Pathfinder Battles Preview: Ice, Ice Baby!

Friday, January 31, 2014

As we here in Seattle gear up for what we hope (and expect) will be a fantastic Super Bowl victory for our heroes on the Seattle Seahawks this weekend, the weather has taken a slight turn for the better. It's a bit difficult to believe, but I can actually see sunlight outside my office. But all it takes is another cold day, and we'll be back into the dreariness of winter in Washington state, where the line between rain-slicked highways and icy death-slides is only a few cold degrees.

To celebrate the cold (and all of the icy driving this week from Southerners in non-Super Bowl states), I thought I'd focus today's preview blog on a substance near and dear to the Reign of Winter Adventure Path: ICE.

Today's miniatures all come from the Reign of Winter set of Pathfinder Battles prepainted plastic gaming figures, which is scheduled for a May release.

This is the somewhat serpentine Small Ice Elemental, whose statistics appear on page 114 of Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 2. The figure is cast in clear blue plastic, with some light blue and white highlights to create a sort of "ice armor" affect along the body. The Small Ice Elemental is a Small, common creature.

This Ice Golem is a humanoid automaton created from ice and given life through alchemical science. The creature's statistics appear on page 161 of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary, where he comes in at CR 5, making him one of the more survivable golem encounters in the book. The figure stands about 7 feet tall (relatively speaking), and is cast in clear plastic. This Medium creature is slated at the uncommon rarity.

Ice Trolls are somewhat smaller than normal trolls, but they possess greater intelligence and are just as voraciously hungry. This Male Ice Troll looks like he stepped right off page 271 of Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 2. He's a little bit shorter than the Sea Troll from Skull & Shackles set. This Large figure is slated at the uncommon variety.

Every ice troll deserves a mate, so we decided to mix things up a bit in this set and provide just that. This Female Ice Troll is an amazing-looking figure, definitely one of my favorite trolls we've done to date. Interestingly, while compiling art reference for this figure we discovered that the artist had originally given her sort of claw-like toes in the originally published image, whereas the official ice troll from the Bestiary had more-or-less regular toes. So we changed her feet to match his, and I'm thinking it's that certain something special that will make sure the two of them get along famously. They'll probably want to eat your PCs alive, though, so please do be careful around them.

And that's it for this week! Come back in seven days for more exciting Reign of Winter previews! In the meantime, please consider setting up an ongoing Pathfinder Battles Case Subscription to make sure you don't miss a single figure!

Until next week, I remain,

Erik Mona
Publisher

Mapping the Abyss

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Among the three maps in the Wrath of the Righteous Poster Map Folio is a player-oriented, illustrated map of the Abyss. It is a thing of beauty and I think Ben Wootten really outdid himself with this map. Anyone who's picked up the last few Poster Map Folios have undoubtedly seen Ben's illustrated maps for the Shackles, Varisia, and Irrisen, but this one goes above and beyond.

So, how do you map a nearly infinite plane?

I was eager to see this thing happen, but at the onset I was a bit perplexed as to the best approach. Many planar maps look more like diagrams, and I knew I didn't want to go that route. The chaotic nature of the Abyss lends itself to further complications, as some of the 40+ realms have tight relationships to one another and thus need to be physically near each other—some realms are described as being above, below, or adjacent to others. The first thing I did was to see if we could actually fit all the realms on a single page and have the whole thing actually do justice to the illustrations. If they would be too tiny to even see clearly there wouldn't be a strong reason to do the map.

I went home that night and started plotting out the relations of each of the realms and the size they'd be represented as on the map. I generated a basic shape and size, and then blocked off a sheet of paper to show their spatial relations to each other. I came back the next day with a sheet of paper in hand marked all over with weird, numbered shapes. I had to explain my madness a bit, so I pointed out which shape was which realm and why they were where they were. I sensed some reluctance about this ambitious plan to map the Abyss, so James and I sat down in his office and tinkered with and sketched out a few alternate ways to map the Abyss. (One thing James wanted to do was evoke the feeling of a vast pit, so I rolled up the sketch map into a cone to bend space and time and form the flat Abyss into a pit. Ta-da!)

Once we all agreed on the sketch, I wrote up a one-sentence description of each of the realms and what kind of things might be in them, and then sent that document and my sketch to Ben to use as references. He immediately got the idea I was going for, and he started to work on drawing each of the realms and connecting them all together. It was especially nice that he was our guest at PaizoCon last year, because that meant I got time to talk to him about the map while he was working on it, and I could clarify any questions or concerns he might have had with it. During the process, it was great seeing sketches to update us on how the map was progressing, but it was a true delight to see the final product. I love maps, and helping map out the Abyss was a ton of fun. I'm not going to reveal the final image, you're just going to have to pick up Wrath of the Righteous Poster Map Folio to gaze into the Abyss yourself.

