Table GMs, it is March 4th in Greenwich, so you may begin!
Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus strides up to the large crowd and claps his hands together for attention. “Welcome Pathfinders, one and all! And welcome to our traveling venture-captains stationed abroad as well our honored guests! I am Marcos Farabellus, and on behalf of the Decemvirate, I welcome you to the Pathfinder Society’s annual Grand Convocation! I shall address all of the attendees later this afternoon to announce some of the Society’s greatest accomplishments over the past year and our plans for the future. In the meantime, I invite you to stroll about the campus, meet with your peers, and enjoy all the sites of the Grand Lodge. We have set up numerous challenges and contests so that you can show off your skills or sharpen them if need be. I’ll send around ushers when it’s time to assemble for the speeches on the north lawn. Enjoy!"
As you make your introductions, you are approached by a halfling dressed in the Mwangi style with a monkey on his shoulder. "Greetings, all. My name's Mander Wildthorn. This is Mawk, the most mischievous spellbook this side of the Gloomspires."
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Among crowd one of listeners is a child-size bush of barbed thorns stuffed inside a full plate armor and strapped on their back is a large sword and wooden shield. The leshy warrior is slowly creeping toward the halfling. "Greetings to you, Mander! I am called Knight Thornrose." the leshy introduces himself
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The Ifrit saunters in like he owns the place.
An imposing figure, he carries a whip in his hand and a sword at his side. Eldritch energy crackles up and down the length of the whip. His skin is a fiery red, with black horns coming from his forehead. His armor is a chain shirt trimmed with black and red leather.
"Lord Balrog, reporting in."
He looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of his favorite member of the Society, Paracountess Zarta Dralneen.
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Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus strides up to the large crowd and claps his hands together for attention. “Welcome Pathfinders, one and all! And welcome to our traveling venture-captains stationed abroad as well our honored guests! I am Marcos Farabellus, and on behalf of the Decemvirate, I welcome you to the Pathfinder Society’s annual Grand Convocation! I shall address all of the attendees later this afternoon to announce some of the Society’s greatest accomplishments over the past year and our plans for the future. In the meantime, I invite you to stroll about the campus, meet with your peers, and enjoy all the sites of the Grand Lodge. We have set up numerous challenges and contests so that you can show off your skills or sharpen them if need be. I’ll send around ushers when it’s time to assemble for the speeches on the north lawn. Enjoy!"
As you make your introductions, you are approached by a halfling dressed in the Mwangi style with a monkey on his shoulder. "Greetings, all. My name's Mander Wildthorn. This is Mawk, the most mischievous spellbook this side of the Gloomspires."
"That's great!" says a pale-looking elf woman in the robes of a scholar visibly fidgeting during the entirety of Marcos Farabellus's speech and the halfling's introduction.
A man exits one of the temporary privies and she dives through the door. There's some noise and a loud sigh.
A moment later a voice tinged with exhaustion says through the flimsy, closed door "It's really nice to meet you!" and "It's true what they say. You only really rent fair food and mead."
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"The Grand Convocation! What a glorious gathering of souls!" declares a frail man. Much of his body is bound within tightly-wrapped bandages, most of which can only be glimpsed in part from beneath the folds of his traditional Osirion robes and accessories. A medallion bearing a prominent spiral motif hangs around his neck.
"It is my humble honor to be among those at this gathering." he says with a deep bow. "My name is Razisus and I am the servant of death. No doubt, the Lady of Graves will summon me into her presence before her throne at the Boneyard. Until then, I see fit to cater to those that she has seen fit to summon before me, so as to help prepare them to be ushered into her audience."
"Alas, this day it would seem that our gathering would is more a matter of an exchange of information and a planning for the future--no matter how little of it may be left for any single one of us," Razisus continues, a hint of regret within his voice. "Thus, my services may not be of much need during this event."
As you make acquaintances with each other, you realize that there are a number of contests available, to test yourselves, impress the other agents or perhaps earn some rewards.
