Second Annual Pathfinder Fan Fiction Contest!

Thursday, June 30th, 2011

Remember last year, when a bunch of up-and-coming authors bit and clawed their way into recognition in the first-ever Pathfinder Fan Fiction Contest? Well, the good folks over at Pathfinder Chronicler are doing it again! Head over to Pathfinder Chronicler for full details, but the short version is that folks interested in writing Pathfinder fan fiction can compete for publication online and in the next Pathfinder Chronicler print anthology, plus three paizo.com gift certificates of $50, $50, and $100! I'll be helping to choose the grand prize winner from among the top five finalists, and while last year's entires were all strong, I'm looking forward to seeing some new names in the mix.

The deadline is quickly approaching, so click here for the contest rules and get writing! Good luck!

James Sutter
Fiction Editor

Plow and Sword

by Robert E. Vardeman

Chapter One: Smoke on the Horizon

It took several minutes for the cougar's ululating screech to make Rorr look up from his autumn plowing. The day was unseasonably warm for Neth, and sweat trickled down his back. He knew the heat was an illusion—cutting through the dried brown chaff remaining in his field and plowing it under for spring fertilizer had to be completed soon, before snow buried the land. Already at night the wind off the distant Lake of Mists and Veils cut through even a well-padded jacket and brought tears to unprotected eyes. Soon enough a heavy doublet would be necessary when venturing outside the comforting warmth of his small farmhouse.

If he didn't complete the turning of the soil to provide composting, the thin, rocky dirt would be worthless in Pharast and he would be forced to grow a cover crop—perhaps oats—and let a valuable portion of his farm lie fallow if he wanted cash crops another year. Rorr cursed himself for not undersowing, but too much repair work had to be done on the barn to attend to every detail. After two of his plow horses died of the wasting disease, there had scarcely been time to plow the more productive of his two large fields. Even working his two stepsons until they moaned, he hadn't accomplished enough.

He dragged his arm over his forehead to mop sweat, then wanted to clap his hands over his battered ears—or what remained of them. The cougar refused to be quiet. Rorr stretched to his full height, but that was not enough by half to reveal the big cat that stayed just beyond his sight at the edge of the woods.

He walked around his remaining plow horse and patted the thick neck, noting how the coat had grown matted and tangled. He'd have to curry the burrs out of the mane—or better yet, have Fren or Rayallan do it. If either of his boys had shown any sign of slacking, he would have demanded the chore of them immediately, but both worked sunup to sundown, as he did.

It was going to be a cold winter.

The cougar's scream brought him around, all worry of the coming ice and frigid wind forgotten.

Grumbling, he unhitched the horse and vaulted easily onto its back. His bowed legs fit perfectly around the horse's bulging flanks. At least one creature on his farm ate well, and why not? With its two companions dead, there was no reason to withhold the horse's fodder.

"You are our salvation," he said, bending low and whispering in the horse's ear. The large ear flicked as if a fly had buzzed near. The horse turned a huge brown eye back and stared unblinking at him, as if wondering why he had mounted and didn't insist on plowing still more. Half the field remained to be turned under.

Rorr sat straight and used the added height to cast a sharp eye along the far line of trees. One day he would cut those trees and expand the field, but taking out stumps was tedious work, better left to days when the crops were growing and all the work consisted of plucking bugs off the green leaves and listening to the corn groan with the speed of its growth.

"Fren!" He looked around for his older son. At the far side of the field, the youth of fifteen summers leaned on the handle of a shovel. Rocks had migrated up during the past summer and required removal. "Fren, do you see it?"

He pointed to the trees and past.

"Smoke," the boy called back. "From the direction of the Torvan farm."

"Come on. We'll ride over to see if there's trouble." The Torvans were good neighbors, generous with seed and advice to a man who had long been away from the earth and growing. Rorr found Ganley Torvan, Thom's wife, abrasive—but then, with only one arm, life couldn't be easy for her. Their children were younger than even Rayallan's twelve years, and did little that he could see to help either their father or mother. Rorr felt blessed by Shelyn for his two boys, and for Beeah.

Fren ran, kicked hard, and vaulted up to land behind his stepfather. Rorr had to reach back and grab to keep the boy from toppling off the other side.

"Hang on," Rorr said, snapping the reins and putting his heels to the horse. It moved at a plow horse pace for a few yards, then began to trot at its top speed.

"You're not going to chastise me for almost falling off?" Fren hesitated to hold around Rorr's waist, though he did not easily adapt to the uneven gait.

"Some are natural horsemen. Others learn. You'll be one of the latter."

"Did you have to learn?" Fren asked. "Or did you race a courser before you married Ma?"

Rorr laughed. "Seldom have I ridden a horse better than this one, and always I was glad for it. It takes less time than you might imagine to become footsore."

The boy's hold improved, and Rorr urged the horse to pick up speed. The rising smoke was an ominous, greasy black.

They found the main road and made better time, but Rorr slowed when he came to Torvan's gate. It lay in the middle of the double-rutted road, ripped from the post. Several feet of fence had been trampled.

"Their cattle will get out," Fren said, not understanding what he saw.

"You should dismount, boy."

"Why, Pa?"

Rorr would normally have been pleased at hearing the term from his stepson, but just now he had other concerns.

"Do it." He swept his arm back and slid the boy off the horse's rump. Fren landed hard but kept his balance.

"You have no right—!" the boy began, but Fren was speaking to his back. Rorr trotted forward, the quickest gait the plow horse could muster.

	"Fren's a good boy, but he has a lot to learn about the world."

The main house was hidden from the road by a stand of trees desperately harboring leaves against the encroaching winter, but the instant he rode past their screen, heat from the burning house forced him to look away. Throwing up his arm to shade his eyes, he turned back toward the inferno. The building was already consumed—if anyone had been inside, they had found their own funeral pyre.

Riding a safe distance from the house, he circle around to the barn. A coldness settled in his belly when he saw the pigs and chickens slaughtered on the ground. Insects crawled up to feast, and carrion birds had already plucked delicate morsels from eye socket and haunch. The smell of death was hidden by the acrid smoke billowing from behind.

"Torvan!" His call was swallowed by the crackle and roar of the burning house. These flames had not been lit by some carelessly placed oil lamp or spark from a pipe. He called again, knowing there would be no reply but still hoping.

He slid his leg over the horse's neck and hopped lightly to the ground. His bowed legs moved with precision and resolve as he quickly looked into the barn. More slaughtered animals. He let out a sigh when he saw how cruelly Torvan's plow horse had been mutilated. It had been strong and of an age to last a dozen more seasons. A waste.

Cries from behind the barn sent him racing around the two-story building. He stopped under a carefully painted hex sign supposed to turn away evil. If anything, it had attracted it.

Four men astride warhorses worked to light a torch, which they clearly intended to toss into the granary. None saw Rorr as he moved forward.

Torvan wasn't a good farmer, but he had six sons and twice the acreage Rorr did. Their harvest had been bountiful, yet these men with their leather armor and short, businesslike swords intended to destroy what could keep a family of eight alive through the cruel winter.

He reached the hindmost rider, grabbed and caught leather straps fastening the armor around his body. Powerful muscles bunched, and the warrior was lifted from the saddle and hurled through the air. The clank of his sword hitting the ground was as loud as the snapping of bones—almost.

The three remaining warriors turned at the unexpected disturbance. For an instant they didn't understand what had happened. Rorr stepped close to a second one—the warrior holding the torch—and caught his foot as it rested in the stirrup. He twisted viciously and forced the rider to the ground.

"We missed a plowboy," another warrior said sarcastically.

"You set fire to the house. Where's the family that lived there?" Rorr spoke but continued to move with deceptive slowness. He caught a third man's wrist as he reached to unsheathe his sword. That one joined his two companions on the ground.

The one who had spoken backed his horse from Rorr and swung a triangular shield about. Rorr didn't recognize the escutcheon, but he did know better than to reach for this soldier. The bottom edge of the shield had been honed like a razor, and could slice through flesh and bone easily.

Instead of attacking the rider, Rorr swept his leg about in a powerful circle and kicked the horse's front leg just above the cannon bone. From the way the horse reared, he had both frightened it and delivered great pain. It landed heavily on its front legs and bucked, throwing the rider. His shield flew through the air like a deadly silver blood kite and skidded in the dirt just shy of the granary.

"Where's the Torvan family?"

He grabbed one warrior as he struggled to stand and lifted him, fingers sliding expertly under his gorget to dig into his throat. He repeated the question but received only gurgles. Blood began trickling from the side of the man's mouth. Rorr tossed him away—he wasn't likely to get answers when the man had bitten through his own tongue.

"You will die," the shield-man spat. "No one attacks soldiers of our liege and lives!"

Rorr frowned. He knew of no lord holding sway over this land. The ebb and flow of royalty meant little to anyone plowing the land, fighting locusts and drought and wheat intermixed with water-hungry weeds.

The three who could still stand spread in front of him, drawing weapons and advancing.

"Does this lord of yours murder and pillage?" Rorr pointed to the still burning house.

"They refused to pay the taxes owed."

That settled it. Rorr had heard nothing of any lord demanding taxes, and his farm adjoined the Torvan acreage. These were brigands and nothing more. As they came closer, he studied their stance, how they held their weapons and the set to their bodies. They had military training and were used to fighting in unison. That elevated them above common highwaymen.

But not by much.

The one on Rorr's left attacked, thinking to distract him. Rorr knelt, used a leg sweep like the one that had brought down the horse and its rider, but didn't stop after he felt his heel strike the back of the fighter's knee. From his crouch, he launched himself at the man attacking from the right flank. His shoulder caught the man in the belly and bowled him over. As they hit the ground, locked together, Rorr clawed at the brawny wrist holding the sword and wrested it away. A quick roll and he came to his feet with the sword up in time to parry a two-handed overhead cut.

The blades collided and sent sparks dancing away. The impact jarred his attacker; Rorr twisted about and dropped his sword in favor of delivering a hard punch to the man's temple. Delicate bone crushed and drove into brain. The fighter sagged to the ground.

"Rorr!" Suddenly Fren was behind him, voice high and scared. "What's happening? Who are these men?"

Damn it—the boy was supposed to stay clear. "Get out of here, Fren. They're brigands. They killed the Torvans."

A whistling sound galvanized Rorr. He whirled and grabbed, fingers closing on an arrow in midair.

Fren's eyes went wide. The arrowhead with its wicked barbs had been halted only inches from his face.

Rorr broke the shaft and flung it from him. He turned to interpose himself between his stepson and two new combatants, these towering half-orcs.

"What have we here?" one said mockingly. "I thought we'd killed them all."

"These are new." The second half-orc nocked an arrow, drew back the bowstring, and let fly.

His bow had a heavier pull, and the arrow sang through the air at a higher pitch. There was no way Rorr could catch it before it spitted his stepson, but his arm flew up to block. He winced as the arrow drove through the muscle in his forearm. An involuntary reflex as he jerked away robbed the shaft of its power; the arrow remained embedded in his arm.

"Run, Fren. Go!"

Rorr lifted his right forearm and drew out the now-bloody arrow. He stabbed it in the half-orcs' direction. "You're not wanted here."

The pair laughed.

Rorr spun in a full circle and flung the arrow as if it were a spear. The broad head drove through one half-orc's eye.

"Impressive," the surviving warrior said, no fear in his voice.

"I missed. I'd aimed for his throat."

The half-orc laughed and fired another arrow, but Rorr drove hard, legs pumping furiously. He slid through the dirt and grabbed the fallen shield with the knife-sharp edge. The arrow missed him, but a new whistling sounded immediately. The half-orc was competent with his weapon.

Rorr rolled and used the shield to deflect two more arrows, then saw the half-orc had chosen a different attack. From a second quiver slung across his broad back, he brought forth an arrow dripping with black, oily fluid. The half-orc let fly. Rorr watched the arrow soar above him. As it passed, it exploded into flame and continued on to drive itself into the wooden door of the Torvan granary.

