It began with Runelord Karzoug rising from slumber, then escalated with the return of Runelord Alaznist. Now, the most powerful runelord of them all is poised to have his vengeance...
Part 1: Lord of the Trinity Star
Chapter 1: The Rising Star
For thousands of years, the remote ruins of Xin-Shalast, once the capital city of Runelord Karzoug’s nation, lay hidden and mostly forgotten in the inhospitable heights of the eastern Kodar Mountains. Karzoug chose this place as his capital for its remoteness, so the mountains themselves could offer protection from his enemies (among whom he counted other runelords, particularly Alaznist), but also because layers of reality here between Golarion and the world of dreams were thin—his alliances with nightmares from Leng helped to secure his position of power over the final centuries of Thassilon’s rule.
After his rise and defeat, Xin-Shalast’s rediscovery by modern adventurers led to a rush of exploration from those eager to claim the ancient powers within the ruined city, but it wasn’t until Sorshen awoke and relocated here to make the city her own that Xin-Shalast began to once more thrive. Sorshen rebuilt the protections and magical wardings that kept the high-altitude city comfortable and safe, and in the following years, she continued to build the city into something she hoped would become a destination for travelers, traders, and artisans from across the world.
Yet despite her power, the city’s remoteness kept Xin-Shalast from recovering as quickly as she hoped. To the west, Runelord Belimarius was achieving much greater success in revitalizing her section of New Thassilon, but her stubborn clinging to the old ways was damaging to New Thassilon’s viability as a productive nation in the modern world. Sorshen knew it would be but a matter of time before Belimarius’s warmongering and cruelty would bring about her doom, even as she did her best to temper Belimarius’s actions in hopes that, some day, she might have a similar epiphany as did Sorshen.
Today, Sorshen has admitted to herself that Belimarius is unlikely to ever achieve such a change of heart, and so she’s taken steps to “rebrand” Karzoug’s old city. First among these changes has been to rename the city to Xin-Eurythnia, after her old capital (now largely in ruins or buried deep under the modern, thriving city of Korvosa). She’s recruited a wide range of powerful spellcasters and creatures to aid in the rebuilding of the city, and with the aid of the church of Nocticula, has largely positioned Xin-Eurythnia as a place that welcomes all exiles and creators from oppressed lands—not just those that share a border with New Thassilon.
But through it all, the city’s remoteness remains a struggle. And thus comes Sorshen’s latest gambit—the creation of a portal hub she calls the Circle of Open Hands. When it’s activated, a stable portal will manifest between Xin-Eurythnia and the City at the Center of the World—Absalom. After that, she can extend her portal to other places around the world, in hopes of turning Xin-Eurythnia into a hub for trade and travel. There’s still much to be done before such visions can become reality, not the least of which is to secure the cooperation of other distant locations like Goka, the Magaambya, and other key places across the world, but for now, the activation of a magical portal between Xin-Eurythnia and Absalom is first.
Many of her allies are already in Absalom, ready to receive the portal’s magical link, but it’s in her city of Xin-Eurythnia that Sorshen intends to lead the opening ceremonies. To this event, she’s invited heroes from across the world to take part, hoping that they can see her earnestness and bring back to their homelands word that the old Runelord Sorshen is no more, and that Xin-Eurythnia can be a revolutionary trade partner in the future. Heroes, she’s come to realize, are among the world’s true movers and shakers, for they step in to accomplish what the rulers of nations cannot—and by some definitions, things even the gods themselves hesitate to do.
You are among the heroes Sorshen has invited to her city. You have just arrived in the mountain stronghold of Xin-Eurythnia to attend the activation of the great portal. You have a few days before the ceremony to enjoy your privileges as honored guests.
Ranek walked the streets of the city, quite interested in the differences between Xin-Edasseril and Xin-Eurythnia. Xin-Edasseril had been a fairly low-lying city, mostly flat, with wide, paved streets, generally laid out in a circular manner. Xin-Shalast was laid out in a longer and more angular pattern, yet the streets were just as flat despite its mountainous location. He strongly suspected that the Runelords of Greed and their servants shaped the mountain to fit the city, as opposed to shaping the city to the lay of the land. Looming over the entire city, of course, was Karzoug's visage, carved into the mountaintop, and his fortress, the Pinnacles of Avarice. Idly, he wondered if Sorshen would grant him permission to study it. Surely there was yet more knowledge to be discovered up there, and if he could find the spell needed to avoid suffocating outside the safe zone, he would be quite capable of doing so.
Many of the inhabitants he saw glanced his direction, taking in his emerald robes over black breeches and boots. The robe billowed slightly as he walked, and the butt of his halberd quietly pinged off the street as he used it similarly to a walking staff. A matching pointed hat rested atop his shoulder-length brown hair, which was just beginning to gray, and his brown eyes roamed over the crowd, mentally cataloguing each of those he encountered.