Staged at the menagerie and training area on the grounds, an agent demonstrates her skill at handling and taming unusual creatures from all over the Inner Sea. The more experienced the field agent, the more exotic the beasts.
Skills: Handle Animal, Intimidate, or wild empathy
Near the temporary structures west of the front gates, a large “talking circle” has been marked out on the grounds. There is limited seating but plenty of comfortable spots on the lawn. Pathfinders compete to tell the best story. Complete accuracy is optional if the tale is funny or entertaining enough. Experienced Pathfinders are expected to have grander tales. Music or dance is just as welcome if incorporated in the narrative.
Skills: Bluff or Perform (any)
A lore symposium is conducted in an outdoor lecture area in the Quadrangle. Agents do not literally compete in this event, but a meaningful contribution to the panel discussion garners attention and accolades from fellow scholars.
Skills: Linguistics or Knowledge (any)
An obstacle course designed to test agility is set up near the training grounds, where Pathfinders compete in a timed trial to be the quickest one through the course. A large chalkboard lists the best times and participants.
Skills: Acrobatics or Dexterity
A sleuthing event is hosted in a lecture hall in one of the eastern outbuildings, where several agents have set up a fake crime scene. An audience watches as a blindfolded Pathfinder is led into the middle of the scene. He then can remove his blindfold and has two minutes in which to examine the scene before replacing the blindfold. He then must describe from memory all of the clues and forensic evidence that he noticed to an audience and event organizer.
Skills: Heal, Perception or Survival
A trap mastery competition is staged within a spare room of the Mausoleum. Tables are laden with boxes, chests, cutaway sections of door handles, empty sarcophagi, and other common places where traps are concealed. Pathfinders know a trap is present and must disarm it with a time limit. Alternatively, agents can also create or modify a trap to confound their comrades for credit. All of the traps are nonlethal.
Skills: Craft (traps) or Disable Device
Pathfinders compete by seeing who can lift the heaviest weights. Gnomes, halflings, and other Small participants may opt for a handicap, and experienced agents are expected to be mightier than the newer recruits.
Skills: Strength
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Razisus follows the leshy to the sleuthing event.
"Well done, My Friend!" erupts the cleric as he observes Thornrose's success. "Perhaps, I, too, shall give it a go."
"Of course, were this a true crime, I would have more divine tools at my disposal. Thus, I am working with a more limited capacity than I would in teh field." Razisus adds, though it is not clear if he is boasting or simply seeking to lower expecations.
Razisus near-expertly describes wounds on a fake corpse.
With a rising confidence, Razisus decides next to partake of the lore symposium on the Quadrangle. When one Pathfinder scholar offers a translation of an ancient manuscript describing an auspicious birth having been announced by an angelic host, the cleric chimes in with a correction.
"Though I do not doubt your skill and attention to detail, I would suggest that--in this instance--there has been an error in your translation, for it would seem that you have inadvertantly used the pleural version of the noun rather than the more apt singular. For, while a birth of some significance may indeed be heralded by an other wordly being, such tasks are often the work of a single entity, the Steward of the Skein, rather than a full assembly of such."
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"I feel like I lost ten pounds in there!" proclaims the slender elf scholar upon exiting the port-a-privy. It draws more than a few laughs from the crowd causing her to blush and hurry away.
Feeling empty again she decides to give the festival's food another try. With food court on the other end of the grounds she decides that a shortcut is in order and she cuts through some of the intervening acts and demonstrations focused solely upon her goal of getting a big, greasy shank of turkey--and a lot of napkins.
It is because of this that she does not notice the obstacle course unfortunately placed in her way.
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The Balrog (aka Lord Balrog) is good at a few things, but his best skill is being frightening.
He enters the menagerie, snarling at the beasts and cracking his whip. Arcane power races up and down the length of it. "Back! Back! Fear me!"
He paces, cracking the whip some more and roaring.
"Know your master! Behold my power! I AM "
Relatively satisfied with his performance, he moves on to the talking circle.
