Low, dark clouds hover over the City of Monuments, threatening to bring a late-morning shower on a chilly spring morning. Despite the gray skies, the wealthy elite of Magnimar’s Alabaster District fill the streets with their servants on a variety of household business. Housekeepers and messengers rush through their jobs clutching their hats and cloaks when they look up to the sky waiting for the inevitable. A breeze from the north carries the tang of salt water and gull birds constantly remind citizens and visitors this is a port city, even this far away from the docks.
A half-elf guard waits at a gatehouse leading to the manor grounds and directs those with important business to the Meeting House. ”You want to follow the path to your left, past the Thassilonian Houses. You can see it rising up over the topiary on the other side of the pond,” says the guard Ebrylis pointing in the direction to go. The other path leads the other way around the carp pond and to the Venture Captain and her partner and husband’s private estate. Three of the famed Thassilonian Houses lie along the path. Each is a cozy and warm affair with slate roofs and stained glass windows. Two of them have wisps of wood smoke coming from their chimneys.
Wumbrout Brios, the Meeting House’s majordomo, welcomes Captain Heidmarch’s invited guests into the Entrance Hall. ”I’m ‘fraid the mistress’ previous meeting is running a touch late,” explains the peg-legged dwarf. ”Please wait here for a few minutes. Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?” He leaves guests to their own devices, disappearing into a tower adjacent to the foyer and emerging only when another visitor rings the bell or when the tea kettle whistles.
A clockwork timepiece ticks and tocks on a mantle above a lit fireplace surrounded by comfortable leather chairs. The walls are adorned with ancient tapestries and framed pages from the journals of legendary Pathfinders. Each page contains a wide sample of media: sketches of a sarcophogus from an ancient Osirian prince, the transcribed lyrics of a salty shanty from the Shackles, an account of a mysterious monster from the heart of the Mwangi, and many more.
Just a plausibly deniable Dot, nothing to see here!
Ragnar arrived early, having no previous connection with the city, and while his nocturnal ventures did see his gold coin count go up somewhat, he did not have a base either, and loathed, in general, to part with much of his equipment.
Some tea would be most delightfull thank you very much.
Ragnar speaks with a polished expression.
Sheila Heidmarch was, by reputation, a perceptive and highly intelligent employer, why try to pretend the Barbarian he was not?
After the Majordomo left, Ragnar deposits his backpack in a corner and hurriedly double checked his appearance in one of his silver sheened throwing axes (he bought 5 of them, but 2 got stolen, and one disappeared together with the Accuser-devil he threw it at), using the other to remove a beard stubble he overlooked previously.
Ragnars gaze, before his yet to meet companions arrived, would mostly be drawn to anything relating to extra planar hostiles in the reception room.
Ambriel arrives at the Heidmarch estate comfortably early. Given the distance across the city she has to travel to get there, she had to account for possible unexpected delays and budgeted extra time.
When she's let into the reception room, she finds a not at all bad looking human man, though very much not her type, occupying it as well. Unaware she will be attending a group meeting, Ambriel figures he is here for some other business of his own and passes on by with only a nod to acknowledge him. She finds a chair at some distance, greater than conversation could easily take place across, and settles in to it.
When offered refreshment, she asks for tea. When it arrives, she takes a small book from the satchel she carries and begins reading as she sips it. All the better to carefully ignore the man's attempt at last minute shaving.
"Okay, found the address, didn't find any rope or torches, but maybe that won't be a problem. Might be able to get some before the assignment begins--" Another voice comes from outside the manor, this one soft and perhaps a bit unsure of itself.
The door opens as a tall, tan-skinned elven girl dressed in silvery silken armour steps through, her attention squarely focused on the brown satchel hanging off of her shoulder. She rummages through it for several seconds before finally looking up.
"Oh!" She starts before clearing her throat and smiling. "Are you all here for the meeting, too?" She asks the two other arrivals before wordlessly accepting a cup of tea.
