The adventure begins in Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen’s office in Iceferry Lodge. Deeply engrossed in a large stack of reports, Bjersig doesn’t notice you enter. His dog companion, a husky named Mahki, nudges Bjersig’s arm to alert him to their presence.
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The deep tanned skinned Shisk widens his eyes when he sees the husky alerts the venture-captain. All in all he doesn't look so threatening with his rattan armor and his shapespeak mask. Maybe the dog is afraid because of the mask indeed.
Removing the mask, he says:
Don't be afraid. That's only us, Rinshu. Oh yes yes yes. That's only us.
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Norbwald is an armored purple haired gnome. They look a bit disheveled and down on their luck, somewhat slumped in their oversized walking chair frequently drinking from a container wrapped in a old canvas sack.
"Call me Norbwald, I used to run an orphanage for aspiring fighter children in Absalom, but ever since the new weight restrictions on the flickmace, business just hasn't been the same. The change literally killed me." jokes Norbwald nervously.
He'll them offer a sip of his bagged beverage to anybody that's polite enough to listen.
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A crash causes everyone to turn suddenly to a goblin that's fallen to the floor. You look up and realize that he might have been trying to climb a set of bookshelves for some unknown reason. He hops up quickly cracking a whip overhead in a small room and yells, "Tada!"
The whip cracks again overhead. "Scripio is here to get this party started! Da-da-Da-da!" He cracks his whip in time with his singing until he realizes that no one else is dancing. He looks around and sees the dog staring at him. The goblin lowers his whip and seems to shrink away. "Sorry," he says, clearly to the husky Mahki.
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Bork stumbles into the room a few paces behind the others, trying to act like he didn’t just get lost in a stairwell for three full minutes. His tool belt rattles and he is obviously breathing harder than strictly necessary.
He pauses just inside the doorway, taking stock. Tall people. Armored people. Masked people. That one’s drinking something probably illegal. That one just somersaulted off a bookshelf. He nods, satisfied Functional party. High unpredictability index. Good.
His eyes land on the whip-cracking goblin. He gives a sharp, approving nod. “Another goblin... and already airborne. Promising!”
Then, clearing his throat and standing up just slightly straighter he speaks to the room.
“Bork von Clankstein. Pathfinder. Engineer. Founder of THE Order of Things That Probably Shouldn’t Work But Somehow Do. We are very official.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, where a badge should be but isn’t. Possibly never was.
“And this…” He steps aside dramatically, holding out a small wrench as if it were a scepter,
"is my faithful companion and unlicensed bodyguard, Sir Good-Longshanks Armor Pants. Knight of the Ordery-thing. Shield of Goblinkind. Lone survivor of at least three near-functional prototypes.”
He gives the metal construct a proud smack on the side, which somehow causes a compartment to open and eject a warm biscuit.
“We are here to assist. Preferably before anything explodes. Or after. We’re flexible.”
The steel-plated construct straightens with a whirring hiss, pivoting smoothly at the waist before planting both fists squarely on his hips. His head tilts just enough to imply heroic confidence.
“I AM SIR GOOD-LONGSHANKS ARMOR PANTS, FIRST OF THAT NAME.”
He bows low, though somewhat stiffly.
“I SHALL NOT FAIL. UNLESS, OF COURSE, DUCKS ARE INVOLVED.”
A long beat. Then, slightly quieter:
“…THEY KNOW WHAT THEY DID.”
The Venture Captain continues his studies, showing no signs of noticing the commotion behind him. In fact, it is only when Makhi nudges his hand that he turns. The reason becomes evident soon enough.
Looking up from his studies, Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen smiles and scratches Mahki’s ear. “Welcome, Pathfinders,” he signs using Napsu-Sign. “Have a seat by the fire. Your mission will lead you through Irrisen, the land of eternal winter; warmth will be hard to come by over the next few days.” Bjersig removes his reading glasses before continuing to sign, “Queen Anastasia of Irrisen needs the Pathfinder Society’s aid. Bandit raids are disrupting trade routes between Irrisen and the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Unfortunately, these raids impact Iceferry as well.” Pointing to the stack of papers, he continues, “The bandits have no permanent base of operations, making it difficult for Queen Anastasia’s slow-moving military to locate their hideout, but using these reports, I’ve personally tracked them to an abandoned fort.