The brigand laughed again and reached for another.

Rorr gripped the upper edge of the shield and spun it outward in a glinting arc, then let go.

The sharpened side cut through the half-orc. The chest wound exploded in a bloody fountain, and the archer slid backward off his horse.

Rorr felt no triumph. He bent over and took a few quick steps away from the burning granary. The arrow and its black oil had ignited a fire as fearsome as the one devouring the farmhouse. Nothing could stand against it.

That was when he heard Fren's call for help—from inside the blazing building.

Putting his head down, Rorr charged like a bull, crashing through the door and into the inferno.

Coming Next Week: The dark side of manifest destiny in Robert E. Vardeman's "Plow and Sword."

Robert E. Vardeman is the author of more than fifty science fiction and fantasy novels, including both original series such as Cenotaph Road, War of Powers, and Swords of Raemllyn, as well as tie-in novels for such notable properties as Tom Swift, God of War, Battletech, Star Trek, and Magic: The Gathering. He has been nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Fan Writer, and is one of the founders of the New Mexico science fiction convention Bubonicon. For more information, visit his website.

Art by Carlos Villa.

Beginning Terrain-Making Blog, Part 3: Sculpting

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

See Part 1 of this series.
See Part 2 of this series.

At PaizoCon this year I ran a seminar/workshop introducing all sorts of things about making terrain for RPGs and wargaming. In between various demonstrations of hot wire foam cutting, casting bricks in dental plaster, mixing epoxy putty, and using polymer clay, I rattled off a bunch of websites with more information and/or product links. Here's a rundown on the information and links for sculpting, just in case you missed the seminar.

Epoxy Clays

	Hirst Arts bricks and Apoxie Sculpt floor.
	Standard plumbing pieces smoothed with Apoxie Sculpt.

You probably played with clay as a kid, so you know how it works. It's malleable, and you can shape it however you want, but if you want it to keep its shape, you have to fire it in a kiln. You probably don't have access to a kiln, so clay isn't a good material for terrain-building—pushing too hard with a mini or a knocked-over book would dent or crush a clay castle or statue. Fortunately, two-part epoxy clays like Apoxie Sculpt take care of that problem. Mix the two parts and it's soft like clay for about an hour, then becomes as stiff as hard plastic. It's available in many colors, and you can paint it if they don't have a color to your liking. A tip for using Apoxie Sculpt is to mix it, then let it sit for about 15 minutes because it's tacky when first mixed. Work with small amounts at a time so you don't mix too much and waste it. Apoxie Sculpt is good for small projects, but not really intended for larger items (such as hills), both in terms of cost and weight.

In the first photo, I've used gray Apoxie Sculpt to create a flat area near some Hirst Arts floor tiles, with cut dowels inserted to create a wooden barricade (once I paint the dowels with diluted brown paint, they'll look like old logs). In the second photo, I used it to smooth out the interior screw-threads on some small plumbing pieces I'm using for a steampunk gnome city I'm building).

If you're looking for a cheaper alternative to Apoxie Sculpt, you can buy a package of Mighty Putty online, at hardware stores, department stores (usually in the home improvement section) and other locations for about $10; it's grainier, and smells like sulfur, but has similar uses, and once it's painted you can't smell the sulfur anymore.

Epoxy Putty

Anyone who's worked with miniatures is probably familiar with kneadadite epoxy putty, commonly known as "greenstuff." It's packaged as a strip or tube of yellow and blue; when mixed it's green, and remains pliable for 1–2 hours. Greenstuff is good for fine details (like creating a glyph on a stone), and remains slightly flexible even after it hardens, but it gets expensive if you use it for large-scale pieces, and its flexibility is a drawback if you're creating something that has to support weight (such as an arched bridge). You can buy kneadatite from the Paizo store, hobby shops, or other online retailers such as The Warstore.com.

Polymer Clay

	Wavy floor made from Sculpey “casts” of a Hirst Arts floor tile mold.

If you want the advantages of clay but don't want to mix stuff or a time limit on it remaining pliable, polymer clays such as Sculpey are workable like clay, but harden when baked in a conventional oven (I hear you can harden it by dipping it in boiling water, though you'd probably want to put the piece in a sieve so you can easily dip and retrieve it). Sculpey is available in many colors, including several stonelike clays. You can purchase it from art stores, hobby stores, and department stores. If you have silicone molds (see Beginning Terrain-Making Blog, Part 2: Using Silicone Molds ), you can press Sculpey into the mold, carefully bend the mold to pop out the soft "casting" of the brick, bend and twist the Sculpey into a different shape, then bake the clay until it's hard (I used this technique with a floor tile mold to create a corridor with floors that rose and fell in waves).

Sean K Reynolds
Designer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play Part XV: Spread the wisdom of Tian Xia within the Inner Sea

Monday, June 27, 2011

While the Pathfinder Society makes its home in the Grand Lodge of Absalom, its membership comes from and travels to all corners of the known world. Outside the Inner Sea region, one of the highest concentrations of Pathfinders is on the continent of Tian Xia, and specifically in the metropolitan city of Goka. Most Tian Pathfinders operate independently of their brethren in Absalom, but occasionally agents cross the Crown of the World, make the treacherous naval voyage south around Casmaron, or simply teleport to travel between the two hubs of activity. The Lantern Lodge represents Tian interests in the Inner Sea region, ensuring that Pathfinder Society agents far to the east of the Decemvirate’s direct view are considered in organization-wide affairs.

When we first announced the forthcoming Jade Regent Adventure Path, one of the first questions to pop up on the Pathfinder Society forums was whether the campaign would be going to this distant land. The answer is undoubtedly yes, my loyal Pathfinders, but we won't be abandoning years of development in the Inner Sea region; the campaign is still going to be based out of Absalom.

But we've got Asian-influenced archetypes in Ultimate Magic and Ultimate Combat, and the new ninja and samurai alternate classes in the latter, so we needed to find a way to justify these characters existing in the Inner Sea region, and explain why we hadn't seen them around before. The simplest solution was to introduce a branch of Pathfinders focused on Tian Xia or from there, who may have just recently set up a presence in Absalom.

Thus, the Lantern Lodge was born. Headed by a Gokan venture-captain named Amara Li, the Lantern Lodge represents Tian interests in the Inner Sea and promotes cooperation between Pathfinders on both sides of the world. Whether the Lantern Lodge provides a home away from home to natives of Goka, Minkai, Nagajor, or the fractured Successor States of Imperial Lung Wa while they venture into Avistan and Garund on their own explorations, or whether it provides resources for Pathfinders from the Inner Sea region who want to experience the wonders of Tian Xia, the Lantern Lodge has an important role to play within the Pathfinder Society as a whole.

At this point, there are no plans to add Tian Xia-based PC races to the campaign, but those who want to play a ninja, samurai, or exiled Tian noble now have a faction whose missions fit their flavor, all within the context of the Pathfinder Society as a whole. Instead of swearing allegiance to a country thousands of miles from their homeland, they can remain loyal to the lands that birthed them on the other side of the Wall of Heaven mountains.

Two new factions down, three to go! Next week, we'll look at the Sczarni, the loosely organized Varisian criminal network, and see how they fit in with the Pathfinder Society. What could these two organizations possibly have to gain from allying with one another? Find out next week—same path-time, same path-channel.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Illustrations by Yngvar Asplund and Dmitry Burmak. Widescreen version here.

Don't Be Late for Your Very Important Date with the Harrowing!

Friday, June 24, 2011

It's no surprise that our childhoods influence who we are today. That's especially true for writers, since everything we do gets stored in our brains to be mashed together and filtered through our experiences, ready to jump out when the Muse strikes. The Harrowing, an adventure written by Crystal Frasier and designed for 9th-level characters, is such a mash-up: one part Time Bandits, two parts Alice in Wonderland, with a dash of a David Bowie-styled Labyrinth. In this adventure, the long-dead bard Sonnorae feared that her collection of stories would be lost when she died, and so she created a demiplane within her personal harrow deck to contain them. Over time, these stories took on lives of their own, and melded with the images on the cards themselves. But not all stories have happy endings, and the storykin who live in the Harrowed Realm have their own motivations and plots for power and some have even escaped into the real world. When the PCs find themselves drawn into the Harrowed Realm in search of a disappeared scholar, they must use all their wits and steel to navigate the landscape and politics of this strange wonderland and make it home again.

This adventure features an entire plane of fanciful locations and characters inspired by the popular harrow deck of the Pathfinder campaign setting. In addition, you'll find a brand-new monster and an optional rules subsystem allowing players to bend reality to their wills by using all 54 cards in the optional Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Harrow Deck to manipulate the strange demiplane in which they adventure.

We'll be shipping this adventure next month but until then, we hope this wallpaper fills you with Wonder.

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Golarion Day: Report From Kintargo—Dungeons of Golarion

Thursday, June 23, 2011

If they weren't such an excellent place to make quick money, I doubt I'd ever want to go into an actual dungeon. As it stands, I try to make it a practice to only venture into the ones that are worth the trouble. I'm not a fan of slinking through sewers, skulking about in guano-reeking caves, or sneaking through a ruin that's been picked over by thousands of lesser explorers. Give me a megadungeon any day, though. Not only are these things immense (and thus filled with immense amounts of treasure), but they also tend to be dripping (sometimes literally) with history and lore and stories that can date back hundreds or even thousands of years. When you get skunked in a dungeon in the treasure department, it's nice to at least come out of there with a wider appreciation of ancient Thassilonian art, experience with strange Numerian technology, or tales of close calls with primeval wonders and horrors.

The Egorian vaults have a fair amount of information about the megadungeons of the Inner Sea region, but there are six of them that someone seems particularly interested in. Hollow Mountain in Varisia, the Red Redoubt of Karamoss just outside of Absalom, the lost dwarven mines of Zolurket, Andoran's Candlestone Caverns, the mysterious Pyramid of Kamaria in Osirion, and, of course, Gallowspire. The files include several maps of specific levels found in all six of these megadungeons, along with sketches of cutaway views of the complexes as well. And extensive notes on the monsters, traps, and (oh yes!) treasures said to be found within.

Some neat stuff. So of course I stole it all. I've sent the notes on to a contact in Magnimar, and she's going to see to it that they're bound and distributed. They should be arriving soon—within the month. Until then, though, I thought folks would be interested in perhaps a few images of some of the critters said to dwell in the dungeons.

I don't know about you, but they certainly look like the type of monsters who would keep a lot of treasure in their lair! I've got my fingers crossed!

Illustrations by Emile Denis, Maichol Quinto and Damien Mammoliti

Shensen
Old Cheliax Shall Rise Again!

The Ironroot Deception

by Robin D. Laws

Chapter Four: The Beast

The weirdness of the creature's distant cries washes over the prisoners like a crashing wave. The elves have arrayed themselves behind them. With swords outstretched, they impel the captives into the newly revealed inner chambers of the Ironroot.

Gad and Vitta are working their way to point position when Dualal chimes: "Not you, good dog. Nor you, halfling. You seem like you might be of more specialized use. You two, with the beards—you go first."

She points a glossy nail at the two brothers, Tlivush and Tliuka.

Tlivush, the elder one, threads his fingers together and begs: "We are brothers, milady. Let him stay back, and I'll bear the brunt of whatever risk—"

"Human, you should know your place by now. As a measure of my vexation, your brother shall walk ahead, and you'll hang back."

The elves hold lanterns for the humans. The final Ironroot Vault reveals itself as a succession of twisting tunnels. Every surface is wooden, whether covered in bark or exposed and lacquered. Feathery roots reach down from the ceiling. Thicker ones provide overhead passage for skittering mice.

