GM supervillan's 5-23 Cairn of Shadows [Outpost V] (Inactive)

Game Master supervillan

Gameplay thread - dot and delete when invited to do so

*

You are gathered in the city of Korvosa in southeastern Varisia, a land just north of Nidal. There, you are to meet with Venture-Captain Sir Canayven Heidmarch in a run-down shop in Thief Camp, an informal district just outside the city itself...

A tan skinned beaming face meets you as you show up to the briefing room. He pours a splash of golden brown liquor into a tumbler for each pathfinder and slides the glass to them with a smile, "Welcome to Varisia! No, I'm not the VC but they will probably be along soon. I hope. If not, at least we have something to warm our bones. I'm John Carlos, but just call me John."

He seems to be dressed in nice but functional traveling clothing, no armor visible. Leaned up against the wall behind him is a long spear and pack.

” Master Carlos. Welcome you I do. Waki Huro I am. Together traveled we have not. To meet you honored I am.”

Waki bows formally, with both raven colored hands on the pommels of his twin blades.

"Greetings fellow sapients. I am Syllyn, traveler and collector of stories."

Syllyn is a crimson crested lizard man with breastplate armor and an adamantine scimitar. His hands are in constant motion, rapping out rhythms on his belt, shield, breastplate, table, whatever is at hand.

Loud snoring seems to be coming from somewhere in the room, and investigation reveals its from under the table! A dwarf there reeks of stale ale, unwashed flesh, and specks of vomit in his filthy beard. His snores are interrupted by a loud belch, and then continue on unabated.

John pours a dram into the bottle cap and leans down, waving it under the dwarf’s nose, ”If anything can wake a drunk, this stuff will.”

Striding confidently into the room is what at first glance seems to be a hulking statue of pure gold. However, the linnorm hide armor quickly dispels the notion that this is some sort of golem. Strapped to his back is a large axe rarely seen in the halls of the Grand Lodge. Not wanting to disturb the event unfolding under the table, he smiles as he nods to the others as he watches the possible hazing. This could be worth a laugh. He waits for the conclusion of John's efforts before speaking so as not to intrude on the moment.

Malaz is an Aphorite who looks more like this image, with (but with gold skin).

With a sudden snort, the dwarf bolts upright and smacks his head on the underside of the table, knocking over everything on it. He shakes his head and crawls out slowly, getting to his feet with the help of a nearby counter. "I'm not late!" he shouts as if accused, spittle running down his chin. "Are you the V-C?" he asks John.

John slides one of the full tumblers over to the dwarf, "Have a drink, it'll help your head. Then we can talk about consequences."

His wink to the others is not subtle.

Believing the moment is over, the aphorite goes about the room making his introductions. "Well, it looks like I have been assigned to assist you all. I am Malaz, and it look forward to seeing how we all work together."

Syllyn watches with fascination. Normally he would blame all the oddness on human idiosyncrasies, but there is only one human in the bunch, the wannabe VC.

Hmmm. That has a ring to it. Wannabe VC. I could use that in one of my stories. I wonder it this mission will make a good tale.

He looks around, wondering if there will be refreshments. One of the most exiting parts of being a Pathfinder is experiencing different cultures, and that includes the cuisine.

"What do folks around here eat, anyway?"

John tips his glass back and drains it, before opening the bottle again for a refill, "This is my breakfast. You are welcome to some if you like, it's really smooth. And don't worry, I'll be good for the mission."

The label on the bottle says Oldlaw #7 Rye Whiskey. The shake in John's hand seems to have subsided, so that's good.

He turns to the dwarf, "As you may have figured, I am not the Venture Captain. We are still waiting for them to arrive. The offer of a drink is still on the table though... literally." Multiple filled tumblers are available for anyone to take.

Syllyn will imbibe, indeed. Strong drink is no longer a novelty to him, but it still sparks some interest as there are so many bold and subtle differences.

He takes a slow sip and considers.

Is this rot-gut or quality or what?

High quality. Only the best for JC!

Malaz nods as he steps up and toasts John Carlos. "To your health and hospitality! May neither ever fail you." The then swallows the entirety of the glass. He looks at the empty vessel with admiration. "Quite smooth. Where did you find such a wonderous salve?"

Not too worried about 'spoiled food' in this particular instance, but one never knows. Malaz has a Pallid Crystal and is a worshiper of Urgathoa.

