Mustering Post: ~September 1st
Act One Start: September 4th
The City of Absalom is abuzz with excitement. The streets are full of revelers and feasting, as residents celebrate the city’s independence from tyranny. All seem most eager to witness the evening’s biggest event, the annual Passion of the First Siege of Absalom, where hundreds dress in elaborate costume, don fake armor and weaponry, and crowd the Irorium floor to participate in a mock combat, reenacting the first siege of Absalom. I suggest you do what you need to prepare yourselves and then get to the Irorium to find yourselves some seats.
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A slim figure in unremarkable clothes weaves gracefully through the celebrating crowd, a pair of exotic light elvish blades at her belt. Anyone who is perceptive enough to successfully peek under the hood of her cloak for a split second gets to see the face of an elvish woman... with a large scar going diagonally from the upper left of her forehead to the lower right of her chin.
As you make your way towards the Irorium, the bustling streets filled with revelers, a lean-faced man hiding behind a long cowl slips alongside.
“A moment of your time,” he says and pulls you aside into the shadows of a nearby alley.
“It seems we have two things in common: an eagerness to participate in good celebration, and this…” he says and punctuates his sentence by holding out an elaborately carved wayfinder, the type only granted to Pathfinders of great importance.
“I assure you, its mine!” he adds quickly, closing the device and tucking it back into the folds of his cloak with a quick, easy motion.
Then he continues, “I know a good number of your group here are already planning to attend the festivities this evening. I need but a casual favor. An old associate of mine, Charvion Eater-of–Bones is set to make an elaborate display of some artifact he claims to have recovered. I’ve not had contact with him in a year or so, and I’ve a curious feeling about the event. More I cannot say; however, I’d appreciate you keeping an eye on whatever stunt he’s considering. He’s a natural charlatan that one. Just keep an eye out is all—nothing serious. Don’t let him know that you’re watching, and do not approach the artifact during the showing. Most importantly, tell no one of this conversation.”
With a wink, the mysterious stranger slips into the nearby crowd.
He ducks into an alley, transforms into a small bird of prey, and flies off.
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A slim figure stand quietly observing the crowd. Her skin is unnatually white as porcelain, has a few tattoos that don't look like to be made of ink, and she wears a hairband that connects to earmuffs that cover her ear even though it's probably the wrong season for it. Just like many other Pathfinder agents, she has a backpack and a crossbow on her back. However, she doesn't seem to be excited for the celebration at all for some reason.
blablabla.....he comes and go without giving chance for questions......blablabla
She look at the polymorphing bird flies away, and decide to be slightly more careful today.
A mission, important or not, should be properly clock in. I should get myself ready if the person he mentioned will be performing dangerous stunt. Absalom is not perfectly safe according to my knowledge.
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A slender man arrives wearing an intricate robe, matte black on one side and shimmering white on the other. He quickly steps up to inspect the Wayfinder presented causing his robe to trail behind him, parting to reveal an ebony breastplate adorned with a two-toned mask.
As the mysterious man quickly departs, a laugh is heard from under Malist's hood. He lowers in softly, revealing black slicked hair that has gone silver on the sides. As he shakes his head, he pulls out a massive tome conencted to his waist with a long silver chain.
"This is certainly worthy of a page." he states as the book opens to reveal a blank page.
After finishing his note he looks around to realize that others saw this odd encounter.
"Was that message directed at all of us? Perhaps we are the squad called here...my name is Malist Elroya. The ever-writing hand of the All-Seeing Eye."
You discuss the appearance of the strange senior Pathfinder but make yourself ready to act.
At least the tickets the Society provided you get you access to some better seats in the Irorium.
The Irorium has five public entrances, the main gate and four side gates. A sixth gate to the south is a work entrance reserved for gladiators, arena workers, and other performers.
The main gates face north. On the mezzanine level, a 20-foot-wide stone arch opens onto an equally wide marble stairwell that descends out onto the street. The stairwell corridor is 300 feet long. At street level, the corridor can be barricaded with a pair of barred iron gates.