As he roamed the Entertainment District, wanting to get the lay of the land before the ceremony in a few days, he happened upon a forum where several scholars were debating some of the finer points of the various Sins. Stopping, Ranek listened for several moments, and then, at a lull, spoke up, saying, "May I offer an alternative point of view?"
When Torisen arrives in the city, he takes the opportunity to admire the new art markets sprouting up, while talking with his familiar, "Never thought I'd be walking the streets of Xin-Shalast, Geoffrey. Old Karzoug built it all the way up here to keep the likes of us out!"
"Just one more thing I couldn't foresee," the aging diviner sighs.
He wanders the art galleries, where he finds one artist, inspired by imagery from out of Thassilon's past, making icon paintings of Lissala in her guise as the Order of Virtue.
Disgusting. To think that the Queen of Bakrakhan would be forced to stoop to visiting once-Shalast as an invited guest rather than as a conqueror. Karzoug's visage stares down at her from the mountainside and she sneers back, the beauty of her fleshsculpted face vanishing into the contempt that comes to her more naturally than smiles.
No surprise that even as the first to rise in this benighted land, you immediately outreached yourself. Well, I shall learn from the failures of the fallen, even as circumstances force me to reckon with... She stares at the throngs that move happily through what is now Xin-Eurythnia, and a shiver of fear hides behind her eyes. ...The Victor.
A merchant approaches her with some trifle and she nearly incinerates him for the affront. Abyss take them all! Where has that Ranek gotten to? I require an interlocutor.
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A young woman sits in a lively tavern, listening with rapt attention to the stories around her, a drink sitting untouched in front of her. She is average in height, a tad on the plump side in a plain blue dress and a pair of oversized round glasses on her nose.
"And where you from, Lassie" a slightly handsome burly type crashed down on the chair next to her, making her shift with a gliding grace away from him.
"Sandpoint" she said with hesitation "I am not-" wanting company, the woman was going to say but he ignored that, leaning closer, too close, so close his alcohol breath should have fogged up her glasses. But they don't.
"Ain't that where that witch ghost killer goes about killing cause she's a killer." He likes that word, he does, she thought.
"Not a killer." A barmaid with a hard face but kind eyes (at least when flashing to the young woman) slammed down another mug for the gent "She's a hero I hear, killing them giants that tried to kill everyone. Hells I heard she beheaded a dragon with that sword of hers too. All that and on tops, threw an abusive limp of a husband out a window later that week, second story too."
The maid left, the man in love with the word 'killer' washed away his annoyance and leaned in again, only to see his little prey slipping through the crowd with an odd evasive grace.
He followed, adjusting himself, and thinking all sorts of wrong thoughts. She ducked into an alley, he followed thinking she was attempting to get away from him, trying to ignore Him. Seething in righteous need for validation, he reached out to grab her and show her why she should pay attention to him.
But his hand went through her arm, no resistance, he looked in confusion as she turned with no fear on her now thinner and desperately lovely face "Iesha Foxglove"
"What?" he was thick.
"Iesha Foxglove of the Last call. The witch ghost killer that goes about killing cause she is a killer, that is her name... my name." wounds appeared on her pretty face as the color bled out of the small woman, skin turning a pale white as her flowing skirts became gray, her bare feet rising an inch off the ground, toes brushing the cobble. A thick battered iron breastplate covered her chest. A sword longer than herself, wider than three hands, and screamed a fear that made him want to wet himself was in her slender hand.
"Last night your name was called, Bevor Tallow. You have hurt someone, several someones." her voice rose from the freezing depths to burn in her white filmed uncovered eyes. "You will not again.
Sometime later the plain woman with round glasses stepped back in the tavern and nodded to the barmaid, who relaxes more than one could ever know, thoughts of the girl she loves more than life itself and... well thoughts that should have asked for death instead of a shattering of being Safe. "Them at the Pegasus' Cracked Hoof wouldn't mind a visit, dear one, and well, more than a few others if you got the time."
"It is all I have." the young woman says simply, and left for the Hoof.
Ranek spends the day engaging in lively debates with his fellow scholars. At one point, he finds himelf caught up in a high-stakes debate, and not only that, he emerges as the victor! The other wizards applaud his knowledge and reward him appropriately.
***
Torisen spends the day admiring a wide range of artwork, though he is unable to offer any particularly inspiring insights to their creators.
***
While Alaznist doesn’t discover any strange hidden secrets, the time spent exploring the city was "fun!"
***
After tending to her dark tasks, Iesha finds a prize among her victim's possessions...
***
At the end of the first day in Xin-Eurythnia, you return to the inn you are staying at to settle down for the night...