"So there I was, at the Passion of the First Siege of Absalom. They didn't put me on the stage, a real shame I tell you, because the cast they had were a bunch of stiffs. Just no respect for the craft, you know?
Anyway, this Charvion Eater-of-Bones guy was there with some arcane device or other, but when it gets good is when the attack began and the goblins showed up. Goblins! Hah. Me and this halfling Xavier, we were carving our way through them like a hungry Urgathoan at a funeral.
'What do you call an arena full of dead goblins?' 'A good start'! Hah!"
The crowd seems not as pleased with Lord Balrog's performance as he is.
"Sorry. Dead crowd. I guess that Urgathoa crack hit too close to home?" Losers.
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As Lord Balrog is about to leave the menagerie, there is a sudden commotion from under the nearby craft-services table - and a sudden flurry of red, purple, and the wildly waving black of an axe rushes out and corners him in the menagerie, and a pair of burning, beady eyes, set in a somewhat lean face framed by a neat quadrangular beard, staring him right in the...abdomen.
"" The sudden arrival echoes. He switches his axe to one hand, and pulls out an iron icon shaped like a serpent's head, which he brandishes in the other. "What is your business upon this plane without prior sanction or summoning!? What nefarious Abyssal deeds seek you here?! Confess! "
Before Balrog or anybody else can react, the intense little man rushes over to the sleuthing event....
"AH-HA! Thought you could hide from ME, eh??? Didn't expect anyone here would've seen your past history down at the Docks?! Well I did, and with that in mind it was a simple matter to establish motive AND opportunity in this most improbable indiscretion! You are hereby charged with no fewer than 4 infractions against the Absalom Seamstress' Guild Bylaws, 2 against the 4371 Inner Sea Convention On Espionage and Disguise, and 3 against the 4619 Church of Naderi Revised Synod On Hygiene and Comportment In Pursuit of Deliverance, and 1 against local zoning restrictions concerning the dereliction of chariots in peacetime!"
Thornrose and Raszius make some excellent observations about the false crime scene, mostly regarding the victim. Mikahil quotes enough legal to thoroughly baffle the judges, though he happens to be right about them.
Raszius also gives a well-attended lecture on his deity.
Solemnia hustles through the obstacle course on the way to the garderobe.
The Balrog frightens the wild animals into doing what he wants them to. They skitter back to their cages when Mikhail confronts the ifrit.
The storytellers are less impressed with him.
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As Lord Balrog is about to leave the menagerie, there is a sudden commotion from under the nearby craft-services table - and a sudden flurry of red, purple, and the wildly waving black of an axe rushes out and corners him in the menagerie, and a pair of burning, beady eyes, set in a somewhat lean face framed by a neat quadrangular beard, staring him right in the...abdomen.
"" The sudden arrival echoes. He switches his axe to one hand, and pulls out an iron icon shaped like a serpent's head, which he brandishes in the other. "What is your business upon this plane without prior sanction or summoning!? What nefarious Abyssal deeds seek you here?! Confess! "
The Balrog pulls out his whip and sword. While neither weapon is exactly Flaming, the eldritch violet flames of Arcane Strike are evocative. He draws himself up to his full (unenhanced) height.
"Well, now. It's nice to be recognized. Since you asked, most of my nefarious deeds involve Paracountess Zarta Dralneen and would shock you to your core."
"But, in my spare time, I enjoy sticking a thumb in the eye of Asmodeus." He turns his head and spits after he says the name. "Overrated has-been."
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Solemnia hustles through the obstacle course on the way [from] the garderobe [to the food concessions].
Letting her nose guide her, Solemnia hurries through the center of the Talking Circle making hurried excuses as she passes through discussion.
And then the young elf scholar blunders into the mausoleum housing the trap mastery competition seemingly unaware of the possible nonlethal danger she is in.
Exiting with a bear trap attached to the back of her robe, she says wonderingly "I should have taken that left turn at the arbalest."