A smartly-dressed, pale half-elf walks through the doors of the Meeting House, wearing what appears more or less like a nobleman's riding outfit--a well-fitted jacket, white pants, knee-high black boots, a curled whip at her belt. As she sets aside her jacket, she's seen wearing a corseted top, tightly laced. She is not particularly beautiful, but her appearance is undoubtedly refined.
She then speaks in response to Alara's question, even though Alara was clearly asking the others. "Yes, of course. Seems like Captain Heidmarch favors elves this morning."
She nods politely at the dwarf that then approaches her with an offer of tea. "Děkuji pane. Dám si čaj s cukrem a citronem." She ends her statement with a self-satisfied smile, please at having shown off one of her many languages.
Greetings fair Ladies, Ragnar av Gundrun, mercenary, adventurer and, generally speaking, violence provider.
Ragnar a tall, black haired and very muscular man who is evidently quite concious of his own appearance, wearing scale armor including a full set of gauntlets, introduces himself speaking in a very affable and civil voice.
You count no less then 5 axes of varying size on his body.
Divine support? He looks at Caroliss sipping from his own tea.
Arcane support? He looks at Ambriel taking another sip.
Fellow melee friend? Looking at Alara.
So, Lady Heidmarch probably expects a fair bit of violence and wishes to keep her prospective party varied and versatile. I would not be surprised if a Rougish-investigative type walks in soon. And a wild card perhaps? He continues, apparently taking notes of the numbers and sizes of chairs in the reception area.
Various options for investigating him a bit.
Ragnars fingernails are not manicured and are a bit long, which is at odds with the rest of his well-kept appeareance.
He has a tatoo depicting a Greatsword slashing a Pentagramm in two on his right hand.
The Gauntlets on his belt have been altered, and have holes as if to accomodate longer, or perhaps growing, fingers.
You perceive scratch marks on the inside of one of these holes.
The Greatsword would likely mark him as a worshipper of Gorum. The Pentagramm could, depending on its orientation, mean either the Archdevil Asmodeus or the Demon Lord Baphomet, and would indicate personal hostility towards either.
Gorum strikes from the front, typically being depicted as slashing downwards with his greatsword, meaning that, if the Greatsword is up, the Pentagramm is inverted and thus Baphomet's rather then Asmodeus's.
Ragnar has claimed a seat from which he has good vision on the door, through one window, the rest of the party and his back to a corner. Habitual mercenary Paranoia perhaps?
A dark-skinned woman eventually made her way into the Entrance Hall. The woman turned towards the dwarf, making a bit of a face at the current options. "You got anything with alcohol? No? Fine, water it is then."
By the time she got to the others, the Mwangi woman made her way in. The others would see a average sized yet shapely woman who is wearing clothes made for comfort if anything else: form-fitting pants that stretch to her ankles and a simple top that extends to just above her belly button.
When she sat down to meet up with the others, her eyes express an interest in her party members. "Definitely liking the elven vibe here," she smirks. Even the burly man who appears to look like a stuff-up.
"So... am I the only one from around here?"
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Ragnar af Gundrun, analytical super genius! Ragnar thinks as a lithe Shoanti women entered the room. That would be the rougish type. Now who or what is the wild card going to be, Kobold Paladin of Apsu with a Demonlord in his head?
From waayy up North, Sarkoris, if the completely normal and non-unhealthy or stereotypic at all preference for axes didnt give it away. Horned helmet unfortunately got stuck in a Dretch. Name is Ragnar.
The big man chuckles, making a fair bit of fun at himself and eggregiously mispronouncing Baphomet as Baffo-määäääht, immitating a goats bleating on the second part.
I guess the bookish type and the whip liking one could possibly be chelish agents, but if I see an Erinyes in every women I will just go completely nuts so lets not. Zero sociopath eyes so far. Ragnar thinks as he relaxes.
...and your great-great grandmother on your father's side would very much appreciate it if you could get to that doctor appointment!