There are four side exits, all connected to the mezzanine level. Each exit leads through a 20-footwide stone arch that opens to an equally wide marble stairwell, which in turn descends out onto the street. On the mezzanine level, the stairwell corridor is 300 feet long. The upper level stairwells are 500 feet long. At the street level, the corridor can be barricaded with a pair of barred iron gates.
The service exit is located on the arena floor, just behind the makeshift stage. Only Irorium workers and performers are permitted to use it; anyone attempting to pass through the doors without permits is denied. All would-be trespassers are sent off by a platoon of surly guards. Beyond the entrance, a main passage connects to side chambers used by gladiators and arena workers. All creatures, gladiators, workers, and others involved with events use this route to gain access to the arena floor.
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The Irorium has four seating levels. You've been provided with mezzanine level seats. Those with mezzanine seats are permitted to sit anywhere in mezzanine or the three levels above. There are no specific assigned seats in each area; seating is general and all seating consists of stone or wooden bleachers.
These seats are on the lowest level, closest to the ring. They are reserved for important and wealthy attendees. Field seats are accessible by descending staircases from the mezzanine level.
This level sits just above the field seats, though it is entirely separated from them. The mezzanine has a slight overhang that extends over the last two rows of field seats. These seats are open to the general public; however, they cost a couple of gold pieces apiece (depending upon the event), and thus their occupants tend to be middle and upper class citizens. The mezzanine is the central hub of the Irorium, providing access to all other levels as well as the most of the exits. It connects to five of the Irorium’s exits: the main gate and the four side exits. From the mezzanine, several sets of stairs climb to the upper levels as well as descend to the field seats.
The Terrace consists entirely of open-air stone bleachers carved into the structure of the Irorium. The view of the field is still good enough to observe events. A terrace seat usually costs a few silvers. Stairs from the mezzanine provide access to the terrace.
This level consists of rickety wooden bleachers. Seats cost a few coppers, or are sometimes free, depending on the event. Stairs from the Terrace provide access to the grandstands
The top level of the Irorium is a broad, 15-foot-wide railed ledge that encircles the entire arena. It is so far away from the arena floor that it provides only a pitiful view of events below. Stairs from the grandstands provide access to the ledge.
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The grim dwarf was silent, his mind full of conflicted emotions.
Reliving a siege? By mock combat? I'm not sure I like that. Nothing can prepare you to a real siege, to the fury and blood and screams of a true battle. But at least it ensure the young ones don't forget the bravery of their ancestors. Yeah, maybe there's some good in it. Humans are strange.
He stirs in action, as the Pathfinders around say their own names. They all look strange to him, some managing to be even stranger than the others. Honor and respect are proper here and now.
He starts saying something, in the noble langage of the dwarves, and realises his mistake after a few words, switching to the common tongue, speaking slowly, as he visibly isn't used to it.
My name is Fraxon Stonebreaker, from the clan of Mormirr. I will come with you, to help.
"Welcome to Absalom!" The MC's voice, magically enhanced, booms throughout the arena. "On this glorious eve we gather again in celebration of our wonderful city and its freedom from tyranny. We present to you all—the Passion of the First Siege of Absalom! A performance great and terrible, reenacting Absalom’s victorious slaughter of Warlord Voradni Voon’s troops upon the city’s rocky shores. As the highlight of this year's performance, directly following the Passion, the Pathfinder Society has generously agreed to a public unveiling of its latest acquisition, a terrifying device dredged from ancient ruins in the Mwangi Expanse. And now, ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The performance is about to begin."
The Passion is long, tediously so, though the rowdy crowds more than entertain themselves, booing and cheering the performers and throwing rotten cabbages. In all, it turns out to be a fine afternoon of celebration.
Following the performance, a large stage is wheeled in to the west side of the Irorium. The stage is covered with a large curtain. Beneath is a scaled set of a ruin and in the center stands a bizarre, cage-like structure of weathered metal covered with strange runes and other ornate etchings. A man who fits the description of the Pathfinder known as Charvion Eater-of-Bones stands next to the cage.
