Boar and Rabbit

by James L. Sutter

Chapter One: Catch the Wind

Two men knelt at the foot of the dais. One wore thick-plated lamellar armor, the other snug gray wrappings that hid all but his eyes. Similarly dressed pairs made a half-circle around the kneelers, each individual set connected by a short iron chain.

On the dais, two more men stepped forward. Though they were dressed no differently from anyone else in the great cathedral, no one could have mistaken them for the others. They stepped forward in perfect unison, as though each were a mismatched reflection of the other, stretched and warped by a carnival mirror. Between them, they carried a chain like the others, holding it reverently in all four hands.

"This chain does not bind." The leaders' voice—for there was only one voice, spoken with two mouths—was smooth and reverent, rising up to ring off the cathedral's high dome. "Today, you cease to be two men, and instead become szerik—shared mind, shared heart. This chain will be your symbol, announcing your bond to the world. Yet the Iridian Fold is not a guild, with a chain of office. It is no religion, with a chain for a holy symbol. It is greater than these. For with love, with discipline, the lines between you will blur and fade. You will be as one soul in two bodies. This is the great mystery of the Iridian Fold: to let the bond between you grow until the union eclipses the self. And in that moment, you will no longer need the reminder of the chain." Two sets of eyes crinkled into a smile. "You will be the chain."

"Be the chain!" the congregation chorused.

Fifty feet above, Roshad glanced over at Bors and squeezed his hand. The pair crouched on the narrow gallery running the circumference of the cathedral's dome, Bors's bulky lamellar forcing him to contort himself like a dying insect in order to stay hidden behind the low balustrade. Despite the obvious discomfort, the bigger man's stone-slab face broke into a smile as he met Roshad's eyes, and he tugged lightly on the stolen chain running from his chest to the collar around Roshad's neck.

Roshad prefers the direct approach.

Roshad smiled back, knowing that no veil could hide the expression from his partner. His szerik.

My Boar, Roshad thought, and the words came bittersweet. This is no place for him, lurking in the darkness like a beggar. If only we could be down there with the others. We—

The cathedral's doors banged open, replacing the soft glow of stained glass with the flare of noonday sun. As quickly as it appeared, the light was blocked by half a dozen figures, men and women in the furs and leathers of the horse tribes.

"Where are they?"

The leader of the troop, a bull-faced man with a long horsehair plume atop his conical helmet, shoved his way through the assembly until he stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the congregation's leader. Around him, the gathered men of the Iridian Fold hissed at the affront, hands going to blades. The other invaders looked less comfortable, yet dutifully spread out behind their captain.

The men on the dais raised their hands in a calming gesture. "You do us a disservice, stranger."

The captain snorted. "I figure you get serviced plenty." Behind him, several of his own people frowned. "But what you Iridian Fold do is no business of mine. Now where are they?"

"Where are who?" the Iridian Fold men asked.

"I don't have time for games, holy man. One of the street kids saw them slip in here not half an hour ago." He looked back at one of his warriors. "Dosk?"

"They're not in the group, Captain. Unless they're disguised."

The captain grimaced, then looked around at the cathedral's many shadowed corners. "Fine. Aizha, light this place up."

A woman in a thick-furred hat stepped forward and raised her hands, grasping the air as if kneading dough. Four globes of golden light blazed into existence around them, each the size of a juggling ball. She gestured, and they shot outward, making a circuit of the vast chamber at head height, then rose higher to light the gallery.

Roshad searched frantically for somewhere else to hide as the globes floated closer, but without the shadows, the posts of the stone balustrade did little to obscure the two men. He met Bors's eyes.

"There!" Down below, one of the horse warriors pointed. The captain gave a command, and the company ran for the narrow spiral staircase leading up to Bors and Roshad's perch.

They were trapped. The stairway was the only way down to the cathedral floor—as usual, Roshad and Bors had crept up it shortly before the Iridian Fold men arrived for their ceremony.

A narrow ladder on the opposite side of the cathedral's dome caught his eye, its rungs disappearing up into the shaft of the cathedral's windcatcher.

Well, if they couldn't go down...

Roshad yanked Bors to his feet and jerked his chin toward the ladder. Bors nodded once and ran, his armored bulk threatening to overflow the narrow catwalk. If he tripped, the thigh-high balustrade would do little to save him, but the man moved with the grace of a desert wolf. Roshad's heart swelled as he followed, the chain swinging lightly between them. Below, the whole congregation now pointed and shouted, shocked to see two men dressed as their own racing around the inside of the dome.

They reached the ladder and began to climb. The shaft was blessedly wide, and broken at intervals by smaller horizontal tubes that led back to the dome, the better to let the rising hot air escape and draw up cooler air from the cathedral's catacombs. Roshad could feel the breeze as he hauled himself quickly upward.

The shaft ended abruptly in a covered ledge, barely wide enough for Roshad and Bors to stand together. Beyond a row of narrow pillars, the grand city of Ular Kel spread out before them, beckoning with a thousand places to hide, to lose themselves in the market crowds like loose stones on the steppes.

If only they could reach it. Roshad stuck his head out past the pillars and looked down. The drop was at least eighty feet, and the outer face of the windcatcher tower had no access ladder. Nothing but smooth stone until it met the blue-tiled plaza below. He grimaced and pulled back inside.

"Nothing?" Bors rumbled.

"Not that way." Roshad clasped Bors's armored forearm. "Hold tight."

"When haven't I?"

"Yeah, well..." Taking a deep breath, Roshad planted one foot firmly on the edge of the ledge, then swung out into space. He let the momentum pivot him around, doing his best to ignore the dizzying expanse of air below him as he reached out and caught the outer edge of the tower's wall. He hugged the corner as if it were Bors himself, pressing into it, and looked around.

Damn. He'd hoped for some sort of access ledge on this side, but instead the tower was one long fin of stone extending back to the dome's apex. Even if they could get on top of it, there'd still be no good way down.

"Rabbit." Bors's voice was calm but urgent. "Time to go."

Roshad swung back onto the safety of the ledge. Below them, the horse warriors were in the shaft now, their curses rising up ahead of them. "Just had to check." He let go of Bors's arm and unclipped the chain from his collar, then stepped close to the larger man, his back against Bors's armored chest. He quickly looped the chain around both of them, under their arms, then handed the loose end to Bors. "Ready?"

Bors wrapped huge arms tight around Roshad's shoulders. "Always."

Roshad kissed the man's bracered wrist, then fixed the image of a small brown house spider in his mind, his hands twisting in the motions that had come to feel so natural. He knelt, Bors wrapped around him like a shell, and whispered the words.

Then he rolled off the ledge.

There was a moment of disorientation, his stomach rebelling at the shifting horizon. Then his hands found the sheer stone of the tower wall, and suddenly it was as if the world had turned ninety degrees, and he was crawling along a flat plane leading to the vertical blue wall of the plaza. His hands and feet moved effortlessly, sticking and releasing at will as he crawled, hindered only by Bors, who did his best to lock his legs around Roshad's middle. The warrior's weight on Roshad's back pulled steadily forward, urging them on.

And then they were down. The world twisted again as the two men untangled themselves and stood. Bors's expression was as stoic as any war mask, but his breathing was quick and his tan skin paler than normal. Roshad smiled up at him and refastened his chain.

A shout from the tower drew their attention. High above, the soldiers were peering down at them from between the pillars.

Bors tugged at Roshad's arm, leading him away across the plaza, but Roshad couldn't resist shooting their pursuers a rude gesture. "Better luck next time, geldings!"

Except that there wouldn't be a next time. At long last, he and Bors were finally leaving the city, heading out to—

The woman in the furry hat appeared between the pillars. She shouted something, then began shoving warriors off the ledge. One by one, they fell, unable to keep from pinwheeling their arms, faces contorted with fear—and yet moving nowhere near as quickly as they should have. In a heartbeat, the first had touched down, as lightly as a falling leaf. He smiled at and drew his sword.

"Right. Wizard." Roshad turned back to Bors. "Okay, now we go."

They ran, cutting across the plaza and through the crowd of onlookers that had gathered. Beyond it, the street was packed with merchants, travelers, and locals out for a walk in the city's picturesque temple district. Barrow runners pushed their one-wheeled carts to and fro, working on commission to spread caravan goods from the city's central market out to the rest of the populace.

Roshad grabbed the edge of one such barrow and pulled, dumping a load of ornamented baskets into the street. The runner screeched in protest and dove to recover her goods before they got trampled or stolen by the swarming street kids who knew an opportunity when they saw one. The pursuing horse warriors cursed, bogged down in the morass, and Bors and Roshad turned a corner and kept running, staying close together to keep their chain from clotheslining bystanders.

Someone shouted, and Roshad looked back to see that several horse warriors had broken through and were still on their trail. This part of the street was less densely packed, and the pursuers were gaining.

"The hell with this!" Roshad careened around the edge of a coffeehouse and ducked into an alley, pulling Bors along with him. He pressed the big man back into the shadows against the wall, then held his hands out toward the alley's mouth, fingers spread.

A gauntleted hand grabbed his shoulder. "Rabbit, no!"

Roshad grimaced and shot Bors a look. "They're not going to stop, Bors."

Bors simply stared at him, mouth set in a disapproving line.

"Piss and hell!" Roshad grabbed Bors's shoulder and shoved him back into a run. "If they catch us, it's your fault!"

They sprinted through a maze of alleys and access ways, past middens and watering troughs, their footfalls echoing off the mud-brick walls. Their pursuers weren't even bothering to yell anymore, just focusing all their efforts on closing the gap between them and their quarry. Roshad yanked Bors around another corner—

And stopped. The alley dead-ended in a small courtyard, kept shaded and cool by the many-storied buildings on three sides. Every door was shut tight.

Roshad grabbed the latch on the nearest door, but to no avail. Bors gave it a tentative slam with his shoulder, but the ironbound wood didn't even groan. They spun around just in time to see the first of the horse warriors appear.

"Now?" Roshad asked Bors, raising a hand.

Bors only shook his head. His fingers were tight on the hilt of the huge sword slung across his back, but Roshad knew it was a bluff. Bors would never hurt these people.

Fine—there were other spells. The climbing again. Roshad began the incantation—

"I wouldn't." The voice was the captain's, albeit strained. The man emerged from between his troops, sweating but exultant. To either side of him, warriors stood with bows drawn, arrows pointed straight at Roshad's chest. The captain grinned and moved forward.

"Now, thief," he said, "you'll give us back our prince."

Coming Next Week: An audience with the lord of the Horse Throne in Chapter Two of James L. Sutter's "Boar and Rabbit"!

James L. Sutter is the Managing Editor for Paizo Publishing and a co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. He is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Death's Heretic and The Redemption Engine, the former of which was #3 on Barnes & Noble's list of the Best Fantasy Releases of 2011 and a finalist for the Compton Crook Award for Best First Novel. He's written short stories for such publications as Escape Pod, Apex Magazine, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and the #1 Amazon best-seller Machine of Death. His anthology Before They Were Giants pairs the first published short stories of science fiction luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves. In addition, he's published a wealth of gaming material for both Dungeons & Dragons and the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, including such fan-favorite Pathfinder Campaign Setting books as Distant Worlds and City of Strangers. For more information, check out jameslsutter.com or follow him on Twitter at @jameslsutter.

Illustration by Eric Belisle

Who Doesn't Like A Little Conflict?

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The release of Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Inner Sea Combat is approaching, and it's a book I'm particularly proud of. Since I've taken over the Pathfinder Campaign Setting line, we've released a number of books, but this one is perhaps the most jam-packed with amazing new rules and thematic elements of the lot. Just about every page has something on it that makes me want to run a new campaign or build a new character. If only I had the time to do so! But as a developer, I often game vicariously through the players and GMs who use the content I have a hand in delivering, and I can't wait to hear what fun you fine folks have with this one!

Let me show off a few of my favorite pieces of art from the book, and tell you what about these images and the content related to them really excites me.

First we have this amazing half-page chapter opener by Jason Rainville, of Sajan sparring with a fellow monk. She's proof positive that an amulet of mighty fists doesn't just affect your hands. This illustrates the chapter on new combat schools of the Inner Sea, including gladiatorial arenas like the orc-run Bloodworks in Urglin, dojos like the Houses of Perfection in Jalmeray, war colleges such as Ironstock Hall in Alkenstar and Brevoy's Aldori Academy, and thieves' guilds like the Bloody Barbers of Absalom. Players can join schools to gain new abilities to represent their training, as long as they can make the grade.

When we sat down to outline this book, I was absolutely amazed at how large and varied our list of potential archetypes was, and I think people are really going to like the ones that ended up making the cut. We have archtypes for Shoanti burn riders; Bekyar slavers; undead-loving antipaladins known as seal-breakers; Iroran paladins; Sable Company marines; Osirian Ouat dwarf monks; the Qadiran horse lord (depicted here, by Kim Sokol); and dozens more.

Speaking of horses and riders, we couldn't do a book about combat and not present a stable of new material for cavaliers, masters of battlefield strategy and horsemanship. Inner Sea Combat presents two new cavalier orders, rules on taking a monstrous mount (like a hippocampus, hippogriff, or worg), and context for where in the Inner Sea region the knightly orders presented in our setting-neutral hardcover rulebooks fit in. Alain may get a lot of heat for being a jerk (not undeservedly, I might add), but with Inner Sea Combat, he gets the ability to show that his attitude isn't completely undeserved (as this action-packed illustration by Jason Rainville shows).

That's all I have time for (and that they'll let me spoil) so you'll just have to wait to see what else Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Inner Sea Combat has in store for you. The wait shouldn't be too long. It's on its way soon!

Mark Moreland
Developer

Teaching Changemakers Using Kingmaker

Thursday, April 24, 2014

My name is Ben Parkinson and I have been interested in roleplaying for most of my life. For the last five years I have been running a project in Uganda, which trains indigenous youth in Uganda to become social entrepreneurs, sometimes known as change makers. Our project is known as the Butterfly Project because it relies on the concept that nurturing youth can transform them into Butterflies, capable of changing the community in which they live and we are very proud of the young people we have been working with, most of which come from slum areas in Kampala and some from remote village areas.

I originally thought of the value of roleplaying when I was in Nigeria. Children there were using their own creativity to make games from local materials and I felt strongly that the minimal materials needed for roleplaying—just some dice and maybe a pen and paper—could be made available in village areas very easily. Similarly, children in slums have very little inspiring to do and I felt that these children I was beginning to get to know loved the creativity of monsters and were going to benefit from seeing themselves as heroes, when poverty eats away at confidence to be able to effect change.

I developed a roleplaying group in Uganda in 2010 with some youth and we started with Keep on the Shadowfell and moved through The Trollhaunt Warrens by 2013, after an enforced break in 2012. I am a fan of 4th Edition and the brightest kids enjoyed the complexity of the battles, though I felt that the game was not achieving my purpose of trying to stimulate creativity, teamwork and problem-solving, as the game was orientated more towards combat. Also, the issue became worse not better, as the players became more experienced, as everything became even more complicated in the same way and played towards the combat tactics.