When the vault branches, Tliuka wanders for the closest fork.

"Hold up!" Vitta shouts.

"What?" says Dualal.

"Up in the root structure," she says, pointing above Tliuka's head. "There are glowing sigils painted in the roots. A glyph trap."

"Go the other way," Dualal commands.

Shoulders hunkered, Tliuka complies.

"This isn't right," Vitta says to Gad. "I should be up there, not that poor serf."

"Got an argument that doesn't explain who you are?" Gad asks.

Vitta grimaces. She goes back to checking the ceiling and walls as best she can from the back of the shuffling scrum. The passage curves, slopes down, and curves again. They come to a set of roots, forming a rough staircase leading a dozen steps down. Vitta edges her way to the front of the crowd.

"Let the selected human walk the steps alone," calls Dualal.

Tliuka freezes on the first stair.

"Walk lightly, my brother," Tlivush calls.

One by one, Tliuka traverses the steps. He hits bottom and moves on down the corridor.

A grate of sharpened poles drops from the ceiling. It falls with speed and force, knocking Tlivush first to his knees and then flat against the floor. The poles impale him. He gasps and writhes. Vitta bounds up but there's nothing to be done.

"Tliuka!" his brother cries.

Dualal bares her teeth at him. "Silence, thrall, or we'll dig a grave for two!"

Tliuka dies at Vitta's feet.

The portcullis bars their way. Dualal parts the group to inspect it. She rattles it, orders her men to chop at it with swords. It resists their blows.

"Halfling," she says, "you seemed to know to look for traps, before. If you can find us a way through this, you'll be rewarded."

Vitta looks not at the portcullis, but at the ceiling and nearby walls.

"Ingenious," says Vitta, squinting in the lantern light. "Though woven—or is it grown?—from roots, vines, and twigs, it still obeys the rules of winch and pulley. This tough fiber here is like the chain, and this notch is where you secure it. The weight-plate here, that Tlivush stepped on to trigger it: bark and wood. All of it still living. Or, if you prefer, ensorcelled into an eternal semblance of life. And this spiral of branches here, that duplicates the actions of a spring. Pulled tight, it imprisons a great measure of force. It is that captive force, when suddenly released, that made it fall so fast, and impaled poor Tliuka."

Dualal sucks air between her fey-white teeth. "At another time, halfling, your disquisition might be interesting. Can you raise it up, and prevent it from falling?"

"I could, but will I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will you let all of us go, unharmed, when you get what you seek?"

"You will be of little use then."

"Yes, that's why I ask."

"You'd be wise not to test me."

"Do you want this up, or not?"

"I swear, you all shall be safely dismissed."

"On your blood and the blood of your lineage?"

Dualal stiffens. "Yes, creature." She gestures to Gad. "Save for this one. In him I see the potential for longer service."

Gad sees a vituperation form on his comrade's lips.

"Don't worry about me, Vitta," he says. "Accept her pledge, for you and for the others."

"Give me a boost then," she tells him.

He hoists her up. She hauls at a vine. The wooden grate lifts up, slipping wetly free of Tlivush's impaled corpse. The prisoners groan as it rolls into view.

Vitta rearranges roots, ties a knot around a protruding burl, and leaps down to tear chunks of wood from the weight-sensing mechanism.

"You have rendered it safe?" Dualal asks her.

Vitta brushes bark dust from her palms. "I have."

"Then onward."

∗ ∗ ∗

	"The thornbeast doesn't appear to have much respect for would-be royalty."

They turn a corner and the howls grow in pitch and frequency. Other sounds join its plaintive, angry wails. The unseen thornbeast roars, snorts, and slavers. A succession of thumps and frantic scratching noises suggest a creature struggling to escape.

Gad speeds up, intending to be the first to see it. A small cool hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him aside. It's Dualal.

The creature is within view now. Gad sees it over Dualal's shoulder. It is an ever-shifting thing, a mass of muscles, hide, quills, and teeth. It is a body arranged entirely around a deep, clashing maw. Its gums are granite; its teeth, serrated ivory. Green spittle sprays from its gullet; it reeks of new-mown hay. Hundreds of jagged thorns protrude from its back and the outer surfaces of its limbs. Blood-red fruits, compounded from bulbous drupes, dangle from its plated hide. It is like the frothing, charging issue of an impossible mating: part porcupine, part lion, part boulder, part bramble. The thornbeast is growth gone wrong, life defined as pure predation.

A web of verdant energy forms a seal between the passageway and the beast's imprisoning chamber. Seeing Dualal, the thornbeast dashes toward it, and is stopped short. It stomps and bucks and froths.

At the very center of the web hangs an opal the size of a fist.

"Stand back, all of you," she calls, face fixed on the gem.

The prisoners pell-mell chaotically out of the way. Vitta follows in their wake, though more cautiously, alert for traps they failed to trip on the way in. The elves step back only a few paces. Gad presses himself into a depression in the wall, between two trunklike columns.

"Join me in the chant, good elves!" she cries. Together they draw their arms away from their bodies, hands twisted into arcane shapes. She leads the ritual. An ancient, breathy ululation sings from her lungs. Her retinue joins her, harmonizing. The green, imprisoning web flickers.

The thornbeast grows still, as if calmed by elfsong. Meekly, it retreats to the far corner of its cell.

Dualal plucks the opal from the air.

The web vanishes.

The creature blinks. It realizes that it is free.

Gad's throat constricts.

The creature opens its own, shrilling out its bloodthirsty anticipation.

Dualal reaches into her pack for her wand, readying herself to kill the thornbeast, just as she did its lesser cousin, back in the forest.

Gad steps from the alcove.

"Get back!" Dualal shrieks.

Gad reaches for her.

She clutches the opal tight. "You've come to steal the gem!" she realizes.

"No," Gad corrects. "I've come to steal this." He snatches the wand from her hand.

The amber elf leaps at him. Ready for his lunge, Gad pivots, throwing him. He lands at the thornbeast's clawed, titanic feet.

Dualal's elven retinue draws swords. Gad gets out of their way by pushing Dualal into a wall. The warriors rush to engage the thornbeast. It already has Amberelf's right leg caught tight in its jaws. It ragdolls him back and forth, dashing his skull against the hard wooden wall of its cell.

Dualal stutters her incomprehension. "The wand? I need that to quell the beast."

"I'm not sure it'll work on that thing, and, more to the point, don't care," Gad says.

She struggles to get at her sword hilt but it's wedged between her back and the wall.

"The wand?" she continues. "You came to steal the wand?"

With deft fingers Gad unbuckles her scabbard. "Yep."

"The wand. Not the gem?"

"Nope." Buckles loosened, he pulls the entire apparatus—sword, scabbard, and belt—from her.

"But it's priceless! Invaluable beyond measure!"

"Maybe to your insane dreams of conquest. But I don't know where I'd fence that. Whereas this remarkable wand of yours, unique on Golarion as far as I can tell —why, I have a buyer in Nerosyan lined up to pay a hundred thousand on the spot."

Behind them, the thornbeast devours Dualal's men. It crunches through bone and snaps off limbs.

Blinded by fury, Dualal scarcely notices. "You have betrayed me," she hisses.

"You enslaved me first, so it all comes out in the wash."

He pushes away from her, sword in one hand, wand in the other. She tries to pull her dagger. It stays stuck in its sheath. She withdraws her hand, pulling threads of glue with it.

"You remember the glue trap, back there?" Gad says. "Vitta saved some for you."

"The two of you... confederates?"

"Elves aren't the only ones who plan ahead."

"But—but you are my dog!"

"Ruff ruff," he says, backing up.

Once around the corner, he turns and sprints. An ill-cast spell whizzes overhead, scorching vine leaves, singeing his hair. He turns to point the death wand back at Dualal, having no idea what it might do to an elf rather than a thornbeast. She stops, flattening herself against a wall. He scuttles back to the preplanned point.

He nods to Vitta. Her expression fuses mock innocence with self-satisfied serenity.

She slashes a vine. The portcullis slams down, leaving Gad and Vitta and the press gang on one side, the elves stuck with the thornbeast on the other.

"Better go," he tells Vitta. "She still has spells."

"I forgot to mention," the halfling says, "the portcullis coated with some kind of magic retardant. Impervious to spells."

"Forgot to mention?"

"A randomly captured thrall can't seem too knowledgeable," she says.

The sounds of carnage flow down the passageway as the thornbeast finishes off Dualal's retainers.

Dualal surges to the wooden portcullis, jutting her pale fingers through it. Ignoring Gad, she pleads her case to Vitta: "Let this up! Quick! The creature's coming!"

Vitta puts hands on hips. "It'll hold. For awhile."

"But I promised you a safe dismissal!"

"Our freedom was never yours to grant."

Dualal looks back with terror as the ripping and tearing sounds subside. "This is not in the prophecy!"

"I can't help you with that one," Gad says.

"But the thornbeast—it will run a-feasting through the Shudderwood, and perhaps beyond!"

"Three minutes ago," he says, turning his back on her, "that was a price you were willing to pay."

They are well into in the excavated passageway when they hear the beast pounce, all grunts and scrabbling claws. To her credit, Dualal barely looses a scream.

They surface expecting to find the prisoners waiting for them, seeking guidance back to civilized parts. Instead, the freed thralls are already gone.

"Hnh," Vitta says. "They didn't trust us."

"In fairness," says Gad, "no one ever should."

Vitta nods her agreement. Without further repartee, they set out for Nerosyan, and the hundred thousand that awaits them there.

Coming Next Week: Dark smoke rising from the plains and a farmer with a troubled past in Robert E. Vardeman's "Plow and Sword."

Robin D. Laws is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Worldwound Gambit—also starring Gad—and six other novels, as well as various short stories, web serials, and comic books, plus a long list of roleplaying game products. His novels include Pierced Heart, The Rough and the Smooth, and the Angelika Fleischer series for the Black Library. Robin created the classic RPG Feng Shui and such recent titles as Mutant City Blues, Skulduggery, and the newly redesigned HeroQuest 2. His previous fiction for the Pathfinder campaign setting includes "Plague of Light" in the Serpent's Skull Adventure Path. Those interested in learning more about Robin are advised to check out his blog.

Art by J. P. Targete.

Beginning Terrain-Making Blog, Part 2: Using Silicone Molds

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

See Part 1 of this series.

At PaizoCon this year I ran a seminar/workshop introducing all sorts of things about making terrain for RPGs and wargaming. In between various demonstrations of hot wire foam cutting, casting bricks in dental plaster, mixing epoxy putty, and using polymer clay, I rattled off a bunch of websites with more information and/or product links. Here's a rundown on the information and links for plaster-casting and mold-making, just in case you missed the seminar.

	A Hirst Arts cracked floor tile mold.

Using Silicone-Rubber Molds

Do you want to build a fort for your PCs to invade? What about a dungeon with customized room pieces you can move around? Or a display piece to hold your favorite miniatures? Building these out of hard plaster "bricks" is easy with the right tools. First of all, you need a suitable mold for the bricks you want. Hirst Arts Fantasy Architecture is by far the best site for buying terrain molds and finding tutorials on how to use them. The mold types range from simple rectangular bricks (like Wizard's Tower Mold #50) to flat floor tiles (like Cracked Floor Tiles Mold #206) to molds for ancient Egyptian buildings, gothic towers, or natural caverns. The molds are durable and easy to use, and last for hundreds of casts (I've had some of my molds for years and have never seen any wear and tear on them). For many of these molds, there are free downloadable plans for how to use that mold to build a sample structure (for example, the Wizard's Tower Mold instructions show how to build a multi-floor tower).

	Excalibur dental plaster.

