Adorned in black silks, and tight black leather, furs, and feathers, a gold gorget around his neck. He doesn’t need eye makeup to be beautiful, or any make up for that matter, but he wears it nonetheless.

”She has no one else to turn to, which is sad really, now that I think about it.”

He sucks on the candy.

”Of course, the rumors could be wrong.” But his voice does not hold much conviction.

Martius looks at the others as he crosses paths on the way in, "Greetings. It's been a while - not that we we ever close. Still, it's comforting to have something that isn't a mystery here."

The tall man looks up and takes a deep inhale through the nose, for not all art is meant for the eyes and ears, "I assumed I was here to perform a dirge if the rumors are true."

We never really settled on back story, so I figure I'll just dangle opportunities. I trust this group to fill in blanks that include Martius.

Just then another usher opens the door as Camilia walks through. She appears cheerful and eager to meet you. She also appears plainly in good health, dressed in a well‑tailored outfit and the bright red scarf she always wears around her neck.

“As an initial matter, I apologize for the misdirection concerning my health in bringing you here. I’m playing a dangerous political game—one in which I hope you’ll join me—and a bit of deception helps us both. You likely already know that the Gray Gardeners are Galt’s ruthless executioners. They maintain the final blades, magical guillotines of such power that they trap the souls of executed victims within them. The Gray Gardeners have a stranglehold on Galt’s future. Their arrests, executions, and political machinations ensure my country can’t ever rise from the stew of chaos in which it’s boiled for half a century. Because the Gray Gardeners are always masked or hooded, no one knows who they are. Maybe they’re magistrates or shopkeepers. Or perhaps they’re beggars or cultists."

“I have hated the Gray Gardeners from the moment they executed my mother in the final blade named Silent Lenore, many years ago. But I knew enough to play the long game politically, and I’ve risen to the top of Galt’s messy politics while waiting for a moment to strike back against the worst villains of Galt."

“That moment is now."

“The Gray Gardeners operate out of an old monastery in the riverside city of Litran. I have reliable intelligence that the masquerade the executioners are hosting has an ulterior motive, and their leadership is being recalled to Litran for this. Dignitaries from across Galt are attending, and it’s likely some of those dignitaries are themselves Gray Gardeners. I received an invite, but I’m feigning sickness and staying here for three reasons. First, I want to quell the ridiculous suspicions that I’m one of the Gray Gardeners by not going at all. Second, my illness gives a good reason for agents I trust—you—to visit Litran in the guise of seeking a rare herbal remedy. Finally, I don’t trust myself to keep my sword out of my hand around those responsible for murdering my mother and so many others.”

"A bold move to make the assumption, but I respect such gumption. Can we get some more detail? It's important to make sure the canvas is properly painted. I'm going to need to know more than just "a remedy" and an illness. Be specific. If you haven't thought of that level of detail, I know my way around medicine, and I'm happy to provide more."

"Leave the actual sickness as a mystery. People will generally make up their own, far worse conclusions." Camilia begins to lay out her plan in detail. "I have a trusted friend in Litran named Keznin Nevarmo. Keznin is an herbalist and a follower of Pharasma, goddess of birth and death. Meet with Keznin, perhaps letting people know you're consulting with the herbalist to make a concoction to aid myself. Such concoctions take time to prepare, giving you time to look around Litran and find out as much as you can about the Gray Gardeners: why they’re meeting, who their key leaders are, and what they’re planning. If you see a good opportunity to infiltrate or even overthrow this wicked organization, then you should definitely take it. A better chance might never come again."

"I assumed I was here to perform a dirge if the rumors are true.”

Doubt that. They’d already have the place redecorated.

The image of his Kuthite friend performing a dirge with a Shelynite is amusing, but Shard makes sure to hide his grin in the shadows.

—

“I have hated the Gray Gardeners from the moment they executed my mother in the final blade named Silent Lenore, many years ago. But I knew enough to play the long game politically, and I’ve risen to the top of Galt’s messy politics while waiting for a moment to strike back against the worst villains of Galt."

The fetching’s hand drifts to his own red ribbon while Camilla talks.

He glances around the room. You only contacted three of us?

Miloban lets out a low giggle.

Marius, did you forget the gala opening in Pangolais? That vampire complimented your hair. You were on pins and needles the whole time.”

He shifts the hard candy in his mouth.