Walking into the Entrance Hall just behind those words is an obvious Shaonti. The auroch skins, the various skull and animal totems attached and it's face seems to be painted with a white skull are clearly tell-tale signs. Although, he is either extremely short, a child, or...a halfling? A halfling shaonti shaman by appearances entered the Entrance Hall.
Holding a frosty glass mug of beer, nodding his head at Wumbrout Brios, the shaonti halfling turns to greet those already assembled.
'ello me fellows! Anansi the Spider, of the Skoan-Quah, at yer service!
Anansi the Spider glances at each in turn. The painted face seemingly looking beyond each individual instead of directly at them. He smiles. He nods. He takes a sip of his frosty cold beer.
Well won't this be fun!
It sounded like he may have been declaring that to others....
My genius is almost uncanny, here comes the wild card. Is my Bloodrage giving me precognition powers now? Maybe try a lottery. A Wyrd talker? It would be interesting if the Shoanti had similar shamanic traditions as his own, very distant people
Ragnar thinks silently.
I am Ragnar, pleased to meat you. Sipping his tea.
I would at some point wish to know where thee got that cold beer from good Sir.
Does though bychance talk with spirits? And if yes, which in particular? By thy moniker the three weaving sisters of past, present and future perhaps?
Noticing seconds later that the instinctually adressed the shaman like he would have adressed the often eccentric and always powerful shamen of old Sarkoris.
Just because I could probably punt him over a city wall, I am not going to assume the guy cant transform into a giant spider or something.
Caroliss studies Ragnar and raises an eyebrow. "A Gorumite? Excellent. I always appreciate your kind, but it's nice that the Pathfinder Society found one that can put together two sentences. Lady Caroliss Kaddren," she concludes, announcing herself.
Caroliss has an obvious three-bladed holy symbol around her neck that others would likely recognize as of Calistria. She also wears a signet ring. Given the name she just gave, one could presume correctly that it's of House Kaddren.
The noblewoman then looks to the dark-skinned woman. "So you see, you're not the only one from around here; to the contrary, you're in the presence of one of the founding families of Magnimar." She waits for the woman to be properly awestruck.
An unexpected pleasure and honor to make your acquaintance Lady Kaddren, may your Lady and my Lord alike both smile upon this venture. speaks Ragnar, utterly undetterred by having absolutely no idea about Magnimars history or founding families whatsorever, opting for a curious mix between courtier and proud ferocious northman.
Perhaps you may enlighten me of thy families mighty deeds at a later opportunity? He says as he thinks
noble equals money and influence, good! Need to figure out if the "Kaddrens" have enemies and if yes of which quantity and quality before attaching myself.
Ragnar closely observs Lady Kaddrens movement patterns, searching for differences in "noble expression" things between Magnimar and his more Mendevian frame of reference for "noble" behaviour and attempting to guess how strong or agile she is.
Definitly dress more revealing, less armor, significantly lesser proportions of longsword wielders, seemingly less stiff and formal overall.
Eyeing Lady Kaddrens whip he thinks
First whip I have seen here, probably religious Calistrian rather then noble thing, to my knowledge slavery is forbidden in Magnimar, pretty impractical weapon in practice, requires too much training to get baseline-competent with, and while it is a reasonable tool for disarming and tripping adversaries, far too many foes where either is futile or impractical. But then half elfs and elfs probably got more time then us mostly-humans.
Concluding, he thinks. Noble and Callistrian, do not piss off unless being offered sizeable money for that.
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As the room begins to fill up and chatter among them starts up, Ambriel switches to listen in. To her surprise, it seems everyone is there for the same meeting with Shiela Heidmarch at the same time. If that is the case she's almost certainly a part of the group. She's most pleased to note the Calistrian Priestess among the others, and least pleased to see the rather strangely dressed and armed elven woman.
"My apologies, I didn't realize this was a group meeting with Venture Captain Heidmarch. I'm Ambriel Kogalnica and I'm here for the same reason as the rest of you. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"I'm also a native of this area. I was born before Magnimar as it's known today was founded, before Alcaydian Indros 'discovered' the Irespan."
Ambriel delivers the word 'discovered' with a sarcastic twist.