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The Balrog pulls out his whip and sword. While neither weapon is exactly Flaming, the eldritch violet flames of Arcane Strike are evocative. He draws himself up to his full (unenhanced) height.
"Well, now. It's nice to be recognized. Since you asked, most of my nefarious deeds involve Paracountess Zarta Dralneen and would shock you to your core."
*Bump* "I'm Sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt. Carry on!"
Thornrose wanders from crime scene to weightlifting contest "Ooh, this looks so fun!"
Solemnia rushed through the weightlifting competition sees a heavy weight seeming casually set upon a small shrub. She give the bush a spot and helping to move the weight to the ground before heading on her way.
"There. That should help, little fellow."
Thornrose and Solemnia combine to almost get the weight off the ground.
The Balrog does not convince anyone that he knows Dralneen from Dreng. Solemnia, however, manages to cobble together an interesting story.
Solemnia does manage to disarm a trap in an amusing yet harmless way.
Over the course of the competitions, the Pathfinders hear some interesting things...
A large number of venture-captains posted abroad have made a concerted effort to attend the Grand Convocation this year. There is speculation that there are interesting plans for the year ahead and that they’re jockeying for consideration from the Decemvirate.
The principal discovery of the sky citadel of Jormurdun has been moved to a strange chamber with no corners along the exterior walls, floor, and ceiling. This is to help shield it from strange otherworldly entities. This year’s keynote address is allegedly about the artifact discovered in Jormurdun, the Sky Key.
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After a while, Solemnia returns from the concessions with an overpriced pint mug engraved with the words 'Grand Convocation 4715', a greasy, overpriced turkey leg bundled in cloth napkins, an overly-large overpriced tunic with the words 'I was told there would be Dragons' embroidered into it with the text from her tankard (in the same font) writ beneath.
With her mug free of mead she uses it to collect some water from a fountain to go back and water the overburdened shrubbery. Unfortunately for her, the curious topiary is not where she thought it was planted, and she spends a while wandering the grounds with a mug full of water asking people if they have seen a shrubbery.
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Figuring that it can't hurt to test his mettle and aware that one only has so many days on this plane during which to try new experiences, Razisus heads to some of the other events.
At the menagerie and training area, he tries his hand at getting a dog to "heal".
Pleased with his performance, he decides to try to perform some storytelling.
Brimming now with confidence, he dares to attempt something more physical, testing his agility near the training grounds.
Realizing that he has limits, he foregoes the trap mastery competition altogether, but gives in to temptation to try his hand at weights.
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With a light step, a slender figure approaches you in expensive silks and jewels. The most attention is attracted to her by her bright and sweet aroma, like that of juicy fruits, which causes slight salivation to any person next to her. She is silent and thoughtful, but when she speaks her voice almost hypnotizes the listener. Her face, hidden by silks, is hidden for a reason: she is a member of a rare race, ghorans. Whether she fears being eaten by humans (such acts of barbaric cannibalism still happen here and there), or simply does not wish to draw attention to herself, is not clear. In any case, she attempts to remain incognito. Introductions reveal that she is Alecto. When communicating with her, besides thoughtfulness, you also notice a lack of interest in knowledge. It appears that intuition means more to her than logic.
However, she can tell you something interesting from the rumors. She says that the Decemvirate has spared no expense on this year’s Grand Convocation and has reached out to as many Pathfinders as possible and underwritten some costs when necessary. This is an effort to demonstrate their appreciation to field agents, repair any frayed relationships, and celebrate a successful year.
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Lord Balrog, undeterred by failure, continues to swagger around the grounds attempting one contest after another with great confidence.
He saunters over the lore symposium. After listening for a few minutes, his patience wears thin and he feels compelled to interject.
"Cayden's Mighty Codpiece! None of what you just said is true! Get your nose out of a book and go dig in some ruins sometime." His contributions are... less than helpful.
The obstacle course is a little more his speed, as he completes it swiftly, though not quite as swiftly as Solemnia.
This will be even easier once I have wings.
At the sleuthing event, he is caught trying to peek from underneath the blindfold.