I had run Crown of the Kobold King online a few years ago and I thought also starting at Level 2 might work better for the group, who, other than Joseph and Brian, had never run a roleplaying game before—more hit points meant they could make more mistakes! The game was a real hit and the kids were every session excited and enthusiastic to be there. The Kobold King wiped out the whole group except Lem and Merisiel and so they had to sell most of their treasure to pay for the resurrection bills. Then I noticed how involved they were with their characters and that they discussed their adventures with their friends in between sessions and so momentum was building.

The group wanted a new adventure, so I looked through the other adventures I owned which seemed to be suitable for a new group. We switched to W3 Flight of the Red Raven and I asked Joseph whether he would take over being GM. He agreed and ran more or less the whole adventure on his own, as he is a very bright kid and will be a future star of Uganda, given the chance. Readers should be aware that English is the third language for these children, so reading is much more of a chore for them. Most of the children living around survive on one meal a day—usually the same thing—and so it is not always obvious which sorts of activities they might enjoy. With Joseph as GM, I had wondered that maybe the group would lose interest, but actually I think interest has grown since Joseph took over—all credit to him—AND he has prompted others to believe that they can GM too.

Their enthusiasm inspired me to think more broadly and so I wondered whether we could work with some of our potential changemakers and social entrepreneurs, seeing whether we could run a more challenging thoughtful group, where they were making more human decisions, which might help them in their own development as leaders. I owned a pdf of Kingmaker and this seemed to be the ideal vehicle for this idea. So, I recruited a young leaders group, including Joseph (The GM), Brian, Patrick, Barbara, Kenneth and Oswaldo and, to further challenge them, we used some of the advanced character classes from Master of the Fallen Fortress. Joseph (14) chose the complex Summoner; Brian (13), a great roleplayer, computer trainer and problem-solver, chose Imrijka the Inquisitor; Patrick (13) who wants to be an engineer, the Alchemist; Barbara (14) who has a project empowering girls against child abuse, wanted Lini the Druid; Kenneth, who is the editor of the Acholi Quarter Youth News, chose Alhazra the Oracle; and Oswaldo, who is a Ugandan taekwondo champion, Sajjan the monk.

I didn't want the group to just focus on fighting, as had been happening previously, so we started straightaway explaining that they were going to be kings and that they had to act like leaders and that some problems would be difficult to solve and perhaps not have immediately obvious solutions. They were challenged to act as a team when preparing for the bandits right at the start and then I gave responsibilities for the mapmaking, the treasure record-keeping, the rations and timeframe and, later, the city statistics.

They were stunned at the Stag Lord's fight that one of the "bandits" seemed to be fighting on their side and this prompted them to think differently about their adversaries. They are looking for allies now, rather than adversaries, when they adventure, so that they can improve the quality of their city. Damiel was slain by a wandering shambling mound and the party rallied around to see what could be sold to bring him back. They are now looking for people who might have sighted trolls, as their city unrest plummets. However, the most interesting discussions came from when a visitor was undermining them in the city. Should we kill him? Should we discredit him? Should we banish him?

Last week, Imrijka, using his alignment detection ability, noticed a lot of evil women entering the city, so we shall see where this leads and whether they see this as a priority, or further exploration...

Kingmaker has been a backdrop, though, to an explosion in interest in roleplaying. We now have six GMs and perhaps 30 young people starting to participate in roleplaying here, so we are trying to figure out how to use what resources we have to develop an RPG timetable. Brian is also running a group entirely of girls and he has taken them through "The Deadly Mine" and I hope he will start them on Pathfinder Society Organised Play. We use figures from Descent 2, a homemade map, and various dice gathered from different places, and we use the computer or print out the pdfs when running the adventures.

The next project will be to take our GMs out into remote Northern Uganda (many are native Acholi speakers) and test the reaction from local children to the dice and adventure. Our objective will be to assess the sessions as a new and fun mechanism to assess which children might be best at making decisions, solving problems and acting for the good of all and then bring them onto our changemaker programme and they will then be taught how to solve problems in their communities.

Lastly, culture is very important in Uganda. Recent legislative changes here have demonstrated some alternative thinking and we are not about to use roleplaying to suggest or impose actions outside of the culture. We plan to continue to vet the adventures ahead of them being run too, to ensure that they are suitable for the group we are working with. The game is simply a creative stimulus, which teaches children what they are good at and enhances their life skills. By teaching young GMs how to GM, we hope we are building their confidence, helping their reading and other academic studies, helping them to be leaders and also, because a GM's role is not to kill the party, to be considerate in making the adventure fun for the players, not just for the GM! GMs will even learn problem-solving from their players, who also learn from each other and, since poverty is not negatively influencing their make believe life, finding solutions to challenges can flourish.

The Butterfly Project is funded by Chrysalis Youth Empowerment Network (CYEN), a charitable organisation based in the UK. The web-site is http://www.cyen.org.uk and the youth blog is at http://chrysalisuganda.wordpress.com. You can contact us at socentafrica@gmail.com or via the web-site. CYEN supports Uganda-based non-profit, Chrysalis, who run activities at their Chrysalis Centre in Kireka, Kampala. They run sports, arts and music, as well as a range of more academic activities, such as roleplaying. Chrysalis are in the process of building a rural-based centre in Northern Uganda, to deliver empowering activities in Gulu district, Uganda.

The Kingmaker group—Lini, Balazar, Imrijka, Sajan and Damiel. (Alhazra was doing exams).

Patrick is the roleplaying monitor, who is responsible for looking after all of the materials we have. He plays Damiel, the Level 4 alchemist, who recently fell to a shambling mound. Patrick is a keen engineer.

Oswaldo (right) is a Ugandan age group taekwondo champion, so he decided to play the monk in the group. Sajjan is trying out different moves and I am discussing him maybe making a vow with his character.

Joseph is a brilliant student, who picks new things up like lightning and is very hard to beat at any board or card game. Here he is with the Kingmaker map, which shows how far the group has explored.

Brian is 13 and a computer trainer at the Chrysalis Centre. He's a problem-solver and excellent roleplayer and actor. Brian is also now a GM and has recruited several girls into a girls-only group.

Yes, we use Pathfinder!

Brian, GMing the new girls group, as they explore "The Deadly Mine" from the Beginner Box.

The Redemption Engine Sample Chapter

Wednesday, April 23rd, 2014

by James L. Sutter

In The Redemption Engine, extraplanar investigator Salim Ghadafar is back at it again, only this time he's tasked with tracking down murdered sinners who fail to show up in Hell. In order to do so, the former priest-hunter will need to descend into the anarchic city of Kaer Maga, following a trail that ranges from Hell’s iron cities to the gates of Heaven itself. Along the way, he’ll be aided by a host of otherworldly creatures, a streetwise teenager, and two warriors of the mysterious Iridian Fold. But when the missing souls are the scum of the earth, and the victims devils themselves, can anyone really be trusted?

Chapter Three

The Devil's Due

Salim realized he was gripping his sword hilt. The devil looked pointedly at it, then shifted his gaze to the corner hidden behind the door. "Not much for etiquette, is he?"

"Please, Salim," said another voice, this one all too familiar. "Come in and close the door."

Gritting his teeth, Salim let go of his sword and moved inside. As he let the door swing closed behind him, he tasted iron and felt the familiar warm trickle as blood ran from his nose, catching in his short black beard.

The devil looked at Salim with something between fascination and disgust, then past him over his shoulder. "He's leaking."

"Just a little reminder from the Lady," said the other voice, now behind Salim. "It's a little game we play. Isn't that right, Salim?"

Salim turned.

The angelic creature hung motionless in the air, its toes several inches above the floor. Beneath black hair, the face was too perfect to be human, its smooth features more like a sketch by a master artist than anything nature designed. Its flesh was the alien, hairless white of marble or maggot, and the sheer gray fabric that wrapped its torso was more shroud than toga. If there was gender beneath that garment, Salim had never seen it. Great black wings rose from behind the creature's shoulders, oily feathers melding with the shadows to seem at once comfortable and far too big for the room. They stretched lazily, swirling the shadow into little eddies and currents.

"Hello, Salim."

"Ceyanan." The word was a curse. Salim made no effort to wipe his face. Blood from his nose made its way across the well-trimmed lawn of his beard and dripped onto the wooden floor with a quiet plip.

"Really, Ceyanan," said the devil. "I'm not one to tell others how to housebreak their pets, but this hardly seems suitable for our conversation."

"Of course," Ceyanan said, in its maddening, genderless voice. "My apologies."

There was a sudden touch of wind on Salim's face, stale and cold as the breeze from a long-sealed tomb, and then the blood was gone. Salim refused to react.

"Please," Ceyanan said, raising a hand toward the chairs around the table. "Be seated."

Salim contemplated his options. Normally, he would stand just to spite the angel, but such pettiness might seem a sign of weakness to the devil. With a hard look at the placid apparition, he moved to the table and took a seat, pushing his chair back against the wall so that he could see both of the room's residents.

Ceyanan drifted over, neither walking nor flapping, but rather pulling the shadowy wings along in its wake like streamers that grew and stretched as it moved. It stopped on the other side of the table. An alabaster hand indicated the devil.

"Salim, allow me to introduce Hezechor."

Maedora doesn't tolerate dissension in the ranks.

The devil smiled, showing perfect teeth only slightly too pointed for a human. He inclined his head.

Salim had met devils, of course. It was impossible not to in his line of work. This one was a classic breed, with features reminiscent of Asmodeus himself. A crown of short horns sat above a red-skinned and ruggedly handsome face with dark eyes and a small, pointed beard. His robes were a matching red, emblazoned with infernal symbols in black and gold, and left his muscular chest bare.

There, however, the devil's similarities to the Archfiend of minstrels' stories stopped. From the creature's back sprouted a clutch of huge black horns, twisted and ridged like a ram's. They curved out and around him like the tentacles of some tide pool anemone, threatening to cage him in. From several hung scrolls of parchment and papyrus, as well as one that looked suspiciously like human skin, all covered in dense, crabbed sigils that were nauseating to look upon.

"You're a contract devil," Salim said.

"A phistophilus, yes." Hezechor smiled broader this time, and Salim had to suppress a shiver. The devil's eyes seemed to bore through him, even as the rest of the face invited trust. Salim had known confidence men before, and master merchants who could convince you to trade everything you owned for a handful of tin. This creature was in another class entirely. "You're familiar with us?"

"Not personally, no." Salim shook off the devil's uncanny charm like a dog shakes off water. He gave Ceyanan a look. "I'm afraid I strike my infernal bargains elsewhere."

"Pity," said Hezechor, and looked to Ceyanan as well. "Shall we begin, then?"

"Certainly." Ceyanan paused to make sure Salim was paying attention, then spread its hands.

The air between them filled with rows of tiny faces. The illusions swung side to side, giving Salim a full view of the disembodied heads. Out of habit, Salim began memorizing them, breaking them into smaller groups by race and gender and noting scars, tattoos, and other distinguishing features. Most of the faces were human or half-elven, but there was a gnome in there as well, the little man's hair a bloody red too bright for a human's. None of the faces looked particularly friendly.

"Over the last several months, Kaer Maga has suffered a rash of unexplained murders," Ceyanan said. "Dozens of bodies have washed up in the aqueducts and back-alley trash heaps of the city's southern districts, or spattered across the stones at the foot of the cliff."

Salim said nothing. Considering his own welcome, Kaer Maga gave every appearance of being a hard town. He would be astonished if there weren't a dozen murders here in any given month. Or week.

Ceyanan noted his silence and nodded slightly. "Of particular significance is the fact that, of the identified victims, all have been singularly unsavory individuals. Slavers, rapists, murderers, and the like. Despite a great variety of wounds, all were ultimately dispatched by a neat stiletto puncture through the back." This time Ceyanan let the pause stretch.

Always the showman, Salim thought. He sighed and accepted his cue. "So? Why does the Gray Lady care? Let Hell have them."

"Precisely," said Hezechor. The devil was no longer smiling.

Ceyanan looked at Salim. "As Hezechor implies, the issue is not what happened, but rather what failed to happen. Of the fifty-some individuals who have been slain, none have appeared at the Spire for judgment."

Salim sat back in his chair and let out a breath.

Fifty souls. And from the same city, at that. It was a mind-boggling number. Across the various nations and worlds of the Material Plane—the realm of existence where mortals lived—there were few constants. In fact, despite the old sayings, even tides and taxes were avoidable, depending on where you were. But death—death was the great equalizer.

No matter who you were, or what you were, if you lived, one day you would cease living. On that day, your spirit would leave your body on the Material Plane and join the River of Souls, the great procession of recently deceased spirits that flowed all the way to Pharasma's Spire, the huge pillar of stone that was the heart of the Outer Planes—what mortals thought of as the afterlife. Once you reached the Boneyard, Pharasma and her minions—psychopomps like Ceyanan—would divide you up according to how you lived and what you believed, and send you on to whatever plane or deity was most appropriate. If you were a particularly contentious case, there might even be a trial of sorts. But regardless of how exactly it happened, there was no getting around it: if you died, you were judged. Pharasma's servants were meticulous record-keepers, and since the Gray Lady was the goddess of fate and prophecy as well as birth and death, she already kept tabs on every sentient creature in the multiverse. Trying to avoid her notice was like hiding from the passage of time.

Not that people didn't try. They ran, or hid their souls, or transformed themselves into undead monstrosities. Some destroyed the souls of their enemies, or managed to bottle them up before they could reach the Spire. That was where Salim came in.

But still—even one soul unaccounted for was an anomaly. Fifty...

"I presume this is limited to the murders?" Salim asked. "Other folk who die in Kaer Maga are reaching the Spire as normal?"

Ceyanan nodded. "It's not simply a matter of murder, either. A great number of people are killed in Kaer Maga on a regular basis. Most of these continue to arrive and be judged as normal. Of the ones who haven't, the only link is that all appear to have died violently via the stiletto, and lived in a manner that even Kaer Magans would find abhorrent."

"Isn't it obvious?" Hezechor snapped. The contract devil's red skin seemed to glow faintly with irritation. "We're being robbed."

Salim gave him a level look, then turned back to Ceyanan. "Is that true? Were all the souls destined for Hell?"

"No," Ceyanan said. "Some were too chaotic to be useful to the devils, and better suited to the Abyss. A few were nihilists, and the daemons of Abaddon would have gotten those. But it's true that they were all evil, and the majority would have gone to the devils."

Hezechor looked mildly affronted at having his grand statement amended, but he bobbed his horns in acknowledgment and sat back in his chair.

Now Salim turned to address the devil. "So where are your demonic and daemonic counterparts?"

Hezechor snorted. "You ever see a demonic accountant?"

"I suppose not."