Iesha sat alone in the inn, a cooling cup of tea and a plate with food pushed around on before her. This time she had imagined what an older her would look like. If fate had allowed her to marry another and lived. Her long black hair was braided down her back, white dominating a lock and peppering here and there. Crow's feet settled beside her eyes. More color in her dress than normal, battling time with fashion maybe. Still she imagined they would be comfortable more than anything. An odd feature being a whip on her belt, a tugging of that weapon had her take it when she rarely took anything from her tasks. She was still getting used to it, so merging it into her image was harder.
That is the version of Iesha sitting and listening tonight. The bartender had heard and set a place for her, like several had throughout the day. No whispers or tales needing her attention right now, so she just listened to gossip and sighed a breathless sigh of rest.
"I wish I could still eat" the middle aged woman let out of moment of regret. The stew smelled amazing.
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"It smells better than it tastes," Torisen says as he settles in on the bench next to Iesha. "A third rate stew, at best. You just can't get the ingredients up here."
"What brings you here, spirit?" He asks, showing no discomfort at chatting with a ghost. "I sense that you are far from home.
If Iesha looks at him closely, she sees phantoms just barely out of sight, hovering over the solid, middle-aged man. One seems a young child, but with the pointed ears and ageless eyes of the fey. Another is little more than a faceless warrior, silently swinging a sword that passes through other tavern goers without them taking notice. Finally, a long serpent is twined around Torisen's body, it's head out of sight, tucked within his shirt.
"I'm also far from home--Xin-Edasseril in my case. You can call me Tori."
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Iesha startles at the word spirit. He can tell. Of course Iesha feels it ridiculous that most don't. Her gift might create the illusion of life, but she is horrible at remembering the particulars to complete the illusion. Walking is the worst, she cannot remember the sway that is ingrained in the living, faking breathing though is just tedious.
This odd man doesn't seem to mind though. With a small frown to the deceptive stew she looks at him "I was invited by the queen.". She chews her lip for a moment "I am not sure why though. Maybe attempted exorcism? What about you... Tori? I am Iesha." remembering the particulars of casual conversation isn't easy either, since she got the order wrong there.
Ranek, pleased his studies had paid off so well, graciously accepted the beautifully carved and lacquered wand he was handed. A short study revealed it to be a wand of continuation, suitable for use with spells of the 4th rank or lower. Tucking it up his sleeve - he chuckled at the thought of a wizard with something up his sleeve - he headed back to his inn.
On his way there, he found a rather angry-looking Alaznist glaring about her. Well, glaring was her default state. Still, he went over and said, "Hello, Alaznist. Have you enjoyed exploring the city? It's really quite something, the way the design and architecture are so different from that of Xin-Edasseril, yet you can see some of the same design elements that crop up. There are also quite a few scholars and spellcasters in the city, discussing the finer points of magic. Shall we go back to the inn?"
Once they returned to the Inn, he noticed a familiar looking man talking to an elderly woman at the bar. It took a moment to place him - Torisen, a seer from Xin-Edasseril. He'd listened to him speak a few times, although they'd interacted little.
Standing at the entrance to Xin-Edasseril, the tiny (6" tall) bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite smiles. Those busily coming and going through the open gates probably never even noticed the Champion of Mazludah. He was used to it. Tall folks were so ever busy!
Smiling as he deftly maneuvers about shodded feet shuffling his route chaotically, Sir Batman enters this new(ish) city. Gawking, rubber necking, floundering about a bit aimlessly, being led by those people pursuing purposes probably plotting his early demise, the still smiling Sprite flies up, up, up to perched safely on a Statue.
Blue eyes survey the stretch of street displayed out before him. Wagons, horses, folks shouting and hurrying about, the Sprite was beginning to think something was about to commence.
Blue eyes follow the flow of public destination. Nodding to himself, the bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite takes off in that direction.....
The Artisan District is the city’s southernmost
neighborhood. Here, the city’s artists and crafters
maintain their shops, and it’s here that the majority
of the resources and opportunities for visitors can be
found—inns, eateries, and shops.
Those words were recited by instinct as the new comers were approaching The Lazy Layabout Inn. Perched (quite lazily) about the Inn's front porch, a bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite is seen sipping on some syrup.
Howdy folks! Sir Batman here to tell you a tale of Heroism, heartbreak, and habitual hyperthermia. Pull up a bench and listen to this Tale of the Gate Walkers.....
UNCOMMON AUDITORY CONCENTRATE DOWNTIME LINGUISTIC
As a newcomer to Xin-Eurythnia, you’ll find that this isn’t
unusual, as most of the city’s inhabitants come from far-
flung parts of the world. As a result, trading stories of
homelands has become something of a tradition at social
gatherings, or simply as a form of small talk while out drinking, eating, or shopping. You spend the day engaged
in such activities, spreading stories about where you come
from to the delight of many. Attempt a DC 30 Diplomacy
check.