Casting Plaster

Once you have a mold, you need a casting material. Plaster of Paris (aka "POP") is cheap and available at hobby stores and school supply stores, but it's fragile and not good for long-term use. Most terrain-makers use dental plaster, which is heavier and much more durable than POP. The two most common brands are Hydrocal and Excalibur (the most durable); the best places to buy them are dental office supplier (find them on the Internet, the yellow pages, or check the Hirst Arts message boards for a good supplier in your area). Either type costs about a dollar per pound and is usually sold in 25- or 50-pound containers. Depending on the size of the mold, 1 pound makes anywhere from 2–4 casts.

Casting is simple: Mix the plaster with water evenly until it's about the consistency of milk, pour it into the mold, bang on the table to cause trapped air bubbles in the plaster mixture to rise (otherwise you get bubble flaws in the casting), wait 5–6 minutes for the plaster to start to harden and settle, scrape off the excess plaster so it's even with the top of the mold, wait 25 minutes for the pieces to harden, and pop them out of the mold. In my PaizoCon workshop, I spent a few minutes mixing and pouring the plaster, and by the time the seminar was done I was able to hand everyone a fully cast floor tile from the mold. The plaster dust can irritate your eyes and lungs, so you may want to wear eye protection and wear a cloth mask while casting if you're sensitive to that sort of thing.

	Miniatures display platform.

Ideas for Projects

If you can build it out of bricks, you can create it—castles, retaining walls, ruins, wells, arches, and so on are all easy first-time projects. Cast the pieces, let them dry 24 hours, glue them together with Aleen's tacky glue, and you're done. Optionally, you can paint them (latex house paint is cheapest) to give them a more uniform color.

Sean K Reynolds
Designer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play, Part XIV: Loyalty to the Decemvirate Above All Else

Monday, June 20, 2011

Regardless of a Pathfinder's nation of origin, all members of the Society consider the Grand Lodge in Absalom a second home. It is in this vast complex of sprawling towers, libraries, and reliquaries that so many Pathfinders receive their training, and within the Grand Lodge's walls, the masked leaders of the Society secretly guide the organization from their chambers at the peak of Skyreach's central tower. While many Pathfinders find their loyalty to the Society but one of several alliances to outside political or religious factions, most Pathfinders hold the strongest allegiance to the will of the Ten and the Pathfinder Society itself. Those who do not taint their dedication with distractions from other superiors are the pride of the Grand Lodge, and are rewarded for always putting the orders of the Decemvirate before their own personal wants and desires.

Since very early in the Pathfinder Society Organized Play campaign's history, folks have asked not to belong to a faction, wanting to play a Pathfinder first and foremost. Because of the nature of Prestige Points and the prominence of faction missions as an integral part of Pathfinder Society Scenarios, doing so hasn't been possible to date. But with the advent of five new factions, we saw the opportunity to give these dedicated Pathfinder agents what they were looking for—a way to play a blue-blooded Pathfinder within the faction system. And thus, the Grand Lodge faction was born.

Headed by the Grand Lodge's chamberlain and steward, Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin, the Grand Lodge faction rewards Pathfinders who put the interests of the Decemvirate and the Pathfinder Society above all else. Members of this faction will still get a distinct faction mission each scenario, but their tasks will often coincide with the overall adventure objective or otherwise serve to promote loyalty to the Decemvirate and the well-being of the Pathfinder Society as a whole.

In the upcoming Pathfinder Society Field Guide, each faction will receive a full-page write-up including a headshot of the faction head, an overview of the typical member of the group, and a hint at how those loyal to the cause increase their Fame score within their faction. In addition to this flavorful background, each faction will feature a handful of new boons that may be unlocked with Fame and purchased with Prestige Points, available only to members of that faction. Check out the following boon available to Grand Lodge Pathfinders who attain a Fame score of at least 20 and spend 2 Prestige Points:

Aspis Hunter (Fame 20, 2 PP) You gain special training in foiling the efforts of the Society's largest external enemy, the Aspis Consortium. You gain a +1 bonus on attack rolls and on weapon damage rolls against Aspis agents who wear clearly visible insignia showing their affiliation and rank.

One new faction down, and only three months after we first announced the number of factions would be doubling next season. From here out, it's all new factions, all the time until just before Gen Con, so stay tuned to this spot each week for a glimpse at the next one. In one week's time, I'll give the first glimpse at the Lantern Lodge, the Tian-aligned faction within the Pathfinder Society.

Mark Moreland
Developer

We Be Goblins—You Get Free Stuff!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Cover Illustration by Tyler Walpole

Tomorrow, retail stores around the globe will open their doors and hand out free RPG materials from some of the game industry's most well-known companies. Why? Well tomorrow is Free RPG Day and once again Paizo is taking part in this great program and has produced We Be Goblins, a most unusual (and fully sanctioned for use in the Pathfinder Society) adventure for 1st-level goblin characters.

In this adventure, the Licktoad goblins of Brinestump Marsh have stumbled upon a great treasure—fireworks! Yet unfortunately for them, the tribe member responsible for the discovery has already been exiled for the abhorrent crime of writing (which every goblin knows steals words from your head). To remedy this situation, the Licktoads' leader, His Mighty Girthness Chief Rendwattle Gutwad, has declared that the greatest heroes of the tribe must venture forth to retrieve the rest of the fireworks from a derelict ship stranded in the marsh. In order to prove themselves as the Licktoads' bravest goblins, the PCs must complete a series of dangerous dares, from swallowing bull slugs and braving the dreaded Earbiter to dancing with Squealy Nord himself. Yet even once they've proven their mettle, the adventure is just beginning. For the ship in question is far from uninhabited, and Vorka the cannibal goblin would like nothing better than a few tasty visitors...

Check out the Free RPG Day website for more information and a link to participating retailers. Here in the Seattle area, Pathfinder Lead Designer Jason Bulmahn will be running a few sessions of We Be Goblins, at his local store—Card Kingdoms out in Ballard. Stop on by, say hi, and then roll some dice!

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Illustration by Dave Rapoza. Widescreen version here.

The Stars Are Wrong!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Wake of the Watcher, the fourth installment of the Carrion Crown Adventure Path, is on its way out of the warehouse and to retailers and subscribers the world over. In this chapter, the PCs venture to Illmarsh, an ugly town amid the nastiest stretch of swamp in Ustalav. On the trail of the Whispering Way, the PCs find themselves caught up between beings from beneath the seas and invaders from the darkest corners of the cosmos. Can the heroes save Illmarsh from its tradition of terror? Or will they be the next victims of the horror from beyond the stars? While you wait to find out, enjoy this wallpaper featuring a corpulent cthuloid and poor Merisiel caught up in the tentacles of some nightmarish spawn of a Great Old One.

Ia, Ia, Cthulu Ftagn!

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Golarion Day: The Shoanti Shaman

Thursday, June 16, 2011

So sometimes, we're so eager to get new player options into print we kind of get ahead of ourselves and stumble over our own feet in our haste. This happened, alas, with the just-released Pathfinder Companion: Humans of Golarion, in which we present something called "totem domains" for the Shoanti but then forgot to quantify exactly how anyone can get access to these domains! Oops!

There are seven totem domains in all—one each for the seven Shoanti quahs (clans). Each quah's totem actually consists of several different related animals or objects. For example, the Lyrune-Quah (the Moon Clan) venerates the following totems: bats, cave bears, field mice, the moon, mountain lions, owls, rainstorms, stars, and wolves. Although clerics and druids who become Shoanti shamans venerate their totem, they do not abandon their actual religion. Instead, these totems are simply assimilated into the traditions of whatever deity (for clerics) or perhaps philosophy (for druids) the character follows. A full list of Shoanti totems, including the domains these totems grant, appears on page 16 of Humans of Golarion.

Shoanti Shaman (Cleric and Druid Archetype)

The Shoanti shaman is a very simple archetype that either clerics or druids can take (with GM permission, you can certainly adjust the archetype a bit so that other classes with access to domains can be a Shoanti shaman, but keep in mind that the Shoanti have a very specific flavor, and something like a Shoanti inquisitor is kind of weird...)—doing so allows the character to gain access to his clan's totem domain. A Shoanti shaman has the following class feature.

Totem Domain: At 1st level (for clerics) or upon gaining a domain as part of Nature Bond at 1st level (for druids—a druid who instead opts to take an animal companion cannot use the Shoanti shaman archetype), pick one of your Shoanti quah's totems. You can use an image of this totem you carry or wield as your divine focus in addition to using the normal divine focus you might utilize (such as a holy symbol). In addition, you add that totem's domain choices to the list of domains you may choose from when picking a domain. If you are a cleric, you must still choose one of your domains from those normally granted by your deity. If you are a druid, your totem domain options replace the standard domain options granted by nature bond.

Illustration by Florian Stitz

James Jacobs
Creative Director

The Ironroot Deception

by Robin D. Laws

Chapter Three: The Dog

Gad's feet scramble for purchase against a heap of gravel as the muscular prisoner chokes the life from him. Stokh grunts in surprise; Gad's supposed to be shackled at the ankles. He tightens his grip. Gad's arm flails into the gravel pile. He fishes out an object.

The burly prisoner sees the flash of metal and releases Gad in a twitch of panic. Knuckles white on the hilt of Ethundel's dagger—stolen when he prompted Stokh to push him into the elf on the way into the excavation that morning—Gad neatly plunges it between the startled man's well-demarcated ribs. He jams it in deep. He twists, forcing Stokh to cry out in pain.

Agonized cries resound through the pit. They cease as blood fills Stokh's lungs. He dies to the sound of running elven feet. Gad steps out of Stokh's path as his corpse timbers to the dirt. He slides to Vitta's side, yards away. He presses his ankles together. Vitta slaps the shackles on them. Using a twig she's carved, she clicks its tumblers, locking it. She stashes the twig in the rock pile, retrieving another item. When she sees that Ethundel has seized control of the scene and is barking orders to his fellow Reclaimers, she places it in Gad's hand.

Ethundel rushes to Stokh's side. He places fingers on his jugular, shakes his head, and rises. A red fury, so intense as to be visible in the weak light of predawn, suffuses his triangular face.

"Where is the new one?" he calls. "Where is the churl?"

Gad scrabbles back, catching his eye. The elf sprints at him, hauling him to his shackled feet. He backhands Gad across the face. Throws him against the pit wall. When he tries to knee him in the groin, Gad angles to avoid the worst.

"What happens here?"

At the slicing sound of his mistress's voice, Ethundel stops. He throws Gad to the dirt. "The new one has murdered our best thrall. Our strongest, most loyal human."

	"They say that all the best leaders are a little crazy. By that metric, maybe Dualal is destined to rule."

Dualal's arched brow suggests that her admiration for Stokh ran cooler than her lieutenant's. "Humans are vicious, Ethundel. They slay one another. The savage ones are oft of greater use than their docile brethren."

Ethundel points at Gad. "And I shall slay this one."

"And lose two slaves, instead of one?" says Dualal. "When we are a few day's digging from our prize?"

"I warned him not to defy me."

She laughs. "I've told you time and again, child, just because these creatures walk and talk, and seem capable of feeling, you must not mistake them for people. They are but snarling animals. If one dog tears another's throat, it is not the fault of the dog, but of the negligent dog-keeper." She sweeps toward Ethundel. "Why did you let my one good dog kill my other?"

"Milady..." Ethundel stutters.

"I raised you from nothing, and you are hard and brave, yet you haven't the sense of a barnacle."

Ethundel can see that his comrades are watching him.

"I didn't even do it!" Gad blurts.

"What?" says Dualal.

"He says I killed Stokh, but it wasn't me. Look! He's stabbed. Do I have a blade?"

"Ethundel," she says, "did you let the human have a dagger?"

"I did not!"

"Look!" says Gad, "the blood's on his scabbard!"

The dagger is back on Ethundel's hip. Returned to him when he was trying to knee Gad in the gobbles. Stokh's sticky blood smears his belt and tunic.

Dualal's hand snakes out at him.