"Of course you haven't. The children of chaos aren't big on records, and the daemons pretty much eat anyone that shows up on Abaddon." He gestured at one of the scrolls draped from his horns. "Hell, on the other hand, never forgets."

Salim nodded and chewed mentally. "Hags?" he asked. "Have you checked the markets on Axis?"

"Naturally," Ceyanan said. "None of the souls in question have shown up in any of the usual places."

That wasn't terribly surprising. There were creatures—most notably the nightmare witches called hags—that enjoyed trapping souls and bottling them up, selling them to unsavory spellcasters who used them in magical rituals. Then there were the creatures that fed on souls—things like the daemons Hezechor had mentioned—which didn't care whether they'd been judged yet or not. Those were always a problem.

Yet neither of those would bother restricting themselves to evil souls. What sort of creature was simultaneously crazy enough to incur the wrath of the Lady of Graves by disrupting a soul's natural cycle, yet conscientious enough to worry about their prey's morality? Salim supposed it could be some sort of crusader—perhaps a paladin with a sword that ate souls—yet the magic required to destroy or capture a soul was itself taboo in most cultures, and there was little incentive. An evil soul sent to Pharasma's judgment was bound to face punishment harsher than whatever a mortal vigilante could mete out.

Salim looked back to Hezechor. "So you're here to figure out who's cutting off your supply."

The devil smiled. "My dear boy, I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm afraid this is entirely your mess."

"He's correct," Ceyanan said, emotionless as ever. "Hezechor expressed an interest in meeting you, but that's as far as Hell's involvement goes. The procession and judgment of souls is Pharasma's domain, and any discrepancies are our responsibility to correct."

Salim felt the familiar, stomach-warming anger that characterized all his interactions with Ceyanan. "You mean my responsibility."

"Of course."

"Of course," Salim mimicked, and crossed his arms. "Because it's not enough to make me wade waste-deep through human filth chasing down packs of sewer ghouls. Or staking little girls who happen to be vampires. Or getting my arm charred to the bone by some delusional fire wizard trying to bring back his dead parents." He flexed his right arm, though of course the priests had long since healed that particular injury. "Now you want me to do your accounting for you, too."

Ceyanan smiled. "At least there won't be rivers of sewage. Probably."

Salim shot back an exaggerated rictus grin. "As you wish." Still seated, he bent at the waist and swept out the repaired arm. "The Grave Bitch commands, and I obey."

"And we thank you for your service," Ceyanan said, as polite as if Salim's bow had been real.

"Fascinating." Hezechor watched the exchange with interest, bearded chin in one hand, tone equal parts scorn and amusement. "And your mistress allows this sort of insubordination?"

"Salim's something of a special case."

Salim flashed the devil the fake smile as well. "I get the best treatment a slave could hope for."

"I see," said Hezechor. "Well, as educational as this has been, I believe my involvement here is at an end. My superiors look forward to seeing the matter resolved in short order." He reached out two black nailed fingers and pulled a narrow scroll from where it draped over a horn just above his right shoulder. He glanced at it, then looked over it at Salim.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," the devil said, "but I suspect we'll be meeting again."

The paper between his fingers ignited, a brilliant flash that left Salim dazzled for the second time that day. When his vision cleared, Hezechor was gone, leaving behind only the slight scent of brimstone and a faintest wisp of smoke drifting up from his chair.

Salim looked at Ceyanan. The angel-shaped psychopomp hung in the air, unflappable as always.

"So," Salim said. "Alone together at last."

Ceyanan tilted its head. "Not quite. Maedora?"

At the far end of the room, something moved.

At first it was like a breeze, a faint stirring of dust motes—but of course there was no wind in the windowless room. As Salim watched, the shadows in the corner seemed to reach forth, spinning out into long threads that tangled and wove together, splitting and multiplying as they stretched toward him. The shadows paled from black to gray, then began to shimmer as they formed an outline, interlacing like the straw of a wicker man. The web became a cocoon, then bulged obscenely.

A woman stepped through. She was undeniably beautiful, with long black hair that trailed behind her in the nonexistent breeze. She was also at least eight feet tall. The iridescent threads that painted her naked body were the silken patterns of orb-weaver spiders, and every bit as clingy. They wrapped her from head to toe and fanned out behind her, spreading into gray wings that were more bat than bird. Even her face was covered, the webs thickening into a flared mask that hid her eyes and left only her pale mouth and nose exposed. All together, the effect was that of a recently mummified corpse.

The trailing shadow-strings snapped and faded away as she strode over to stand next to Ceyanan. She turned her head to evaluate Salim, and he didn't need to see her eyes to feel the weight of that stare.

"Nice outfit," he said.

The web woman remained silent.

"Salim," Ceyanan said, and for a moment Salim thought the angel sounded almost anxious. "This is Maedora."

"A pleasure to meet you, Maedora," Salim said. "Do you always make such an entrance, or am I especially privileged?"

Still the woman said nothing.

"Maedora is another psychopomp," Ceyanan said tightly. "A morrigna."

The angel said it like it should mean something. Salim shrugged. "Sorry. You all look the same to me."

Which wasn't true, of course. Salim had worked with a number of psychopomps over the years—those agents of the death goddess that mortals often called spirit guides, angels, or reapers. Yet with the exception of Ceyanan, those had mostly been birdlike things that guarded the River of Souls from creatures looking to prey on the defenseless petitioners. Nothing like this woman.

Maedora walked around the table toward Salim. Though the body underneath the shroud was flawless, her hips had no seductive roll, and her feet made no sound on the floorboards. As she drew near, the physical size of her grew more and more imposing, and the shifting patches of shadow that moved across her wrappings resolved themselves into thousands of tiny black spiders that rippled and flowed in precise movements. She loomed over his chair.

"You really should be more polite," Ceyanan noted. "After all, you and Maedora are in the same line of work."

"Oh?" Salim asked.

"Hunting." The voice that emerged from beneath that mask was soft, arch, and as cold as the grave.

"She's an inquisitor," Ceyanan explained. "Like all her kind. They gather evidence to aid in judgments, and hunt down and destroy would-be immortals and those who trade in stolen souls."

"And atheists." Maedora placed a single finger on Salim's neck. Cold raced across his skin, raising gooseflesh all down his side. "The faithless can't be allowed to corrupt the Inner Court."

Salim crooked a smile at her. "Of course."

"Maedora will be investigating the murders as well."

Salim gave Ceyanan a sharp look. "I don't need a partner."

"And you're not getting one," the angel replied coolly. "I'm afraid the situation is more complicated than that. You see, while I've been given charge of this investigation, there are certain factions within the Inner Court that have a different point of view."

"Fifty-three souls," Maedora said. "Their return is too important to trust to a mortal."

"Spare my feelings, why don't you?" Salim looked to Ceyanan. "So you're running both of us against each other?"

The angel shook its head. "Not against. Merely in parallel. You both work best alone, so you'll work alone. I trust you won't interfere with each other, and will share information as benefits the aims of the Boneyard. It's simple division of labor. For instance, in light of the Lamasaran debacle, Maedora will be handling all interactions with the local Pharasmin congregation."

"Excuse me?" Salim asked. "As I recall, I successfully retrieved the kidnapped soul and rooted out corruption in the church."

"By nearly burning it down," Maedora pointed out. "Several of the faithful were injured defending the cathedral."

"And promptly healed each other up, good as new," Salim countered.

"Nevertheless," Ceyanan said, "the Kaer Magan cathedral will not be subject to your special breed of etiquette. Maedora will be the Boneyard's liaison in this matter."

"Fine." Salim had no desire to deal with a bunch of stiff-necked priests anyway. "Then where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you can," Ceyanan said.

"You know, for spirit guides, both of you interpret the ‘guide' part pretty loosely."

The web-wrapped thing called Maedora moved closer—very close. She hunkered down so that her face was just above Salim's, forcing him to tilt his head back to meet the blank, gauzy expanse that hid her eyes.

Salim wondered how many eyes that mask actually hid.

"Listen well, Salim Ghadafar," Maedora whispered. The web wings spread out behind her to block the light, casting them both in shadow. "Your service has been noted, but your insolence as well. Ceyanan may tolerate such things, but I will not. Stay out of my way, and find your own leads as best you can. If you interfere with my investigation, you will be removed. Permanently."

Despite the shivers tracing lightning arcs up and down his spine, Salim had to smile. "Are you threatening to fire me?" he asked. "Because if so, I'm not sure you did your homework."

"There are worse fates than death, Salim," Maedora hissed. "You of all people should know that."

"Believe me, I do." Bending sideways so that he could see past the shield of gray wings, Salim said, "I see why you wanted her involved, Ceyanan. She's clearly a people person." He straightened and stood, moving the chair back so he could look the stooping psychopomp in the eye.

"With all due respect to your charming personality," he said, "I think you might want to find a cloak or something. This whole ‘winged mummy' bit might not put your informants at ease."

Maedora's lips quirked up in a smirk, and she drew back. "The dead are rarely so squeamish. But you have a point."

She raised a hand, and the spiders that had been congregating in little pockets around her body converged on it, covering it in a writhing glove. She whispered something, and the spiders rolled down her arm and over her body in a seething tide, expanding out over her wings, devouring the webbing as they went. When the swarm reached the fingers of her other hand, it disappeared.

The psychopomp was gone. In her place stood a human woman in her early thirties, with pale skin and a stern face. She wore fitted pants and a shirt of a military cut, as well as high boots, all of them black. A gray cape hung from broad, straight shoulders, secured by a clasp in the shape of a spiral. Only the long black hair remained unchanged.

She crossed her arms. "Better?"

Her new shape was attractive, in a no-nonsense sort of way, and wouldn't draw any attention beyond the usual. Yet there was still a blankness in the eyes. A dead thing, wearing the shape of a woman.

Salim nodded.

"Remember what I said." The new Maedora's voice was the same as the winged giant's. "I'll be seeing you."

Then she turned and walked out the door.

Salim watched the door shut, trying to get a grasp on how his day had suddenly become so complicated. Eventually he turned back to Ceyanan. "Nice company you're keeping these days."

"Whatever serves the Lady."

"Yeah, I know. So what's the point?"

"What do you mean?" the angel asked innocently.

Salim hooked a thumb at the door. "Why am I here, if you've got spider-lady on the job?"

"It's complicated." For the first time in their long acquaintance, Salim thought the angel sounded tired.

"Everything's complicated," Salim observed.

Ceyanan spread its hands. "The Lady has many servants. I represent one division, Maedora another. Sometimes we disagree on how best to proceed. When that happens, the Lady often sees fit to let us sort things out among ourselves."

"So I'm just a game piece," Salim said.

"When has it ever been otherwise?"

The angel never failed to get under Salim's skin. "So what if your horse decides not to run?"

"I'm afraid that would go very poorly for the horse," Ceyanan replied. "Horses that refuse to run end up at the knacker's. But you don't have to worry about that."

Salim waited expectantly.

"Your pride, Salim. The same thing that led you to us in the first place. The pride that led you to try to handle the Lamasaran situation on your own, in order to impress that noble girl, and nearly cost you both your lives. What was her name? Neila?"

The word was like a stone in Salim's chest. "You leave her out of this."

Ceyanan waved the issue aside. "It doesn't matter. You'll run because Maedora said you weren't good enough, and thus your desire to spite her is momentarily greater than your desire to spite me."

Salim started to respond, then realized it was true. As much as he resented Ceyanan, the goddess, and everything about his joke of an existence, part of him did want to solve the mystery—all because Maedora had told him he couldn't. Perhaps she was a better inquisitor than he'd thought.

Besides, his real problem was with the goddess herself, and both Maedora and Ceyanan were part of her coterie. Which toe he stepped on was irrelevant.

Ceyanan nodded as if Salim had replied. "I've left the necessary funds with Canary House's owner. I suspect you'll need them, unless those thieves earlier were kind enough to refill your purse."

Salim frowned. "So you were watching that."

"Always."

That spark of anger again. "I could have been killed."

"No," Ceyanan said. "You couldn't. I believe we've already proved that point."

Trust the angel to find a way to work that in. "Go to hell, Ceyanan."

The psychopomp smiled.

"But Salim, that's what I have you for."

Purchase the whole novel here.

Coming Next Week: An all-new story set in distant Casmaron, exploring the origins of the two mysterious Iridian Fold warriors from The Redemption Engine!

James L. Sutter is the Managing Editor for Paizo Publishing and a co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. He is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Death's Heretic and The Redemption Engine, the former of which was #3 on Barnes & Noble's list of the Best Fantasy Releases of 2011 and a finalist for the Compton Crook Award for Best First Novel. He's written short stories for such publications as Escape Pod, Apex Magazine, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and the #1 Amazon best-seller Machine of Death. His anthology Before They Were Giants pairs the first published short stories of science fiction luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves. In addition, he's published a wealth of gaming material for both Dungeons & Dragons and the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, including such fan-favorite Pathfinder Campaign Setting books as Distant Worlds and City of Strangers.

Art by Eric Belisle.

Inner Sea Gods: Divine Servitors

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Well, we've previously looked at the art, deities, and character options featured in Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Inner Sea Gods, and now it's time to summon up our final preview blog—a look at the 40 divine servitors available to the faithful of the core deities via a number of calling spells.

Each of the core 20 deities receives two statblocks in the final chapter of Inner Sea Gods, one its herald, and the other a lower-level outsider. First let's look at a few of the new outsiders, shall we?

Up first is the dapsara, a new angel closely tied to Shelyn, goddess of love, beauty, and art. This CR 4 angel has bardic abilities, including bardic performance and versatile performance, and should serve those who venerate the arts well.

Illustration by Diana Martinez

What could be more opposed to art and beauty than the qlippoth, the proto-demons of the Abyss from which Rovagug ascended. Thognorok qlippoth, like the one depicted here, are considered servitors of the Rough Beast, but are actually sentient symbiotes that once had the misfortune of dining on Rovagug's flesh. As with all the lower-level servitors in the book, Thognoroks are CR 4, has 6 HD, and can therefor be called with lesser planar ally and/or lesser planar binding. Though I would caution against trying with this guy.

Illustration by Ben Wootten

If a CR 4 outsider just isn't going to cut it for you, there's always each deity's herald. Inner Sea Gods presents the herald subtype, which grant a uniform array of abilities to these unique outsiders who serve as envoys and agents of their patrons. Heralds generally have 18 or fewer Hit Dice, come in around CR 15, and can be summoned with greater planar ally. Each of the heralds received a new development pass, standardizing their abilities and upgrading those released prior to the Pathfinder RPG up to the current rules set. Here's Asmodeus's herald, the sinister and deadly Basiles, for your viewing pleasure.