"I was too young to remember the visits we made here when this place was still Varisian holy ground, but we settled here a couple of years after the Twilight Academy was founded, and that I do remember."
She notices the man's tattoo, which gives her something to consider in evaluating him. Probably some sort of anti-Chelaxian crusader...
Ambrielis avoiding eye contact with Alara.
Ambriel's surname is extremely Varisian
"I wouldn't know. Lived here my whole life... or at least as much as I can remember."
Her eyes widened a bit when one of their co-workers had his religion revealed as she whipped her pointy finger at him.
"I had a feeling. There was no way your fingers were that rough to be a nobleman. And though luck on getting a beer 'round here. I tried," she huffed.
Caroliss was harder to figure out, especially with her symbol. Her revelation only added to the intrigue and her next smile will reveal her teeth.
"Get out. You continue to surprise me. Answer me this then." She lowered her tone as she spoke in a sly grin. "As a big advocate for the Savored Sting, I have to know how a noblewoman like you got into her graces?"
She noticed something about the elven wizard's gaze, but kept that in mind in the future. Instead, she nodded with a smile. Name's Krystal. Anyone friends with the true locals are a friend of mine."
Ahh, to be reminded of the the sheer joy of having to clip your fingernails with your f*@%ing Cold Iron Greataxe because they have f$@*ing demonic damage resistance. They joys of being an abyssal Bloodrager. His brow furrowed for a moment.
Close!
I could make jokes about how Calistrians are so numerous, but then why are Nocticulans so rare? Did they all decide to have a big orgy on the moon instead? Fighting them is certainly more aesthetically appealing then duking it out with bug-buggerers and goatf&~&ers.
Thinks Ragnar as he comes dangerously close to unravelling a great mystery.
Nobles can be fun, some of the easiest money I ever made was by scaring off 3 suitors of a Isgerian noblemans daughter, by bloodily pretending to be bloody Ragnar the "totally-not-bloody-half-demonic" Bloodsworn Barbarian Bodyguard who would bloodily test their bloody mettle. Easiest money of my life! Especially since I neotiated a flat fee of 10 gold everytime I said *blood* during that day.
Given how brutal Chelish-Isgerian noble politics can get, these 3 were certainly not up to the task if I was enough to make them run away.
I mean, technically, one of them fainted rather then running after I told them what traditional Sarkorian blood sausage was made off but I digress.
Ragnar is pulling your legs, mostly for comedy purposes. For example, Sarkorian blood sausage is simply made of pig blood, like most other blood sausages, and chelish nobles would know that half demons look a lot more demonic then ragnar does.
To Alara:
Jinin? Heh, I am actually not the furthest from home in this group? Must have been some impressive travelling. If you feel like it we can spar at some point, I think our fighting styles are probably quite different from each other, and thus there is much to learn on either side.
Alara decides to finish off her tea before joining the conversation.
If anyone is uncomfortable in her presence, she's unaware of it.
"Oh, I just recently got here--took me several weeks by ship. I'm from Jinin, if we're doing introductions now."
Caroliss glances between Ambriel and Alara while sipping her tea, before turning her gaze to Krystal. Her gaze seems to follow up and down the woman's shapely curves.
"Ah, a fellow Calistrian! The Savored Sting takes all sorts, noblewomen included. Some of our fellow sisters rescued me from a past life of self-pity, and led me to seize my own destiny. Turns out Calistrians are a lot more fun than stuffy Abadarians." Caroliss grins wickedly. "Perhaps we should find some time this evening to . . . worship . . . together."
Anansi the Spider grins at Ragnar. The Shaonti sips his cold beer.
Why are esteemed Wumbrout Brios, of course. Much too impractical to keep cold beer in one's saddle bags. Runs a bloody mess.
The halfling turns to the majordomo.
Wumbrout Brios! Our fine dwarven drafter of delicious drafts. Hmm...needs work. Would you bring each of my new conspirators a brew?
Anansi the Spider then begins to sip his beer. The shaman winks at Ragnar's questions about talking to spirits.