In an unthinking defensive gesture, Ethundel's hand lands on his guilty dagger-hilt. He immediately lets it go, as if it burns. His lips follow the rhythm of his unraveling thoughts. "He must have—no..."

"Give me that blade," she says.

From her tone, Gad decides he guessed right. These two are like mother and son. But not truly mother and son. All the demands, none of the affection.

She pulls the knife from its sheath. With it falls a bundle wrapped in a dirty rag. It falls to the dirt. Glinting dawn light reflects from ruby facets. Dualal bends down to seize the purloined gems.

"You've been holding out on me," she says.

"No."

"I told everyone that any treasures found in the Ironroot Vaults were to be turned over to me. And you, of all my followers, you betray me?"

"I've never seen those before."

"You, whom I elevated not for your strength, nor for your courage, but for your loyalty—you would forsake me for a handful of stones?"

She stabs him in the chest. He drops to his knees, more out of supplication than injury.

"Milady, it's a trick, I would never—"

Dualal jabs the knife into his open mouth, slashing his tongue. "Silence, traitor!" She wheels to face the appalled ranks of her minions. Ethundel gags behind her. "Each of you will stab him once with his own duplicitous blade. I shall punish shirkers and light-strikers as I have punished him!"

One by one, they step up and meekly comply. Her lackeys slash at Ethundel enough to say they've done it. She wrinkles her nose in dissatisfaction.

"You there. Human," she says.

"Me?" Gad asks.

"These elves are of the blood, yet have permitted it to run thin in their veins. We lost Golarion to you because we lacked your cruelty. To take it back, we must equal your barbarity. Teach my men a lesson, human. Show them what savagery is."

She proffers the knife.

"Do it. I'll reward you."

Gad steps up and slices open Ethundel's throat.

Imagining that he's doing it to her.

∗ ∗ ∗

Days of toil pass, with no hint of Dualal's promised reward. Each morning Gad and Vitta go down into the excavation with the rest of the press gang. Some days they break rocks. Some days they pass debris buckets down the passage or up the shaft. Every night they stumble from the complex, which they now know as the Ironroot Vaults, topple onto beds of gravel, and surrender to pain-wracked sleep.

Since his stabbing of Ethundel, the other prisoners come to Gad, as if, in killing the elf, he gained a measure of his authority.

They say:

"They're going to work us to death."

"My name is Saadak. I have a wife, three children, and another on the way. My death will be their misery, too."

"If we're still alive when they get whatever they're looking for, they'll slaughter us just for spite."

"I am Barash, son of Barash. I was foolish to venture so close to the Shudderwood with my cart, but it is not a crime I deserve to be killed for."

"I overheard her. They seek a gem that will prove her destined to rule the world. That can't be true, can it?"

"I am Tlivush. That is my brother, Tliuka. It does not matter what happens to me, but if he does not return, it will break our mother's heart."

"There must be a way we can escape."

"She thinks you're her new pet or such. We beg you, sway her to ease up on us."

It throws him off. Gad is used to leading, to calling the moves, but with confederates who are in on the gaffle. Responsibility for a pack of ordinaries is not part of the plan.

The next evening, as the end of the shift nears, Vitta's ax opens a hole to a hollow chamber. She quickly returns the rock to its place. "The digging's almost done," she says to Gad.

That night, Gad sleeps fitfully. He dreams that Dualal is looming over him.

He awakens.

Dualal is looming over him.

She unlocks his shackles and takes him for a walk. They stroll up the slope out of the pit, to the dead forest beyond. "The other dogs gather around you," she says.

"We prefer 'human.'"

She turns to face him, as if worried that he'll rifle her pack. "I said I'd reward you, and I will. Even though a sliver of me now suspects that you somehow abetted Ethundel in his betrayal."

"That's not so," Gad says.

"Your people were bred to serve mine. You'll deny it, but it's true. Are we not older, wiser, more beautiful? How could we be supplanted by such as you?"

"It is a mystery."

"I could use a loyal dog. A killing beast. Instinctively, the others yearn to follow you. Why is that?"

"Your thoughts rush swiftly. This poor dog can't keep up."

"When I rule... It is unrealistic to expect that we shall exterminate your race entirely. Many will remain. I must learn to command your kind. Yet my revulsion for you clouds my understanding."

"You're not too big to admit that."

"Not at all."

"What makes you think you're going to be world-queen?"

"Do not mistake this moment of intimacy for weakness. Insolence shall still be punished. My visions say so. Since I was but a child, I have dreamed my future glory. I would fall into a trance, and recite epic stanzas of my eventual deeds. All the great prophetic poems of elvenkind refer to me, foretell my coming. Yet unbelievers, even other Reclaimers, refuse to see the obvious parallels in the texts. The prophets say that the great elf queen to come will find a gem, buried deep in the earth. Its light will shine on the elven people, curing them of their blindness. Forcing them to recognize me. I will unite the elves and fey of the known worlds, then the seven leaves will fall—but it is beyond your comprehension."

"And that's what we seek here—your gem?"

"Two thousand years ago came the first harbinger of my rule. The thornbeast. A terrible tripartite devourer: animal, mineral, vegetable. It scourged the elven kingdoms, seeking the queen too early, enraged by its failure to find her. The elves of this land finally captured it and sealed it in their own holy Ironroot Vaults. They could not kill it, so they left a powerful gem, the Opal of Command, to force its eternal slumber."

"And the opal is your gem of prophecy."

"Yes."

"So what happens when you take it from its resting place? You release the thornbeast?"

"Don't worry about that, good dog."

∗ ∗ ∗

Gad asks the amber elf what his name is as he and Vitta smash through the last wall of rock to the open chamber beyond. The elf has time to snarl at him before the stones give way, collapsing into a tumble of rubble at their feet.

Darkness shrouds the chambers beyond. Vitta reaches for a lantern.

The amber elf stops her short. "Halfling! Go to the top, and convey to your mistress that the excavation is at an end."

Gad steps lightly on her toe, to forestall the retort he can already hear coming. She stalks off down the passageway, squeezing her way past the row of bucket-haulers. "Drop your pails, boys," she says. "Digging's over."

Soon Dualal and her best-armed guards have shoved themselves into the tiny terminal chamber. She peers into the black with her exceptional elven eyes.

"Shall I dismiss the thralls?" Amber elf asks. "We shall guard you, the rest of the way."

"Yes," says Dualal.

A hideous, hungry wail echoes from the depths.

Dualal whispers: "The thornbeast." She swallows, then shudders back to composure. "On second thought," she says. "The thralls may still be of use. To walk ahead, and alert us to hazards." She turns to Gad. He expects to see a cruel smile but there is only blankness. She gestures to the pile of stones, and hands him a lantern.

"Proceed, brave dog, proceed."

Coming Next Week: The perils of the thornbeast and the rewards of presumption in the final chapter of "The Ironroot Deception"!

Robin D. Laws is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Worldwound Gambit—also starring Gad—and six other novels, as well as various short stories, web serials, and comic books, plus a long list of roleplaying game products. His novels include Pierced Heart, The Rough and the Smooth, and the Angelika Fleischer series for the Black Library. Robin created the classic RPG Feng Shui and such recent titles as Mutant City Blues, Skulduggery, and the newly redesigned HeroQuest 2. His previous fiction for the Pathfinder campaign setting includes "Plague of Light" in the Serpent's Skull Adventure Path. Those interested in learning more about Robin are advised to check out his blog.

Art by J. P. Targete.

Beginning Terrain-Making Blog, Part 1: Foam Terrain

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

At PaizoCon this year I did a seminar/workshop introducing all sorts of things about making terrain for RPGs and wargaming. In between various demonstrations of hot wire foam cutting, casting bricks in dental plaster, mixing epoxy putty, and using polymer clay, I rattled off a bunch of websites with more information and/or product links. Here's a rundown on the terrain-building information and links for making foam terrain, just in case you missed the seminar.

Building With Foam

Whether you want to make some movable hills, an elaborate cave system, or build an elaborate set piece that you'll use over and over again, styrene foam (such as Styrofoam) is the go-to material for building. It's light, inexpensive, reasonably durable for this purpose, and easily shapeable with a hobby knife or hot wire cutter. Although you can use common white styrene (technically, "expanded polystyrene," or EPS) for this, its cell-like structure is a little crumbly and may not give you the look you want. A better choice is a denser material called extruded polystyrene, which is stronger and smooth. You can buy it in hardware stores (such as TrueValue, Home Depot, and Lowes) where it's sold in large, rigid pink or blue sheets (typically 2 ft. by 8 ft.) for insulating walls, in 1/2-inch, 1-inch, and 2-inch thicknesses.

A Sturdy Base

Styrene is slightly flexible, and the underside can get scratched or gouged if you place it on a rough surface, so you should attach it to a harder, less-flexible base. Plywood is sturdy but heavy, so many modelers use fiberboard (often called "medium density fiberboard," or MDF), which is stronger than heavy cardboard but easier to cut than plywood. It's medium-brown, typically smooth on one side and rough like dried pulp on the other side. You can buy this at most hardware stores in large sheets (here is a link to it at Home Depot, though this is 1/2" thick and 1/8" thick is generally sufficient). In my experience it is easier to cut the fiberboard to the size you want for your terrain piece, then cut the styrene to match the base, rather than cutting the (softer) styrene and trying to cut the base to match that.

Time For Glue

	The cut foam, ready for gluing.

My terrain supplies box has a bottle of Gorilla Glue, Aleen's Tacky Glue and Elmer's white glue, all of which are available in hardware and/or craft stores. Gorilla Glue is good at affixing styrene to MDF, though it expands slightly so you need to stack books on top of it while it dries, as the foam is light enough that the expanding glue could form a gap between the MDF and foam. You can use tacky glue or white glue if that's all you have available, but the bond isn't as strong.

Cutting Foam

Once you've cut the base material and glued it to the foam, you need to be able to cut and shape the foam. The stuff is easy to cut with an X-Acto knife or a box cutter, though the thickness of the foam may make that a slow process. It's much faster and more fun to use a hot wire foam cutter, and if you plan to fiddle with foam on a regular basis, you should get a foam cutter. The principle of the foam cutter is it uses electricity to heat a metal wire, which slices through foam like a poor man's lightsaber. There are several types available:

The cheap: Often these are powered by D batteries (and drain them quickly), but there's at least one with an AC adapter. Look for the brand names "FloraCraft" or "Wonder Cutter." Retailing for under $20, they're of low quality and they don't cut very fast, but are an easy way to get started with foam-cutting.

The mid-range: The Woodland Scenics Hot Wire Foam Cutter is a little powerhouse and sells for under $50 (you can find it cheaper at Amazon.com and other online stores). It runs hotter than the cheaper cutters, allowing you to cut faster. I also like the wide "U" of the rigid bars, allowing you to cut thicker foam. You can even punch a hole in the foam, untie the wire from one end of the cutter, thread the wire through the hole, and reattach it to the cutter, allowing you to make interior cuts (like a pit in the middle of your terrain). The only drawback to this cutter is you have to hold the thumb-trigger in the "on" position (rather than having an on-off switch) when you use it.

The expert: The Hot Wire Foam Factory has an entire line of crafter and professional oriented foam cutters, including U-shaped cutters, cutting wands, flat cutting knives, and jigsaw-like cutting tables. I picked up the 4" hot knife, which lets me carve directly into the foam (for example, to create the appearance of bricks or mortared stone). These all require one of their power supplies, either a simple AC adapter for $11.95 or a more advanced model for $99.95 that lets you change the cutter's temperature.

This Stuff Will Kill You

	Glued, painted, and ready for play.

One critical thing to remember is that styrene, when heated, gives off toxic fumes. Don't use a foam cutter in an enclosed space or with poor ventilation. If you don't have a filter mask, either work outside, in an open area, or with a fan blowing the fumes away from you. And remember that children and small pets are going to be more susceptible to the fumes because they're smaller than an adult. Play safe!