”Not literally, of course.” He clarifies with another low giggle. Although that would have been fun too,

”Camillia, you yet live,” Miloban greets her with a kiss on each cheek, in the Galtan fashion. ”What a relief, although I’m disappointed to learn that you’re not a Gray Gardener. But then, of course you wouldn’t be.’” Would she be?

He smiles at her.

“You’ve said two of my favorite words: infiltration and power play. Can this Keznin get us into the masquerade? I can’t come all this way and not go.”

"I had forgotten it, thank you very much Miloban, good to see you too." Martius grumbles a bit.

"Still, a good point, there are a lot of angles of attack here. Infiltrate sounds like a good start. Can we get on the list and.... I don't suppose there's a budget here for fantastic threads..."

Shard’s eyes water when he tries to look through the halo of bright light that surrounds Martius. He peers at the colorful heraldry and the rainbow banner streaming from the cleric’s glaive and wonders how much more fantastic the cleric’s threads could possibly be.

Then there's Miloban, wearing his elegant silks, leather, and makeup — just as striking, but in a very different way.

Spies are forgettable. They blend. A face in the crowd. Not that either of you would go for it.

MArtius gives a playful nod to Shard, "Come on old friend..." Martius breaks into a wide, albeit crooked, grin. He taps the beret atop his head and within a single breath the man is replaced with a shorter, less chiseled (though still strikingly good-looking) man dressed in the latest suit style out of Oppara. His clean shaven face now bears a van dyck beard, and his hair tightly pulled back.

His glaive is still his glaive. He looks at it and shrugs. ".... you know me better than that."

Heh. Just don't repeat Hell Harbor. A bloodbath at the opera.

His eyes glitter in the shadows. It was still fun.

"Sure, you can say that NOW, but we didn't know it then. And I STILL contend that it wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know they were using alchemical lights instead of everburning torches?"

”Who could forget Hell Harbor? I was drunk, of course, but I still remember the explosion, and leaping through the stained glass window onto that little boat below.”

He giggles, rich and low, as he sucks on his candy.

”I also distinctly remember it being Martius’s fault.”

"Amour de Cosmos" was once famous in Galt for his scandalous gossip column, poking fun at the rich and famous, with more a little barbed wit directed towards himself. As the decades passed, his fame has waned and he has struggled greatly with the possibility that his own satirical barbs may have helped to the dark situation we find ourselves in now. Still, he is full of humour and life and does not share his troubles easily.

He has grown heavy and ponderous in body, but he is capable of moving surprisingly fast when he needs to. Those reflexes and his innate cunning have kept him alive all these years. Despite his unfortunate taste in clothing and facial hair, he is a dandy at his core, enormously concerned with looking his best, even if others would barely notice.

"If these walls could talk, friends, imagine the tales they would tell! Treachery! Debauchery! Endless meetings on the rising costs of road maintenance! One would tremble at the thought of it!

Well, the gods have presumably brought us together. The least we can do is to see what games they have in store for us."

Please assume the above was a rewind to character introductions.

"I have kept silent for so long, not because I lack enthusiasm, but because I was choking on one of those dry biscuits you served in the lobby. At least I hope it was a biscuit!

This sounds like a wonderful opportunity to get ourselves killed in the service of Galt! My favourite kind of adventure! I do despise what these Grey Gardeners have done to our homeland, even if only in terms of their dreary sense of fashion!"

Despite his chuckle, those who know him better can tell that Amour clearly means what he says when he mentions despising the Grey Gardeners, and the responsibility he feels to bring about their downfall.

Shard looks at his blacker-than-black outfit. Dreary fashion!?

Camilia is happy to answer questions, but she knows little she hasn’t already told you it seems. "Keznin certainly knows more, as he’s much closer to the Gray Gardener activity than I am over here in Isarn."

Spending a bit more time over dry biscuits you work on certain strategies using unknown factors. But your first order of business sounds like it should be to pay this Keznin a visit.

Overland travel from Isarn to Litran is simple but will take 3 days on the busy main road.

Martius spends the time in easy conversation. He gravitates towards talking about shared past experiences. Each retelling uses an ever more evocative adjective in place of something more mundane. He decidedly never touches the Cassomir's Locker incident of 4708 though.

Maybe it's the years, maybe it's coping, but he doesn't seem overly worried about the mission at hand....