Illustration by Emeliano Petrozzi

This fella, however, breaks the herald mold, which is befitting of the herald of the god who motivated Sarenrae and Asmodeus to work together to imprison him. I'm talking, of course, about the Tarrasque, also known as the Armageddon Engine, herald of Rovagug. Not only does the version presented in Inner Sea Gods include the herald and spawn of Rovagug subtypes (resulting in different stats than the world-neutral version in the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary), it keeps the original's CR 25, making it by far the most dangerous of the heralds presented in the book.

Illustration by Ben Wootten

And there you have it, folks! By the time another one of these previews would go up, most of you will have your copies of the book, so I'll move on to previewing other forthcoming books. Inner Sea Gods is available in game stores everywhere and can be purchased as a hardcover or PDF download right here.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Enter Golarion with the Heroes of Magnimar Contest

Saturday, April 19, 2014

In Dynamite Entertainment's Pathfinder: City of Secrets comic, the iconic Pathfinder heroes venture to the bustling city of Magnimar to join the Pathfinder Society adventurer's guild and battle the forces of darkness. But familiar heroes like Valeros, Seoni, Harsk, and Ezren are only a few of the brave adventurers flocking to the City of Monuments—and now we're giving YOUR heroes a chance to add their name to the heroic ranks! The deadline for this contest is quickly approaching, so if you want your hero to trod the same comic panels as Paizo's finest, take a a look at our submission information sooner rather than later!

In the Pathfinder: City of Secrets Heroes of Magnimar contest, you have a chance to submit a 300-word description of your hero to a team of judges at Paizo. We'll choose five winning submissions, and our talented game designers will translate your description to game statistics. Dynamite's artists will bring your character to life. Each issue of Pathfinder: City of Secrets (starting with issue #2, scheduled for a June release) will contain a single winning Hero of Magnimar, making your hero an official part of the Pathfinder universe!

Want More Adventure Card Game? We've Got That.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Attendees at this year's GAMA Trade Show and PAX East conventions got a sneak peak at some Pathfinder Adventure Card Game goodness that Paizo's got planned for later this year. Though the final details are still being worked out, I want to share the basic concepts with our loyal blog readers.

Class Decks

In August, we're debuting a new type of PACG accessory: Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Class Decks. The initial offerings will include seven 109-card decks that each contain all the cards one character needs to play an entire PACG Adventure Path from start to finish. Each deck contains four playable characters of the same character class, and each character will have two unique roles to choose from. Meet Olenjack, a new character from the Rogue Class Deck:

Illustration by Maichol Quinto

Olenjack is the master of a guild of... merchants. He rarely feels the need to use the pair of long-handled daggers in his belt, but when he does, the wounds they leave behind are invariably fatal. Olenjack's ties to a variety of less savory communities hint at complex schemes and delicate manipulations. (Pathfinder RPG fans may recognize Olenjack—and many of his Class Deck compatriots—from the NPC Codex.)

The seven Class Decks premiering in August will showcase the bard, the cleric, the fighter, the ranger, the rogue, the sorcerer, and the wizard. Each deck will feature a mix of familiar and new cards, and can be used in your home games or in our new organized play program!

Organizing Your Play

With an amazing segue like that, who wouldn't want to find out more about the organized play program we'll be debuting at Gen Con ? Details are still being worked out, but here are the basics.

Season 0, as we're calling it internally, will consist of around 30 weekly scenarios that will be made available in PDF form. Scenarios will initially be offered exclusively to major conventions and retailers participating in the organized play program. Each month, the previous month's scenarios will then be bundled together and offered for sale to all paizo.com customers.

Season 0 will feature themes and stories inspired by the Skull & Shackles Base Set. To play, each participant will need to have a Class Deck and a Pathfinder Society number, and each table will need a copy of the Skull & Shackles Base Set plus all of the Skull & Shackles adventure decks released to that point. Play will be similar to the game you've already come to love, but when the time comes to improve your character deck, you'll do it with cards from your Class Deck. After the game, participants can report the results online to keep track of what you've played and how you've done.

If you're interested in helping coordinate or run the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game at a store or convention near you, please contact your local Pathfinder Society Venture Officer. We'd love to have you aboard. We're not quite ready for retailers to sign up for the program yet, but we'll have an announcement about that very soon.

There will be a variety of other fun things to share with you as we firm up details and dream up new concepts, but I can't get into specifics now. I can say that players who already participate in the Pathfinder Society organized play program might find the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game OP program worth checking out.

We'll be back with more information on both the Class Decks and the organized play program as a whole as August draws nearer.

Until then, go play some games!

Tanis O'Connor
Adventure Card Game Designer

Author Interview: James L. Sutter

Thursday, April 17, 2014

James L. Sutter is the Managing Editor for Paizo Publishing and a co-creator of the Pathfinder campaign setting. In addition to campaign setting books like Distant Worlds and City of Strangers, he is the author of the novels Death's Heretic and The Redemption Engine, the former of which was ranked #3 on Barnes & Noble's list of the Best Fantasy Releases of 2011, as well as declared a finalist for both the Compton Crook Award for Best First Novel and an Origins Award. He's published short stories in numerous magazines and anthologies, including the #1 Amazon bestseller Machine of Death, and edited the anthology Before They Were Giants which pairs the first published short stories of speculative fiction luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves.

We sat down with James to ask some questions about his new Pathfinder Tales novel, The Redemption Engine, a sequel to 2011's Death's Heretic.

In your own words, what's The Redemption Engine about?

Plot-wise, it's all about Salim Ghadafar, a former priest-hunter from Rahadoum's Pure Legion who through some bad decisions ends up working for Pharasma. (I've always been fascinated by the concept of atheism in a world where gods are real, so forcing an atheist to work directly for a goddess seemed like a fun chance to explore that.) In this book, Salim's sent to Kaer Maga because someone in the city has been killing evil people and then stealing their souls, which would rightfully belong to Hell. It's up to Salim to unravel the mystery and put an end to it, but the scope just keeps getting bigger, and he ends up having to recruit a whole team of unusual folks to help him.

At a more metaphysical level, where Death's Heretic was all about exploring the idea of rejecting gods you know are real, this one's more about the idea of moral absolutes, and all the weirdness that arises when you start saying that creatures can have absolute morality. Devils are evil, but does that mean that breaking planar law to steal from them is okay? As you might imagine from the book's title, there's a lot in here about the nature of salvation, and whether it's always a good thing.

Without spoilers, what was your favorite aspect of this novel? What was the most fun part to write?

I wrote the entire concluding chapter of the book (and it's a big one) in a single session, and it was as exhilarating as it was exhausting. At that point, I'd been waiting to write that scene for a whole year. (I make myself write scenes in order to keep myself from getting lazy.) Trying to affect yourself viscerally with your own writing is like trying to tickle yourself, but with both novels, I've been lucky enough to get at least one scene that emotionally affects me, and it gives me great hope that it'll do the same to other readers!

Going along with that, while I got to play with a lot of awesome toys in this one, I think my favorite aspect was probably Bors and Roshad, the warriors of the Iridian Fold who end up acting as Salim's sidekicks. I introduced the mysterious group way back in my first descriptions of Kaer Maga, and it was time to finally let the cat out of the bag and explain what they're all about. Plus, I feel like I haven't seen a lot of married gay couples in RPG novels, and I wanted to mix things up a bit.

Who's your favorite character and why?

I know I just said Bors and Roshad, but while they gave me a chance to reveal some fun things, my favorite character is Gav, the street kid I invented way back in the journal of Pathfinder Adventure Path #3. He's a fast-talking philosopher-scamp, and I could happily spend days writing his patter. (You can see some examples in the quotes introducing each chapter of City of Strangers.)

Strangely enough, when I originally began the outline, Gav wasn't in it. As soon as I mentioned to Wes Schneider that I was pitching a Kaer Maga novel, though, his first question was how Gav was involved. And I realized instantly that he was right—Kaer Maga without Gav just wouldn't be the same. Even once I started writing the book, Gav kept creeping into scenes I hadn't cast him in. He's like that.

What drew you to this particular region of Golarion as the setting for a novel?

Shameless favoritism. Actually, it was Erik Mona who pointed me toward it: I was trying to figure out where to set my next book, and he noted that Kaer Maga and all its weirdness—bloatmages, sweettalkers, caulborn, troll augurs—might be the part of Golarion that I'm most associated with. Why not set the novel there? And just like Wes, he was absolutely right—it was a blast to go back and play in that sandbox again.

What's your favorite part of Golarion that you haven't written about yet?

One of the best things about this job is that if you're excited enough about something, it's likely you'll get to write about it at some point. But something I hope to write more about is the First World—as with Golarion's solar system, I had the honor of writing that plane's original gazetteer and creating most of the Eldest, and I'd dearly love to go back and flesh things out in greater detail.

How did you first get into writing?

I had always wanted to be a writer, but it wasn't until college that a creative writing professor suggested I try selling my writing. To my delight, the University of Washington Daily hired me after one article, and the first short story I sent out got picked up by a local fiction journal. Thus encouraged, I spent the rest of college working as a journalist, writing (and occasionally even publishing) fiction, and even editing the school's short-lived but infamously successful erotica journal.

After college, however, journalism started to lose a lot of its charm. It turned out that gonzo adventure assignments and articles about sex and rock and roll (I didn't know much about drugs) played really well on college campuses, and not so well at the sleepy suburban newspapers that were willing to hire me. Since I cared way more about writing than reporting, I started looking around for somewhere that wasn't so darn concerned with facts. And that's when I found Paizo.

I've already written about how I clawed my way into a job here, but suffice to say that folks like Wes, Erik, Jacobs, and the rest were incredibly gracious in teaching a neophyte author everything they knew about the business, and in giving me a chance to prove myself. A good community is a writer's greatest weapon.

Any advice for aspiring writers?

Lots! You can find some of it collected on the nonfiction page of my website or by following me on Twitter at @jameslsutter, but the most important thing is to write things and try to sell them. A quick Google search will tell you the basics about the submission business—the hard part is putting yourself out there, offering your stories or services and getting rejected time and again. It's a rite of passage that never ends, but if you keep at it, always stretching for that publication that's just slightly out of your reach, you'll make it. In this business, tenacity trumps talent every time.

What's an interesting bit of trivia that our readers might not know about you?

I'm a huge fan of group living. My wife and I currently live in a shared house with half a dozen other people, a dog, and a fully functional death ray.

Last but not least: if you had only 30 seconds to convince someone to read this particular novel, what would your pitch be?

Is it wrong to steal from the Devil? What would it mean to be an atheist in a world where gods are real? Do you like Heaven, Hell, and bizarre monsters and cultures? If so, this is the book for you!

Jenny Bendel
Marketing Director

Dune Runner

by Christopher Paul Carey

Chapter Four: The Mad Pharaoh

Jasilia tried to go back down the ladder, but it was too late. The giant skeleton on the wall top—crowned with a royal blue khepresh, holding a jewel-encrusted scepter of pure gold, and dressed like the pharaoh himself—reached out a massive bony hand and grabbed her by the wrist.

She felt herself lurch up into the air, her head spinning as she looked down at the army of skeletal soldiers swarming up the ladder beneath Nekhtep. A moment later she and the Risen Guard, who'd had no choice but to follow her up, were both standing before the regally dressed skeleton.

"This way, my honored guests." The towering creature whirled, his shendyt kilt swishing, and strode off with royal bearing, flanked by a dozen skeletal guards. Several other fetid warriors surrounded Jasilia and Nekhtep, prodding the captives with ancient-looking spears that were nonetheless still effective.

The wall walk led them to an enclosed ramp set in the stone, which they descended for some time, making countless turns along torchlit corridors until a weary dizziness overcame Jasilia. Finally, the steep passageway ended and the captives found themselves passing through a doorway into an elaborately furnished banquet hall. A great teakwood table stood at the spacious room's center, set with golden dinnerware and fancifully decorated ceramic plates that Jasilia recognized as dating from the late Apsu Dynasty. At the head of the table sat a gold-painted, throne-like chair, to one side of which sat a man—a living man—with his back turned to her. At hearing the entourage enter the hall, he turned, a wide smile breaking on a face that bore a remarkable likeness to those of the Ruby Prince and Jasilia herself.

"Ojan!" she cried.

The regal-looking skeleton grinned with a flap of moldering lip still attached to his lower jaw and motioned to the guards to stand down. At the signal, Jasilia ran forward and threw her arms around her brother, tears of joy welling in her eyes.

Ojan and his sister are alike in more than just appearance.

"Sit, O Heritors of Yafeha, and let us discuss business!" The rasping voice of Mekshir's skeletal lord carried an eerie cheeriness that raised the hairs on the back of Jasilia's neck.

She slid onto the wooden bench beside her brother and looked at him questioningly. "Heritors of Yafeha?"

The joy in Ojan's eyes disappeared. "Watch it," he whispered, eyeing the regal skeleton as he settled into the throne at the head of the table. "He's as mad as Nethys."

"What?" she whispered back.

"Just wait, you'll see."

Once Nekhtep had joined the others at the table, the skeletal lord clacked his bony hands together and addressed the ghastly soldiers who had gathered near a doorway on the far side of the hall. "Guards! Have the wait staff bring me and my guests the first course so that we may begin our negotiations." One of the skeletons marched out of the room while the others stood at attention.

The lord of Mekshir settled his hollow orbits on Jasilia. "Forgive me, my dear Hephre, for not introducing myself earlier. But perhaps you've recognized me already? Does High Theurgist Fentet-Pesu, the honorable royal governor of Thuvia, sound at all familiar to you? After all, your father, Pharaoh Yafeha I, tried to have me assassinated—by the hand of my own lover, no less!" Fentet-Pesu banged the pommel of his scepter against the tabletop, the finish of which Jasilia noticed was deeply pitted, as if Mekshir's lord had made a habit of striking the end of his baton there. Jasilia recalled from Anathepses's account how Xerbystes's soldiers had witnessed their undead captor bang his scepter in just such a manner.

"My name isn't—"

Ojan silenced her with a glare and a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"But of course my sister Hephre recognizes your most honorable lordship," Ojan said. "Don't you, sister?"

"Uh... well, of course." And in fact, she did recognize the name, though only from some musty scrolls she'd read in the royal library of Sothis. The last Osirian governor of what was then the province of Thuvia had indeed been assassinated by his lover, though if Yafeha I had been behind the act, that knowledge had been lost to history. The idea of such a conspiracy made a kind of sense, however, as the murder of Thuvia's governor had occurred in the final days of the Apsu Dynasty, just as Osirian power had begun to wane and the ancient province of Thuvia was abandoned. Perhaps Yafeha had wanted to tie up loose ends and eliminate a potential rival.

She was about to question Mekshir's lord about Yafeha's motives when suddenly the remnants of putrescent flesh on Fentet-Pesu's face took on what Jasilia could only interpret as a puzzled expression. "Hephre?" the skeleton rasped, tilting his skull as if he were trying to recall something. "But didn't Yafeha's daughter die from an asp's bite as a young child? You... you can't be her! You're all trying to trick me into—!" With no warning, Fentet-Pesu's entire frame began to shudder, his bony arms clattering on the tabletop as the seizure took hold. Then, as abruptly as it began, the shaking ceased.