	In action at PaizoCon 2011! Photo by Blake Davis

Have An Example

The photos with this blog are of an incomplete foam terrain piece I used at PaizoCon. It's an elevated rise with a bridge over an underground river. The rise pieces are pink foam, carved with a foam cutter, and glued together with Gorilla Glue. I used a blunt pencil to draw a grid on the pieces (not a precise grid, as this looks less artificial), painted them with brown craft paint, painted a second layer of craft paint mixed with sand for texture, then drybrushed with a lighter brown to make the texture show up better. The "water" is currently just blue paint, but I'll be covering that with either a clear resin or layers of clear glue to make it shiny. The bridge is a picket fence from a craft store, stained a darker brown with dilute brown craft paint, and screwed into the top of the foam with long screws. Total building time, spread out over several weeknights, was about two hours, not including time for the glue to dry.

Sean K Reynolds
Designer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play, Part XIII: PaizoCon Success!!!

Monday, June 13, 2011

For hundreds of avid Pathfinder Society players, this past weekend likely produced countless memories that won't soon be forgotten. This weekend, after all, was PaizoCon, and one of the pillars of the show was the wide array of Pathfinder Society games and special events being run from Friday morning through Sunday afternoon.

We planned for 16 active tables each slot and ended up pulling in extra GMs for nearly every one, filling as many as 21 tables on Saturday morning. While there were lines of hopeful players filling the hallway outside the four PFS gaming rooms each slot, Hyrum and I are proud to say that not a single gamer was turned away from Pathfinder Society play who showed up within 15 minutes of the start of a slot. In total, we had nearly 80 tables go off, most of which were for brand-new 1st-level characters created by participants new to the Society.

On Friday night we ran an exclusive event called the Grand Melee, in which the Decemvirate tested the participants to find the most skilled and most promising agents for future endeavors. Over five continuous encounters, each tiered table was put up against increasingly powerful foes, culminating in a combat rated at CR +4 for the lowest tier and CR +5 for the higher tiers. In the end, the winning table scored 173 points in Tier 1–2 (followed closely by a Tier 5–6 table with 164 points.

Not only did players compete with one another for special prizes in the Grand Melee, but all of the event's GMs were battling to provide the hardest challenge and the most enjoyable experience for their tables. In the end, the running was close, but San Diego Venture-Captain Eric Brittain came out ahead. As a reward for his GMing performance in the event, he will receive his next GM star for free, bumping him from 2 to 3 in a single event.

Speaking of GM stars, Hyrum and I were proud to see two active 4-star GMs earn their 5th stars during the convention. Congratulations are in order for Kyle Baird and Missouri Venture-Captain Jason Roeder. Welcome to the ranks of our most valued GMs, guys!

On Saturday afternoon, Hyrum and I announced the five new factions, the names of which were quickly tweeted and leaked onto the messageboards. We'll be covering all five of these new player options in the coming weeks starting with the Grand Lodge faction next week, so be sure to check the blog on Monday morning to see more details than simply the basic premise and name of the first of our five new factions.

Mark Moreland
Developer

I Spy...

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 8:30 PM Pacific

Our well-equipped adventurers produce a spyglass to uncover secrets at the Preview Banquet.

Ross Byers
Assistant Software Developer

Erik on Stage

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 8:15 PM Pacific

This is what a banquet full of crazy fun looks like.

Gary Teter
Software Developer

It's Banquet Time!

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 7:15 PM Pacific

Every table has at least one Paizo employee, and this is my table. Imagine my surprise to find it full of Fawtlies... and a Red Mantis assassin. Can't decide if this is scary, or awesome, or scary. My money's on awesome. And scary.

Gary Teter
Software Developer

Alkenstar Pathfinder

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 7:01 PM Pacific

This Pathfinder delver claims Alkenstar is the real land of freedom.

Ross Byers
Assistant Software Developer

Dinner, Varisian style

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 7:00 PM Pacific

A Varisian dancer joins us for the banquet!

Ross Byers
Assistant Software Developer

Haunter of Harrowstone

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 06:44 PM Pacific

Fiona shows off her necromantic ensemble.

Ross Byers
Assistant Software Developer

Heroes!

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 12:56 PM Pacific

Amiri and her druid friend visit PaizoCon!

Ross Byers
Assistant Software Developer

Reverse!

Sat, Jun 11, 2011 at 07:57 AM Pacific

on this side it has a place for your mini, and the disk is 2" across so you can use it to represent when you're enlarged!

Sean K Reynolds
Developer

Pathfinder badge

Fri, Jun 10, 2011 at 07:52 PM Pacific

Mike Azzolino had these made for the show.

Sean K Reynolds
Developer

Illustration by Tyler Walpole. Widescreen version here.

PaizoCon Is Here!

Friday, June 10, 2011

PaizoCon 2011 starts today! The massive event schedule lists all of the awesome activities attendees can expect to take part in, but here are some of the real gems that I'm looking forward to.

At the show guests and Paizo staff will have the opportunity to wine and dine together during Saturday's banquet. One of the reasons I'm excited about the banquet is the opportunity to meet and hang out with fellow Paizonians. Having gotten to know so many of you on the messageboards, it will be fun to finally meet some of you face to face! In addition to CEO Lisa Stevens's welcome and Publisher Erik Mona's preview of upcoming Pathfinder products, James Jacobs and Jason Bulmahn will be showcasing some really cool things about our upcoming products. I can't say here what they'll be, but you all should be very excited!

One of the neatest things about PaizoCon is the myriad opportunities to get the inside scoop on Pathfinder, Paizo, and the old days at TSR. Between “The Future of Paizo" on Friday, and seminars on writing for Paizo throughout the entire weekend, on Saturday there's a seminar on the "Secrets of TSR" with the likes of Ed Greenwood, Lisa Stevens, Ryan Dancey and maybe even Jeff Grubb himself!

Speaking of seminars, there are quite a few about the history of the industry, how to begin writing for RPGs, and breaking into the game industry. Here's a brief list of some of the seminars that you should try and get to: "Publishing in Kobold Quarterly," "Secrets of a Small Press Publisher," "Writing for the Pathfinder Society," and "Auntie Lisa's Story Hour" with Paizo CEO Lisa Steven's herself!

Finally (and perhaps best of all), expect to play lots and lots of games. Pathfinder Society scenarios will be run every day throughout the convention, and special events such as Stephen Radney-MacFarland's "Shootout in Old Korvosa," Jason Bulmahn's "Cursed Lot IV," and master of horror James Jacobs's "The Siege of Windy Hollow" (a Pathfinder RPG variant set in an apocalyptic earth ravaged by the Elder Mythos) are sure to be crowd pleasers. I might even have to sit in and watch some of these games being played—they sound that awesome.

We're super excited about this show and will be updating the blog throughout the weekend with news-bites, pictures, and updates. For those of you who can't make it, here's a wallpaper of the PaizoCon 2011 mascot: Unk the goblin!

See you at the show!

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Queueing!

Fri, Jun 10, 2011 at 09:31 AM Pacific

in line for badges and swag bags!

Sean K Reynolds
Developer

Live from the Meet & Eat

Thu, Jun 9, 2011 at 07:06 PM Pacific

Timitius tells me there are upwards of 125 people here at the Crab Pot -- and PaizoCon doesn't even officially start until tomorrow! PaizoCon is officially my favorite time of year.

Gary Teter
Software Developer

Golarion Day: Ninja and Oni and Sinspawn!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Seems like it was only yesterday that I was in panic mode about getting ready for PaizoCon 2010, and here I am again, only a few days away PaizoCon 2011. We'll be making a lot of announcements about some pretty exciting developments to come for Golarion at PaizoCon, including what the Adventure Path after Jade Regent is going to be all about. We'll also be revealing the cover art for the first few Jade Regent adventures, as well as who's painting them, at Paizo Con, but if you can't make it to the convention, never fear! Those covers will be all over paizo.com next week if all goes according to plan. In the meantime... here are two particularly awesome images from the inside of Pathfinder #49 to whet the appetite.

Illustrations by Sung Yoon Ko

James Jacobs
Creative Director

The Ironroot Deception

by Robin D. Laws

Chapter Two: The Hole

On massive, clawed legs, the forest-beast bounds toward the elves and their captives. Its beady eyes, shielded by rootlike extrusions, seem to lock onto Gad. It stops to snort and paw the ground.

Gad can't help but wonder: why him?

It can't be that he's the only human present. There are two in the press-gang now.

Then he understands: he's bruised and limping from the thrashing Ethundel gave him. He reads as the weakest prey.

Dualal's lesser subordinates pose for flight. Ethundel preempts them, sweeping his sword from the imposing scabbard mounted on his back. "For you, milady!" he bellows. Meadow-grass churning beneath his boots, he runs for the forest-beast. It shifts its attention to the shouting warrior. It charges. Ethundel stands ready to pivot when it reaches him, but misjudges its speed. It butts him full-on. His wiry body flies into the air. He lands with a thud. The creature, spraying leafy sputum, rears to crush him beneath elephantine feet.

Ethundel rolls, seizes the hilt of his dropped sword, and stabs up into the beast's scaly belly. Gouts of pulpy blood gush from the wound. The elf reaches to withdraw his stuck blade. The creature bucks away before he can grasp it. Ethundel pulls out a dagger.

Finally shocked from their daze, his comrades rush with drawn longswords to join him.

Dualal remains in place. She reaches for the spiraled wand strapped to her back. Green energy swirls up the spirals to collect around its globular tip. With a snap of her wrist, Dualal lobs the gathered energy into the air. It arcs onto the creature's back.

The beast freezes in mid-leap. Its position insupportable, it thumps over on its side. Dualal calmly ambles over to it.

The elves have left Gad and the second prisoner on their own.

"Let's go," the young man says.

Gad shakes his head. "They'll catch up," he says, words muffled by the gag.

The creature isn't breathing. The wand's magic has stilled even its involuntary reactions. Dualal, impassive, watches it suffocate. Even in death it remains rigid.

"She wouldn't use that on us, would she?" the prisoner asks.

Gad points to his mouth, as if to say, I can't answer, I'm wearing a gag.

∗ ∗ ∗

For several hours Ethundel leads the party deeper into the wildwood. Signs of corruption grow ever more frequent. The ground cover becomes a slick fungal mass. Blackened spores swell the surfaces of rocks and boulders. Bloated insects the color of corpse-flesh hang like bats from withered branches.

Clustering firs give way to an expanse strewn with vine-choked logs. These thin out as the group trudges into a vast circle of dead vegetation. Diffuse smoke rises from a fire ahead. Temporary shelters, fastidiously constructed from scrap wood, huddle on the edge of a pit. On its lip, elven archers—Gad counts three of them and assumes there will be more—stand with exaggerated ease. Their weapons point down into the hole.

Ethundel seizes Gad by the back of the neck and shoves him onward. He hisses into Gad's ear, his breath hot and vaguely sweet. "Here's where you learn humility, churl."

The pit has been quarried from an earthy soil thick with chunks of shattered limestone. Ethundel manhandles Gad toward its edge. A treacherous ramp composed of loose gravel leads down into the pit. Ethundel means to steer Gad short of it, to heave him directly into the hole. It's a fifteen, maybe twenty-foot drop.

"Good Ethundel!" Dualal warns. Ethundel snarls, changes course, and jostles Gad onto the ramp. The prisoner stumbles, recovers, and slides down to its floor level without twisting an ankle. He contemplates the connection between the elf leader and her chief bullyboy. Not lovers, he decides: It's the wrong kind of heat. It smacks more of an unbidden, unexamined mother-son pull. Perhaps between a mother who has never had a son and a son who has never known his mother. Gad stores the theory for later use.

