GM Jhaeman's PFS Module: "Masks of the Living God" (Inactive)

Game Master Jhaeman

Pathfinder! You've been instructed to journey to the small village of Kassen on the border between Nirmathas and Lastwall. There, a Pathfinder Society agent named Cygar will brief you for an important mission.

As you wait in the town square for Cygar to arrive, it looks like other Pathfinders like yourself are starting to assemble . . .

Please go ahead and do introductions.

The journey through Fang Wood was a long one. Fortunately, Anibal was able to board a ship instead of walking through the forest. That would likely slow things down. A lot.

But here we are, in the backwoods of Nirmathas, whatever that is. Anibal picks up his belongings, thanks the ship crew for the ride, disembarks, and heads over to the square.

No fountain in the square, just a small podium, a few benches, and bushes to the side. The locals seem to be a bit taller than him, but at least he won't stick out in the crowd - well, until they notice his tan skin, at least. His grey robes cover most of his body, especially in this 'cold' weather - compared to Garund, anyway - other than that, he doesn't seem to be anything special, in terms of physique. If he has hair, it is covered by a wide brimmed hat, and a pair of analytical eyes peek from above his face scarf. Nobody can identify a face, if they don't see it to begin with.

"Could be worse.", Anibal mutters as he looks around the square, and opts to sit on one of the benches. He drops his backpack to the floor, takes a seat, and rests his legs on the backpack with his trusty bow to the side. He checks the bowstring, and unties it again.

He takes his waterskin to rehydrate, but spills some water over his clothes in the process. Over his thighs, of all places. He shifts over to put the wet spot into the sunlight, and hopes it will dry up before someone else arrives, and considers the wet patch an 'accident'.

"And now we wait.", he thinks to himself.

The priest was wandering into the small village, having paid his dues to the souls of the departed in the local cemetary.

With a gentle smile on his lips, his arms crossed behing his back, Mallycorn slowly walked toward the town square, spotting a lonely figure, strangely dressed.

I'm sorry, unless there is a beehive around that I haven't seen, your vestments strike me as quite odd. You don't look like a local, if you don't mind me saying so. My name is Mallycorn Tavee, and I happen to have an appointment today with someone named Cygar. Could it be you, or does the name rings a bell?

The man is of medium build, with strickingly dark hair and beard. His grey eyes show interest. He wears an old studded leather, and the symbol of Pharasma rests on his chest.

The 'beekeeper' looks at Mallycorn as he approaches and introduces himself. His eyes smile, and he lowers his scarf. His nose is a little crooked, probably broken at some point.

He stands up and offers a handshake. "Not your man, but I, too, am waiting for this person. I assume we are to work together. I am Anibal. Pleasure to meet you. Sit with me?"

He moves his bow to the side to make some space.

"I'm from down south. Way south. This weather is a bit... ", he considers the expression. "biting. For my taste, anyway. Hence the clothing."

Mallycorn shakes the man's hand and then sits with him

It's nice to make new acquaintances, whatever the weather may be. I have visited a few countries, already. Taldor, Quadira, Andoran, Brevoy, mostly. Quadira was quite hot. And sandy. Each country has its peculiarities, its history and climate, its people and tongues. Pharasma makes us remember that everyone dies sooner and later. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to live to our fullest, and to acquire as many experiences as possible.

A pause

I'm a follower of her faith, and prays to her. She bestows to me some powers, to use as wisely as possible. Beside that honor, I try to learn as much as I can, humbled everyday by everything I don't know yet. I suppose you are a kind of hunter?

He points to the bow.

"Ah...", Anibal laughs at the question, and picks up his weapon of choice. "Being a humble beekeeper, this is for making sure bears don't destroy my colonies.", still smiling he imitates firing an arrow, looking into the distance

He turns to Mallycorn again "I suppose you could say that I am a hunter. I pursue the most dangerous game. For a price."

He pauses.

"Not to worry, I -do- have standards.", he looks over the cleric. "I wouldn't guess you for a man of the cloth. Do Pharasman priests usually run around with weapons like that? Unless...", he points to the morning star. "... that is to make sure the dead are resting as they should. Do you know anything about this assignment that I should be aware of? Should I go find a temple to dip my arrowheads in holy water?"

After completing his training at a Pathfinder affiliated monastery Relgar waves good bye to the Irori monks and is on his way. He makes a brief stop to pick up a quartet of magical scrolls and then rides his wolf hound to the starting point of his next mission.

As the dog and gnome team approach the town square he notices two humans that seem to be out of place. He quickly moves to join the duo.

"Hello there. This must be the place. You two are clearly not locals. I am Relgar and this is my faithful travelling companion Shaggy."

For a moment a pair of eyes seem to sparkle with excitement from a partially concealed tattoo on the gnome's neck.