"I'll drink!" grunts the dwarf. "But not to health. Don't you know the world is coming to an end? Freezing or flaming, drowning or bursting, these days are but the last spasms of life clinging futilely before death tears it away with mirthful violence!" Seemingly exhausted from such a long speech, the doomsayer begins drinking.

"No worries, Mr. .... Er Dwarf? What did you say your name was?"

Syllyn takes a sip of the drink and then taps the glass, listening to the tone as he admires the flavor of the whiskey. Unlike Malaz, he drinks his quite slowly and appreciatively, looking thoughtful after each sip.

"Makras of the Vekker clan, doomed like my uncles--and you!--to die in obscurity! Even as we speak, the Skeleton Moon approaches the Spire!" Drops of ale mixed with spittle fleck the shirtfronts of anyone who stands too close to the dwarf as he rants.

John raises his glass, ”well, being human and cursed doesn’t fill me with much confidence in making it very long, so might as well enjoy it, right?”

He rubs a hand along his smoothly shaven cheek, ”I do wonder though which will get me first. The ancient deep horrors slowly unraveling my body from the inside, or your moon spire thing.” He laughs, ”Hah, or maybe some angry husband with a pitchfork, who knows!”

Waki Huro stands in a corner, not engaging in the banter or the offer of drinks.

Venture-Captains usually more prompt are. Inebriations after our success enjoyed will be.

"I bet the Venture-Captain is dead!" says Makras, drinking steadily. "Lucky bastard. Though even bein' dead ain't the end. Last mission I was on, this old rich lady got right up at her funeral--as a mummy! Hilarious. Now when the whole universe ends--then ya get some sweet release. Maybe tonight."

A dwarf in finely crafted full plate armor clanks into the room and bows to everyone. On his face you can see a birthmark resembling a butterfly, the holy symbol of Desna.

"Lady Luck's blessing. My name is Grunjar, humble cleric of Desna, at your service."

With a tat-at-tat Syllyn is the first to return the greeting.

"Welcome fellow Pathfinder. Have you seen the Venture Captain?"

John raises and then sips his third glass of the good stuff, ”I don’t think I could even stand up in that heavy stuff, impressive! Take a load off, have a sip and unwind. The VC is late, maybe dead, probably annoyed.”

"No, I have not seen the VC. But that's good - it means I'm not late, at least in his eyes."

Grunjar turns to the man who is providing the drinks.

"Thank you. I could do with a drink. Hardly had any time for that after I came back from my last mission..."

The cleric takes a glass and downs it in one sip.

"Aaaaah... not bad. No, wait - actually, that's really good stuff! May I have another? I'll gladly pay for it!"

A tall, bearded human warrior joins you in the back of the shop:

“The Blakroses are among the oldest and most influential families in Absalom,” Venture-Captain Sir Canayven Heidmarch begins, wasting no time. “We’ve built a good relationship with them, but in doing so we’ve inherited a few of their enemies, namely a shadowy group of power-mongers who call themselves the Onyx Alliance. The Blakroses recently contacted the Society with intelligence about the Onyx Alliance’s movements, and it seems they’re set on breaking into a particularly ancient barrow mound in northern Nidal. Normally, we wouldn’t worry too much about amateur tomb robbers in such a dangerous area, but apparently they’re prepared to recover a potent relic from inside. They’ve some plot to use whatever this ancient talisman is against that Blakros family—and probably against us as
well.

“Luckily we have contacts within the Whispered Song, a group of Desna worshipers who work against the local government in Nidal." The Venture Captain looks pointedly at Grunjar. "Agents of the Whispered Song have been tracking the Onyx Alliance, and believe these grave robbers are close to discovering the entrance of a tomb they call the Cairn of Shadows. If we move quickly, we should be able to get you into Nidal and in touch with the Whispered Song in time to catch up with the Onyx Alliance and prevent them from acquiring this relic. And if you can learn something about the ancient tribal people of Nidal in the process, so much the better.”

Canayven leans in, his expression becoming even more serious. “Nidal is a perilous destination and one where we’re not welcome. I don’t mind some subtle heroics, but I’d refrain from any particularly overt displays of gallantry if you want to come back alive. If you attract too much attention in Nidal, there’s no chance we’ll be able to help if you’re captured, or worse.