"Ah, beautiful Hephre!" said Mekshir's lord, his tone once again cheerful. "Perhaps after you poison your father for me, I shall make you my queen and together we'll bring back Osirion's glory! Of course, I'm no fool. I'll have to hold your dear brother Tenshep hostage to make sure you go through with the assassination."

"Poison... my father?" Jasilia said. "You mean Yafeha?"

Nekhtep began to rise, looking like he meant to attack their mad host, but Jasilia kicked him under the table. The Risen Guard sat back down.

Ojan cleared his throat and addressed Fentet-Pesu. "We accept!" he proclaimed cheerfully. "My sister will poison our father, Yafeha I, and then you will marry Hephre and ascend to Osirion's throne. Done and done!" Ojan slapped down his hand as if to seal the agreement.

The skeletal lord rose and banged the pommel of his scepter against the deeply scored tabletop. "You dare refuse me?" he cried. "You dare say no to me?"

Ojan spread his hands in exasperation. "Here's me saying yes! Yes, and only yes. We'll do it! Won't we, sister?" He shot Jasilia a desperate look.

"Absolutely!" Jasilia exclaimed, turning back to Fentet-Pesu with an eager smile. "I'll poison my father and then we'll rule Osirion together. When do we start?"

"Nobody refuses the will of Pharaoh Fentet-Pesu and lives!" Mekshir's lord shrieked. Again, he banged his scepter. "Soldiers, lock them up until I can think of the most painful way for them to die! Now take them from my presence!"

The skeletal soldiers shambled across the room and roughly seized their lord's three guests. There was little to do but allow the soldiers to drag them away. It was clear to Jasilia now that Fentet-Pesu was as mad as a rabid jackal and there was no use in trying to reason with him.

After passing down a long hallway, Jasilia and her two companions were pushed through a towering doorway. The soldiers swung the massive stone door on its pivots, sealing their prisoners in a spacious chamber. From the jewels, gold coins, and other riches heaped in great piles across the room, Jasilia knew it could only be Mekshir's legendary treasure vault.

Ojan beat his first against the cold limestone door, then turned his back to it and sank to the ground in apparent defeat. "What did I tell you, Jas? Thuvia's honorable governor is hopelessly insane. He's going to kill us, no matter what we say or do."

Jasilia began pacing the chamber, heedless of the riches at her feet, her mind working furiously. There had to be a way out of their situation. She couldn't just give up.

She told herself that for the next hour as she strode back and forth across the room. Finally, with no solution having come to her, she lay down on a pile of coins and closed her eyes, exhausted.

∗ ∗ ∗

When Jasilia stirred to wakefulness an indefinable time later, she found Nekhtep kneeling beside her, his warm, calloused hand holding her own. She rose to an elbow, questioning Nekhtep with her eyes.

"It wasn't supposed to end this way." The normally stony Risen Guard countenance was gone from Nekhtep's face, replaced by one of deep sorrow.

"By Abadar's gavel, I don't care about the ending," she said, pulling her hand from his. "It's the middle I wanted. You know, the part with the living in it. Why couldn't we have had that?"

"I had to protect you."

"You what?"

"Damn it, Jasilia, I didn't die for the pharaoh! I died for you."

Jasilia sat up, her heart pounding. "Say again?"

"I couldn't tell you." Nekhtep looked away. "You're too stubborn. You'd have gotten yourself killed."

"I'm the stubborn one?" Then the echo of man's words finally reached her. "Gotten myself killed?" She rose to her feet, flushed with anger and confusion. "Spill it, Nekhtep. Now."

The Risen Guard stood and shrugged. "No reason to hold back anything now. The Ruby Prince explained to me in no uncertain terms that if we continued our relationship, he wouldn't just murder me—he'd kill you, too, to keep dishonor from the Forthbringers."

"He'd murder me," Jasilia said flatly.

Nekhtep nodded wearily. "I had to die under his knife, and in so doing bind myself to him and swear never again to speak of the matter or to show my feelings for you. In exchange, he would let you live."

"Oh, he'd let me live, would he?" A sharp laugh escaped Jasilia. "You idiot. But then, you never had an older brother, did you?"

Now it was Nekhtep's turn to be stunned. "What?"

Ojan, who couldn't help but overhear their conversation, snickered from the other side of the chamber. "Our brother would never harm Jas. We've broken every rule he's ever made for us—and trust me, we've broken some big ones—but has he touched us?"

Jasilia looked down at Nekhtep, her arms folded. "Don't you get it? I was never in any danger. You let my overprotective big brother bully you, plain and simple."

Nekhtep's eyes took on a faraway look, and then hardened as he fell to his knees on the mound of treasure. His fist slammed into the pile, coins and jewels flying.

Perhaps it was the sudden shock of Nekhtep's revelation—that the man had only turned away from her out of a misguided sense that he had to protect her—that jolted Jasilia's mind into a state of utter focus. As if everything was unfolding in slow motion, she watched as Nekhtep's fist again slammed down onto the pile of treasure, but this time, instead of gold coins and rubies flying into the air, she saw only sand. She could almost hear the mill of her mind grinding away at the problem.

"That's it!" she cried suddenly.

"I'm sorry." Nekhtep looked glumly up at her. "How could I have known...?"

"No, no, you big beautiful idiot!" Jasilia knelt down and kissed a surprised Nekhtep on the lips. "We can work out our mess of a relationship later." She rose and strode over to the great stone door. Sensing her excitement, Nekhtep and Ojan both got up and followed her.

Jasilia turned to Nekhtep. "When you hit the pile of treasure and sprayed coins everywhere, I had a thought: There has to be something triggering the khamsins that keep burying and unburying Mekshir over the centuries. Then I remembered the story I'd told you from Anathepses's Desert Empires. And how one of the party of Xerbystes's soldiers must have escaped."

"And?" Nekhtep asked.

She grinned back at him. "And now we test my theory." She began slapping the stone door with her palms and yelling at the top of her voice.

"I'll do it!" she cried. "I'll murder my father and help your lord become pharaoh!"

Ojan shook his head skeptically. "We've already tried that."

"And you don't think he's crazy enough to change his mind?" she said. "All I need is a moment in his presence. Just one moment."

Her brother shrugged. "I'm game," he said, and began yelling and beating his palms against the door as well. Nekhtep joined in, until at last the door swung forward on its pivots.

∗ ∗ ∗

Jasilia and her companions were back in the banquet hall, standing before the mad governor of ancient Thuvia, who sat on his throne at the table's head as if he had never left it since ordering their deaths.

"Welcome, dear Hephre and honorable Tenshep," the skeleton lord said with great cheer. "And..." He waved a bony hand dismissively at Nekhtep. "...whoever you are." Then the dark cavities of his eyes settled on Jasilia. "I have a proposition to make, O daughter of Yafeha. Before you dismiss it, hear me out. It involves poison, the death of your father, and the ransom of your brother..."

Before Fentet-Pesu could go on with his all-too-familiar proposal, Jasilia jumped up onto the table and bolted across it, skidding to a halt just before the enthroned skeleton. So unexpected was her outburst that Fentet-Pesu merely gaped up at her, the fleshy piece of rot that was once his lower lip swinging beneath his exposed jawbone like a morbid pendulum.

While Mekshir's lord was thus frozen by surprise, Jasilia reached down and plucked the scepter from his skeletal hands. She twirled the ancient artifact over in her hand until she at last saw the triggering mechanism jutting from the back of the baton's head.

"Been nice chatting with you, Fentet-Pesu," she said. "Enjoy the next few hundred years of oblivion."

Jasilia smashed the scepter's head as hard as she could against Fentet-Pesu's skull, directing the blow so that it would engage the artifact's trigger. The crown flew from his head upon impact, and the skeletal lord screeched in rage.

Bitter cold ran up Jasilia's arm, until her hand felt as if it would shatter like ice. Reflexively, she dropped the scepter, which fell back into Fentet-Pesu's welcoming grasp. He thrust out his bony arms to grab her legs, but she was already jumping down from the table.

A howling, dusty wind swept into the chamber from both of its entrances, guttering the torches in the wall sconces.

Jasilia grabbed Nekhtep and her brother by the shoulders and shoved them toward the door through which they had first entered the hall. "Unless you want to wake up as a skeleton in a century or two—run!"

Her companions didn't need further coaxing. Jasilia joined them in barreling through the confused band of soldiers that stood before the doorway. Together, the three adventurers ran up the winding passage, hot dust and sand blowing into their faces. When they finally emerged onto the wall walk outside, they could barely see one another through the sandstorm's fury.

By now the storm had already blown away the gruesome ladders up which she and Nekhtep had climbed to enter the fortress. But the gale had already heaped up mounds of sand against the parapet. Though the drop to the ground was still precipitous, they might just survive the fall. There was nothing for it but to jump, which the three did, hand in hand.

Jasilia landed hard, and for several moments she lay there, stunned and unable to move. Then Nekhtep was pulling her to her feet and half-carrying her from the fortress.

She couldn't see Ojan anywhere in the black, roiling sands. Thankfully, the slow-witted undead of Mekshir hadn't thought to take her satchel from her. She reached into it and felt for her goggles. Even once she got them on, she was still practically blind.

Suddenly a hand reached out of the maelstrom and grabbed her own. She barely made out Ojan's form, but she knew he must be suffering worse than her, since he had no burnoose to protect his face from the suffocating winds. Bowing into the storm's fury, they ran from the fortress.

As they made their way into the desert, a familiar bleating came out of the dunes. Jasilia whistled through her teeth over the storm's deep roar, and Yamala trotted up to her side. The camel was spooked, but apparently glad enough to see her mistress that she obeyed Jasilia's command to let her and her two companions mount.

She felt a hand touch her arm, and instantly she could breathe normally again. Ojan, seated behind her and Nekhtep, must have cast a spell on each of them, including Yamala, who forged ahead with renewed strength.

Jasilia looked back into the khamsin, knowing the sands must be growing higher around the fortress with each minute that passed. She wondered how many decades or centuries would pass before Fenete-Pesu stirred beneath the heavy sands and reactivated his scepter, summoning a khamsin to unbury Mekshir once again.

Leaning back into Nekhtep's embrace, she realized she didn't care. It was time for her to break free of such pointless cycles in her own life. It was the future that mattered.

The gloriously messy and uncertain future, she thought, and smiled.

Coming Next Week: The long-awaited return of Salim in a sample chapter of James L. Sutter's The Redemption Engine!

Christopher Paul Carey is an Associate Editor at Paizo, and the coauthor of Gods of Opar: Tales of Lost Khokarsa with Hugo Award-winning author Philip José Farmer. His short fiction may be found in anthologies such as Tales of the Wold Newton Universe, The Worlds of Philip José Farmer, Tales of the Shadowmen, and The Avenger: The Justice, Inc. Files. He holds an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, and has edited numerous collections, anthologies, and novels. Visit Chris online at www.cpcarey.com and follow him on Twitter.

Illustration by Damon Westenhofer

Inner Sea Gods: Character Options

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Well, we've previously looked at the art and the deities featured in Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Inner Sea Gods, and now it's time to look at some of the new character options presented in the book.

This book features three all-new prestige classes, each offering different abilities depending on which of the 20 core deities the character worships. That's 60 different iterations of the prestige classes! The classes are the evangelist (a jack-of-all trades that serves as a divine-themed version of the character's other class[es]), exalted (a deity-specific prestige class for divine spellcasters), and sentinel (a full-BAB prestige class for holy warriors).

Illustration by Ivan Dixon

There's more to Inner Sea Combat than just prestige classes, however! In fact, there's something here for followers of dozens of religions who want to stick with a single class their whole career. We've got new feats, religion traits, subdomains, and spells, including spawn calling, which allows the caster to summon one of Rovagug's mighty spawn, and comes with a mythic upgrade to bring about even more destruction.

Illustration by Alejandro Rojas

In addition to scores of new faith-themed magic items, Inner Sea Gods also presents a new type of magic item—altars. These stationary places of worship grant bonuses to those characters who pray at them each day.

Illustration by Diana Martinez

That's all for today, but check back soon for one more look inside Inner Sea Gods, when we'll examine a few of the creatures that make up the book's sizable bestiary. Inner Sea Gods is already on its way to distributors, and will be available in retail stores and to subscribers in the near future. You can preorder the book here.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Au Revoir!

Friday, April 11, 2014

Next week I'm off to the great nation of France to celebrate the 10th anniversary of our partners at Black Book Editions, who publish Pathfinder in French. I'll be taking a little vacation at the end of the trip, so the Pathfinder Battles Preview will go on a two-week hiatus following today's preview. I usually try to post these updates from the road, but this time I'm going to let vacation be vacation. I hope to come back to finish out the last few Reign of Winter figures, and that should coincide with some previews (and heck, an announcement!) for the next set.

But that's all in the future. Let's focus on today.

As I mentioned in last week's blog, we've made some changes to the subscription benefits that will kick in with the Reign of Winter set, which is still scheduled for a late May arrival. Going forward, customers with an ongoing Case Subscription will receive a 30% discount on their case purchases. The comments thread to last week's blog contained a number of questions about which price the discount applies to. In fact, this discount is applied to the final price, not the MSRP. In the case of Reign of Winter, subscribers will take the 30% discount off the $399.99 list price, bringing the price of a case (before the incentive figure) to $279.99. We'll get paizo.com updated shortly to reflect these new changes.

With that out of the way, let's take a look at some miniatures!

Here we have a Goblin Alchemist, drawn from the pages of the second Reign of Winter Adventure Path adventure, The Shackled Hut, by Jim Groves. In the adventure, the Goblin Alchemist is named Grindtooth, and he leads a small gang of snow goblin bully-boys in the city of Whitethrone. In your campaign, he makes a nice addition to the hordes of goblins we've already produced, albeit this one is dressed for maximum warmth and his skin is a bit more on the blue side of things. The Goblin Alchemist is a Small, common figure.

This chilly lady is a Crone Queen, a former leader of the nation of Irrisen and a daughter of the immortal witch queen Baba Yaga. When one of Baba Yaga's chosen daughters has served her 100-year tenure as Queen of Irrisen, the Queen of Witches comes to replace her with another daughter. These former queens never leave the confines of the witch's Dancing Hut. Drained of their vitality and power by Baba Yaga and imprisoned deep inside the hut's innermost chambers, these daughters become crone queens, undead mockeries of the powerful witches they once were. Soiler alert: You fight a bunch of them in the final Reign of Winter adventure. With a clear "ice" staff and crown and a dynamic pose, this scary lady is a Medium-sized, uncommon figure.