Yes mostly those of hops and barley.
hmmm think Ragnar, My prefered method for keeping beer cold at campaign was one low level mage with that ice cantrip and several barrels of beer. You need to teach them to not only ice one side, and to apply the chill to several parts of each barrel, but it worked pretty well. Thats more mercenary company then party of 6 stuff though.
Ragnars eyes blink up suddenly,
Though would not, honorable voice of the ancestors, by chance of access to the spell tears to wine? It was a favorite spell of a Skald named "Beerfiend" with whom I used to adventure. He actually got drunk and somehow volunteered for the 5th crusade though. But well, tears to wine, Callistrians favor the spell as well, in part due to its manifest perception enchancing effects which can make an evening devoted to the savored string even more pleseant, in part as the beverage in question can be finely tailored to the tastes of an individual or group. My guess is that the Ladies would prefer wine or cocktails.
"That's for sure," Krysyal laughs. "If I wanted to spend time with those stuffs, I'd be in Kosovo by now."
When the offer came up from the half-elf, she sauntered over to the priestess, sitting on the arm-rest on the chair to give Caroliss a better view.
"That would be lovely... although my methods can be a bit... rough at times... if you think you can handle it." She gave Caroliss's shoulder a light touch.
Anansi the Spider decides to continue to sip his cold beer, as the Shaonti grabs a pillow, places it on the floor and seat himself.
The halfling nods in understanding of his purpose among these city dwellers.
I am a spirit guide to my people. I assist in the passing on of the deceased spirits to the Boneyard. While I am certain that I can find an ancestor who delighted in wine, I usually don't imbibe while on quest.
Anansi the Spider whispers
I do wonder about the missive sent to me by our host. As a rule, the Shaonti don't mingle in urban environments. This quest must require the knowledge of my people.
The shaman resumes looking just past each individual's face as he speaks.
As Anansi looks at Ragnar, he sees a vision.
Anansi sees 2, then 3, then even 4 Ragnars. 2 of them wearing incredibly large Axes, and cutting their way through a number of shadowy forms that seem to be demonic, but these 2 Ragnars seems to be on strings, like marionettes. The two other Ragnars wield smaller, but more axes, drink Anansis beer but neither of them noticeses that strings of black silk are slowly being attached to them as well.
As Anansi looks upwards, towards the source of the strings, he hears a feminine voice None of your business, insectas his vision fades.
Caroliss briefly brushes Krystal's leg as it hangs over the armrest. "Always wanted to see the spirit of the Mwangi unleashed," she responds. "Mind you, though, I can give as good as I get."
As entertained as she is, Caroliss doesn't want to be rude and rejoins the larger conversation for now. "Feels like an international exchange to me. Pathfinders from all sorts of exotic places coming together. Shoanti halflings, Tien elves, Sarkorians. We locals can guide you through the city, Anansi, just as you'd guide us through the wilds."
"Could you? That'd be wonderful. I've no real idea how to get around such a big city on my own--and to see it grown so sprawling after only, what, maybe a century at most? It's astounding!" Alara starts wildly gesticulating as her speech increases in speed.
"Back home I'd never seen a place this big--it's probably got all manner of shops and theatres and little eateries you'd find on a street corner that sells little rice balls with prepared fish in them that are nice and chewy and flavourful--"
She takes a deep breath. If someone wants to take command of the conversation, now would be a good time.
"Then we can mark it when we get the chance. But not now." She left much more quickly than she arrived and danced her way hack to her own seat. Another time then.
Joining in on the main conversation, she added. "It has to be something big if she needed all of us to get it done.
She looked more amused than anything when Alara spoke. "Hold upml. You haven't even said about what your place is like yet. Doesn't seem like there's any towns where you're from."
Alara blinks and thinks for a moment. "Well, there's Ayajinbo. It's our capital city, but it's not nearly as big."
"It's very shiny, though. All the big government buildings are made of immaculate, carved marble--and if you could see its sakura blossom gardens..." She sighs in wistful remembrance.