"Come on! This is silly," he protests as he is ushered out of the lecture hall. Fortunately, the Society has a generally high tolerance for rule-breakers, and ejection from the contest is the only consequence he faces.
Lord Balrog skips the trap event entirely, then moves on to weightlifting. He considers using his Enlarge Person ability. It really enhances the Balor similarities, makes for a great visual, and would help him lift greater weights. But, he reasons, I might need to kill someone later today, and it's easier if I can get big. So he does his best without. While not an outstanding effort, it is more than the shrubbery was able to lift, and so he feels good about that.
A loud voice blares through the din of the assembly. “Pathfinders, please get settled. All campus-wide events are closing. All venture-captains and field agents are invited to gather on the north lawn for refreshments and the keynote address in several minutes.”
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"...So finally I said, 'Give THE RACK a turn'!"
"'Turtles all the way down'? What infidel nonsense is that supposed to be?!? It ought to be serpents, surely...."
"AAAAAAAAAHHH notmyhat notmyhat notmyhat...!"
Mikhail manages to create a most devious trap from the components the other contestants had been neglecting: A fondue pot, a desiccated frog, a jar of sesame seeds, a few vials of mysterious powders in various shades of pale, a sheep's bladder, a bird's nest and its contents, a few large steel bolts, and a box of chocolates.
One look at the heavy armaments Mikhail lugs around and it's easy to see why he is actually quite well-trained in the lifting of heavy things.
Mander approaches each of you in turn, congratulating or sympathizing with you for the results of your contests. Either way, he praises your skills and says he hopes he gets to work with you in the future.
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Alecto will try to communicate with Knight Thornrose. It's not often that she meets another plant humanoid in the Society. She will ask him what brought him to the Pathfinders and tell him that her appearance in this organization is the behest of the Green Mother. For her, this seems to be an exhaustive answer, she does not ask "why" questions.
“Greetings! Once again, I am Marcos Farabellus, Master of Swords, and it is my distinct privilege to welcome you all to the annual Grand Convocation of the Pathfinder Society! We have sent expeditions throughout the Inner Sea and beyond—from Tian Xia to Jalmeray to Irrisen, we have explored, worked together, and uncovered more mysteries about our world than ever before. It has been an incredibly successful year for the Society, and the ones responsible stand before me today: each and every one of you who continues to make the Society great. On behalf of the Decemvirate and your venture-captains, you have our sincerest thanks.
“As most of you know, one of our greatest triumphs of the decade has been the location and exploration of the lost sky citadel, Jormurdun. Those of you who joined the Jormurdun expedition may recall the unusual artifact that we discovered on that mission: the Sky Key. The key gave us a momentary glimpse of the past—an unparalleled opportunity to meet and interact with a lost civilization. Unfortunately, the key was not whole. So, for the past year, teams have scoured Golarion in search of its missing components. I’m pleased to announce today, the Sky Key is whole! Soon we will again bridge the divide to ages past and…”
The Master of Swords pauses for a brief, questioning second as he peers into the air above the gathered crowd. There, an immense Glyph of the Open Road hangs in midair before booming an angry retort. “You’ll do what? Steal the past? Like you steal everything else?!”
Farabellus’s eyes narrow as he stares at the symbol. “Who are you and who put you up to this?”
“The better question is, ‘What am I?’” the voice retorts. “I’m not a liar, and I’m not a hypocrite. Nor do I rob captives of their livelihood, claiming the moral high ground of historical preservation!” With each accusation, cracks appear in the Glyph of the Open Road before the whole symbol ignites and drips flaming tears upon the crowd below. “But the Pathfinder Society is that and more, and today it shall answer for its countless crimes!”
Screeches from above announce scores of winged humanoids launching themselves from Skyreach’s many roofs, just as howls from the menagerie accompanied by explosions from the outbuildings that send painful reverberations through the Grand Lodge. The Pathfinder Society is under attack!