Critical Success So many of those you speak to are amazed
by your stories, and many of them gift you potent gifts
and trinkets in thanks. You gain 5 common level 12 (or
lower) consumable magic items or alchemy items.
Success No one seems overwhelmingly enthralled by your
stories at this time, but they did have fun listening to them.
After 4 hours of the telling, the bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite sighs. Sips his syrup. Signals the strangers to stay frosty....
Alaznist nods at Ranek's suggestion as warmly as she can manage. Insisting upon appropriate etiquette with everyone would be unmanageable, particularly since amassing the sorts of appropriate servants from her past would present the wrong image.
Entering the tavern, she stiffens at the idea of accidentally being touched by the wretches within, but that imagined horror is set aside when she sees Torisen. So. I shall have to be 'sociable'. At least he isn't a dolt like so many. Another instance as well of the insects of this time seeking power in the union of several entities. Worth considering in any case...
She spells the bench clean before sitting down across from Torisen. "Greetings spiritualist." She inclines her chin towards Iesha. "Is that with you?"
"That?" the woman next to the man stills while her eyes shift from a nervous interest to a cold glare. Anger is a settling emotion for Iesha, in all things.
Ranek sighs, "Alaznist, we talked about this. People don't appreciate being referred to as objects." He extends a hand to Torisen. "It is good to see you again, Torisen. I'm not sure if you remember me - Ranek Clifton. I spent some time in Xin-Edasseril studying the Runelords."
Turning to what he assumes is a woman (since she is disguised), he says, "I'm Ranek Clifton. And you are?"
"No need for rudeness, Alaznist," Tori says with some familiarity to the clone of the runelord. He'd never speak so frankly with her progenitor, but the current incarnation--though formidable--was far from the last Runelord of Wrath's power.
"This is Iesha, a new friend of mine. She has also been invited by the Runelord, Or..." he catches himself. "The queen, I suppose."
He greets Ranek with a companionly nod.
Still something familiar about that boy, but I can't place it.
Iesha takes her glaring eyes off the one they call Alaznist, then nods at the delivery of her name from Torisen, giving him a brief smile of greeting. "You were invited as well?" she asks him, since he included the word 'Also'
Ranek nods. "It is nice to meet you, Iesha. I was indeed invited. I was somewhat surprised to receive the invitation, actually - while I have spent over a decade studying Thassilon and the unique magical methods employed by the Runelords, I did not think my reputation would have reached the queen. I would have found my way here eventually, I suspect, to study the city. I spent a few years in Xin-Edasseril, where I met Torisen, and I'm certain there is much that can be learned here, as well. Still, I'm quite honored to receive the invitation itself."
The name 'Iesha' didn't ring a bell, although there was something familiar about it. Perhaps he'd heard her mentioned at some point?
"I wouldn't be surprised by much, when it comes to Queen Sorshen. I didn't foresee an invitation from her, but I wasn't particularly surprised, either," Tori confides. "That woman has eyes and ears everywhere, and not just because she's a parnoic--like someone we know," at that, he tries to share a significant look with Ranek, whom he knows moves through Xin-Edressil.
"No doubt we all have some expertise or reach that she desires here in her city. And if there is one thing Sorshen is known for, it's getting what she desires."
Alaznist's eyes narrow at Torisen's Correction? Does he truly dare? But when a glance over at Ranek finds little of the outrage on her behalf that she had expected, she elects to bank her anger to preserve that wrath for a more suitable moment. "A living reminder of a defeated foe, a symbol of her mercy in that I am permitted to walk free, a bauble to ornament her court, Sorshen has many uses to which I may be put. To truly trust her would be foolish of course, but I have uses for her of my own."
She turns her head towards the space between Torisen and Iesha. "So, I know of Ranek's learning, and the spiritualist's... talents." Resolutely she turns away from the angered woman, feeling a slight thrill from her mirrored rage. "Why would this... one.... be given a similar invitation. To what uses would Sorshen put her?"
The shrill voice bounces up, up, up from roughly 6" from the well traveled-on floor boards at base of Torisen's stool. Waving, smiling, bat-like wings slightly fluttering, there seems to be a tiny bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite there.
It's the very same tiny bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite that each of you witness upon initially entering The Lazy Layabout Inn. He was telling and retelling tales of woe. He seems to be in better spirits. There is also a wiff of syrup about suddenly.
Exercising his bat-shaped wings, the heavily armored, shield wielding Sprite flutters up, up, up to lightly land on top of the bar proper. He bows to each of the Tall Folk in turn.
Howdy folks! I happen to have really good hearing, so I heard you speaking about an invitation to attend the Queen.