“I know a member of the Whispered Song who frequents the Broken Cup, a rather morose tavern in Nisroch. He should know how to lead you to where in the Onyx Alliance is searching for the Cairn of Shadows. He’s also prepared to help you avoid tangling with the local authorities. I can get you on a ship there in an hour, after which I leave you to meet with him with all haste. From there, I’m trusting your resourcefulness. Explore, report, cooperate, and secure whatever treasure the Onyx Alliance is after. The risk is significant, but so is the danger if the Onyx Alliance acquires what they’re looking for.”

For each of the following Chronicles you have on your character you may add a cumulative +2 to the following check, and if you gain this bonus you may also attempt the check as if trained: #5: Mists of Mwangi, #35: Voice in the Void, #2-11: The Penumbral Accords, #3-07: Echoes of the Overwatched, 4-09: The Blakros Matrimony, #5–09: The Hellknight’s Feast, and #5–14: Day of the Demon.

Syllyn uses a wand to cast heightened awareness prior to the briefing in hopes that it will sharpen his memory.

kn hist, haware: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 2 = 16
kn nob: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 6 + 2 = 12

"I know a little about Nidel. Nasty place now. Used to be run by horsefolk that roamed the lands, but to save their skin they made a bargain with the deity Xon-Kuthon. To this day they live in bondage of the soul. You do NOT want to cross them and get caught."

History: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19

The aphorite nods at Syllyn's competence. "I apologize now. My appearance tends to draw attention. Especially when the sun is out."

Makras belches loudly. "Sounds like a suicide mission. I'm in."

John falls back out of his chair to the floor as the stealthy VC begins speaking behind him, you hear his voice from the floor, ”I’mokay! Didn’t spill my drink either.”

He slips to his feet and takes a seat again, listening probably. Or maybe just twitching, triggered by the mention of the Blakross family.

Knowledge: History + VitV + Penumbral: 1d20 + 1 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 1 + 2 + 2 = 22

At the end of the briefing he adds, ” The horselord tribes buried their dead in Barrowmoor, a rocky region in the north of Nidal. Local tradition forbids exploring the cairns of the Barrowmoor, but tomb robbers sometimes discover vast riches in ancient burial mounds—as well as traps and ancient curses. Locals claim the exact number of cairns within the Barrowmoor changes, making it impossible to properly explore or map.”

He looks half confused and adds, ”Hem. Don’t ask me how I know that, honestly. Must have heard it while drinking.”

"Sounds like a place of legends," he declares with a rat-a-rat finish.

"This could be epic. I'm 100% in."

Unlike a lot of lizard men, his common is quite good and lacks the characteristic hissing.

Knowledge: History + VitV + Penumbral: 1d20 + 1 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 1 + 2 + 2 = 22

The blakros scenario bonuses are only for the Nobility/Local check. Don't worry about the error, you're not gaining a huge advantage.

”Subtlety my specialty is. “

I don’t have any of those other missions on Waki

Kn: local : 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

”The Blakrose family I have heard. Interesting and varied past they have. “

"Getting in touch with the Whispered Song won't be a problem, VC. I have faith my goddess will lead me."

John Carlos wrote:

Knowledge: History + VitV + Penumbral: 1d20 + 1 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 1 + 2 + 2 = 22

The blakros scenario bonuses are only for the Nobility/Local check. Don't worry about the error, you're not gaining a huge advantage.

It's ok, Grunjar's aid makes it legitimate. ;-)

Knowledge: Nobility + guidance: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 4 + 1 = 16

"I know about the Blakros family, the Shadow Plane and the Onyx Alliance. Was on a... related mission not long ago."

(You may open the corresponding spoilers.)

"This gets more and more interesting," Syllyn murmurs as his pencil scrabbles furiously to keep up with the flood of information. Occasionally he will pause to rap out some rhythm or other, usually complicated, with said writing instrument.

When the information stops, he asks "When do we leave and how do we get there?"

"Your ship leaves in an hour" the Venture-Captain answers Syllyn. "Long enough for you to pick up any last-minute supplies here."

"And Grunjar" Heidmarch adds "you'd best cover that tattoo of yours, or birthmark, whatever it is. You let the Nidalese authorities see that you serve Desna and they'll lock you up. If you're lucky. The Whispered Song is an outlawed organisation and the authorities will assume you're associated with them. A symbol of Desna is a more certain route to unwanted trouble than Malaz's golden skin. Believe me, you don't want what passes for the law in Nisroch called down on your heads."

Any more questions or shopping? If not I'll move us on in 24 hours or so.