“I’ve learned they’re a motley crew of frost goblins, humans, wolves, and wargs. Surprisingly, a young winter witch, a Jadwiga, accompanies them as well. Their leader, a warg named Foroxicks, is extremely ruthless and violent. Take extra care when you encounter him. Fortunately, three red stripes that extend from his muzzle to his tail make him easy to identify.”
Pulling a map out from under the pile of reports, Bjersig signs, “Your mission is to infiltrate the fort using a hidden entrance I discovered while scouting. Once inside, disrupt the bandits’ operation. Remember, Queen Anastasia rules with compassion. You need not kill the bandits if other options are available. Stopping them from conducting raids is your primary goal.”
Fortunately, as part of your Pathfinder training, you are taught Napsu Sign so none of you have any trouble communicating with Bjersig.
Jadwiga are descendants of Baba Yaga, the Queen of Witches, who make up the noble class of Irrisen. Queens rule for 100 years and, while in power, appoint their children and grandchildren to govern the country. When Baba Yaga herself installs a new queen, the descendants of the previous ruler must find new roles in Irrisen society. Unsurprisingly, their hereditary right to rule instills a sense of entitlement and haughtiness in most Jadwiga.
Anastasia Nikolaevna is the first Queen of Irrisen who is not a winter witch. Many Jadwiga, who descend from the long line of previous winter witch queens, view her as an illegitimate ruler, and rebellion is a
constant concern.
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When von Clankstein introduces himself, Scripio stands at attention and salutes. "Scripio ze Whipper requests to join the Order!" He lowers his salute but remains at attention. "Scripio knows lots about Things That Probably Shouldn’t Work But Somehow Do!"
As if to demonstrate, the goblin hops up onto a chair to watch Torrsen explain their mission in Napsu Sign. "Queen Anastasia is new and not a Winter Witch! Many Jadwiga, who descend from the long line of previous winter witch queens, don't like her and think she's illegitimate, and want to break free!" He cracks his whip overhead and begins singing off key. "They want to break free! They want to break free!"
"But Jadwiga are descendants of Baba Yaga, the Queen of Witches (and major scary person), who make up the noble class of Irrisen. Queens rule for 100 years and, while in power, appoint their children and grandchildren to govern the country. When Baba Yaga herself installs a new queen, the descendants of the previous ruler must find new roles in Irrisen society...or go bye-bye!"
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“Accepted!” Bork declares, raising a worn glove in salute to Scripio. His voice is loud, his gesture grand, and his face full of pride. “I love the enthusiasm, the dramatic flair, and the borderline reckless whip technique. All strong indicators of potential greatness!”
“You’ll need to pass the formal hazing, of course. It involves fire, a bowl of questionable soup, and at least one ambiguous moral decision. But you’ve got the spirit. Welcome to the Order of Things That Probably Shouldn’t Work But Somehow Do!”
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As Captain Torrsen finishes his briefing, Bork listens with a furrowed brow and begins fiddling with a wrench, clearly bouncing between focus and inattention. He raises a hand halfway through and rattles off a series of questions, mostly in the direction of the map.
“Question the First! Any known magical defenses on the fort? I ask because last time I scouted a ruin I was struck in the face by an exploding door handle. Sir Goodshanks still won’t speak of it.”
He glares at SGS.
“Question the Second! What’s the terrain surrounding the fort? Snow drifts, forest, cliffs, frozen moats? Any hazards we might use to our advantage or that might use us for... what would a moat use us for anyways?”
Bjersig watches the goblins quizzically but answers their questions seriously.