"Good evening, friends! On this auspicious night I present to you an incredible spectacle, the type of which you have never seen before. From the darkest jungles of Mwangi, I have procured an ancient device, an artifact capable of ripping through the very cloth of our reality!"
Charvion touches something on the cage, and it falls open, slowly unfolding like a blossoming flower. He steps inside, and the cage begins to close around him, crackling with swirling tendrils of mystic, silvery ether. In an ominous and unearthly voice he bellows, "I am now fused to the ethereal plane—the realm of ghosts! Ask me what you will, and the dead shall answer through me! But be wary of what you seek, for you may not like the answers."
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"What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?" she shouted out.
A strange and hollow voice just says, "42."
Rosla asks: "Where is my towel?"
When she notices the raised eyebrows of her fellow pathfinders, the elf snaps:
"What!? It was a special gift from my mother, ok? But one day it was just gone and I couldn't find it, no matter how much I searched..."
Another strange voice says, "Under your bed."
A low, droning horn suddenly rises over the cacophonous throng. Soon after, it is joined by a second horn, then a third, then dozens. A moment later, the more perceptive spectators notice small black dots appear on the horizon.
These sound like ancient hunting horns.
These sound like Ulfen Linnorm horns, used in the Land of the Linnorm Kings to hunt dragons.
The spots grow steadily larger and the crowd begins to panic as it becomes clear what the spots are: a flight of dragons, headed directly toward the arena! Pandemonium reigns as spectators and staff alike abandon their positions and scramble toward the exits.
A massive black dragon dives through the center of the Irorium, spewing gouts of acid onto the arena floor. She heads straight for the small stage where Charvion stands within the cage. Striking with both claws, she plucks the artifact free from the base, shattering the stage and sending remnants of the mock ruins everywhere. The creature lifts into the air, with Charvion clinging to the bars and screaming in terror. The great beast continues her flight, winging off toward the Grand Lodge. A few short moments later, rattling explosions shake the city, and a shimmering column of pale, silvery light shoots up out of the grounds of the Grand Lodge and into the night sky.
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Moments after the black dragon snatches Charvion away, more dragons arrive. On their backs they carry small groups of goblins, and as soon as the dragons hit the ground, the goblins jump off and attack. Not all of the goblins are elegant in their dismount: some simply fall off their dragon, and others jump poorly and break bones, flailing about the arena and squealing in pain.
Black dragons swoop around overhead, spewing acid and occasionally diving into the crowd, using their fear aura to whip everyone into a panic. Patrols of goblins run amok through the Irorium, indiscriminately hacking at the frenzied crowds, screaming wildly, blocking exits, and sowing as much chaos as possible.
Three of the goblins move towards you, ready to attack.
OK, you all go before the goblins. I don't want to mess with the GM's map deck too much yet, so please describe what you do without a map. You may assume that the goblins are all within a single move action for you. You also can assume that you can get into flanking position, etc. just by saying you are.
Three agressive goblins with clearly ill intent approach you!
As the goblins are flatfooted they cannot retaliate and the goblin in red rags is already wounded by Rosla.
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Initiative
Daenerija
Fraxon
Malist
Rosla
Aegis
Goblin, yellow
Goblin, green
Goblin, red, -3
Goblin, yellow
Goblin, green
Goblin, red, -3
Aegis can hit the wounded goblin in red rags who drops from his wounds.
Fraxon‘s axe drops another goblin.
Initiative
Daenerija
Malist
Fraxon
Rosla
Aegis
Goblin, yellow
Goblin, green, disabled
Goblin, red, disabled
The last goblin is not hit by the holy book.
“ARGGGH!! I you slice up!!!“ it shouts.
It tries to retaliate but misses!
This time the holy book is very impactful and knocks out the goblin immediately.
The whole stadium is now in chaos as draconic and goblinoid creatures are fighting senior and junior pathfinders!!
Aegis knows that some of these dragons are black dragons that could easily kill the whole group. Better the junior pathfinders concentrate on the remaining goblins that are coming!!