"Speaking of that, how about 'divine' wands? You know, like to heal us up? They banned as well? I have a tendency to bring scrutiny."

No purchases, though I may be convinced to purchase a Pathfinder Pouch if need be.

"Ah, preparation", spits Makras with obvious disdain. "Fiddling with the embroidery on the curtains as the great flood comes to sweep the house of life away! The end is nigh, and no wearisome chores will stave it off."

”To depart ready I am. “ the raven faced Tengu replies at mention of the ship.

”A wand to cure I have. Inconsistent my use is. “

"I'm ready too. I came prepared."

"Nidal isn't like Rahadoum" the V-C answers. "They have a quite specific animosity towards Desna as an advocate of freedom and the Whispered Song in particular have been a thorn in the side of the Nidalese rulers of a kind that they don't take perverse pleasure in. You would likely find similar hostility towards any deity or organisation espousing freedom, joy, or frivolity. Be on your guard."

John puts the remaining half-bottle away in his pack, "The rest can be finished after the mission. Or if we get bored. Or maybe on the way."

He adopts a dour expression and nods at Markras. His vocal mannerisms suddenly seem extremely tired, "I think we will be fine. We are all acolytes of the Dwarf after all. Headed to watch the end of days from a prepared spot. It'll be nice to finally slough off this mortal coil and embrace the nothingness after the end."

Bluff Take 10 of 19 as he starts practicing their cover story.

An hour later, you're on the boat to Nisroch. A grim, dour crew ferries utilitarian trade goods and a handful of sullen passengers who refuse any attempts to engage in small talk.

The journey is mercifully short and the ship docks in the evening at the Portside district after the captain pays a considerable harbour fee. The city is a dreary place constructed of wood and slate, and one of the region’s common downpours makes it feel even more oppressive. You easily find their way to the Broken Cup, a tavern in the Southbank district that caters to common folk.

There is nothing bright or cheerful about the Broken Cup. The walls are worn grey and the furniture drab brown. There are few lights, the brightest sitting by the stairs that presumable lead to rooms upstairs. There is no singing, no laughter, and no real sign that the tavern even welcomes new customers. Those who linger here mostly mind their food and themselves, going out of their ways not to make eye contact.

You spot a single jovial soul at the bar: a tall, armoured woman laughing and downing ale.

See Slide 3

"Even when this mission ends in tragedy and dismal failure," Makras whispers to the others, "at least we'll have some ale in our bellies." Forgetting all about the contact they're supposed to meet, he hustles to the bar and orders a few tankards (for himself).

Funny. This place is so devoid of hope that I would have thought Makras would have found it to his liking.

Thinking it best one of the others makes first contact, he moves towards the stairwell. Not that there will be trouble, but best to be ready for anything. The occultist scans the room, looking for threats or anything else that may be a sign of danger.

Perception: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (16) + 17 = 33

Syllyn approaches the bar and 'lays out his credentials'.

"Is it possible for a travelling performer to earn his keep at this bar? Perhaps one of my more somber performances would suit your clientele?"

Syllyn came prepared. Knowing the place was into self-harm and other oddly grotesque pursuits, he picked out a few songs with unhappy endings and a bit of torture in them.

Back on the boat John is incensed when the other passengers attempt to dismiss his small talk first. HE DISMISSES THEIR SMALLTALK FIRST. LOUDLY!

"DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT THE END IS NIGH! I HAVE NOT TIME FOR CHATTER. WE MUST MAKE HASTE SO WE CAN ENJOY THE DISSOLUTION OF IT ALL!!!"

____________________

At the bar John takes in the scene and sticks to the bluff, "Yes, this is right. All are sad like the prophecies have foretold. Sad for their pitiful lives, unaware of the end times. But we faithful few know the truth. We are ready. We are prepared. Let us drink and ruminate upon the facts we know."

He settles in next to jovial lady, orders two ales and whispers to her loudly... honestly it wasn't even a whisper, "Hey, can't you read the room? It is way too downer downer in here to be happy. Just take it a bit easier. Would you like to hear how the world will end? Maybe that'll put you in a worser mood."

I really should have listened to the briefing. Who did he say our contact was? Habib? Harry? Julia? Crap.

Waki Huro takes up a spot in a shadowy corner near the door and keeps any eye out for anyone or anything unusual in the bar.

stealth: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (5) + 14 = 19

perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (1) + 11 = 12

Good...plan is working...get the dicebot warmed up....slowly. lol