He surveys his new surroundings. Dried meal coats the side of an empty gruel-pot. Heaps of dirt and gravel periodically shed their pebbles. Planks of fresh-cut deadwood cover a deeper hole in the pit's center.

A dozen prisoners sit in exhausted stupor on hard-packed dirt. Shackles bind their ankles. They are pale, undernourished, water-starved. Eleven humans, three of them women, and a female halfling. Gad gives himself a plausible interval, and checks to see that none of his captors are looking, before seating himself next to the latter.

It hurts to see her in this state. Under chosen circumstances, Vitta would be impeccably turned out. No matter how deep the dungeon, she'd be powdered and rouged, her clothing spotless, her hair piled and secured by an intricate copper lattice. Grime coats her forehead. Her usually plump cheeks have sunk.

"You all right?" he asks.

She stares ahead, speaking without moving her lips. "Remind me again why I got volunteered to get caught first."

"Your expertise in matters subterranean. Your mastery of traps, engineering, hazards..."

"An annoyingly correct answer."

"They've been putting you to work?"

"Also remind me, once this rip is over, to never lift another rock." She steals a sideways glance. "You got kicked around some, too."

"Got to sell the gaffle."

	"It's a shame to see Vitta in such a state, but she's the only halfling for the job."

"Speaking of which," she says. She lifts a flat, chalky stone. Beneath it lies a torn rag tied into a bundle. Vitta pats it, eliciting the telltale sound of cut gems rubbing up against each other. "Rubies. Found them down in the works. Behind a locked panel no one else saw."

"Dualal naturally insists that all swag is turned over to her, to disperse as she deems fit."

"Naturally. You've got that look."

"What look?"

"That look that says we're not going to get to keep these." Vitta replaces the stone.

"We're here for the big steal."

"This little steal could feed a village for a year."

"Not that you'd use it for that."

"Who would?"

His expression kept safely flat, Gad laughs.

"Bad tidings," Vitta says, shifting her eye-line to guide Gad's gaze.

Ethundel has taken aside one of the humans. Unlike the others, this man wears no shackles. He towers above the elf warrior, outweighing him by fifty pounds of muscle. He's all jaw and naked cranium, framing a pinched and narrow face. The elf speaks into his cauliflowered ear. He nods obediently.

"That's Stokh," says Vitta.

"Let me guess. Jailhouse stooge."

"There's always one," says Vitta.

"Ethundel has taken a dislike to me."

"Inexplicable."

"Looks like I'll have to watch my back."

"So nothing new, then."

Stokh breaks from Ethundel. He attempts to be subtle as he assesses Gad.

"Better break for a while."

Vitta hobbles away from him. Half an hour later, when the elven guards are inattentive, they drift back together.

"Want the breakdown on the complex?"

"Sure," says Gad.

"Two thousand years old, give or take. Definitely elven. Not purpose-built, but a reuse of an existing structure. The room forms are organic. Shaped as if the roots of a gigantic tree withdrew to somewhere else, leaving behind a hollow. It's all wood and earth, eternally suspended in a state between dead plank and living plant."

"What did they use it for? The elves who built it, or grew it, or whatever?"

"Originally? Vaults. Probably a treasury and armory. Quite a full one, judging by the size of the place. There's royal crests everywhere."

"Whose crests?"

"Am I an expert on the heraldry of second-millennium backwoods elven royalty? You should have brought Calliard."

"He's not to be found. And yes, I also hate small-team rips. But there's a limit to the number of captures we could believably fake."

"I'm complaining, not re-airing the plan," says Vitta. "At any rate, the complex. Maybe sometime after it was first excavated, it became a shelter for noncombatants in a time of war."

"Something has to be going badly, for elves to live belowground."

"That's understatement for you. And then its last use: Like we thought, a prison. To keep something in, and to prevent any bunch of later fools from letting it out. Once they had it sealed in, they laid in a gaggle of impressive traps and filled the whole thing up with rocks and dirt."

"You figure they got the plants to do that for them, too?"

"No, they did it by hand. Whatever's in there, they truly wanted it to stay."

"And you reckon it did?"

"If it got out, it was through tons of tightly packed debris, not to mention some very impressive traps."

"So preferably, we steer well clear of it."

"Preferably," says Vitta.

∗ ∗ ∗

In the morning they are roused with sword-butts. Elven guards kick them until they stand. They remove the prisoners' shackles, clanking them into a heap. The longer-held captives know what to do: they pull the boards from the hole within the hole.

"Down you go," the amber-headed elf commands.

The prisoners form a queue. One by one they descend into a shaft, climbing with the aid of precarious spikes thrust into stone and root.

"We want to be near the front," Vitta tells Gad.

He edges in, with Vitta right behind him. The others are happy to give him his berth. The forward part of the job is evidently the hardest and most hazardous.

Stokh sees him and pushes his way into the line, too. The wretched captives seem surprised. Gad guesses that he doesn't generally take point.

The shaft takes them twenty feet down, where it meets a narrow tunnel. Metal buckets line the passage.

Stokh shoulders Gad into the rocky wall. He presses, pinning him there. "You're not going to cause trouble here."

"Why do you care?" Gad demands.

Stokh stinks of brandy, a provision not granted the other prisoners. "We're nearly there. Then the elves let us go. Safe. Don't you ruin it."

Before Gad can reply, Stokh storms down to the head of the procession.

Ethundel is up ahead.

Gad strides up behind Stokh. He waits. Then speaks: "Hey, bald-head. What liberties do you allow the elves, in trade for that brandywine?"

At first Stokh is too shocked to move. He recovers, turns, and swings a knobby fist. Gad ducks. He pushes into the bigger man. Stokh grabs him and shoves, pushing Gad into Ethundel. The elf withdraws, stiffening in revulsion.

"Cease this now, louse-ridden scum!"

Gad slips past to catch up with Vitta.

Stokh's outraged breathing fills the passageway.

The tunnel jogs to bypass a formation of hard quartz. Vitta grabs Gad by the back of the tunic. He stops short before brushing a section of quartz slathered in a wet, gluey substance. Above it juts a copper spout, now stuffed with rags. A man's corpse, mummified by the glue, adheres to the rock.

"Glue trap," says Vitta.

"I can see that," says Gad.

The passageway abruptly ends. Its rough terminal wall grants room for four laborers to have at it with pick-axes. Vitta takes an axe for herself, and hands another to Gad.

"Welcome to the hole," she says.

They dig, freeing stones, releasing cascades of dry soil. Other prisoners scurry up to gather the debris into buckets. They send it brigading down the passageway, each bucket passed from hand to hand.

They toil until they're dizzy and ready to drop. Their captors dole out miserly portions of water and gruel. When workers waver, the swordpoints come out.

By the time they're allowed to stumble from the excavation, night has fallen. Gad staggers to the wall of the outer pit and collapses. Sleep takes him immediately.

When he awakens, it is with Stokh's steely fingers around his windpipe.

Coming Next Week: Death and politics in Chapter Three of "The Ironroot Deception"!

Robin D. Laws is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Worldwound Gambit—also starring Gad—and six other novels, as well as various short stories, web serials, and comic books, plus a long list of roleplaying game products. His novels include Pierced Heart, The Rough and the Smooth, and the Angelika Fleischer series for the Black Library. Robin created the classic RPG Feng Shui and such recent titles as Mutant City Blues, Skulduggery, and the newly redesigned HeroQuest 2. His previous fiction for the Pathfinder campaign setting includes "Plague of Light" in the Serpent's Skull Adventure Path. Those interested in learning more about Robin are advised to check out his blog.

Art by J. P. Targete.

Outmaneuvered

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Even in the midst of PaizoCon preparation, the design staff just loves those crazy little rules questions that pop up on the messageboards, during actual play, or that just randomly stray into our heads when we are designing an archetype or putting the finishing touches on a monster.

Since I just returned from Comicpalooza in Houston, I had a number of those questions come up while conversing with players or that popped up during play, and shared those experiences when I returned. Well, no good deed goes unpunished. While in the middle of sharing my experiences, Jason quickly pointed out that we needed a Design Tuesday blog. So let's look at some question and answers involving everyone's favorite subject—combat maneuvers! Today I'll go over a couple of pressing ones. We will get into more minutia next week.

Illustration by Allision Theus

Question: Standing up provokes an attack of opportunity. I can attempt to trip a creature with an attack of opportunity. Can I use the trip combat maneuver to keep my opponent down on the ground?

In a word, no. By far this was the most common combat maneuver question at the show that people asked me. I had folks try to use it in the game, and I can understand why. As a tactic, it seems pretty powerful. Too powerful, and that's why there are some subtle timing issues that are going on when a creature attempts to stand up and provokes the attack of opportunity.

When the attack of opportunity is provoked for standing up, the creature is still prone, since an attack of opportunity interrupts the action that provoked it. Since that's the case, the creature is still prone when the attack is provoked, and you cannot trip a prone creature, as it is already prone.

Okay, all you trip monkeys out there, don't fret overly much. If you want an effect similar to the one you desire, you just have to pay a higher action cost. Use the ready action. Just make sure your triggered action is "after the creature stands up from being prone" or something similar. I know, it's not nearly as sexy (or free) but I have faith you'll find a way to make it work to the detriment of those wily monsters.

Question: A creature grappling an opponent typically needs to make two combat maneuver checks to pin someone (one to grapple, the next to pin). If you're pinned, do you also need to succeed at two checks to escape, one for the grab and the other for the pin?

The answer to this question is also no. When a creature is pinned, it gains this more severe version of the grappled condition, and the two conditions do not stack (as described in the pinned condition). While this means that you do not take both the penalties for both the grapple and the pin, this also means that pinned supersedes the grapple condition; it does not compound it. For this reason you only need to succeed one combat maneuver or Escape Artist check to escape either a grapple or a pin.

Stephen Radney-MacFarland
Pathfinder RPG Designer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play, Part XII: Power through Political Manipulation

Monday, June 6, 2011

Since the Age of Enthronement, no nation in the Inner Sea has had as wide-reaching and influential an empire as the kingdom of Taldor. Sadly, decadence and overconfidence led to the empire's relatively swift decline centuries ago, as vassal after vassal broke free from the crown. Despite its waning influence worldwide and constant internal political strife, Taldor is one of the five nations most strategically poised to take control of Absalom from within. Using the same tactics of espionage, sabotage, blackmail, and deception employed by Taldan nobility for millennia, agents of this political faction hope to manipulate the nobility and citizenry of Absalom to recognize the nation's rightful place as the natural ruler of humankind throughout the region.

Illustration by Ryan Portillo

The Taldor faction has, since the very beginning of Pathfinder Society Organized Play, been in a near-dead heat with the Qadira faction, a fitting rivalry given the nations' longstanding feud. In the end, we decided that the inability of either nation to pull ahead and truly challenge Osirion or Andoran for the top spot on the faction ladder meant something needed to change. So we shook things up...

Taldor isn't going anywhere, but the faction will be led by a new political manipulator in place of Baron Jacquo Dalsine (who many pointed out over the years was so uninvolved that he never even bothered to spell his name correctly when he signed it on faction missives). Lady Gloriana Morilla, pictured here, is also a member of Taldor's thriving noble hierarchy, but she's somewhat less concerned with looking good and throwing a good party than she is with restoring Taldor to its long-lost glory. She knows that the longer the nation rests on its imaginary laurels, the more its influence and gods-decreed dominance slip away from the Grand Prince and his loyal subjects. Expect the missions given to Taldan characters to focus more on the political intrigue that defines the faction starting in Season 3, though characters will still be encouraged to look good and make grand spectacles of themselves while carrying them out.

Lady Gloriana and all 10 faction leaders are featured in the upcoming Pathfinder Society Field Guide, with a headshot of each as well as a brief overview of their backstories, motivations, and personalities. We'll also be featuring them as prominent NPCs in adventures set in Absalom, so faction members will get the chance to directly interact with the very people who dictate so much of their adventuring careers.