“The fort is a small abandoned military outpost that has not seen use in hundreds of years. 18-foot walls enclose several buildings and provide excellent sight lines for guard patrols. The hidden entrance, an old sewer, is unguarded. It’s the best way in to avoid capture. I know of no magical defenses.
"There is no moat but, as it is in Irrisen, you can expect snow drifts. It is in hilly country but not near any cliffs and there is forest but the trees were cut back long ago and there has been little growth since.
"Unfortunately, no one has caught the Jadwiga's name. At least none of the victims who have survived. We only know that she is a Jadwiga."
The merchant ship, River Catch, sails along the Rimeflow River carrying you to the border city of Trollheim. From there, you travel by foot into Irrisen. Bjersig emphasized the importance of traveling light to avoid the bandits’ scouting parties. He’s confident they'll flee the fort at the slightest sign of danger. Following his map, you are able to cross the border without incident. Reaching the fort takes two days of hiking through the snow-covered wilderness, but Bjersig’s map is clear. It leads you to approach the fort from the north through a thick copse of trees, and the entrance to an old sewer system is hidden behind a thick growth of arctic moss and snow, exactly where Bjersig said it would be. Your timing is perfect. A blizzard sets in just as you enter the sewer.
After traveling through the empty sewer, you find an access point. Squeezing through an opening behind an iron maiden, they enter a vacant interrogation room.
Lining the northern wall of this large room, rusty iron maidens stand grim watch over long unused implements of torture. To the east, the doors to four prison cells hang precariously from broken hinges. Frost-covered metal gates bar the two exits from the room. The sound of raucous laughter and singing drifts through the darkness beyond the gates. The song repeats over and over, its lyrics taunting and mocking with glee.
"Through the snow and cold of night,
Raid and steal. We thump with might!
Queen can’t stop us. She’s no witch.
Queen can’t stop us. We’ll be rich.
"’roxicks kicked you in the head
Beat your brother. He be dead!
Queen can’t stop us. She’s no witch.
Queen can’t stop us. We’ll be rich!"
You notice the hinges on the unlocked gates are rusty and frozen. Trying to open them without dealing with that first is sure to alert the guards.
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Bork slides out from behind the iron maiden. “Oh good,” he says, quietly enough to keep from drawing attention. “They’re singing. Nothing bad ever happens when goblins start rhyming about kicking and riches.”
“We might be able to get the drop on them, but I recommend caution. Raucous music and broken doors usually means at least one person with an axe and poor impulse control.”
“Sir Goodshanks,” he mutters, “ready the noble fist. There may be thumping ahead.”
Quite surprisingly, Scripio's unconventional methods work and the doors are silent as they're opened, if a little stiff.
The singers are singing loud enough that the Pathfinders can approach without being noticed unless they are quite loud.
Water leaking through the ceiling forms rivulets of ice on the walls and floor leading to a worn table in the center of the room. A crate and several small casks displaying trade markings for Iceferry sit on its top. The crate’s half-eaten contents—finely cured meats—litter the floor. In the northeast corner, a man with both hands chained slumps against the wall. Streaks of dried blood stain his ripped shirt, and his face is heavily bruised.
Five Frost goblins sit at the table drinking, singing, and taunting the human prisoner chained to the wall
As the Pathfinders burst upon the scene, the Goblin's song breaks off irregularly, with one of them continuing to the next verse even as the others shout in surprise and reach for their weapons.
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Bork doesn’t wait for a cue—he hears the crack in the goblin chorus and springs into motion.
“Overdrive engaged!” he shouts, flipping a lever with a dramatic chunk.
Steam hisses from somewhere in Sir Goodshanks’ torso. The knight straightens with mechanical resolve as arcane pistons whir to life.
“Chaaaaarge, Sir Goodshanks! Teach them the consequences of mid-verse treason!”
The automaton lurches forward, stomping toward the nearest goblin with chivalric purpose and faint screeching from his knee-joints.
Bork, not to be outdone, raises his shortbow with a practiced snap and squints down the shaft toward the GREEN goblin.
“And I shall provide covering fire!”