Speaking of the final Reign of Winter adventure, your PCs will also meet our next figure there—Queen Elvanna, the current leader of Irrisen and the instigator of the events of the Reign of Winter Adventure Path. The fewer words spent on her role, the less spoilerific this blog becomes, so let's just leave it at this: You'll need a miniature of her. She's got a cool (ha!) ice staff and crown, and a raven perched on her shoulder. (The same Raven that is also a figure in this set? YOU decide!) Queen Elvanna is a beautifully sculpted Medium figure slated at the rare rarity.

And that's it for this week. I'm off to France. See you in two weeks!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Let No Savior Go Unpunished

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Heading into the fifth adventure in the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path, we've already saved Sandpoint (again), discovered and solved some disturbing problems with a variety of giants (hill, stone, -kin, undead, etc), cornered and defeated a pair of lamia cleric twins what seemed like a dozen times, and met the stone giant necromancer Mokmurian (and hopefully taken his club)! Looking around the ancient library lair, you find important-looking references to a lost storehouse of Thassilonian magic known as the Runeforge.

Meanwhile, back in Sandpoint, a mysterious sinkhole has opened up a new area of the ruins underneath the unassuming coastal town. Suspiciously close to the area where you found your "old friend" Tsuto Kaijitsu delving for trouble back in the first adventure, we finds signs of recent activity, along with a pack of nasty braying beasts befitting the moniker of the Mother of Monsters. You're sure to hear their maddening howls before you see the Hounds of Lamashtu, but even if you strike one down, you'll still need luck or mettle—or both—to close the location.

Bad Doggy!

These hounds don't have a keeper, but that doesn't mean that they're on their own. Caught between the Thassilonian masters of Wrath and Greed, the thaumaturge once known as Xaliasa fled the consequences of his treachery and swore eternal devotion to Lamashtu. With the resurgence of the runewells, the Mistress of Insanity has raised her late cleric and bound him to the runewell. But Xaliasa is no more—instead we find the broken thaumaturge endlessly scribing Lamashtu's wisdom on the walls, floor, and ceiling of his shrine, and also on the flesh of its visitors. Are you ready to receive the wisdom of the Demon Mother?

Whatever shall I use for ink?

If you do manage to corner the Scribbler—a couple of times, at least, since he keeps Word of Recall and Heal ready—you might be able to discern from his scattered writings an ancient secret. In his former service to two different Runelords, the Scribbler managed to discover an entrance to the Runeforge, a secret library, laboratory, and foundry of Thassilonian magic — the same place mentioned in Mokmurian's library at the end of Adventure 4. Here and there among the maunderings covering the Scribbler's shrine, you piece together the location of an entrance to this lost foundry. In a cold, remote place known as Rimeskull, you seek an ring of ominous, carved stone monuments.

I wonder what these things do?

Before you can harness the power of the Sihedron Circle, you'll have to master the standing stones. Incredibly old but still bearing powerful enchantments, each stone head much be disabled, broken, or appeased in turn. Not the simplest task anyone has ever attempted, and probably not the safest. Your reward for success? You get to meet Arkrhyst, the Freezemaw. Lucky you!

Apparently, they shoot lightning. And summon dragons. Yay?

While that's quite a bit of bad news, it's not all bad news in Adventure 5: Sins of the Saviors. I've showed you the first few threats, but there are also plenty of new boons to help you out. On the combat side of things, we have a nasty crossbow that can inflict massive damage, as long as your target cares about things like circulation and respiration. It's good against most creatures you might happen to trip over, and it can be downright lethal to fleshy targets like The Scribbler.

Meanwhile, Disintegrate packs both utility and destruction into one glowing green package. Whether you want to blast your way through locks and walls, or dust a pesky dead, undead, or about-to-be-dead creature, this spell is for you. It's useful in the scroll-tube of a collector or dabbler like Merisiel or Harsk, and it can be devastating in the hands of Ezren, Lem, or Seoni—and even if you don't manage to finish it off before it can get to you, the beastie will trouble you no more.

Those two don't look friendly.

Shooting and blasting are all well and good, but what about those of a more… material mindset? Put another way, killing the bad guys and taking their stuff is good, but maybe we can optimize away that first step? If this interests you, I have a card for you: the unassuming but unbelievably tasty Wand of Treasure Finding. Some people will want to use it to increase the odds of finding the key boons in a scenario, while others will be more interested in examining the location deck. I say "Why choose, when you can have both?"

Knowledge is power, and loot is awesome.

Finally, I have one more little helper for your adventures into the ruins of the ancient magical empire of Thassilon. Whatever you think of her size, shape, or various movie appearances, I assure you that she is indeed a very clever girl. On top of all that, she's Gaby's favorite card in all of the Rise of the Runelords: Velociraptor!

RAAAAAAAAWWR! Velociraptor!

These are a few of the denizens and delights waiting for you as you begin Adventure 5: Sins of the Saviors. Starting underneath the normally quiet, currently battered town of Sandpoint, you'll end up exploring ruins of Thassilon lost almost a hundred centuries earlier. If you're brave, clever, and lucky, you will explore the lost halls of the Runeforge and survive—and perhaps learn how to harness rune magic yourself, to turn it against its former masters.

I assure you, you're going to want every advantage you can get.

Thanks for playing!

Chad Brown
Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Developer

Dune Runner

by Christopher Paul Carey

Chapter Three: The Lost Fortress

With a cry, Nekhtep kicked his heels into the camel's sides and swung the beast toward the ghastly soldier on their left, charging down the dune's face. The move seemed to take the skeletal thing by surprise. Moldering flesh hanging in loose patches from its skull, the creature raised a longsword only to see the weapon driven out of its hands by a powerful blow from Nekhtep's khopesh. The Risen Guard's next swing lopped off the unliving soldier's head, which rolled down the dune's side, leaving behind shreds of rotting skin on the baking sand.

As Nekhtep swung the camel around to face the other soldiers, Jasilia pried herself free from his grasp and flung herself onto the sand. She tumbled down the dune's face, for a moment out of control. She thrust out a leg and dug a foot into the sand, sliding to a halt beneath a man-sized shadow.

A putrid stench wafted over her. She looked up to find a skeletal form looming, the desert sun glinting through the thing's partially exposed ribcage. Jasilia kicked with all her might, her boot heel slamming into the creature's shin. The thing stumbled and fell on top of her. She gagged on the nauseating smell even as her sword's point scraped along the unliving soldier's lacquered-leather breastplate and lodged somewhere in its bony neck.

The skeleton screeched like something out of a nightmare, its bony frame shuddering violently, and then was still.

Jasilia heaved the loose assemblage of bones and armor to one side and leapt to her feet. Another wailing skeleton was running at her, an ancient-looking axe of black iron raised over its head in two gauntleted hands. She turned a shoulder and hurled herself at the thing, her sword angled forward. The collision knocked the air from her lungs. It took a few moments to realize she had succeeded in thrusting her sword beneath the creature's jaw, completely skewering its skull.

She leapt to her feet, casting about for her next attacker, only to find Nekhtep hacking the sharp edge of his khopesh into the face of the last skeleton still standing. The thing fell at his feet.

Nekhtep brought the camel to Jasilia's side and made to dismount, but Yamala bleated when it neared the rotting corpse at her feet and refused to let him down. Nekhtep circled his mount around her, dark eyes filled with concern. Apparently satisfied that she was unhurt, he nodded for Jasilia to follow while he strutted Yamala some distance from the corpses and finally managed to bring the beast to a halt. Though Yamala's large brown eyes still seemed uneasy, she lowered to her knees and allowed Nekhtep to dismount.

"With any luck, no one saw what just happened." Nekhtep motioned to the dune that blocked their view of the bulwarked military garrison and the hordes of unliving soldiers that were digging it from the sands.

Panting from the exertion of battle, Jasilia scabbarded her sword and fell to her knees on the hot sand. "Those soldiers," she said, trying to regain her breath. "They—"

Not all skeletons are created equal

Nekhtep's stare cut off her words.

"What is it?" she asked.

The Risen Guard said nothing. Instead, he signaled for Yamala to rise and walked the camel to Jasilia's side. His face was solemn, almost mournful. "Wait here."

Jasilia did as instructed, eyeing the man quizzically as he passed her the reins.

Nekhtep walked back over to the corpses while Jasilia tried to soothe the skittish camel. She watched as Nekhtep knelt beside one of the skeletons and wrenched something free from its neck. Then he took a bag from the corpse's hip and shook out its contents, kneeling over the scattering of coins that had fallen onto the sand. A few moments later he was back at Jasilia's side, a silver medallion dangling from a chain that he held in his hand with a kerchief, as if he didn't want to defile the object with his touch.

Jasilia gasped, her stomach roiling with fear and sickness. The royal seal of the Forthbringers stamped upon the medallion's face.

"Don't worry, that's not Ojan back there," Nekhtep said as if reading her thoughts. "I'd thought it might be, but I was wrong. Here, take a look." He dropped the medallion and chain to the sand and thumbed a gold coin from the folds of his kerchief.

"Stamped in Thuvia over five thousand years ago, like all the rest in the thing's possession." Nekhtep twirled the coin and presented its face to Jasilia. "These soldiers lived—and died—during the reign of Yafeha I."

"My brother... None of those things is..." Jasilia began to choke up, then steeled her will and began again. "My brother isn't among the corpses, then?"

"No. But if this was the group that captured him and he isn't among them, it can mean only one of two things." Nekhtep left his statement hanging.

"That he's dead, or that they brought him there." Jasilia pointed through the dune that stood between them and Mekshir.

Nekhtep nodded. "I'm sorry. I should have insisted that we go to Shiman-Sekh for help. But I've never been able to say no to you."

Jasilia knelt on the scalding sand and began rifling through her sack. "You've never been able to say anything these past six months. But now's not the time to get sentimental, guardsman." She dug deeper into the bag. "Now where is it? Ah, here we go."

From the depths of her sack she pulled out a small bundle of crimson linen.

"What is it?" Nekhtep asked.

Jasilia smiled grimly up at him. "Our ticket into Mekshir. I hope."

∗ ∗ ∗

Jasilia drew Yamala close and whispered in her ear, then clapped the beast on the rear. Instantly, the camel took off, heading away from the fortress until she was lost from sight among the dunes.

With great care, Jasilia unwrapped the little bundle she had removed from her bag until she exposed the treasure swaddled within the cloth: a dried and neatly pressed desert rose shot with the colors of a spectacular Osirian sunset. She placed the flower on her open palm and began tracing the air with her other hand, outlining the archaic hieroglyph for Ra, the ancient sun god. As her hand continued to sketch the invisible character, she began to mutter in low tones the tongue of her long-dead ancestors. She was thankful she had forced herself to pause long enough at the outset of their journey to prepare the spell. The hope it gave her was faint, but she had to try.

She concentrated, forcing every thought from her mind. Just as she succeeded in losing herself in the antiquated words and phrasings, a flame roared up from the desert a half-dozen yards before her. A gust of hot air swept over her as the flame took on a fiery, snakelike form, vacillating in size from three to four feet tall as it undulated, coiling and uncoiling like an agitated asp.

"You've been practicing, I see." Nekhtep took a step back from the elemental being, as if unsure of her ability to keep it under her command.

Jasilia ignored him and addressed the fiery creature in Ancient Osiriani, her voice charged with regal authority. "I am the holy heir to Osirion's throne. Obey me, servitor."

The being's serpentine head lowered in obeisance.

She gave the creature its instructions while Nekhtep looked on in awed silence. She finished her behest by jabbing a finger to the northeast. A mouth formed out of the reddish-orange flames of the elemental's ophidian face, a smoldering tongue of fire flitting out of the orifice as if to taste her words. Then the thing sped off in the direction Jasilia had indicated, slithering along the scalding sands toward its goal.

"Now follow me and do exactly as I do," Jasilia said.

Nekhtep nodded curtly, and Jasilia took off into the dunes without looking back to see whether the Risen Guard was behind her. She knew Nekhtep would follow her to the ends of the earth—not because of any lingering sentiment, but because the pharaoh had commanded him to protect her at all costs. So be it. Anything that helped her save Ojan was good enough for her.

She ran on, drawing on many years of desert living to choose the best route through the dunes that would keep them from being seen. Nekhtep's bootfalls thudded softly in the sands behind her, his breaths becoming increasingly heavier. Though the guard was much stronger than she, the desert had taught her endurance, and Jasilia only felt barely winded by the time they emerged from a little valley of sand and found the fortress's western wall looming a couple hundred yards away.

All along the steep bank of sand rising up to Mekshir's half-buried walls, the undead soldiers had risen from their tasks and were shambling off to the east. High on the wall walks the soldiers were also moving to get a glimpse of the elemental burning its way across the sands below the eastern ramparts. Though the nearest skeletons were still but a few dozen yards away, Jasilia motioned for Nekhtep to follow. The spell would only buy them so much time.

They ran up the dune toward the western wall, leg muscles straining. When they reached the wall, they sprinted along it until they reached the southwestern corner.

Jasilia cursed softly when Nekhtep grabbed her by the arm and pushed her roughly behind him, holding her back as he peered around the corner. She struggled in his grip to no avail; he was simply too strong. But not too nimble, she thought, and drove her heel into the back of his knee.

Nekhtep thrust a hand against the wall's rough red stone to keep from falling, and Jasilia broke free from his grasp.

She clucked her tongue as if she were chiding a small child. "Now, now, we'll have none of that." She stepped around him and gazed along the southern wall. To the east she could see a tiny flame in the distance, scorching its way across the sand at great speed as the legion of unliving soldiers swarmed after it. The elemental was doing exactly as she had commanded, slithering in among the soldiers and then slithering quickly out, taunting them with its proximity. The fiery being from another plane sped along at almost twice the speed of the soldiers, zipping off after each brief penetration of their ranks and drawing them ever farther to the southeast.

She punched Nekhtep hard in the shoulder. "Now cut out the chivalry bit, all right?" Then she sprinted along the wall for the nearest ladder the undead had been using to clean sand from parapets.

When she reached it, she jumped up and began climbing, Nekhtep close at her heels. Only a short distance up, she lost her grip as she placed her hand upon a slick board. She managed to grab another board and cling to it, but found it was also wet to the touch.

A violent retch threatened to surge up as she realized the reason for the boards' slickness. Spongy patches of rotting flesh, bits of internal organs, and various bodily fluids spattered the ladder's wooden steps. She clamped her teeth together and tried to swallow back the rising bile, focusing her thoughts on her mission—to rescue her brother from the horrific things that inhabited the fortress—and resumed her climb.

Her hands filthy and her once-white burnoose now streaked with the detritus of undeath, she could finally see the rim of the wall walk just above. She pulled herself up, hand over hand, driven only by the thought of getting off the disgusting ladder as quickly as possible. When at last she reached her goal, she pulled her head up over the ledge—and gazed into the face of her worst nightmare.

"Welcome to Mekshir, O Holy Scion," the towering skeleton rasped. "Your brother and I have been expecting you."

Coming Next Week: Desperate ploys in Chapter Four of "Dune Runner"!