"...does Magnimar have any gardens like that?"
Peering back into his cold beer, Anansi the Spider grins.
Must grow their own hops. Thought I seen a bad rendition of The Odyssey behind you, Ragnar. But it's just that painting behind you.
The shaman winks.
He then focuses on Alara and Ambriel.
Am I to understand that each of you received a personally addressed invitation also? May I ask your specific skill set? Specialist?
The Shaonti does nod in respect to the blade at Alara's side.
The shaman then whispers back to Ragnar.
Erlith or something sound familiar?
Alara looks down at her katana and nods. "I'm a graceful hand with a blade. I really wish I could've brought a proper Jininese mithral katana with me, though--I'm always worried that I'll somehow break this one. Steel just isn't as sturdy--or as lightweight--as mithral."
"I'm good with people, too. And calligraphy, among other things."
Beerfiend is a guy and his first name was Erik, but sometimes, when he was f~$%ing shitfaced drunk he went on about how his name was Erith, he was a girl and some Dhampir or something, and then tried to spiderclimb up walks only to fall down comically. Our Shaman said something about that people with the same nicknames and attitudes can share experiences between them throughout the planes.
Ragnar whipsers back to Anansi.
Violence provision, decent with people, smarter then I look, actually also stronger then I look. He speaks, summarizing his skillset.
Unlike most of the others there for the meeting, Ambriel doesn't dive completely into the various conversation. She replies if spoken to directly:
"My experience is as a librarian and archivist. I'm a good generalist, but my areas of expertise are history and arcane magic, particularly arcane esoterica and planar conduits. My deepest niche is research on the nature and workings of the Void, and its interactions with other elements and energies."
"Of course I am also an arcane practitioner. It would be impossible to deeply understand the arcane disciplines or theory without practical knowledge."
Mostly though Ambriel listens, taking in as much as she can about the people she will apparently be working with. She has always found listening to be more valuable than speaking.
Your lore expertize likely exceeds mine Mrs. Kogalnica, in terms of planar knowledge, I do have a fair degree of familiarity with Deskarite and Baphometan adversaries, as do many Sarkorians for that matter. I also speak Abyssal near "natively", it is important to know ones foe after all, especially if these adversaries enjoy both physical and numerical superiority.
I have yet to establish sufficient dominance over my bloodline to cast spells.
Taking another sip of his cold beer, Anansi the Spider nods at the two elves. The Shaonti then smiles up at everyone.
This would be my initial venture outside my clans normal ranging lands. Been to Kaer Maga once for trade and supplies while apprenticing as an auroch herder. Not nearly as many stares and good luck pantomimes.
The halfling's eyes wonder about the Entrance Hall looking at all the strange maps especially.
Krystal's head turned towards the halfling with interest. "You've been to Kaer Maga? I've always wanted to visit. The stories I've heard..." She chuckled at the thought. "Seemed like my kind of party."
As for herself, she shrugged as she spoke. "You probably could guess from my look. I'm your typical thief. Skilled at climbing, breaking in, sneaking around... and on occasion busting heads."
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"I suspect you are being modest Ambriel replies to Ragnar.
"From all that I've heard about present day Sarkoris, it is a harsh and unforgiving school. Learn fast or fail forever. I also know Abyssal, but won't claim fluency, no real opportunities to practice here you see."
Alara's eyes light up.
"You know Abyssal? So do I! We could practice together!" The elf beams.
"...that is, if you're interested. We do have a job to do, after all and I wouldn't presume otherwise."
"I beg your forgiveness, please, everyone." The speaker is a new arrival with a deep and breathy feminine voice. Tall with dark hair pulled back by a silver tiara and dressed in an expensive, but not overly formal gown, is Venture Captain Sheila Heidmarch. Standing beside her is another woman, a young half-elf with red hair and facial tattoos. Hanging from the young woman's belt is a unique mithril and redwood akyls and a bastard sword.
