Within a decade of the diabolical House Thrune seizing control of Cheliax, part of that empire seceded in protest to form the nation of Andoran. Cheliax has spent the last 60 years seething at its neighbor’s disobedience and sickeningly democratic politics, ever scheming ways to crush the “upstart” government and return Andoran to imperial control. Andoran is equally eager to topple the Thrunes’ tyrannical regime. Despite decades of plausibly deniable skirmishes and espionage, neither side has risked all-out war.
This status quo changed with the Godsrain, when the war god Gorum perished and fragments of his divine body fell across the cosmos as warshards. Cheliax’s Queen Abrogail II placed a bounty on any warshard delivered to her, worrying neighbors as to how she planned on using so much divine power. When a warshard surfaced in the hands of rebels in Breachill, a town in Cheliax’s puppet state of Isger, Abrogail dispatched soldiers to seize it and stamp out the uprising. The rebels, known as the Hellbreakers League, sought aid from Andoran, which sent a contingent of Eagle Knights to keep the peace. Cheliax responded by capturing and executing the Eagle Knights’ general, Reginald Cormoth. Outraged, the Eagle Knights retaliated and ultimately prevailed, freeing Breachill but providing Cheliax all the justification it needed to declare war.
The conflict has unleashed decades of simmering tensions, with both sides eager to finally and decisively defeat the other. Initially, the war advanced in two theaters: the nations’ land border along the Aspodean Wall as well as with clashing navies on the Inner Sea. Even though Andoran narrowly has the upper hand, at this rate neither side can win swiftly and without devastating losses. Since then, the two nations have fought openly and fiercely, all while cajoling other states into joining the fray on their respective sides.
The tides of battle have so far ebbed and flowed, inflicting deep scars on the border regions of both Andoran and Cheliax, with neither side achieving a decisive win. Yet the conflict has provided Isger an opportunity it’s long craved: freedom from Cheliax’s control. While Isger charts its future, Cheliax remains too entangled in its larger war to reassert control over the region—and other provinces have realized the empire’s momentary weakness. To the southwest, Corentyn controls the Arch of Aroden and the sole strait connecting the Arcadian Ocean to the Inner Sea, earning vast profits from trade and taxes. However, needing both obedience and capital, House Thrune has imposed increasingly onerous demands on Corentyn. The city has less and less to give since the war has threatened shipping. The rulership only caring about the flow of gold has resulted in otherwise prosperous businesses being devastated by drained coffers. Unwilling to suffer any protests, Cheliax has established martial law in the city to extract whatever resources it needs to crush Andoran once and for all.
This initiative has trapped both long-term residents and casual travelers alike in the port city, including a group of accomplished adventurers. Little do they know that they will soon become embroiled in the war that will, one way or another, see Cheliax embracing its ultimate...
Chapter 1: Corentyn
You have been stuck in Corentyn for several days now. The state of martial law makes it nearly impossible to depart the city, but this morning, an opportunity presented itself. A carrier hawk sought you out with a message for you, an anonymous invitation to a meeting at the Corentyn Museum of History. The details are vague, but the note promises an "interesting morning," should you choose to attend.
"Well, Hela, what do you think?" Taerine asks her halfling companion. "It could be a trap, but considering they were able to get a carrier hawk to us, if it were Thrune, we'd probably already be having to kill some of their lapdogs."
She leans back in the chair in the apartment she's been stuck in for too long, idly drawing runes on a sheaf of parchment. Where her fine scarlet dress doesn't cover the pale skin on her left arm, a tattoo of a winding trail through the woods is visible. At least two others adorn her flesh in areas that are less visible.
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Sesotho raises his yellow eyes to watch a carrier hawk leave its roost on a nearby rooftop and glide toward him. He instinctively holds out his right arm, his hand adorned with a thick silver ring on each finger. "What's this?" he muses out loud and retrieves the message bound to the hawk's leg.
Once the hawk flies away, he unrolls the paper and scans it. The contents make him look furtively over both his shoulders. The alley seems empty. "Someone's been--," he begins a comment to himself but thinks better of speaking it aloud.
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Sitting ignobly on a box so she can write upon a series of pamphlets, is a halfling, fair of hair and neat as a pin in greens and creams. "It bears investigation, it does." a distracted response, probably due to her continued wonder for being stuck in an apartment with a Chelaxian NOBLE, of all f&*+ing things. Doesn't matter the f#**ing hell they have been through and the good fight the other woman has already put in, she was still a CHELAXIAN NOBLE...
sigh, it did matter, which is why the halfling whose name was HELANORA, not HELA, was not stabbing the other woman repeatedly with her small knife. She was only considering it, that is all.
Instead she finished her alteration of the pamphlet, changing a word here to make it sound more arrogant, adding an obvious bulge and wandering eye of the image of the minor government official to make him look lecherous. Just a little, but little hatreds will breed to full bloodlettings given time.