He looses the arrow with a twang and a hopeful squint.
◆ Enter Overdrive (1 min): Crit: +4 damage for Bork+Goodshanks. Success: +2. Fail: +1.
◆ Command: Goodshanks
◆ Strike Green:
Sir Goodshanks’ optics glow faintly blue as his limbs whirr into optimal function. Overdrive engaged. Mission: Righteous Thumping.
He stomps forward through the snow-dusted corridor, each step clanking like a ceremonial drumbeat.
“FOR THE ORDER OF THINGS THAT PROBABLY SHOULDN’T WORK BUT SOMEHOW DO!”
One goblin barely has time to squeak before a steam-powered gauntlet descends in a noble arc.
“HAVE AT THEE, YE ROGUE!”
◆ Stride
◆ Strike: Green
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NorbwaLd's chair carries him forward, where he spends a moment to examine white before pulling out a child's drawing of a dog and rips it up, letting the shreds infuse his flickmace.
Then he swings at white twice.
Critical Success You remember the creature's weaknesses, and as you empower your esoterica, you have a flash of insight that grants even more knowledge about the creature. You learn all of the creature's resistances, weaknesses, and immunities, including the amounts of the resistances and weaknesses and any unusual weaknesses or vulnerabilities, such as what spells will pass through a golem's antimagic. You can exploit either the creature's mortal weakness or personal antithesis (see below). Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Success You recall an important fact about the creature, learning its highest weakness (or one of its highest weaknesses, if it has multiple with the same value) but not its other weaknesses, resistances, or immunities. You can exploit either the creature's mortal weakness or personal antithesis. Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Failure Failing to recall a salient weakness about the creature, you instead attempt to exploit a more personal vulnerability. You can exploit only the creature's personal antithesis. Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Critical Failure You couldn't remember the right object to use and become distracted while you rummage through your esoterica. You become flat-footed until the beginning of your next turn.
Personal Antithesis: 4
"Oh no, Osborn!" the red goblin exclaims as several of the Pathfinders pile on the Green Goblin.
Sir GoodShanks and his squire/creator/pit crew finish poor Osborn before Scripio can even whip him good.
Scripio adjusts his aim but Norbwald and Ironwolf eliminate the only other goblin close to him.
In only moments, the Pathfinders have eliminated almost half the unprepared guards.
Rinshu does a significant amount of damage to the red goblin while Scripio is kinder and gentler (but still violent) toward purple.
The goblins get their wits about them, rise and grab their weapons to attack.
Red is very displeased with the way Sir GoodShanks treated Oborn and slashes at him with his horsechopper.
Purple lashes out at the one who literally lashed at him.
Blue moves into position.
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Norbwald's chair carries him forward. There he tries to think of what purple would really hate before lashing out twice with his flickmace.
Critical Success You remember the creature's weaknesses, and as you empower your esoterica, you have a flash of insight that grants even more knowledge about the creature. You learn all of the creature's resistances, weaknesses, and immunities, including the amounts of the resistances and weaknesses and any unusual weaknesses or vulnerabilities, such as what spells will pass through a golem's antimagic. You can exploit either the creature's mortal weakness or personal antithesis (see below). Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Success You recall an important fact about the creature, learning its highest weakness (or one of its highest weaknesses, if it has multiple with the same value) but not its other weaknesses, resistances, or immunities. You can exploit either the creature's mortal weakness or personal antithesis. Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Failure Failing to recall a salient weakness about the creature, you instead attempt to exploit a more personal vulnerability. You can exploit only the creature's personal antithesis. Your unarmed and weapon Strikes against the creature also become magical if they weren't already.
Critical Failure You couldn't remember the right object to use and become distracted while you rummage through your esoterica. You become flat-footed until the beginning of your next turn.
Personal Antithesis: 4
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“Yes! That’s it! Knock his bolts loose, Sir! I don't care that he doesn't have bolts!”
He then shifts his attention toward the remaining goblins slightly to get a better angle, the whine of strained gears echoing as he draws and releases two arrows in rapid succession toward the red goblin.