Shard listens to the conversation. During the trip he mostly remains unseen. At night he hangs like a bat from the limbs of the tree of the eaves or the inn when it is his turn to keep watch. No purchases needed; he is ready.

On the second morning Martius finds a smooth piece of amber glass on his washbasin. It looks suspiciously like a piece of the Hell Harbor opera house’s stained-glass window.

Once you are within a day of Litran, you notice an increased number of travelers on their way to the city from outlying farms and settlements. Litran holds harvest festivals in most years, celebrating its important role as the nexus for food distribution throughout Galt, but this year is the long-delayed Harvest Jubilee, a particularly large festival. The Harvest Jubilee was supposed to be held four years ago, on the 50th anniversary of the Red Revolution, but chaos throughout the nation meant the continuous postponement of the Jubilee. This year, it’s finally happening. Although farmers and ranchers have their suspicions of the city-dwellers, the Harvest Jubilee is a strong draw, and many people are coming into town to attend.

The atmosphere of Litran seems tense, bordering on paranoid at the best of times; it is, after all, the seat of the Gray Gardeners’ power. Their imposing monastery is visible from nearly everywhere within the city, looming like a grim monolith. With so many strangers in town for the Harvest Jubilee, coupled with rampant rumors that some event is occurring within the monastery during the festival, locals seem even more paranoid than usual.

Where shall we begin?

Gather info or Isarn Lore check to find Keznin? Might not be bad to gather info for any other happenings in the city right now as well.

On the second morning Martius finds a smooth piece of amber glass on his washbasin. It looks suspiciously like a piece of the Hell Harbor opera house’s stained-glass window.

Martius shakes his head. He gently takes out a leather pouch which is encased in well oiled chainmail. He places this shard in with the other six. Before returning it, he takes one out and looks at it - stained with dry blood. He then gives a muffled chortle....

"Seems to me like getting the scuttlebutt is a good place to start."

Miloban spends the trip chatting and joking, and if not, then reading from his stack of gossip rags about the aristocracy in Pangolais. Does General Roarik have a secret love? Why was Kholas spotted in Oppara? It is hard for him to imagine overthrowing the Gray Gardeners and not also think about overthrowing the Umbral Court, or even the Black Triune. But such things only make him laugh, the way nonsense usually does.

"I would love to get the scuttlebutt," he says, casually throwing and catching his returning knife. "And eat something. I'm starving."

You canvass local markets, taverns, and gathering places in an attempt to learn the location of the shop and gather a bit of scuttlebutt. Locals rarely speak with visitors, not knowing whether the stranger might secretly be a magistrate with cutthroat political aspirations, a spy ferreting out malcontents, or one of the Gray Gardeners themselves. As unfamiliar outsiders, the heroes likely receive sour or dismissive looks. Roping a couple into conversations at the tavern you find a nervous couple that seem to get trapped into a conversation.

What would you like to talk about?

Shard whispers in his friend’s ear: Ask them who else is in town, and what to wear to the masque, Miloban!

”Don’t worry, we’re not Gray Gardeners,” Miloban gives the couple a toothy grin, enjoying their unease. ”We’re much more fun than that.”

He takes a drink of his wine and wipes the corners of his mouth with his finger tips.

”I always love meeting locals when I travel. They add so much color to the place.”

He leans across the table conspiratorially.

”My friends want to talk about who else is in town and what everyone will be wearing to the masque, but I’m not that shallow. I want to talk about life and death.” He cuts a piece of gristle off his roast, enjoying the squeal of the dull knife on the plate.

With his mouth full, he says, ”And by life, of course, I mean pain. Because isn’t that how we really know we’re alive, that sweet, sweet feeling of pain? And we do like being alive, don’t we?” He slowly licks his knife and gives the couple another grin.

”But please, don’t let me do all the talking. Tell us about this jubilee and what not.”

Intimidation to coerce: 1d20 + 31 ⇒ (5) + 31 = 36 Doh, not a great roll

At mention of the masque and pain the couple turn pale as a ghost. You see, locals rarely speak with visitors, not knowing whether the stranger might secretly be a magistrate with cutthroat political aspirations, a spy ferreting out malcontents, or one of the Gray Gardeners themselves. "Th..th..this city is one of the greatest places to live. U..under the Gr..gray Gardeners protection of course."