"Done" she says, lifting the last in her stack of 100 with a sigh. Then pops off the box and looks over at tattoed woman "Shall we go see if we've been betrayed into a horribly tedious death?"
Therese sits in front of the dilapidated wine shop that she calls home, knitting as she stares out into the street. "Customers" come singly or in surreptitious pairs, though few emerge smelling of alcohol. Knitting needles occupy her hands and a long multicolor scarf pools in the lap of her faded black dress.
A palm-sized spider skitters up her leg and deposits a tightly rolled scroll in the folds of the scarf. After brushing a sticky feather from it, she opens it, reads it, and purses her lips.
"Eduard--I'm going out," she shouts into the shop and carefully packs her knitting away before striding purposefully into the streets of Corentyn.
The Museum of History is located in the High Quarter. Commoners interested in advancing their fortune crowd this section of the city, where tradespeople and civil servants mingle.
Outside of the museum is a street—normally busy, but silent this morning. Nearby stalls typically cater to visitors by offering trinkets and light fare, though they’re currently closed. The museum’s grand gates stand shut and chained. Beyond it, benches and wastebaskets have been piled in a barricade.
A ram batters against iron gates, violent thuds punctuating a public speech. The speaker—a man in black-and-red robes emblazoned with the dottari’s sigil—bellows, “I declare the Museum of History to be in possession of seditious material. It is my duty to seize and destroy all offending objects, and to subdue all who obstruct me.”
“Where’s your warrant?” asks the curator, an older man with a gray mustache and bushy eyebrows, as he retreats from the gaps in the bars toward the museum. He gives one of the tipped benches a final shove against the barricade. The gates rattle with the push.
“You’ll find that I need no warrant, Zefiro.” With a snap, the dottari leader disappears. A panicked shout from the other side of the gates betrays his new location—on the steps of the museum, between the curator and safety.
Two squads of dottari excruciators remain outside the gates, continue to batter at it with their ram.
A heavy thud, a shuddering of iron, then silence as they pull back... this time broken with a loud echoing "AssssssHooooles!" drawing dottari eyes to a small form with a white mask pulled over her features, far down the street.
The figure lifts a middle finger high in the ear, twirls with grace, before arriving back to face them, pulling her hand, now in a fist down.
Bringing a blizzard of ripping wind and shredding shards with it.
She sends a wickedly content smile toward her companion (wherever she may be hiding) in a pure 'Your turn' gesture.
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Sesotho arrives at the end of an alley emptying into the street in front of the Museum of History. Dressed in his finest black and gold, protected by a black enamelled breastplate and hauling a large silver blade bedecked with runes, he peers cautiously past the edge to witness the source of the rhythmic banging. Just in time, he witnesses the dottari captain announce his intentions for the curator.
He fingers a carved tooth hanging from a cord at his neck as he surveys the two squads of Chelish soldiers and the street apparently devoid of bystanders. "Whoever sent the missive--," he starts to say to himself when he learns that the area is not as deserted as it appears.
Watching the halfling call out the excrutiators, he arches an eyebrow. "Bold." Before he can decide what to do, the street fills with a howling snowstorm. "Ah."
He leans back into the alleyway. He holds out his silver-ringed hand, palm upwards, raises it, and clenches his fist. Two circles of flame appear on the ground beside him. From each of them rises a ghostly brimorak bound in seemingly physical chains of silver. The spectral demons' eyes are milky white, and their mouths hang agape. "Lend me your power and repay your debt," he says before shoving his hand into one of the specters, which disappears with a pop.
Sesotho's eyes glow with yellow flame and steam begins to rise from his exposed coal-black skin.
As Helanora cries out, the dottari at the gate turn to face you, reaching for their shields and maces.
A throwing dagger blinks into Therese's hand and she lobs it at the closest group of dottari.
for and
for and
Theresa's first attack misses the dottari, but the second one finds a mark, taking down one of their number. "You there! Stop where you are!" one of them cries out. The dottari form up into two separate troops. One troop loads crossbows and fires a volley at you, while the others raise their shields and advance into melee.
Suddenly, shouts erupt from the nearby alleys as a group of rioting citizens rush out! They throw a volley of homemade explosives at the dottari crossbowmen.
Moments later, a second group of fashionable performers rappel down from the eaves of the surrounding buildings on scarves. They launch a series of fireworks into the plaza!
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HP 128/128, mental resistance 2, resistance 2 to damage from hazardous terrain and environmental hazards
AC 28 (31 with shield raised); can’t be flanked
Fort +18, Ref +18, Will +15
Hero points: 1
Etched runes: xx, xx, Holtrik (shield), Cruonign (asp coil), Ichelsu (permanent tattoo)
Effects:
Still hidden, Taerine easy avoids the mess in the plaza. "It appears we aren't the only ones invited here, Hela, my dear. Or that some of the rabble simply enjoys the arts more than the dottari anticipated."