The tiny fellow reaches into his pack, tugging out an envelope of exaction examples by everyone else's ...
See there! Sir Batman! That's me! Champion of Mazludah! Isn't that neat! We can be roomies!
Iesha listened to each of the men, then continued her glare at the woman, she went to say something in return before a small person erupted on to the table. A surprised small ghosted across her lips "A letter is what I received as well." which is produced from where a pocket might be behind the illusion. She laid on the table, holding it for a moment as if concentrating on it before dropping it on the wood. A perceptive person might have noticed it passing through the cup of tea before her as well.
Iesha Foxglove of the Last Call is penned in a neat flowing hand on the folded parchment.
She did not answer this Alaznist's questions of her usefulness to the Queen.
"Oh my. What are you?" Torisen looks at the hovering sprite. "And Mazludah? Some foreign deity?"
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The bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite smiles warmly at Iesha's presentation of her own letter.
Ooo! Matching ink!
Sir Batman turns his blue eyes to look at Torisen.
A Sprite, of course! Technically, I'm a....Nyktera! I have batlike features, an affinity for batkind, and hearing that is second to none.
Sir Batman grins at him.
Mazludah!....
Mazludeh was once one among many empyreal lords, responsible for the domains of community stewardship and loving sacrifice. However, her actions during Earthfall and the Age of Darkness saved untold lives in Mwangi. Dismayed by the chaos and loss of life, Mazludeh spurred her fellow empyreal lords into action, forming a divine concordance that protected the Garundi nation of Holomog from devastation. Mazludeh's efforts elevated her to true divinity and the status of the matron goddess of the nation of Holomog. Now the goddess of negotiations and treaties, her followers often travel with merchants and ambassadors. She is also considered the diplomat to the other empyreal lords, able to pass on prayers to those most suited to answer them and persuade celestial beings to see to their fulfillment. Throughout the Mwangi, worshippers of Mazludeh have developed a reputation for being brave, empathetic, and fair even to their enemies.
The tiny Sprite takes a sip of his syrup.
Iesha takes a moment to places spaces in the sprite's excited stream of sounds, then asks with a little confusion "So you are a merchant or negotiator?"
"A talking bat! How droll," Tori comments. It certainly seems like Sir Batman is much more diplomatic than he.
Ranek grimaces as Torisen alludes to Belimarius. Her paranoia, combined with aggression and some cruelty, were hindering her and Xin-Edasseril as a whole. She seemed to think that Sorshen's less aggressive stance gave her room to act that way. Apparently, the deaths of Karzoug, Krune, Alaznist - he glances at the younger version here - at the hands of groups of heroes hadn't served to temper her. She'd even met the ones who took down Alaznist. A difficult position, to be sure.
He looks down at the sudden shout from below. "Er...hello, there, sprite." He listens as the Sprite introduces himself and eagerly tells of Mazludah. "Having grown up in and spent quite a bit of time in Magnimar, I am familiar with most Empyreal Lords, but I must admit I haven't heard of Mazludah before. Do you speak for a kingdom in the Mwangi Expanse?"
Iesha Foxglove? That name was familiar, too. Suddenly, he noticed that she hadn't breathed at all. Or touched her food and drink. Suddenly, several things clicked for him - Torisen's interest, Alaznist's...contempt...in a way he hadn't seen. An oversight for him, but one to be careful of. This Iesha Foxglove was a ghost. How extraordinary. He racked his brain, trying to remember why the name was familiar.
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Licking some syrup from his cup, the Sprite glances up at Iesha's question.
My words are like honey on warm freshly baked biscuits. Although I currently don't have any biscuits....
A still smiling Sprite spies specifically Torisen's special delivery of his comments, but only bows in deferment of opinion.
The bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite smiles at Ranek.
I am originally from the nation of Holomog in Garundi, although I haven't seen home in quite a bit. After my Missing Moment, I've traveled over a quarter of the Northern lands. Definitely cold up there.
The Sprite looks about the Common room.
Better company here too than up there in the ice and frigid snow. I did meet some really cool Ilverani elves though.
Sir Batman shrugs.
I decided to travel down through here because it's new(ish) and a bit easier road than further East. Only been here a few days, but the Queen already has heard of my heroics by word of mouth apparently.
The humble Champion giggles.
Alaznist purses her lips to hide her annoyance... and embarrassment. A good thing the little fey chatters with all the piercing glee of his people, else my ignorance could have been uncovered. Mazludeh now a god... The ranks of the true gods, who bargain so rarely, held little interest for me, but I may have to cast my eyes farther afield for allies in this life. From my first ending I know one thing to be certain; as I can be defeated, my soul must not be promised.