Christopher Paul Carey is an Associate Editor at Paizo, and the coauthor of Gods of Opar: Tales of Lost Khokarsa with Hugo Award-winning author Philip José Farmer. His short fiction may be found in anthologies such as Tales of the Wold Newton Universe, The Worlds of Philip José Farmer, Tales of the Shadowmen, and The Avenger: The Justice, Inc. Files. He holds an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, and has edited numerous collections, anthologies, and novels. Visit Chris online at www.cpcarey.com and follow him on Twitter.

Illustration by Damon Westenhofer

Inner Sea Gods: Deities

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

The release of the Pathfinder Campaign Setting hardcover, Inner Sea Gods, is fast approaching, and that means it's time for some previews. The art team already did a preview of some of the amazing illustrations to grace this 336-page tome, so I'll talk a bit more about the words that accompany the book's incredible art.

The bulk of Inner Sea Gods are flavor-filled write-ups of all 20 core deities of the Inner Sea region. These articles go into divine detail about the gods' personalities, relations with other deities, their appearances, and home realms, as well as overviews of their churches' organization, typical temples and shrines, a priest's role, holy texts, holidays, and summonable planar allies.

Illustrations by Mark Molnar and Ben Wootten

Beyond the core deities, Inner Sea Gods also explores many of the region's minor deities to a deeper degree than ever before in the history of the Pathfinder campaign setting. Among the deities covered in this section are Achaekek, Alseta, Ghlaunder, Kurgess, Naderi, Razmir (yup), Sivanah, and Zyphus. Even more deities of all sorts are presented as complete pantheons, both of racial deities (like those worshiped by dwarves, elves, orcs, and other monstrous races) as well as the Outer Gods, demigods, and forgotten and dead deities.

Illustrations by Cheng Hong and Yuriy Georgiev

If that doesn't seem like a lot of gods, check out this spread from the appendix. This is only 1/7 of the content in this massive table of just about every being you can worship in the Inner Sea.

Check the blog soon for another look inside Inner Sea Gods, in which we'll examine some of the new rules elements available in the book (and yes, we'll show off some more art). Inner Sea Gods will be shipping to subscribers and game stores in April, and is available for preorder now.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Pathfinder Legends: A Visual Companion

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Right after the debut Pathfinder Legends full-cast audio drama was released, my wife and I got stuck in an unexpected traffic snarl (which shouldn't have been too surprising, living in Seattle, and all). To kill the time, I put on the CD, and my wife—Shelyn bless her—obliged me by listening. It didn't take very long before she was getting into the story and following closely. There were a few instances when she made me pause playback, however, so that I could explain what certain locations, creatures, and characters looked like. It hit me then that not everyone listening to Pathfinder Legends may play Pathfinder or be familiar with some of the fantasy tropes that those of us who've been playing D&D or variants thereof for decades can sometimes take for granted. One of the reasons the audio drama is so captivating is that it doesn't include a lot of exposition dumps or narration, meaning some of the physical descriptions one might expect in a novel or RPG experience just aren't there.

Thus, I put together this quick visual guide for listeners new to the Pathfinder universe to aid you in acclimating to some of the elements encountered in Burn Offerings. The following images and descriptions could be considered a spoiler, so if you aren't familiar with the Burnt Offerings story, I recommend scrolling down the page as you're listening to the audio drama.

First up we have the town of Sandpoint, where the adventure begins. This is a settlement of about 1,200 people in the nation of Varisia, in a coastal wilderness region known as the Lost Coast.

Illustration by Noah Bradley

Among the personalities the heroes encounter during the Swallowtail Festival are Mayor Kendra Deverin, Sheriff Belor Hemlock, and Lonjiku Kaijitsu (all pictured below).

Illustration by Andrew Hou and Maichol Quinto

Lonjiku's daughter, Ameiko, has a prominent role in the adventure, serving as their hostess at the Rusty Dragon, Sandpoint's finest inn and tavern (she appears on the cover of the third Pathfinder Legends release, The Hook Mountain Massacre). Her half-brother, Tsuto, also makes an appearance. It's pretty clear from the dialogue in the audio drama that he's a half-elf—here's what he looks like.

Illustration by Eric Belisle

One of my wife's most pressing questions toward the end of the adventure was, “what's a bugbear?” The character Bruthazmus plays a large role in the adventure's conclusion, as does his boss, Nualia Tobyn. They're both depicted here. He's a large-yet-sneaky goblinoid (bugbear), while she's a demon-tainted human with angelic ancestry (making her both beautiful and ugly at the same time).

Illustration by Eric Belisle and Eva Widermann

That should take you right up to the adventure's end. Does having images to accompany the audio heighten your listening experience? We can't add visuals to the audio itself, but if this is the sort of thing listeners like, we may make a habit of this sort of blog for future Pathfinder Legends releases. Comment on this blog and let us know your thoughts, both about this visual companion as well as Pathfinder Legends in general.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Submit Your PaizoCon 2014 Events!

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Are you interested in running an event at PaizoCon 2014? In just a few short months gamers, fans and industry professionals will be gathering for the seventh PaizoCon, July 4th, 5th and 6th! We're busy preparing event schedules and trying to figure out how to cram as much gaming goodness into 3 short days and it's time now to put out the call for events from Paizo Community members!

Some things to keep in mind before you submit an event:

• Have a specific time frame in mind? Please use the "additional notes" field. We will try to work with you on accommodating your suggested time, however, you should be prepared to run your event regardless of when you get scheduled.
• Are you submitting multiple events? Please include in your email the order in which you want them prioritized.
• Not planning on attending the Pathfinder Society Special on Friday night or the PaizoCon Preview Banquet on Saturday night? If you want to run a game during either of these times please let me know in your email.
• If you are an organizer for an event, do not volunteer other participants without their consent.
• Submission of an event does not guarantee inclusion in the event schedule.
• Benefits of being on the schedule include: Attendees being able to pre-register for your event, having a table or room reserved for your event, being in the program booklet.
• PaizoCon also has open gaming tables where you can run games without being on the official PaizoCon schedule.
• You and anyone volunteering for you must have a PaizoCon badge (If you are a 3rd Party Pathfinder Publisher or industry professional and have questions about PazioCon Badges, please email jeff.alvarez@paizo.com).

If you're wondering what types of events Paizo Staff will be running, here's a list of some Paizo staff events for PaizoCon 2014. While this list is subject to change, hopefully it will give you an idea of the kind of things that are in the works from Paizo Staff.

Paizo Staff Seminar Titles:
Design Tips, Adventure Path Q&A, Designing Deities, Diversity in Gaming, How to Get Your Fiction Published, Secrets of Golarion, Pathfinder RPG Design Workshop, Pathfinder RPG Seminar, How to be a Better Freelancer, Editing RPGs, Auntie Lisa's Story Hour, 3PP PFRPG Workshop, PathfinderWiki Workshop, Monster Design, Technology & Gaming, Secrets of TSR, Adventure Design 101, Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Seminar, Horror in RPGs.

Paizo Staff Game Titles:
Green Blood on Black Rock, Beginner Box: Black Fang's Dungeon, Kings of Absalom: Fall's End, The Throne of Azlant, The Red Bishop, The Whaler's Bluff Project, Escape!, Forbidden Island, Nuns on the Run, Golarionender, PFS Out of Retirement, Piercing the Emerald Spire, Sultana of the White Canyon, Ye Ground-Hogg Inn, Danger in the North, Escape from Hyrantam, Risen From the Sands, Last Survivor Standing, Madness in Nisroch, Sails of Old Glory: Old Grudges, Pathfinder Adventure Card Game: Skull & Shackles, The Silent Servant of Bastardhall

So, how do you submit your PaizoCon 2014 Event Idea?
Here is a handy form-fillable PDF for event submission! (41kb - zip/PDF) Make sure to "Save As" with your event title as the file's name. Each event you submit should have its own form/file. Once you've filled this out, please email it to paizocon@paizo.com. If you have trouble with the form, or have questions about submitting your event, please email paizocon@paizo.com.

Event submission deadline is April 25th, 2014!

Sara Marie
Customer Service Manager

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Ch-ch-ch-changes

Friday, April 4, 2014

Before we get to today's Reign of Winter miniature reveals, I want to focus on a couple of important general changes to the Pathfinder Battles line that will begin with this set, both in terms of the number of figures per set and in terms of the subscription benefits offered to ongoing Pathfinder Battles Case Subscription.

Number of Figures Per Set

Starting with Reign of Winter, Pathfinder Battles sets will go to 44 figures plus the Gargantuan case incentive figure. This reduction in number of figures per set is designed to help WizKids get its costs in line, and also comes with the added benefit of providing more common and uncommon figures to folks who buy their miniatures by the case (something a lot of customers have been asking for). The number of figures in a case, brick, or booster does not change, just the composition of the set in terms of total sculpts.

A case should still contain a full set (as always in the case of a collated product we can't guarantee this, but it's certainly the goal). Below is the model rarity breakdown for a case:

56 commons, 32 uncommons, 8 rares, 28 large uncommons, 4 large rares.

Here is the figure breakdown for the Reign of Winter set:

7 common (Small), 6 common (Medium), 11 uncommon (Medium), 8 uncommon (Large), 8 rare (Medium), and 4 rare (Large).

The total number of figures per case and the overall price of the case will not change. The specific figure size breakdowns will differ slightly from set to set, but the model rarity breakdown should be stable from release to release.

Case Subscription Changes

When we started the Pathfinder Battles line, the original plan was to supplement set releases with frequent Encounter Packs, Builder Series mini-sets, and other "one-off" releases. These have proven to be less popular than we'd hoped both with the audience and with our partners at WizKids, so as time has gone on we've produced significantly fewer of these special releases than we'd planned to.

We set up our Ongoing Case Subscriptions—a vital backbone to keeping the Pathfinder Battles line in production since it establishes a baseline of sales for the brand—with these special releases in mind. The current model earns subscribers discount codes to use on these releases, with three different discounts for the case incentive figure, special Encounter Packs or Builder Series releases, and another discount for loose singles sold on paizo.com.

Starting with the Reign of Winter set, the Ongoing Case Subscription benefits will change to:

• The right to purchase one limited-edition case premium figure at 75% off its normal retail price per case ordered. (Same as existing benefit)
• 30% off the normal retail price of ALL Pathfinder Battles products on paizo.com, including the cases ordered as part of your subscription, all previously released product, all Encounter Pack, Builder Series, or special releases, and all loose, unpackaged singles.

To recap: Active a ongoing Pathfinder Battles Case Subscription to the Pathfinder Battles line receive a 30% discount on all Pathfinder Battles-branded products on paizo.com except the limited-edition case incentive figures, which can be purchased at 75% off. These discounts bring our pricing in line with other online retailers.

These benefits last only as long as your Pathfinder Battles Ongoing Subscription, and go away if you cancel your subscription. Existing coupon codes provided as part of our ongoing Case Subscription benefits remain active. Even though they are for 20% off instead of the new 30% discount, they can be used even after you've stopped your subscription.

It may take us a little time to update paizo.com to reflect these new changes, but they will be in place by the time Reign of Winter is scheduled to ship to customers in late May.

We think these new subscription benefits are easier to understand and more attractive to Pathfinder Battles fans. Our ongoing Case Subscribers are absolutely vital to the continued success of the Pathfinder Battles line. If you are collecting every set, I strongly encourage you to sign up for an Ongoing Case Subscription today. It really is the most important thing you can do to encourage a long and healthy life for Pathfinder Battles. We certainly appreciate it.

Today's Reign of Winter Previews

With all of that business out of the way, let's take a look at a few of the remaining figures from the Reign of Winter set!

Up first this week is the Zombie Panther, a nasty undead great cat ready to pounce on your player characters! This mangy critter is covered in spots exposing rotting flesh beneath its fur, from a nasty bit of exposed ribcage along its side to a significant element of his face where the skull is completely visible. I'm holding the production figure in hand as I write this, and I'm impressed with the effectiveness of what amounts to a pretty simple figure. At the common rarity, you'll have enough of this gross undead animal to build a neat encounter. It also makes a great familiar for a necromancer!

Here we have the Wolliped, an eight-legged beast of burden from the snow planet Triaxus. Though Wollipeds do not play a prominent role in the Reign of Winter Adventure Path, they do appear on page 90 of Pathfinder Adventure Path #70: The Frozen Stars, which also features Triaxus heavily. I threw the Wolliped in this set as my "Erik's Choice" figure because I thought he looked cool and I'd never seen anything like him in plastic before. As a big fan of planetary romance novels like A Princess of Mars, I'm also a sucker for alien mounts with too many legs. The Wolliped officially has an intelligence of 2, but the figure's face is quite expressive, and he could easily double as some sort of intelligent creature. He's slated at the uncommon rarity, and is a Large creature.

Last up this week is Zavackuul, a reclusive and eccentric aberration who dwells in an icy fissure somewhere during the Reign of Winter Adventure Path (no spoilers!). Zavackuul is a compulsive collector of victims, whom she entombs in ice and displays in her lair. The simple (but effective) paint job on this figure looks great, but the real stand-out here are the six (!) tentacles whipping off her central form, bringing a great sense of dimensionality to the miniature. Zavackuul is a Large, rare figure.

And that's it for this week. Please consider setting up an Ongoing Case Subscription to make sure you don't miss a single Reign of Winter figure!

Until next week,

Erik Mona
Publisher

Mysteries of the Past and Future!

Thursday, April 3, 2014

It's almost that time of year again, the best day of the year to be a gamer: Free RPG Day! You might have already heard about what we have in store for the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game, but that's far from all. In the annual tradition of giving you an exciting new adventure to actually play on Free RPG Day, this year's quest is Pathfinder Module: Risen from the Sands, an expedition into the deep deserts of Osirion, written by the director of the Mummy's Mask Adventure Path, Rob McCreary. This foray into a perilous pyramid parallels the mysteries and ancient dangers of the new Mummy's Mask Adventure Path^*. Here's the gist:

The deserts of Osirion—land of pharaohs and ancient tombs—hide not just untold wonders, but also unspeakable dangers. When the vast sand dunes part to reveal the ancient pyramid of the legendary Pharaoh of Sphinxes, glory seekers from across many nations race toward it, each fighting to be the first to claim its wonders. But the storied pharaoh doesn't rest quietly within this monument, and his tomb was designed to slaughter any who would dare trespass.

A band of bold adventurers are the first to arrive, and stand poised to claim what's risen from the sands—but they're unaware of the doom that lurks inside. With daring on their side and strange, rarely seen powers at their disposal, the heroes may be the only force capable of containing the force of evil within and defeating its curse!

But we're not just reaching into the forgotten past for this year's offering, we're also looking toward the future. Toward August, in particular, as Risen from the Sands includes four ready-to-play, pregenerated characters previewing four classes from this Summer's major hardcover release, Pathfinder RPG: Advanced Class Guide.