Her eyes going slightly distant, she traces a rune in the air, a jagged set of lines resembling a vampire's fangs, with a spiraling root. "Perhaps sun-cruonign will work here," she murmurs as she evokes it, before raising her shield, another vertical rune appearing on it momentarily before fading.
As she evokes the run on the dottari with their shield raised, a cone of dark energy sprays back toward their allies.
* Sun-, Diacritic Rune of Preservation (Diacritic, Magical, drawn on a rune) This spiraling diacritic channels the magic of a rune outwards, then back to the same location, allowing a rune to reconstitute itself. After the base rune is invoked, the base rune automatically traces itself back upon the same target. You can have only one copy of sun-, diacritic rune of preservation applied at a given time, and once you invoke it, you can't Etch or Trace the Rune again for 10 minutes.
* Cruonign, Rune of Leeching (Death, Magical, Void, drawn on a slashing or piercing weapon) The jagged shape of this rune resembles a vampire's fangs. Strikes with the rune-bearing weapon deal an additional 3 void damage. Whenever a living creature is damaged by one of these Strikes, the rune-bearer gains temporary Hit Points equal to the void damage the target took (after applying resistances and the like). These temporary Hit Points last 1 round. Invoke: The rune lashes out in a 30-foot cone from the wielder of the weapon, dealing 4d10 void damage to each creature in the area, with a basic Fortitude save. If any creatures take damage, the wielder regains 12 Hit Points. Level (+2) The additional void damage increases by 1, the damage of the invocation increases by 1d10, and the healing increases by 3.
* Ranshu, Rune of Thunder (Electricity, Primal, drawn on a creature or object) This vertical rune is often carved on tall towers to draw lightning and shield the buildings below it. If the rune-bearer doesn't take a move action at least once on its turn, a small bolt of static finds it, dealing 3 electricity damage. Invoke: The preliminary streaks of lightning braid together into a powerful bolt. The rune-bearer takes 1d8 electricity damage with a basic Fortitude save. Level (+2) The damage from the bolt of static increases by 1, and the damage of the invocation increases by 1d8.
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Suddenly finding himself under a rain of arrows, Sesotho throws himself against the alley wall. Two arrows manage to score his arm and his thigh. "This is why nobody likes the Chelish!" The sudden riot underscores his point, although his words are lost in the boom of pyrotechnics. He instinctively shields his eyes as the phosphorus blooms in the street.
He slams the butt of his polearm on the ground. A pair of small flaming circles form on the street between him and the advancing excruciators from which rises a ghostly brimorak bound in silvery chains. With the risen thrall serving as a distraction, he sweeps his broad blade toward the Chelish soldiers. Then he tries to predict when the rioters are next going to release their fireworks.
Bolts thump into the side of the crate Theresa has hidden behind, as she pulls out her war razor and prepares to rush the crowd.
First, to avoid the fireworks those idiots are throwing...
"Chelaxian! Not Chelish!" Taerine calls out, unable to stop herself.
A vision of what she wanted to do sparked bright in her mind. A howling wind that ripped deep into the oppressor's bodies, making them understand the pain their subservience brought down on the world. But instead the halfling takes a long cut across her cheek from an arrow and sighs, working her mouth to the side in thought. After a moment she says to her companion "The downtrodden folk wish to express their anger on those that dislike... Art as you say, Taerine. Maybe I can help focus their attentions where it belongs, while you engage..." the sentence proves to be unnecessary as dark energy digs into the enemy flesh.
"Good folk!" the small one cries out in augmented volume drawing many an eye. "I know not of the worries and woes of what brings you out to vent violence on this night, but I do know the Dottari will attempt to bring you harm for even thinking of deciding what is right on your own. Bring them down, and be free!"
To add emphasis, she sends a whirling ball of slashing wind at the crossbolt solidiers.
The rebels in the alley cheer Helanora's words. "Down with the dottari! Down with the Archheathen!" they chant as they focus fully on your opponents. Helanora then slices into the troop of soldiers with her wind blast.
Tearine's rune drains some of the life force from the crossbowmen. Sesotho's thrall misses with its attack. Both Sesotho and Theresa evade the blasts of fireworks.
The alley rioters lob bricks and heavy objects at the crossbowmen while the performers on the roof launch more distracting fireworks which prove quite effective against the dottari.
The advancing dottari flow around the summoned thralls and Helanora, swinging their maces. Sesotho's intervention leaves them weakened.
The crossbowmen reload and fire again, shifting their aim to avoid their allies and only hitting Tearine since fewer members of the troop are still standing.