"Sorshen plays a long game indeed then," she muses to the air. "Else the queen still gives into her caprice when the time of her schemes draws nigh. Time shall reveal all."
Eventually, you all settle down for the night in your accommodations. Shortly after you drift off to sleep (or enter a state of torpor in Iesha's case), you suddenly find yourselves standing in the taproom of the tavern you were just in earlier in the evening. However, the details of the scene seem strangely off. Any visible clocks have hands pointing at illegible numbers. The ale seems to flow backwards from mugs back into the keg. Music wells up from unseen sources, and the people in the background have indistinct faces. It would seem that you are in a shared dream.
Once you have collected yourselves, a disembodied, lilting voice speaks to you. Initially, this voice sounds like that of someone you trust from you childhood such as that of a parent, sibling, or friend, or perhaps even of the voice of a patron or deity. Each of you hears a different voice speaking in your native tongue.
"Well met, travelers... or should I say, great heroes of Golarion? That’s who I’m looking for, but I must be sure. You would know more of your glories than I. Share them with me, if you would care to indulge me?"
Ranek whirls, eyes searching the area as he suddenly appears here. It takes him a moment to realize they are in a dreamscape. I must apparently ward my dreams more carefully here.
Though the voice is that of his mentor, Gavin Helscar, he remains suspicious. Whoever it was that had brought them here, he could not be sure of their intentions. Disembodied voices speaking through dreams could be anything from a powerful wizard or priest to an outsider of either the higher and lower planes - and everything in between.
Still, the voice has asked only for a moment, and the specific moment he recalls....
"It was shortly after the reforging of the Sihedron, a Thassilonian artifact. Tremors shooks the city of Magnimar, and I knew a tidal wave was incoming. I moved to evacuate the low-lying waterfront area I was in, getting as many people out as possible before the wave crashed in. In that moment, I was able to use my magic to protect myself from the force of the wave, safeguarding myself and some who were with me using magic I had never used before."
Torisen leans into the dream vision, having briefly experimented with such rituals.
"My last true foreseeing--when I saw the doom of Golarion. The moon exploding, the stars raining to the earth. The see, rising up and swallowing proud Thassilon."
As the vision unfolds around him, he shudders. As unpleasant as it was to realize, four years ago, that he had missed thousands of years of history, he did have to thank Belimarius for saying him from Earthfall.
Having regaled those present with his Missing Moment adventures (probably well into the evening), Sir Batman nods knowingly as his blue eyes watch his audience begin to drift away mentally.
My new friends! I could stay here and talk your ears off until Aroden's return, but I noticed that you are a bit tired, so we can continue over breakfast!
The smiling Sprite delivers each of his newest of bestest of friends a high (he flies) five before retiring for the night.....
All comfy, snug, warm and a bit giddy, Sir Batman drifts off to....
....find himself back downstairs in the Common room!
There was a Wizard in that group...
Peering about suspiciously at the still chairs and tables, muted sounds of patrons, backwards flowing ale
Well that's definitely new.
Sir Batman jumps when the Voice begins speaking! Crawling back out from behind the fireplace logs, the Champion of Mazludah seems a bit ..wary of the words coming from...
Mazludah?
Suddenly, quite unbidden, comes a memory from his past that he has clung to since....
Sir Batman glances out of the curtained window as the carriage stops at the border gate to Sevenarches. The Bronze Knight smiles at the bustling caravanserai.
I wonder if they will have Olyphants! I heard that a sprite could get lost for weeks just traveling across the back of one!
As the posh carrige stops to allow them egress, the bronze-colored bat-shaped sprite grandly exits. Standing at 6"--but proudly projecting the height of any gold elf--Sir Batman surveys the caravanserai with a nod of sufferance.
There is hopefully a Prestidigitation post to take care of all this dust, dirt and grime.
Watching the approach of Fianara, as Dr. Ritalson points the elf out to the group, Sir Batman smartly salutes, bows and introducing himself. His bat-shaped wings flutter in unison with his Salute.
Sir Batman at your service, Madam. Our little troupe shall deliver with the utmost professionalism!
The Bronze sprite winks at Sylva, Nox and Revenna, using his right eye....
Tears shamelessly slide silently down the bronze-colored bat-shaped face of the Sprite. That fateful day that he met his now dearest (but haven't gone separate ways) friends. They explored their Missing Moment together. Investigated, fought, cried. His friends. His duty. He took the responsibility to be their Guardian that day, as they initially set off on their quest.
Sir Batman smiles. The Champion of Mazludah has new friends. New responsibilities. New Guardianship!
"Iesha" the lilting worry in the voice carried down to the basement of the Dragon, awakened into this dream from Iesha's memories.