"We will be more comfortable in the library. This way," she says before leading the assembled to a spacious library with a large table and some comfortable chairs. Sitting atop the table is a stone box about a foot and a half in length and width, and perhaps a foot in height.
"I apologize for the delay, as I must conclude my business with Pathfinder Azmeren before we meet. In the meantime, though, I thought you could help us with another minor issue. This stone coffer is an ancient Thassilonian puzzle, a cunning feat of magical engineering known as a paradox box. As you'll see from even a casual investigation, what appear to be seams on the sides are only shallow grooves-the re's no obvious way to open the thing. Each paradox box has its own secret method of being opened. Essentially, a paradox box substitutes hidden catches and magical triggers for a lock. Given time, anyone clever enough could figure out how to open a paradox box, just as given time, a locksmith can open any lock. This particular box was among those items recovered by Koriah-the scrolls next to the box are her preliminary notes on possible triggers or methods of opening it, but she's not yet had a chance to sit down and properly investigate the thing. So...why don't you put your heads together and see if you can't do that for me? Even if the box is empty, as I suspect it probably is, knowing the method of opening it makes it a valuable find anyway. I'll return shortly, and I hope to see that box open! Think of this as an audition, if you will-because the actual task I want to speak to yo u about soon will require as much wit as it will brawn!"
to a citizen of the Thassilonian nation of Bakrakhan, and that the rune likely has little to do with the method of opening this particular paradox box.
Another of Koriah's scrolls lists a few other key observations-the key observation being that five of the box's faces are identical, but on one face, several additional runes appear. These runes spell out the word "CRUEL." Koriah believes that this word is somehow linked to the box's mystery. She's also noted that each of the individual runes in the word can be reorganized by touching two runes at once-doing so causes the two touched runes to exchange places for an hour before reverting to their original spelling of "CRUEL."
Anansi the Spider smiles at the puzzle box.
Clever contraptions these boxes. On an unrelated note does anyone know the rune for e? Asking for a friend.
The shaman sips his cold mug of beer.
Caroliss remains aloof regarding the discussion of various talents, seemingly holding her nose up. Talents, the provision of commoners, she thinks to herself. Her talents were good breeding, education, refinement, and leadership. Or so she thinks to herself.
She follows along into the library, and takes a seat, beginning to review the notes.
"So, a puzzle by which we might spell a new word?" She studies the possibilities. "Well, an ULCER is quite cruel. Might that be the solution?"
When Alara speaks up about practicing Abyssal together, it seems to wrong foot Ambriel for a moment. She quickly recovers herself and smiles, though it's the sort of generic smile used for strangers in public.
"Why yes, of course. We should discuss trying to make arrangements for that sometime..."
Sheila Heidmarch's appearance cuts short Ambriel's sentence, and she drops the subject as she turns to attention to her new boss.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Ambriel stares at the box, considering possibilities. When Caroliss suggests trying a rearrangement of the runes to spell 'ulcer', Ambriel nods and mutters "uh huh" in agreement. Then she adds "if 'ulcer' does nothing, try 'lucre' next. It's the only other working combination of the runes I can think of."
"Lucre may not relate to the word cruel, but it might relate to the use of the box, to hold valuables. Greed is also a school of Thassilonian sin magic as is Wrath, but the connection is weak beyond that generality. For example, Greed is not a oppositional school to Wrath."
Once the duo left, Krystal was quick to tell the others what she suspected. "Don't look now, but that was Koriah. She's probably the biggest Pathfinder in the region. If she's involved, it was to be something huge."
All this excitement came with a bit of anxiety. If the stakes were truly that high, then solving this puzzle may make all the difference. She took her time to examine the puzzle. "Here's hoping I can pick this book without any need to guess the combination."
I do not speak Thassilonion which may limit my contributions to this, alas, is there perhaps a safe room in your manor? From what I heard lorewise, succesfull opening, or unsuccessfull ones as well could result in summoning guardians. Perhaps it would be prudent to continue our efforts in a location with less valuable books around? Knowledge should be preserved if feasible, and books are a great way to do so.