HP 115/128, mental resistance 2, resistance 2 to damage from hazardous terrain and environmental hazards
AC 28 (31 with shield raised); can’t be flanked
Fort +18, Ref +18, Will +15
Hero points: 1
Etched runes: xx, xx, Holtrik (shield), Cruonign (asp coil), Ichelsu (permanent tattoo)
Shield HP: 59/72
Effects:
"Rude!" Taerine remonstrates the crossbowmen, as she uses her shield to block most of the damage. "This was my good coat."
She quickly traces a ranshu rune on her asp coil and lashes out at the dottari attacking Helanora. As her sword swings, it seems to be wreathed in lightning.
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The spectral thralls fade away as the dottari strike at them. However, Sesotho sees a chance as the Chelish soldiers dwindle. He strikes the butt of his polearm on the ground again. This time, one of the circles of flame appears at the back of the dottari formation, and one appears in the air above them.
Sesotho sweeps his blade toward a soldier as the chain-bound, ghostly thralls distract while crawling out of the circles. Then he pounds the ground with the shaft of his polearm once more. "Serve your penance!" The chains on the milk-eyed, ghostly erinyes hovering above the troop begin to crack and leak golden light. Then the thrall explodes in a swirl of chaotic energy, leaving those arrayed against the dottari unharmed.
With apparent allies in the mix, Theresa sidles up to the dottari and slashes at them.
for +
for +
Opportune Backstab
for +
The halfling easily ducks a mace to the head, jest before her companion beheads the soldier with ease. "There are a lot of them." a simple observation "I'll do something about that." she says before raising her hands to pull a blizzard down to tear through the very bones of the entire until.
As cold death descends, she nods toward others in the battle, ones that cut or cast with such ease "Who are they?" she asks Taerine.
Helanora unleashes a howling blizzard, wounding some of the mace-wielding dottari while taking out a whole swath of the crossbowmen. Tearine slices into the ones in melee before zapping one with her electric rune. Sesotho's thrall lands a hit before exploding, blasting the dottari with void energy. Theresa joins in the melee, slashing at the dottari from behind.
The rioters hurl more bricks at the crossbowmen, knocking out the last of their troop. They cheer and celebrate loudly!
Meanwhile, the entertainers on the rooftop stop launching fireworks. Several of their number rappel to the ground to capture and carry away a few of the surviving unconscious dottari.
The troop in melee continues to fight back against you, despite their depleted numbers.
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HP 127/128, mental resistance 2, resistance 2 to damage from hazardous terrain and environmental hazards
AC 28 (31 with shield raised); can’t be flanked
Fort +18, Ref +18, Will +15
Hero points: 1
Etched runes: xx, xx, Holtrik (shield), Cruonign (asp coil), Ichelsu (permanent tattoo)
Shield HP: 59/72
Effects:
"My thanks, stranger," Taerine calls out to Sesotho as he protects her from the dottari, meaning she barely suffers a scratch thanks to her own shield work.
"No idea, my dear," she says to Helanora, "but let's not look a gift banishment in the portal to Hell, as they say."
Seeing the old woman with the razor, she steps away from the dottari, then traces a quick rune, causing Theresa's blade to sharpen to an even finer edge . A moment later, she lashes out again with her asp coil, in a swooping series of blows.
* Esvadir, Rune of Whetstones (drawn on a weapon or unarmed attack that deals piercing or slashing damage): This cuspate rune, when placed on a blade, ensures it won't go dull. Strikes with the weapon or unarmed attack deal an extra 2 persistent bleed damage per weapon damage die. Invoke: A blast of cutting energy is released outward from the rune, dealing 1d8 slashing damage to a creature adjacent to the rune-bearer, with a basic Reflex save. Level (+2) The damage of the invocation increases by 1d8.
* Thullax, Rune of Corrosion (acid, arcane, drawn on a creature or object) The swooping lines of this rune seem to melt into each other as if their edges were hazy and indistinct, though the meaning is clear to you. The rune-bearer's resistance to each physical damage type is reduced by 1 (if it has any such resistances). Its immunities are unaffected. Invoke: The bearer takes 1d6 acid damage with a basic Fortitude save; on a critical failure, it takes 1 persistent acid damage. Level (+2) The reduction in physical resistance increases by 1, the damage of the invocation increases by 1d6, and the persistent damage increases by 1.
Theresa gives a light chuckle and admires the shine of the new rune on her knife: "I like your style, stranger."
She swipes twice at the remaining troops, and leaves yawning wounds on an unlucky dottari.
for + and 4 bleed
for + and 4 bleed
for + and 4 bleed
"As you say" Helanora says with a slight sigh to her companions suggestion. To the other powerful figure helping cleanse the world of the dottari, she calls out "Hurry Up now, plenty to do." enchanting him with the power of hasting winds while also sending slashing winds into the nearest mace wielding enemy.