Come back next week for a recap of PaizoCon 2011, the new scenarios released there, and the exclusive events attendees will have the option of playing. After that, we'll dive headlong into the first of the new factions to be officially announced. This is where it gets good!

Mark Moreland
Developer

Illustrations by Alex Aparin and Roberto Pitturru. Widescreen version here.

Everything She Does Is Magic!

Friday, June 3, 2011

Seoni is by far one of the most popular iconics we've ever written. The classic high charisma sorcerer, she's graced the pages of Pathfinder products from the very beginning. Now she can grace your desktop along with Alhazra, the iconic oracle, in this Inner Sea Magic themed wallpaper.

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Golarion Day: Inner Sea Magic

Thursday, June 2, 2011

So, Inner Sea Magic has been off to the printer for a few weeks now, but this is really the first chance I've had to say much more about it. And since the editors are still scrambling with various convention-season-related projects, I'll keep this blog short and just show off some art that goes with the winter witch archetype and the tattooed sorcerer archetype. It should probably be pretty obvious which one goes with which. (And also—first ever illustration of Seoni's familiar!)

Illustrations by Roberto Pitturru

James Jacobs
Creative Director

The Ironroot Deception

by Robin D. Laws

Chapter One: The Snare

Gad feels the roughness of the burr-oak's bark as its branch constricts tighter around his ankles. Though he is upside down, blood rushing to his head, his face retains its symmetry. A roguish skiff of stubble softens his jutting jaw. Gray-peppered hair clings closely to his scalp. Blue eyes sear out at his elven captor.

The tree that dangles him stands at the edge of the Shudderwood. Its roots snake through a weed-choked pathway. A gang of firs bullies around it, swaying and trembling to spite the windless air. The dry earth writhes with insect life; biting ants and fat white grubs pulse to the demon harmonics of the nearby Worldwound.

The elf woman steps around him, squinting. From every angle, she assesses the tautness of his muscles and the straightness of his bones. The tree reverently moves its suspended prize, allowing her to circuit him easily. Her hair is an autumn tangle, recalling the sprigs and leaves of a grapevine after harvest has come and gone. The face is an arrangement of hardened planes: beautiful in theory, unyielding in practice. Her war-garb is worn in, well kept. Slung across her back are a long sword and an ornate, spiraled wand. A curved dagger accentuates a narrow hip.

	"There are few situations that Gad can't talk himself out of. This appears to be one of them."

Behind thin, drawn lips, she clucks her tongue. "Among your fellow humans, you are reckoned handsome."

Gad smiles. "I look my best right side up."

She does not return the smile. "You will serve," she says.

"Will I now?"

With a curt turn of the head, she gestures to her retinue, gathered near a camouflaged ambush-screen on the treeline's edge. There are six of them: all elves, all strikingly equipped, all poised with martial confidence.

Gad's weapons—short sword, main dagger, hidden back dagger, visible right boot knife, concealed left boot knife—have all been plucked from him and lie in a mocking pile near a clump of dying milkweed.

"And who might I be serving?"

"My name is none of your affair."

"Maybe I like serving."

Elven features freeze. "Do libidinous undertones aid you with your fellows?"

Gad finds it hard to shrug. "A gentleman never tells."

"You do yourself no favors by provoking my disgust."

Again the urge to shrug. Gad resists. "You wouldn't be press-ganging me, would you?"

"Humans have forgotten their purpose on this world."

"Have we now?"

"You were born to brute labor. And you shall perform it."

"I don't work cheap."

She signals her men. The tallest, most sinewy specimen, glossy black hair trailing behind him as he strides, leads the pack. Wrist shackles clatter in his compact fist. He lowers his head as he approaches. "Lady Dualal."

"Good Ethundel," she says, "prepare the labor for transport."

Nothing about Ethundel looks good to Gad.

Dualal turns to the tree trunk and utters a command in archaic Elven. Its encircling branch loosens, releasing Gad's ankles. Two members of the retinue stand below. They catch him, saving him from a neck-breaking. Holding him tight, they wrestle him to his feet. Ethundel claps the shackles on him.

"I renew my objections to this wrongful treatment," Gad says.

Ethundel smacks the back of the head.

A faraway expression settles on Dualal. "If it is matters of justice that concern you, wanderer, your indenture furthers the most righteous of causes."

A white-blond elf grabs Gad by the right arm; an amber-blond elf by the left. They march him onto a deer trail leading into the woods.

"Care to specify?" Gad asks.

"Reclamation," Ethundel booms.

Gad ignores him, continuing to address the woman. "Oh, so you're one of those elves."

"Impertinence will be harshly dealt with." Dualal glides forward, to the middle of the marching order.

In the wood ahead, branches grow twisted and tangled. Keening cicadas assault the ears.

"Haven't you Reclaimers been plotting this for nine thousand years?" Gad braces for another hit but neither of his escorts seems interested in breaking stride. Ethundel, who struck him before, has moved up to take point. With no one to clout him, Gad continues: "Ridding Golarion of humankind—and dwarves and orcs and the rest—and taking it back? That's the dream, isn't it?"

"You are surprisingly versed in my race's lore," says Dualal.

"Isn't that a misleading way to put it?"

"What nonsense do you spout?"

"Don't most elves regard the idea of reclamation as lunacy?"

She whirls to face him. His escorts freeze, shying back from her. Gad stays cool.

Dualal sees this. She calms herself. A false, chill smile comes reluctantly to her lips. When she speaks, it is more to her men than to Gad. "It has never been the time to reassert our ownership of this profaned and polluted world."

"Until now?"

She gives him her back, resuming her regal mien.

"Have you considered, Dualal," he says, "that it's quite the coincidence?"

"What is?"

"That after all the other Reclaimers have failed and been proven wrong, century after century, that the great turning happens to dawn during your particular lifetime?"

"But it will!" blurts his amber-haired captor. "The gem!"

The elf's pallid skin turns whiter still, as he realizes he's stuck his foot in it. He flinches.

"Put a gag in that idiot's mouth," Dualal commands.

Gad protests and resists as blond elf and amber elf stuff a mildewy rag between his teeth. Inside, he is smiling. When an adversary thinks him an idiot, half of his work is already done.

∗ ∗ ∗

The Reclaimers drag him deeper into the forest. Gad is easier in a city than a wilderness, and this one is worse than most. Clouds of bloodthirsty bugs roll in like morning fog. A caustic oil drips from the leaves of certain trees. Unearthly murmurs, mimicking the groans of the tortured souls, rise from rills and meadows. Life is too strong in the Shudderwood. So strong that it is also death, a rancid cycle of birth and devouring.

A day and a night pass. They camp briefly, giving Gad four hours of sleep at best. The elves, rotating watches, get less. They feed him dry acorn-flower biscuits and a handful of crab apples. His head swims. When he slows, they prod him with scabbarded swords.

The biting bugs are worse the second day. With wrists in irons, he can barely swat them. His skin becomes a landscape of reddened, scabby bumps. Paying little heed to the elves' legendary harmony with nature, the insects feast on them, too. They spare only Dualal and Ethundel, who must benefit from some salve or charm. If he weren't gagged, Gad might work the lackeys, making hay of the gap in privilege between leader and led. With his mouth tied shut it's all moot.

He thinks they've edged back to the border of the haunted woodlands again, but can no longer be sure. When they're stopped for a short break by the side of a glassy stream, the conversation of another party drifts by. With silent efficiency, the Reclaimers grab Gad, fading behind a low ridge of mossy stone. The musicality of the overheard words is unmistakably elven. Clearly, the Reclaimers expect the local sharp-ears to treat them as interlopers. Gad waits for a chance to make the move he's been planning, but the opening never comes. His captors wait until the voices recede, then continue on.

A few hours later they hunker down again. Blond and amber stay by his side; the rest slip off through the firs. Gad mimes a request to get the gag off. They refuse him. He listens in with his barely passable Elven as they ponder which regions of the world they'll claim when Dualal rules the world.

They're arguing over the island of Absalom when the rest of the group tramps into view, dragging a new prisoner. The fresh unfortunate is male, human, young, and scrawny. A wiggle of drying blood runs from his scalp into a matted sideburn.

Gad seizes the moment of distraction. He bolts up, clouting the amber elf's temple with the edge of his shackles. Dodging slippery rocks, he bursts into the forest depths. Elven curses ring through gnarled pines. Uneven terrain adds effort to his flight. Gad's heart hammers; he gasps for breath. He stops to ease the gag from his mouth.

From nowhere, Ethundel is upon him. A fist catches Gad in the throat.

"Thought these woods would protect you, against an elf?"

Gad whirls back. He crashes into a tree. Pain throbs through his shoulder and down his side. He tries a double-handed swipe. The black-haired elf leaps gracefully back. With Gad off balance, he barrels in and kicks Gad's feet out from under him. Gad goes down, falling onto a rotting log. Ethundel aims a series of savage kicks at his legs. Gad holds up his bound hands. Sadism spasms across the elf's face. He grabs Gad by the back of the skull and crushes his face into the log.

"I give!" Gad cries.

"Now you supplicate? After mocking and profaning our mistress?" Ethundel punches Gad in the neck and steps back to draw his sword. "I don't care how well you haul a rock. It is unfortunate that in my attempt to subdue you, I was forced to draw steel, and underestimated the strength of my blow." He raises the blade.

"Ethundel! Stay your sword!"

The black-maned elf is not the only one who can move through a woods at a preternatural pace. Dualal stands a dozen yards off. She looks down on the scene from a leaf-strewn slope.

"Milady," Ethundel stammers.

Fir needles crunch underfoot as she draws nearer. "Your ardor is understandable. Humans are insufferable. This one more than most. They are also, in these woods, a scarce commodity. He who kills his thrall destroys his own property."

Ethundel visibly swallows. "Yes milady."

"We have two now. These will replace those we exhausted. Let us go now to the Ironroot, and resume the dig. When he has served his purpose, he is yours, to treat as whim decrees."

Ethundel dips his head and sheathes his sword.

At Gad's side now, she reaches down to grab the gag, still around his neck, and pull it up into his mouth. "And you. Do not count on a second reprieve."

Ethundel hauls him back to the others. The amber-haired elf greets him with a sullen stare. Before long, they are back on the trail. The new prisoner hasn't been gagged, but is too frightened to attempt a conversation.

Scrapes and contusions from Ethundel's beating gnaw at Gad as the elves push him on. He mimes his need for water. They let him linger for a while before slaking his thirst. They slog on past dusk.

The party is in a clearing when a thunder of breaking branches rises from a dense throng of pines. Tree trunks crack and topple. A throaty roar reverberates.

A creature leaps into the clearing, a wake of shattered wood fragments billowing behind it. Gad has never seen its like. It is a ball of quills and claws and fangs, ten feet high and as many wide. Its legs are pillars of muscle. As much as it seems like some unknown animal, it is also like a plant, festooned with vines and sprouting leaves.

It bounds, snarling and frothing, toward the elves and their prisoners.

Coming Next Week: Hard labor and quick thinking in Chapter Two of "The Ironroot Deception"!

Robin D. Laws is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Worldwound Gambit—also starring Gad—and six other novels, as well as various short stories, web serials, and comic books, plus a long list of roleplaying game products. His novels include Pierced Heart, The Rough and the Smooth, and the Angelika Fleischer series for the Black Library. Robin created the classic RPG Feng Shui and such recent titles as Mutant City Blues, Skulduggery, and the newly redesigned HeroQuest 2. His previous fiction for the Pathfinder campaign setting includes “Plague of Light” in the Serpent’s Skull Adventure Path. Those interested in learning more about Robin are advised to check out his blog.

Art by Eric Belisle.