The ghost woman drifted through the pitch to a Minkai face breaking the darkness "She walked down, not to face the horror of undeath taking up residence in her tavern, but to comfort a friend." muffled sobs of frustration and anger echoed through the space, with patient singing "She reminded me of our dreams of adventure, of heroes facing titans, of grace and warmth. Even though I would never know much of them again, it reminded me of myself, of the tale I still had to make."
The grayscale knight pulled her massive sword to the sound of fingers on a chalk board. "I remembered that while destroying my 'husband' was taken from me, but there were plenty of monsters seeking my attention. All I had to do is listen to the stories being told."
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Alaznist's own voice is the one she hears, hers the only voice or power she has ever truly respected regardless of what oaths she might once have sworn.
All around her is fire and pain and ill-used flesh. The sacrifices have not been clean, no matter that the souls of her father, her sisters, her brother were the few to whom she might have wished some mote of mercy. Had their deaths been painless, they would not have served their purpose. No, their purpose as Yamasoth's hecatomb demanded their agonies. Thus, the true purpose of their lives in allowing for Alaznist's rise demanded suffering in equal measure to her greatness.
The mote of mercy snuffed out; her power grew; her victories soon heaped their rewards upon her.
But this is still where it all went wrong... And not just for me. Alderpash was enslaved to Baphomet, Angothane to Nocticula, and in the end, Yamasoth's pact claimed all but the least part of me. This moment when I purged all weakness, is where I failed. All around her the internecine wars of the Runelords of Wrath swirl, finishing with an Alaznist, no younger than the simulacrum who still dreams of these horrors, casting down her rival only to trap his soul from his loved ones in a hideous undeath that still knew pain.
And yet, Xiren was slain by Thybidos, who of course I slew. They lacked the power that was needful.
Millennia of pain and torments and cruelties flow from her gore-drenched mind in an arterial spray of images before she stems them once more.
Two points of the ranseur have failed. The third shall be the last.
As you recall your defining moments, you get the sense that the source of the mysterious voice is listening, watching, and approving. When you have all finished, the voice speaks again, and now the faint image of a human woman shimmers at the edge of your peripheral vision. Any attempt to look directly at her causes the image to vanish.
"It seems fate has chosen well, for you are worthy to craft Golarion’s future. Tell me, heroes, what destiny do you see before you? What future will you create for our world?"
Ranek's eyes flickered at the shape of the human woman - whoever she may be. She disappeared when he focused on her, but he was sure she was the caster behind the dream. Suddenly, he became aware of someone else next to him - no, attached to him! His focus diverted as he saw himself. He didn't feel himself change, but suddenly a woman's ghostly face seemed to be near his. He could suddenly see himself, see the apparition that had attached itself to him. A moment he took to recognize her - Chalsardra, the Runelord of Envy five Runelrods before Belimarius. Clad in emerald robes, iron gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, her surprisingly unlined face seemed set in a disapproving frown, and her grayish-blue eyes flashed with envy and cruelty. She held an apparition of the invidious halberd, the weapon of rule for the Runelord of Envy, even as she stared at him. Her apparition shifted around and over him, but it never disappeared or moved away.
How could this be? How does the apparition of a long-dead Runelord come to connect itself to me? Wait...has she been guiding me this entire time?
Torisen actually relaxes, for the first time in years, as he sees the versions of himself.
Yes, the past, the present, the future. Stretched before me in possibility.
Those omens do exist, even in these unfamiliar times. With the proper means, he could see them.
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Iesha watches the stories of the others unfold, conscious of their presence more with each passing second. Suddenly her sword in is her small hand, a sheet of thick metal with razor edges, that just seems wrong, and growing Worse by the moment. It is as if a thousand spiders crawl around its surface, dozens disembodied fingers curl around its edges, constant old blood pools and drips from the point all while shattered screams echo away from it.
Her milk white eyes tracks every change, feeling the weight of it, if only for the first time.
"I am a weapon for those unable to end their story." she says softly to the sword as much as to the apparition, accepting her destiny with every syllable.
Then remembers the others and looks mildly embarrassed "Or something like that."
Sir Batman grins at his new charges. The bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite realizes that each has their own Chains that bind them. The Champion of Mazludah has his faith that in time, his charges could be shown just how to Break those Chains themselves!
In the meantime, I should enjoy the process!
He smiles at each.
Alaznist's story has already been written, and its ending stains the air above her. Balls of fire and bolts of lightning fly, the hallowed dead rise to the beat of primal percussion, fleshcrafted monsters surround her as the beautiful face of Sorshen smiles triumphantly to the crack of a whip.
Alaznist falls, her soul immediately vacating her body to continue the fight, but the demons and qlippoths to whom it has been sworn, begin tearing away at it, hauling away their promised portions to eternal torment as the writhing mass of Yamasoth comes to claim the lord's portion of what remains.