After a couple of hours of putting the couple under pressure about the Masque and Jubilee you find out that The event’s dress code calls for costumes—complete with intricate masks, of course—and most attendees plan to appear in elaborate and expensive outfits. "M..ost people are getting there outfits from the Oval Mirror," A nearby fashion shop the woman says nervously.

Rightfully frightened the couple manage to slowly slip to the side to make their escape from the Inn as they want to get as far away from Miloban as possible.

"Well, that was telling."

Shard quietly pays the couples' tab before they can, with the message "Someone has noted how helpful you are to strangers." He is trying to do a good deed and say thanks, but it probably only terrifies them even more.

So, the Oval mirror. But first perhaps we should visit the good doctor.

Talking to a few more standoffish locals you find that the shop you seek is down a side road nearby. Keznin’s shop, called Soul Mother’s Herbs, is tucked into a side street. Visitors likely smell it before seeing it: flowering plants and aromatic herbs festooning the shop give the entire street a pleasant fragrance.

Opening the door a small bell jungles and you find a fussy, fashionably dressed tengu with keen eyes and an encyclopedic knowledge of herbs. You see the tengu busy with grinding a handful of herbs to make a poultice, but his darting eyes look up quickly to assess each of you. “Greetings,” the raven-headed tengu caws, setting down his pestle and extending his hand in welcome. “Keznin Nevarmo, herbalist, at your service. I suspect you’ve come a long way. Please, come in and close the door behind you so we can talk about what you need.”

Even Shard can pick ip on the messaging here. His shadow closes the door as he moves inside.

"Indeed, should I lock it?" Not sure how to do this in 2e, but I'm trying to pass on the subtle message like, are we on the same page here? We didn't receive a sign and call sign.... Either way, I'd like to check my gut to make sure this is the contact.

Picture of Keznin added to the maps.

Martius is a bit shocked but seems to feel that Keznin has picked up on the subtle details far quicker than he had. The group and Keznin appear to be on the same page. "Yes, lock it and turn my sign around to closes momentarily." The tengu wipes his wing off and sets the pestle down. He ushers you through his greenhouse into a spacious sitting room, closing the curtains.

Miloban gently brushes his fingers along the flowers as he strolls past.

”We have come a long way, and it seems we’re still in time for the Jubilee festival.”

"Indeed, but that's not what you are here for is it?" Keznin looks quizzically at Miloban. "Seems our friend Camilia is a bit out of sorts and ill at the moment?"

We want to destroy what ails her. Remove the tumor. Shard grins. Tell us where to cut.

The tengu smiles. "You won't have much time I'm afraid. The Gray Gardeners’ event is an invitation-only masquerade ball. It will be held in 3 nights. These invitations are virtually impossible to come by and obviously those that have them aren't advertising it." Keznin begins to lay out all that he knows as he understands you were sent by Camilia. "The masque will be held in the great ballroom of The Gray Gardeners’ monastery headquarters. The Gray Gardeners have always kept their monastery closed to outsiders—even learning that the old monastery had a ballroom was news to many people! With so many people in town for the Harvest Jubilee, it’s hard to know for sure who’s planning to attend the masque. There are rumors that the Gray Gardeners are planning some kind of revelation or announcement for the masque attendees, but even the invitees don’t know what it will be."

Keznin begins to clear out areas in the sitting room. "You are welcome to stay here out of prying eyes and ears if you like. I suggest you investigate around town. Gather what information you can on the Gray Gardeners and this event."

The way this investigation works is you would gather information (Secret checks). Each of these checks takes 2 hours and has several true leads and some fun false ones if you critically fail. I will post the topics below. Just let me know which you wish to investigate and I will add the information to slides in the Maps link. You will find possible leads in the knowledge you gain to break away from the investigation from time to time. Just keep in mind you have 3 days to find out what is going on and try to get into the event.

Gather Information Topics

Amour will investigate the Masque Attendees. Surely he has some dirt on enough of them to use to our advantage?

Already knowing a bit about the Gardeners themselves (at least academically) he enlists The Shard to come with him to get more scuttlebutt on them. Diplomacy (Gather Information) is +24.

Shard goes along with Martius, the rainbow's impossible shadow. He wears his moon moth mask, dancing and buttering up the crowds so they're more at ease discussing such a sensitive topic.

Performance (E) to aid: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (7) + 21 = 28