Sir Laribold Croome, an immaculately dressed Taldan nobleman scrambles for cover behind a table, which his halfling manservant helpfully flips onto its side. Catching his breath, the Taldan fumbles for his monocle before addressing the nearby Pathfinders. “Monsters and villains are attacking all over the grounds,” he states with perfect articulation, punctuated by a crossbow bolt that embeds itself in his makeshift barricade. “Spread out, patrol the grounds, and snuff out trouble as you find it. If you should discover any clues about what the devil is going on, report back here at the base of Skyreach.”
He pulls his sword cane free from its sheath and raises it overhead. “Look alive, and show initiative,” he shouts before performing an elaborate dueling salute in the direction of an elephant and setting off after it.
From this point, you can choose which area they wish to explore, beginning with either the south campus, northeast campus, or northwest campus. You may not currently enter Skyreach. Each area has a threat level, indicating how the defenders are faring against the invaders. Currently, each area has a threat level of 'red', indicating that Pathfinder defenses are in disarray, and the invaders are at large. The threat level will change based on the actions of all groups of agents.
At threat level red, an aid token has a 50% chance of failing to function because no Pathfinders are available to help. The token is not expended, but there is no effect, and it cannot be used until the next round
Unlike some other specials, there is no indication what kind of encounter you will have when visiting an area. There is a map of the grand Lodge showing each area's threat level on >Slide 3<, but that and what you learn are all you have to go by while making decisions.
To keep things moving, I will start an encounter when at least two people agree on a direction to go. So. what district would you like to start in?
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The intense little man looks about him with a frustrated, bewildered expression.
"I...I did not expect this," He says to himself in dismay.
"RIGHT! Let's consider what we're dealing with here," He says after quickly pulling himself together. "Their chief weapon is obviously surprise, surprise and terror - TWO! They have TWO chief weapons: Surprise, terror, an almost fanatical antipathy toward the Pathfinder Society...that's THREE! A diverse array of premiere weaponry at their disposal...that we will simply have to prove ourselves their superiors in wielding!!!"
"I say we head northeast! NOBODY expects a counterseige to start from the northeast!"
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....
Screeches from above announce scores of winged humanoids launching themselves from Skyreach’s many roofs, just as howls from the menagerie accompanied by explosions from the outbuildings that send painful reverberations through the Grand Lodge. The Pathfinder Society is under attack!
Sir Laribold Croome, an immaculately dressed Taldan nobleman scrambles for cover behind a table, which his halfling manservant helpfully flips onto its side. Catching his breath, the Taldan fumbles for his monocle before addressing the nearby Pathfinders. “Monsters and villains are attacking all over the grounds,” he states with perfect articulation, punctuated by a crossbow bolt that embeds itself in his makeshift barricade. “Spread out, patrol the grounds, and snuff out trouble as you find it. If you should discover any clues about what the devil is going on, report back here at the base of Skyreach.”
He pulls his sword cane free from its sheath and raises it overhead. “Look alive, and show initiative,” he shouts before performing an elaborate dueling salute in the direction of an elephant and setting off after it.
IS THIS PART OF THE SHOW!?" Enthuses the young elf scholar looking at it all in wide-eyed wonder. "Drat! I knew that I should have picked up one of those toy wooden swords at the concessions. Now which way were those concessions again?"
She consults her fair event map.
Despite Mikhail's overwhelming logic, the group decides to head to the south.
This tall statue is cast in the likeness of Durvin Gest, the most famous Pathfinder of all time. Carved in a likeness of the adventurer in his later years—still dashing and bearing an assortment of scrolls and adventuring gear—the statue stares intently off into the distance. Beneath the statue, pedestals stand adorned with angelic figures and elaborate friezes showing some of the more memorable scenes from the Pathfinder’s long and celebrated career.
Two of the stone angels from the statue come to life and attack the Pathfinders.
Round 1 - bolded may go
Solemnia
Balrog
Blue
Razisus
Mikhail
Thornrose
Alecto
Red
Despite Mikhail's overwhelming logic, the group decides to head to the south.