“Come on, come on... stand still and catch one like a professional!”
◆ Command: Goodshanks
◆ Strike
◆ Strike
Sir Goodshanks takes a deliberate step forward, gears clicking and steam venting through a small gash in his chest plate. His armored arm coils back, and with the hiss of hydraulics, he throws a heavy punch toward the red goblin.
“STEADY NOW… FOR THE HONOR OF THE ORDER, YOU WILL BE FLATTENED.”
◆ Step
◆ Strike
Ironwolf successfully slashes blue and prepares to retaliate should he, or the others strike.
Just before knocking him completely out, Norbwald discerns from the purple one that these goblins likely report to a single powerful leader, though in a rowdy, chaotic way with little discipline.
Bork's first arrow puts red out of the fight and his second hits blue. A moment later Rinshu peppers that final goblin with iron slivers, eliminating it from the fight, as well.
The singing ends as the last of the frost goblins falls.
The prisoner, clearly the worse for wear from his captivity watches with slowly rising hope as you vanquish the goblins.
"Have you found my brother, Pytrdir?" he asks, hopefully through swollen lips and bruised jaw.
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Bork slings his bow across his back with a huff and surveys the fallen goblins. He kicks at one of the corpses, not hard, just enough to make it jingle with poor armor choices.
"Shoulda been better. Coulda been better. Made the rest of us look bad..."
He snorts and trudges over toward the prisoner, rummaging in his pack.
"Alright, alright, don’t faint. I’m here to help." He holds up a chipped tin container of thick, mystery colored grease and a very, very questionable knife.
"This one's for the joints, and this one's for... well... other stuff." He waves the knife vaguely near the prisoner's arm. "Don’t worry, I’m a professional. May I try to help you?"
SGS clicks ominously behind him, possibly in approval. Or possibly rebooting his damaged circuits.
"Well. I never said I was perfect."
Bork's healing proves dubious at best, but at least it doesn't hurt him more than it helps. Ironwolf's magical healing is more reliable and seals some of his wounds, but it is clear that only some long term rest will get the prisoner back to full health or even to being able to walk around the keep unaided.
He drinks the drank and his eyes widen in appreciation before he begins his story.
"My name is Mikoceer. My twin brother Pytrdir and I joined Foroxicks’s crew, hoping to earn some quick gold. Eventually, we became unhappy with Foroxicks’s cruel leadership style, and Pytrdir foolishly challenged the warg for control of the bandit operation. Foroxicks quickly and violently beat us both when I came to my brother’s aid during the fight. When I awoke, days had passed...I don't know how many, and I was chained to the
wall in this room, unaware of his brother’s fate," he explains.
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Bork wipes the unused grease from his fingers onto his cloak and leans toward SGS, giving a few practiced taps to a dented panel on his side.
“This one’s just a scratch, old friend. You’ve had worse falling down stairs.” With a twist of a valve, a puff of steam, and a few targeted hammer taps later, Sir Goodshanks lets out a staticky whir with the unmistakable air of a repaired toaster.
“There. Back to optimal... ish. We are ok with ish.”
He then turns his attention toward the prisoner, squinting at him with something between suspicion and sympathy. “So you’re a bandit. But like... a regretful one?”. He paces in a small circle, then leans in a bit more.
“This warg... Foroxicks. You say he’s cruel. What’s he doing with the loot? Where’s it all going? Is there a bigger plan, or just lots of punching and yelling and bad leadership structure?”
"He claimed the barracks room as his own. Calls it his 'throne room'" Mikoceer sneers with disdain at the warg's pride. "That's where he keeps all the loot, too. Piles it up around himself so he can look at it.
"I'm not proud of it, but yeah, basically, we signed up to make some fast coin rather than overthrow the new queen but we never agreed to what Foroxicks is doing. Wanton killing, the abuse he heaps on even the people working for him," he gestures to his own wounds. "We just weren't interested in being part of that."