A powerfully built and rather large wolf hound looks at the humans with interest. He wags his tail and barks to announce his presence.

"Woof,woof."

Oh, I'm quite a poor runner. This armor weights too much for me. I've heard of armors made in some near weightless metal, but I don't have enough money to buy one so far.

He looks to his cold iron morningstar
I haven't heard anything pertaining to our future mission, but wherever we go, I consider it my holy mission to bring the final peace to the restless undead, so they can finally be judged by Pharasma. I try to restrain from judging people myself, because life is all in shade of light and darkness. The totally pure souls are as rare as the totally wicked souls, I think. Working for the Pathfinder bloodies everyone's hands, sooner or later, but they do try, in my opinion, to use violence as reasonably as possible, prefering discreet actions and the use of our wits. We aren't a band of stone-cold killers.

Then a gnome and his dog come

Hello Relgar. I'm Mallycorn and this is Anibal. Nice to meet you, and your dog. I'm quite fond of dogs. May I pet him, or her?

Anibal nods with understanding as Mallycorn speaks. When the Gnome arrives, he puts his bow to his side and tips his hat. "Hello there. If you don't mind me asking - do you ride this dog? He seems... a bit large. She?", he asks as Mallycorn kneels to pet the pooch.

Another figure joins your table - a female one this time. Her face is hidden by a veil, and expensive silks and jewelry with precious stones tell you that she either has some status in society or wants to make such an impression.

Most of all, you feel the sweetest aroma - something at the same time floral and fruity. You really want to enjoy this fragrance! It literally makes your mouth water, as if some infinitely sweet and ripe fruit is lying right in front of your nose.

Greetings to you. The voice sounds distant and a little strange. A long pause. You are Pathfinders?

Relgar turns around sniffing the air with much appreciation. Clearly this one will need less applications of Prestidigitation then the others to be acceptable in polite society.

Relgar nods in response to Alecto's query.

"Absolutely. You are in the right place. At least for now."

The sorcerer then addresses the two men.

"Shaggy here is a male dog. He is more than a pet really. He is all that is left of my original home after,well ... the accident."

The gnome's eyes light up with a look of pain but excitement as well when reflecting on this formative experience.

Shaggy wags his tail. He can tell from Relgar's manner that these people are acceptable so he allows them to pet him.

A brash serpentine fellow comes rushing up, huffing and puffing. ”Whew, I ain’t missed it, has I? Why, I could never show my face to Ole Granpappy if I missed my next mission as a Batfinder, not after all the stories he’s told me. ‘Course, I dunno that I believe all his tales, sometimes I guess he might be pulling my scales, on account of I ain’t the smartest of the litter, I’ll give you that, but then when he goes on telling me that he’s met Paula Deens’ mounts what’re smarter ‘n me, well then I just up and decided, I’ll be a Batfinder too, and go find these mounts and see for myself if theys really as smart as all that. N' quite a time it's been too! Why, I bin to the plame of Yurt, 'n I earned me me own wayyfinder, for me very own, 'n I even met a dragon - I'm a dragon too, doncha know, at least part dragon that is, on account o' Granpappy always says that me Grandmaw was a real dragon”

A very long pause. The female figure sways slightly, as if digesting information with her whole body - especially that coming from a scaly humanoid. In the end, after another pause, she says - I am Alecto.

She throws back her veil and suddenly you see a face composed of rose petals of predominantly blue color. It does not seem that this is a dense and functional face, like other humanoids - rather, some kind of image designed to express emotions in an understandable way. Now this face of petals is smiling affably - and the smile is quite pleasant and open.

Relgar's mention of 'the accident' leaves Anibal a little blindsided. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

He greets everyone else as they arrive, and introduces the rest of the crew to the newcomers. "This is Relgar, and his dog Shaggy, Mallycorn, and my name is Anibal."

He looks around the party. "Well then; two humans, a naga- sorry - a dragon, gnome, and...", he looks at Alecto - "... you."

"We will be absolutely inconspicuous.", he smiles. "This should be fun."

He gives Alecto a look. "Apologies if I am rude. What are you, exactly?"

Anibal's question to Alecto is interrupted as a sixth figure approaches. A hooded man with strange, deep facial scarring, the figure speaks in a harsh whisper. "I'm Cygar. You must be the mission team." He looks each of you up and down, and gives a slight shrug. "You'll do. Listen closely. Recently, a group of masked tomb robbers made off with two fragments of a magic amulet from the ancient resting place of Kassen’s founder. Nothing good can come from the theft. I've made contact with an old friend in Tamran to see if he knew anything. Reginar recognises the description of the masks the tomb raiders wore as belonging to followers of a deity named Razmir. Your mission sounds simple, but I'm sure it won't be. Travel to Tamran, learn what you can about the tomb robbers, and, if possible, recover the amulet fragments so they can be returned to their resting place. I've booked passage for you on the Black Mist, a river barge run by Captain Walren. Once you're in Tamran, track down Reginar--he'll help with the rest of your mission."