The vision vanishes as Alaznist the Last slashes the edge of her hand through it. "A meaningless vision. I shall not fail as once I did."
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A few moments after the visions fade, the owner of the mysterious voice manifests fully before you. She is a Thassilonian woman with brown hair wearing robes of purple and gold. She casually holds a green-shafted glaive in one hand.
"Now that your destiny is upon you, let me speak openly," she says. "I am Liralarue, the runelord who never was. I had dreams of becoming an eighth ruler of Thassilon, as powerful and feared as those whose names you still know today. Alas, the dreams I held were not to be."
Though she is incredibly obscure, both Alaznist and Ranek are aware of Liralarue. She was an apprentice of Runelord Karzoug who had hoped to become the Eighth Runelord representing the sin of vainglory and school of divination. She disappeared at nearly the same time as Earthfall, a disaster which she anticipated but did not understand the full scope of its imminent destruction until it was too late, and her name and activities have largely been forgotten by history.
"Earthfall came," she continues, "and I fled into the Dreamlands, where I’ve remained since. I’ve found peace in lifetime after lifetime wandering the dreams of others. I’m now untangled from my own fate; my dreams were not to come true, yet now in truth I am a dream.
"And in those dreams, I see futures. All futures. An endless churn of waves on the tide. I don’t know which futures are destined for reality, only that there exist paths toward them all. And you, whose destinies are now upon you? I’ve seen you in so many of those paths. Some lead to triumph. Most lead to despair and ruin. This is why I’ve called your dreams to me. You must achieve your destiny to prevent the worst of many futures, and I am here to..."
Before Liralarue can continue, a piercing shriek ripples down from above. A falling star trailing three tails—one red, one midnight black, and one iridescent—plummets into the dream. You recognize this as the Trinity Star, a strange warshard that crashed into the western Kodar Mountains last year. Though many tried, none could find its landing site, or even a crater to mark its arrival. As it strikes the land, the scenery around you explodes, and Liralarue’s phantasmal form rips apart with a scream. Each of you endures an apocalyptic scene of your own destiny reaching dire and detestable dooms, all melting together into a horrific collage of nightmares as a gray-cloaked figure looms above you. As it speaks in a voice of thunder, you taste ashes in your mouths.
The dreamscape begins to collapse around you, visions of your memories starting to manifest around you and warp into nightmarish terrors! If you can't find a way to wake up soon, you feel a conviction that these memories will replace the past to become today's reality!
MEMORIES IN FLAMES
Waves of iridescent flames wash over the landscape, destroying your ancestral homes in a raging inferno of rainbow fire that eats away at your memories of childhood!
A colorful wagon, blazing from a tripped lantern, starts to topple toward an enthralled girl, Edie. Edie always seemed to go glass eyed around flame. Or did until flame took so much from her. In this moment, brought up from the equally young Iesha's time.
It is just a memory, but the Iesha of this time rushes through the air to catch the wagon, to prevent the tragedy... but fails, forgetting she is not solid, and the wagon falls through her into poor Edie.
Torisen tries to apply his will to the dream, shaping a safe path through the fires.
Liralarue, I never heard of you. Our paths seem the same.
The fires whip through Magnimar, burning homes wildly and out of control. Ranek's head whips wildly, and he tries to apply his knowledge to divert those fleeing, including his father, to a place of safety.
Torisen and Ranek help guide the refugees to safety ahead of the raging flames. However, it's only a few moments later when a massive wave of undead rushes out from the iridescent flames, clawing at anyone they can! Some of the undead resemble your friends or enemies from your past!
UNDEAD HORDES
Sir Batman comes out of his daydream to see that he wasn't daydreaming! Well, he was daydreaming, but his dreams seem quite real and irrational and spooky....
Watching his home of Holomog being burned, but here's and bathed in blood paralyzed the poor Sprite, but thankfully his two newest friends solved that particular nightmare!
Sweat pours down his bronze-colored bat-shaped face, as he watches the Undead Hordes rush and race, claw, bite, eat them!
Bartholomew!? Noooooo!
Sir Batman calls upon Mazludah to save them!
Mazludah seems to like the little, feisty bronze-colored bat-shaped Sprite. She smiles down upon him!
Apparently she barely likes him that much....
Sparks fly as Alaznist glares at the undead behind her. Not for the last time she curses that her farthest reaching devastations have been lost to her, stored in some other fragment of her soul that did not escape agonized dissolution.
Undeath has never been her true focus, but there are elements of exorcism in common to it and to the workings of fiends. And... Trusting in another mortal is a leading theory of victory...
Sir Batman starts to repel the undead horde with the power of his faith, while Alaznist prepares to assist another of the group with the exorcism.
The undead care nothing for one of their own, but she can do nothing to keep the others from their attention.