This tall statue is cast in the likeness of Durvin Gest, the most famous Pathfinder of all time. Carved in a likeness of the adventurer in his later years—still dashing and bearing an assortment of scrolls and adventuring gear—the statue stares intently off into the distance. Beneath the statue, pedestals stand adorned with angelic figures and elaborate friezes showing some of the more memorable scenes from the Pathfinder’s long and celebrated career.
"Wow! You don't see that everyday! Makes me wish there was a small machine or magical device that you could carry around and it would make small oil paintings of things you saw." says an unfamiliar woman in white make-up and a tight fitting jester's motley in the party's midst. She's holding a small burlap sack full of warm popped corn and watching with fascination as the statues come to life. She turns to Razisus and says "Maybe I can find a caricaturist? Fairs like this are usually lousy with them. Tell them not to move! I'll be right back!"
She's about to dash off to find a caricaturist when she hears Balrog's metal anthem.
"Kill, Kill!
Hate, Hate!
Murder, Murder!
Mutilate!"
"Well, I should at least stay for the chorus. This was our class song." she explains to everyone. Then she leaps up the ('difficult' to negotiate) steps, shouting her battlecry "COMIN' THROUGH!!" with her lightweight flail and sack of popcorn held high. She rolls up on the nearest statue as it is disentangling the more Rococo bits of its design from the rest of the monument and overhead slams the bag containing her snack over the statue's head.
The Balrog displays his unmatched skill at writing lyrics.
Madcap encases the creature to the left in popcorn, preventing it from observing the Pathfinders.
The blue angel now has a convenient target (which it can't see) and starts bashing Madcap with its arm-like constructions.
An attempt was made.
Round 1 - bolded may go
Madcap
Balrog
Blue (blinded)
Razisus
Mikhail
Thornrose
Alecto
Red
Madcap encases the creature to the left in popcorn, preventing it from observing the Pathfinders.
The blue angel now has a convenient target (which it can't see) and starts bashing Madcap with its arm-like constructions.
An attempt was made.
The strange harlequin leaps, ducks and dodges every attempt. She taunts and blows raspberries at the thing. "Nya, nya!" *pbbbt!*
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"...BAH! BAH-hah-hah-hah! These are but unscrupulous street-buskers painted to look like statues! NOBODY deceives the Heretical Inquisition!"
With that, he bounds up next to Madcap to deliver a merciless swing with his flail - a large, genuinely impressive piece topped with three heads of solid silver shaped like diabolic serpents' faces.
"Vicar Mikhail Ximenez, atyourservice, how do you do, and what do you here?" He mutters to the newcomer once they are side by side.
Razisus protects himself and approaches.
Mikhail steps up and bashes one of the creatures on the head. The blow lands, but doesn't seem to harm it. Odd for a painted busker.
Thornrose examines one of the creatures as they approach.
Alecto moves in and trips one of the creatures.
The red-tinged creature stands, steps toward Thornrose and takes a swing.
The stony arm goes wide.
Round 2 - bolded may go
Madcap
Balrog
Blue (blinded)
Razisus
Mikhail
Thornrose (studied red)
Alecto
Red (prone)
"...BAH! BAH-hah-hah-hah! These are but unscrupulous street-buskers painted to look like statues! NOBODY deceives the Heretical Inquisition!"
With that, he bounds up next to Madcap to deliver a merciless swing with his flail - a large, genuinely impressive piece topped with three heads of solid silver shaped like diabolic serpents' faces.
"Vicar Mikhail Ximenez, atyourservice, how do you do, and what do you here?" He mutters to the newcomer once they are side by side.
"Well!" The clown says affronted. "I didn't expect the dwarven inquisition!"
She looks Ximenez down and lower down while the monument wrestles with the burlap sack stuck over its head in the background.
Suddenly, the jester grins and performs a cartwheel into a hand-spring and lands behind the flailing statuary.*
She smacks the thing with the 'fist' of her chain and ball upside its stone head.