A picture of Cygar is up on the slides.

You'll all have heard of Tamran--it's the nearby capital city of Nirmathas.

Know religion on Razmir: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

What does Mallycorn knows about Razmir?

Technically, it's a sin to rob from a tomb. A sin Pathfinders are sometimes happy to indulge into, but only Pharasma can judge them. What can you say about the amulet, and its known and supposed powers? What does it looks like?

Relgar nods at Mallycorn's request for more information about the amulet.

"Do we have any idea why followers of Razmir would desire fragments of this amulet? Also do you have any idea where we might find our contact? Tamran is a big enough city that finding him by happenstance will be difficult."

"Relgar poses a good question. Any place this Reginar fellow frequents? He likes ... pubs? Theatres? Swimming? Ladies of ill repute?", he pauses. "Gentlemen of the same repute?"

He looks at the party. "What? People have tastes...", and shrugs.

Drukpa listens to the briefing with a growing sense of dismay. "Tomb robberss?!? Why, who would do such a thing? Anyone who would dissturb the dead jest t' git their hands on some bits o' amulet or suchlike, why y' kin bet they ain't no decent folkss! Good things we Batfinders is on the case - we'll make shure these followers o' Razza-, Razzle-, Razzy-, Razzamattaz - we'll make ssure and ssertain to learn 'em a lesson."

Mallycorn can't help but laughs warmly at Anibal unexpected suggestion, and says while wiping his eyes

I do agree, people have various tastes. And we should leave no stone unturned in our research.

@Anibal: thank you for this most welcome IRL laugh

In the middle of the conversation, Alecto suddenly says - I am ghoran. Obviously, this is the answer to Annibal's question, just received with a delay. It is not clear yet what this is - politeness and lack of desire to interrupt or the need to think about this question unusually carefully. I join the previous questions - she will add in a languid voice and lower her veil.

Cygar holds up a hand to stop further questions. "You've come a long way, and you deserve more information. But I don't have it. Best I can tell you is that I send messages to Reginar care of an inn on Tamran's waterfront called the Gar's Last Meal. As for what the amulet looks like and what it does, your guess is as good as mine. Old, I can tell you that. It had been in that tomb around Kassen's neck for over two hundred years before the place was pillaged. But I don't think this was just random looting--I think the tomb raiders went in there specifically for that amulet."

Relgar nods.

"It is understandable that you do not have all the answers but a possible starting place and the description provided (the picture on the slide) is most helpful. Now I am assuming that Reginar is a human. Is this correct? Also I notice that you are both deeply scarred. I don't wish to pry but I suspect that this might be relevant to the mission."

It is difficult to place Reginar (race) by the picture alone but as Cygar is his friend he is likely to have this information.

"Black Mist, Gar's Last Meal", Anibal makes another note, and tucks his notebook away. "A little ominous, for my taste. But it will do. Much obliged. When does this boat sail, exactly?"

Drukpa scratches his head, as if keeping up with the mission briefing is taxing his capacities. "Why y'think they ain't jes random looters? Any whatchamacallem oh yeah koos that give y' that unnderstanding?"

"Reginar's a big man," says Cygar. "And walks around in a bear-skin cloak. I suspect you'll know him when you see him."

Cygar looks over at Anibal. "I've paid Captain Walren to wait until you get on board before departing, but the sooner you get to the docks and set off, the sooner we can set things right for this town."

A look of confusion comes across Cygar's face as he deciphers what the nagaji Drukpa is asking. "Because whatever these 'Razmirites' are, they don't have a reputation for countryside tomb looting. And the tomb isn't the sort of thing someone would just stumble upon. But in the end, why did looted the tomb doesn't really matter. Whatever their motivations, if they have the amulet, your job is to get it back."

@Relgar: To clarify, the picture on the slides is of Cygar (the person you're talking to now), not Reginar (the person you need to meet in Tamran).

Drukpa seems to take some reassurance from Cygar's simple directness and, as the group boards the barge, he can be heard muttering to himself, "Git omelette back. Git omelette back."

Bidding Cygar farewell, the Pathfinders make their way to the docks. The Black Mist is a rectangular, small-sailed barge about sixty feet long and twenty feet wide.

Whistling to himself, a dwarf greets you as you approach. "Such a motley lot must be the Pathfinders Cygar promised! Welcome aboard. That cabin is yours." The dwarf points to the rear third of the ship, where a cabin stands open. Inside, you can see several cots, a small stove, and a crate of provisions. "I'm Captain Walren. The young kellid lad over there is Ewan, the deck hand. I've made this journey many times, and it'll take about a week. The only thing I'll ask is that you remember who's captain and that you help out should any trouble arise--Lake Encarthan can be dangerous."