Free RPG Day is Saturday June 21st, so be sure to check with your local gaming store to make sure they'll be participating. It's less than 3 months away, so mark your calendar and don't miss out on Risen from the Sands, a new Pathfinder Adventure Card Game hero, and plenty more Free RPG Day awesomeness!

F. Wesley Schneider
Editor-in-Chief

^*No, they can't be goblin adventures every year, or else you won't appreciate them. This year the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game has your annual dash of goblin goodness.

Dune Runner

by Christopher Paul Carey

Chapter Two: Pursuit

Nekhtep looked down at Jasilia as they stood in the shadow of the great dune, his expression puzzled. "How could you know where they've taken Ojan? And who's 'they'?"

Even in her distress, Jasilia noted that Nekhtep had broken protocol and chosen not to use one of her twin brother's many formal titles.

She looked off into the east, tracing the trail of frost-laden sand until it disappeared among the dunes. "Have you ever heard of Mekshir?"

"Mekshir?" Nektep beetled his brow. "An ancient outpost or fortress or something, right?"

"That's the one."

"But Mekshir was supposed to have been buried by a khamsin thousands of years ago."

"Well, it looks like it got unburied."

Jasilia grabbed her brother's khopesh from the Risen Guard's hand and set off along the roughly three-foot-wide band of frost, ignoring Nekhtep's calls for her to stop.

A moment later, Nekhtep was beside her. A hand fell on her arm. "Jasilia."

She turned on him, her anger welling up. "What, Nekhtep? No 'O Heritor' or 'My Most Spectacular Pain-in-the-Ass Princess'? My brother—heir to my other royal brother, the all-powerful, know-it-all Ruby Prince—has been taken by undead, and now you want to take the time get personal?"

Nekhtep winced, and Jasilia immediately regretted her words.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, "it's just—"

Jasilia doesn't give up easily.

Nekhtep threw down his heavy bag of armor and equipment. "Just tell me about Mekshir," he said, in that calm and reassuring voice she used to love. "You were about to explain who took him and how you know."

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"It's the trail." She motioned to the strip of icy sand beside them. "Pick up your bag and let's get moving before it melts. We can talk on the way."

Nekhtep did as he was bade and they set off, footing their way between the dunes.

"I've read about the history of Mekshir in the royal library at Sothis." Jasilia panted her words as she proceeded at a brisk pace over the sand. "It was a military base guarding what was then a border of the Osirian province of Thuvia. A khamsin struck it toward the end of the Apsu Dynasty, and it was never formally heard from again."

"'Formally'?"

"Anathepses mentions two more accounts of Mekshir in his Desert Empires. The first was in –598 AR—" She made a mental calculation. "Two hundred and forty-three years after Mekshir was buried, if you want to be exact. Seems a caravan on its way to Eto came across a trail of frost on the sand just like this one. They sent off one of their scouts to follow it, and when he never came back, they sent off another. A few nights later, a band of undead attacked. The caravanners fought them off, but in the aftermath they found the two scouts among the fallen enemies, both rotting with the stench of the undead they'd become. The other attackers—skeletons with putrefying flesh still hanging from their bones—were all wearing military regalia, and their shields bore the ancient seal of Mekshir."

"And the other account?"

"According to Anathepses, it didn't end quite so well. Legend says a squad of Xerbystes I's army ran across Mekshir after a monstrous khamsin struck western Osirion and unburied it. The commander and his soldiers were captured by the fortress's undead sentries and brought before the skeletal lord that ruled over the place. The strange thing is, when the ruler interrogated the captives, he seemed to have no clue about the Keleshite interregnum. Banged his scepter in a blind rage whenever the commander mentioned it."

"You said it ended badly," Nekhtep said.

Jasilia nodded. "While Xerbystes's soldiers were holding court with the fortress's lord, another khamsin swept up out of nowhere and reburied Mekshir, along with the captive Keleshites."

Nekhtep laughed. "Then how did anyone learn of their story?"

"Anathepses doesn't say." When Nekhtep gave her a skeptical look, she said, "Look, you know how spotty the details are in these old histories. Presumably one of the party escaped."

The Risen Guard stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips, surveying the seemingly endless dune field from the top of the rise as sweat beaded down his brown cheeks.

"You're not going to like what I'm about to say," he said, "but hear me out. We're not going to get far without the camels. We should head west, follow the Junira north until we hit the caravan route. Then we can hitch a ride east to Shiman-Sekh and get aid from the Risen Guard contingent stationed there to mount a rescue mission. If we head out into the deep desert alone and the trail melts before—"

Jasilia cleared her throat and pointed to Nekhtep's left. The Risen Guard turned slowly to be greeted by the bleating of a camel strutting up the side of the dune, its reins dragging over the sand. When it reached the top, the great dromedary loped past Nekhtep and knelt down on all four legs directly before Jasilia.

"There, there, Yamala." She rubbed the beast's side. "I wasn't going to leave you behind." She leveled an accusatory gaze at Nekhtep. Then, taking up the reins, she swung a leg over the low point between the beast's shoulders and mounted bareback. "You coming?"

Nekhtep didn't look happy, but finally he spread his hands in surrender and got onto the beast behind Jasilia.

Jasilia felt herself shift back against Nekhtep's muscular form as the camel rose to its feet. For a brief moment she allowed herself to be comforted by the feel of her ex-lover's embrace. Then, as the camel swung them forward, she squirmed and tried to scoot forward out of his encircling arms. He only held on to her tighter.

"Don't get any ideas, Risen One," she said. "You gave up that option when you decided to die under the Ruby Prince's blade."

"For the record," he said, "I still think this is a bad idea. We've only got so much water."

"Then you'll die again, but this time for a worthy cause: trying to save the life of Osirion's royal heir."

"Or we'll all die and I'll lose you twice."

"Hey, you could have had me, remember? It didn't mean anything to me that you were a commoner. I agreed to flee the country with you, but you wouldn't have it."

"When I swore an oath to the pharaoh that our relationship was over, I had no idea he would show his 'compassion' by making me your bodyguard." Nekhtep's jaw tensed. "But I don't regret my decision to go under the blade."

"Why?" Jasilia's heart pounded.

"There were... other considerations."

"Like what?"

The only answer was the throaty roar of the camel as she guided it toward the trail of unearthly frost. Jasilia urged Yamala into a trot and they made their way east into the sun's ruthless gaze.

∗ ∗ ∗

Though the trail left by the undead lasted longer in the heat of the day than any mundane frost had a right to, by noon it had all but vanished. Within the next hour, it was gone completely. Still, Jasilia and Nekhtep pushed on to the east. They had followed the trail, threading through valleys of sand and climbing the faces of myriad dunes and down their precipitous slipfaces, long enough that Jasilia, with her long-practiced desert senses, had a rough estimate of their quarry's direction. Even so, they were heading into the deep desert, and she knew how far off course they might find themselves if they deviated even a tenth of a degree from their intended destination.

Nekhtep, for his part, had remained quiet since the outset of their journey. It was as if he had decided it was better to let Jasilia come to understand the futility of their quest on her own rather than press the matter. At least that was her best guess. Who knew what the man was thinking? It wasn't important anyway. All that mattered now was getting Ojan back.

Jasilia cursed. "We must be halfway to the Glazen Sheets by now!"

"Not even a quarter of the way, I'm afraid." Nekhtep shook his flask, his features creased with worry as the water sloshed hollowly within. "You know the old saying. 'A walk in the desert is worth four in Sothis.'"

Jasilia said nothing. She could feel the truth of the adage as the sand gave way beneath the camel's every step. She could feel it in the rise of every dune they climbed, in every slight detour they took through the valleys of sand. All of these things conspired to elongate the distance to their destination, wherever it might lie.

The hardship of desert travel was a lesson she had learned in her bones from an early age, when she and Ojan had been but rebellious children escaping into the sands to elude the ever-watchful eyes of their strict and ever-so-boring royal keepers. Dune runners, one of their tutors had once spat at the two twins, as if it were a curse. The intractable royal siblings had immediately seized on the epithet, pridefully signing their runaway notes with the sobriquet before each escape attempt, setting it in the royal case to give the title the proper respect: Give our regards to our brother, His Majesty the Pharaoh. Yours truly, The Dune Runners.

The memory brought a smile to her lips, and she mused on how little things had changed. Did not the Ruby Prince still forbid their research expeditions into the deep desert? Were not multiple squads of the Risen Guard at this very moment scouring the every crook and qanat across the land in search of the now-adult twins? Had not her older brother—knowing full well Jasilia and Ojan would stubbornly ignore his royal command not to leave Sothis and instead run off to pursue their insatiable inquiries into Osirion's past—assigned Nekhtep to be her ever-present bodyguard to ease his worries?

She licked her cracked lips, feeling the scant moisture upon them immediately evaporate into the dry air. As they paused to let Yamala catch her breath after cresting a steep dune, Jasilia looked back and noticed Nekhtep staring intently to the northeast. She turned to follow his gaze, a thrill of both exhilaration and fear running through her as her vision settled on the object of his interest.

Wavering in the heat perhaps two miles ahead, immense turreted bulwarks of reddish stone rose up, half buried, out of the steep and drifting sands. Figures made tiny by distance swarmed like ants between the crenellated wall walks, while droves other of small forms swathed the great rises of sand shrouding the lower portions of the massive structure. The latter figures seemed to be concentrated along the base of the walls, where great clouds of dust wafted on the wind as if kicked up by the workers' furious excavation of the fortress from the dunes. All told, the horde swarming the sands must have numbered at least a hundred, and that didn't account for any others that might reside within the walls.

"What was that you said about going to Shiman-Sekh to get reinforcements?"

In answer to her question, Nekhtep began to turn Yamala back around the way they had come. Even as he did so the strong winds shifted, buffeting them with a malodorous gale. It was a stench all too familiar to Jasilia—the fetor of the crypt.

Yamala reared back, bleating in terror and nearly throwing her riders to the scalding sands. Nekhtep's arm tightened viselike about Jasilia. She heard the sound of steel on leather as the Risen Guard drew his blade.

The patrol of undead soldiers came at them from all directions.

Coming Next Week: Mekshir revealed in Chapter Three of "Dune Runner"!

Christopher Paul Carey is an Associate Editor at Paizo, and the coauthor of Gods of Opar: Tales of Lost Khokarsa with Hugo Award-winning author Philip José Farmer. His short fiction may be found in anthologies such as Tales of the Wold Newton Universe, The Worlds of Philip José Farmer, Tales of the Shadowmen, and The Avenger: The Justice, Inc. Files. He holds an M.A. in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University, and has edited numerous collections, anthologies, and novels. Visit Chris online at www.cpcarey.com and follow him on Twitter.

Illustration by Damon Westenhofer

Adventure Card Game Developments, and a Goblin Scalawag

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

We've got three new people to introduce to you today. Two are real, and one is a vicious killer. Can you tell which is which?

Salutations.

My name is Brian Campbell, and I'm writing to you as the new Lead Editor for the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game. I am ancient. "I have crossed oceans of time..."

Okay, so maybe I'm not so ancient, but I've been working in the game industry as a writer and editor for the last twenty years. One of my first jobs was editing trading card games for a company down in Renton, Washington, one that shall remain nameless here, although it is known for being magical from time to time. It has a lot of magic, and some of its cards are magic cards, but I won't tell you which company it is.

I first started playing Pathfinder around the same time I was working in a different department of that company, one that made roleplaying games with dragons and dungeons. Since then, I indulged in my obsession with massively multiplayer online games by writing for a few of them, but I kept playing Pathfinder. I now spend my time sequestered in an arcane realm scrutinizing the wording on cards, which is precisely where I should be. In my spare time, I play different types of games, read books on my Kindle, and contemplate the mysteries of the universe while drinking various microbrews. And of course, you might see me playing cards.

∗ ∗ ∗

Hello, Pathfinders!

I'm Tanis O'Connor, the new adventure card game designer here at Paizo HQ. I work with Paizo's incredible staff of designers, developers, and editors, and also with the PACG design team at Lone Shark Games. Alongside Brian Campbell, introduced above, and the estimable Vic Wertz, I'm doing my best to make the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game the best game possible. I'm also working on a few other goodies which will be the subject of a near-future blog post.

A little bit about me: prior to signing up with Team Paizo, I was a developer on the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game for Lone Shark Games, and worked on both the Rise of the Runelords set and the Skull & Shackles set. My involvement in the RPG community goes back over a decade, including a stint as a developer and rules editor at Wizards of the Coast, and several years as an author, developer, and organizer for the March of Bissel in the RPGA's Living Greyhawk Organized Play campaign. I'm psyched to be working with the amazing and creative team here at Paizo.

Enough about me; let's talk about you! We have a bunch of good stuff in store for you with the upcoming Skull & Shackles set, beginning with an entirely new playable character for the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game, to be released as a promotional card set for Free RPG Day on Saturday, June 21. Everyone, meet Ranzak:

Character Art by Ben Wootten

Ranzak is a nasty little bugger who likes eating, stabbing, and stealing (not necessarily in that order). Like any other character, he comes complete with character, role, and token cards, and he can be used with any Pathfinder ACG set, so feel free to let him pillage his way through Rise of the Runelords while you're waiting for Skull & Shackles to come out! There will be a few different ways you can pick up Ranzak:

• Go to a store that's participating in Free RPG Day on June 21 and get yourself a free copy while supplies last. Find your local store here.
• Subscribe to the Adventure Card Game here on paizo.com, and you'll get a free copy of Ranzak (as well as a couple other promo cards) along with your Skull & Shackles Base Set and Character Add-On Deck in August.
• After Skull & Shackles is released in August, buy Ranzak on paizo.com, while supplies last.
• Buy Ranzak from us at PaizoCon or Gen Con, while supplies last.

Below you'll find Ranzak's story, in his own words.

∗ ∗ ∗

Ranzak not always pirate. Ranzak not always Ranzak either. One time, Ranzak be Longlung diver named Squidbreath. Other Longlungs eaten by biggest sea monster of all—Swirly Doom. Squidbreath fierce and Squidbreath brave, so Squidbreath flee Swirly Doom and paddle mighty Longlung ship away. Years pass. Squidbreath stab. Squidbreath steal. Squidbreath eat good Squidbreath meal!

Art am made by Ranzak (who is best artist duh, so why me even have to tell you?)

Squidbreath make friends to do battles on goblin ship. Friends eat many pirates, get many loots. Squidbreath see longshanks chiefs all have magic bird that eat cracker and tell true secret. Squidbreath and friends sneak sneak sneak to longshanks cave, wait for longshanks sleep, and steal magic bird. Magic bird squawk, "Ranzak! Ranzak! Ranzak! Ranzak! Ranzak!" Magic bird maybe talk too much.

Squidbreath know magic bird always squawk true, so Squidbreath make name Ranzak. Ranzak now have great magic, and friends jealous. Friends have bad luck on many ends of many knives. Now Ranzak need new friends to help get more plunder!

You need friend?