Something wrath related that can be written using cruel? Tapping into my own arcane studies, it could possible refer to a word opposite of wrath, in addition, does thassilionian have, like Abyssal, constructions where a letter can also be a grammatical sign? Cruel could be reordered into "Lure" but the C I would not know where to put.
If my memory is correct, The runelord of wrath was fairly attractive, physically speaking. Did wrath stand in opposition to lust?
Ragnar does, in a fairly non threatening way, draw his bardiche eitherway.
Anansi the Spider turns away from the puzzle box. The halfling then begins taking out various candles, incenses, and totems from his saddle bag. The shaman arranges them just so before lighting the candles and incenses.
He then begins chanting.
Calling the ancestors for advice. They seen a lot of shit.
"I don't know about the Runelord of Wrath's looks" Ambriel says with some amusement. "But it wouldn't matter. Sin Magic's oppositions are not conceptual opposites, which is what makes intuitive sense."
"Wrath's oppositions are Sloth and Envy. Obviously Envy, for example, is not the opposite of Wrath. I don't know why Thassilonian magical practices are structured as the are, but the practical reasons may be no different than they are in the present. Specialization requires choices to be made. Knowing more about one thing demands knowing less about some other. One's time isn't infinite after all."
"Now oppositions are chosen, but then they were fixed. Maybe it was simply tradition."
On the subject of time, they don't have forever to open the box, and their current line of thinking may be incorrect, so there is little room for dawdling. Ambriel manipulates the runes so they spell 'ulcer' instead of 'cruel'.
Ragnar gets within 5 feet of her as she does so, assuming that possible guardian creatures would likely target whoever manipulated the box.
I distinctly remember a readheaded woman with a Ranseur, who liked like she had an insanely bad hair day although her hair looked pretty fine actually. The lust one, Shorshen I believe, I remember better. Red hair, fond of glaives, highly impractical attire for battle.
Strictly of survival issues by the way. You see, Succubi are a thing if you are near to the worldwound, and they often intuitively like taking the shape of women you find attractive, so if a women looking like the runelord of lust walks up to seduce me, then she is either the runelord of lust, and I better run the hell away, or a Succubus, then I, realistically speaking, also better run the hell away. Meaning that I dont have to find out what she is, I can start running away immidietly!
Ragnar adds with a tone of wry amusement to Ambriel.
Alara sits in her seat as the others fiddle with the box.
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"It wouldn't be the worst way to die though," Krystal added. "But I'm pretty sure we'd be dead if we faced any of those three either way. As long as it's not the undead..."
After a shiver, she took a look at the box once more. "I still think we're overthinking it. Let's just crack this baby open."
"It wouldn't be the worst way to die though," Krystal added. "But I'm pretty sure we'd be dead if we faced any of those three either way. As long as it's not the undead..."
After a shiver, she took a look at the box once more. "I still think we're overthinking it. Let's just crack this baby open."
[dice=Disable Device]1d20+6
The wrath lady looked pretty non negotiable, Succubi are incredibly fond of toying with mortals, and like to play games, I heard of a guy challenging one for a drinking contest, and fooling her into drinking his booze, which happened to be made with holy water.
We should probably solve the puzzle as expected before attempting to mess with the mechanism, it may have a "destroy contents if tampered thing" going on. There were several reasonable puzzle solutions, lets try these first.
Having offered a guess and heard other plausible thoughts, Caroliss seems content with the puzzle. She notices Alara being quiet and approaches, pulling out a seat next to the foreign warrior. "Not interested in such puzzles? I've heard that the Tien language uses pictographs, which would be a lot more complicated than this simple puzzle. And more beautiful." She smiles sweetly.
Alara nods in agreement. "I'm afraid I'm not as... comfortable... speaking Common as I am the tongues of my home. I'd probably just get in the way."
"And Tien is a bit more complicated than just pictographs. I don't know if I could really do them justice by speaking of them--but when I've got my calligraphy brush, some paper and ink, they're as beautiful as you describe, and then some." The elf beams again.