What kind of trouble can we expect, Captain Walren?

"Good question."

Anibal looks at Relgar.

"Any -accidents- we should we wary of?"

Captain Walren stops whistling and looks serious as he replies to Mallycorn with a sigh. "These days there’s more to worry about than the beasts that lurk in Lake Encarthan. Moltuni privateers prowl the water looking for victims, and the accursed faith barges of Razmiran force travellers to accept the faith of the Living God at sword point. On the other hand," he smiles to lighten the mood, "we'll be on the river for three days before we even reach the lake. So until then, just relax, that's my advice."

"Militarised proselytizers?" Anibal smirks with contempt.

"Does that ever work? Is there a trick to use? Like - can they be bribed? Even better, do they have a some specific greeting or response so we can fool them?"

"Not that I know of," answers Captain Walren. "I've never encountered them personally. And with a little luck, none of us will."

The first few days of the journey down the Tourondel River are calm and peaceful, and the Black Mist makes good time.

On the fourth day, the barge reaches Lake Encarthan as a steady rain begins to plague the journey. But the waters are calm, and Walren clearly knows his ship. He keeps the Black Mist to within a mile of shore as he hugs the coast south toward Tamran, keeping a close eye for any sandbars and rocky outcroppings along the way.

A fifth day of travel passes uneventfully. Ewan, the scarred kellid deckhand, occasionally catches fish to supplement the dried meats and hard breads stores aboard ship. It's perhaps not an exciting voyage so far, but Pathfinders know that excitement can often be fatal!

I'll pause there briefly in case anyone wants to do any role-playing on the voyage, and pick up with Day Six in about twelve hours real time.

Relgar winks back at Anibal and smiles.

"The accident. Well, that was in the past."

The sorcerer rolls his eyes for effect.

"I am sure that nothing like that could possibly happen again. Although the columns of arcane flame were truly stupendous to behold."

A little latter Relgar boards the glorified raft with a good deal of trepidation. He is careful to safeguard his precious scrolls to protect them from the elements.

"I must say these clerics do not sound friendly but I am sure that we will manage one way or another. A few good words and a small contribution to their church works wonders in a pinch."

Shaggy seems to rather enjoy the river-boat ride. Especially at times when the wind seems to pick up and blow against his fur.

Alecto looks at the water surface all day as if fascinated. She doesn't mind chatting with someone who is willing to put up with long pauses in dialogue, and is always friendly to her comrades.

"Columns of arcane flame.", Anibal eyes the gnome curiously. "Well that doesn't sound dangerous at all. Fortunately, we have all this water around us...", he spreads his arms out and turns 360 degrees, looking at the water surface.

"Speaking of which-", he nods towards the deckhand. "Want to spend some time fishing, anyone?"

Why not? It can be a pleasant occupation, unless you're a fish.

After six days of travel, Captain Walren gathers everyone together just as dusk begins to fall. "We're nearing Tamran, and if we push on after dark, we’ll be able to reach the city tonight. What do you say?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21

Preoccupied by trying to get a proper grip on his fishing rod, Anibal turns around to face the captain as he comes to talk. He intuitively reads the man's body language. It seems a bit off.

"Everything alright, Captain? Should we be concerned about sailing during the day? If you need help, you just need to ask."

"I guess I can't risk your lives without letting you know the situation. These waters we're in aren't safe, and this final stretch is the most dangerous when it comes to bandits of every stripe. But sailing at night near a coastline is dangerous too, and the risk of running aground is high. Still, the sooner we're in Tamran, the better I'll feel."

We understand, and thank you for all the risks you dare to take just to help us. I'll pray Pharasma for a lenient Fate.; and for some magical spells to protect us, shall the need arise.

Anibal thinks on the matter. "I will put it this way. Navigating the ship overnight in shallow waters, I can not help with. I can help with possible attackers, however. Based on that information, I will leave our trip in your capable hands."

Wise words, Anibal. Indeed, let's face the enemy in the light of day. If the enemy dares to show his face to us.

Relgar agrees with his teammates.

"Not to worry. We have faced capable opponents at all times of day. I am sure that today will be no different."

Bouyed by your support, Captain Whalen continues sailing the barge toward Tamren. A few hours into the evening, and the lights of Tamran are just barely visible in the distance. It's a dark night, with thick cloud cover obscuring the faint moonlight.

Anibal and Drukpa are just stretching their legs on deck before turning in for the night when they're startled to realise another ship is approaching! A small sailboat crewed by three dangerous looking warriors armed with crossbows is silently approaching the Black Mist!

We will now start a Surprise Round, with the two of you who made the Perception checks participating. I'll put a map up tonight, but the long and short of it is that there is a sailboat thirty feet away crewed by three armed humans who clearly haven't come to make a social call.