Adam Daigle
Developer

Hunter's Folly

by Josh Vogt

Chapter 1: The Threefold Wager

Aberny chuckled at the sight of the gnome squaring off with the half-elf, paintbrush crossed with a short sword. The campfire cast the dueling partners into bronze-and-shadow relief. Ralynn glowered down his sword, while Tali glared back up at him, both as riled as if one had slandered the other's parentage.

"This is ridiculous," Ralynn said. "You can't seriously believe your brush is equal to my blade. They're leagues apart in use and value."

Tali flourished her brush, spraying azure droplets about. "So! You admit art is superior to swordplay."

Aberny never backs out of a wager.

Ralynn's fair skin reddened up to the tips of his ears. "Not what I meant, and you know it." He twitched his blade, notching the wooden shaft of her brush.

Tali's emerald eyes widened even further, and another flick struck drops of paint across Ralynn's pants. This drew an outraged splutter from the fighter, whose grip tightened on his sword hilt.

Knowing Ralynn's temper, Aberny stood from his cushioned stool, wide hands splayed to separate the two before their verbal sparring came to true blows.

"Friends, might we dispense with the arguing? After all, we didn't come out to hunt one another. And the simple matter is, you're both wrong."

The two turned to him, and he grinned, knowing the firelight would enhance his broad smile and dark, plump cheeks. His jovial demeanor often allowed him to turn even the harshest haggling to his advantage, and he hoped the image he'd cultivated through years caravanning along the Dry Way would work just as well with his companions.

Nothing threatening to see here. Just a common human merchant, arrayed in a colorful robe and adorned with silly trinkets. Don't mind him making off with your coin.

At last, Tali lowered her brush. "Hm? Wrong? What do you mean?"

Aberny gestured to the small dining array his servants had set up. "Let's consider matters with fuller bellies, shall we?"

After another smoldering glare at each other, the two hunting partners went to fallen logs on opposite sides of the campfire. Ralynn began tending to one of half a dozen blades he carried, while Tali adjusted her violet and silver-trimmed dress and plunked down before the canvas she'd been painting on earlier. Aberny gave silent thanks that Ralynn couldn't see her work from his angle, as she began to paint his likeness in a most unflattering manner.

Aberny's servants tended to cuts of venison sizzling on the fire, a contribution from Ralynn, who'd downed a deer on their journey out from Whistledown that morning. A pair of Aberny's caravan guards stood on the edge of the firelight, hands resting on sword pommels, alert to any danger the night held—though Ralynn had scouted the area and assured them no sign of the chimera existed anywhere near.

They'd set a first camp in a bushy grove among the hilly grasslands between Whistledown and Sanos Forest; haunting melodies could still be faintly heard, produced by the popular enchanted wooden carvings that gave the distant town its name. The eerie keening was broken up by the occasional whicker of their horses, which had been tied up nearby for the evening.

"You're both wrong," Aberny said, "because art and battle submit to a greater power."

Ralynn paused in worked a grindstone along an edge. "Like what?"

"Commerce. Profit."

Tali let out a tinkling laugh. "Oh! Of course the trader would think so."

Aberny accepted the mocking with another smile. "Without merchants like myself toiling along the Dry Way, turning coin to goods and back again, neither of you would even have the supplies or equipment necessary to pursue your passions. Profiteers are the lifeblood of civilization."

He accepted a slosh of wine from a skin, and a servant handed him a prepared plate while the other began slicing off cuts for his companions.

Tali hopped up from the canvas and scampered over to the fire, where she began to portion out the proffered meal for herself. "But! Think. Without artists, merchants have nothing to sell. Fighters nothing worth crossing swords. Commerce paves the roads through a city, and fighters build the walls, but art is..." She shut her wide eyes briefly. "Art is the towering pinnacle that defines us."

Ralynn chuckled. "Pinnacle, huh? Take all day to come up with that?"

Aberny raised an eyebrow as Tali piled meat onto her plate. By the time she finished, she staggered under a mound of venison that looked almost twice her weight. How exactly did the gnome intend to devour such a vast repast?

"Some say fighting is an art form in itself," he suggested.

Tali crinkled her nose. "Fighting? Art? If you want bloodshed and death, fine, but I don't see the beauty in it yet."

Ralynn speared a bite of meat and pointed it at her. "Sounds like we got ourselves a blind painter."

"Yet! I said I don't see it yet. I'm not saying it's not there. That's why I cast my lot in on this hunt. To bring greater insight to my craft."

"Yeah?" Ralynn smirked. "Even if it costs you a thousand gold?"

Tali bowed her head, the fire casting half her face in shadow. "I...I'd sacrifice anything for the sake of true art. It can't be faked. It must be lived. But you're only here because—"

"Because I was drunk as slime at the bottom of a wine barrel when you two decided to make a contest of this bounty. I've made worse bets, but I don't back out on a wager." Aberny locked eyes with each of them in turn over the flames. "Ever. Besides, I stand the best chance of winning. Think your gnome trickery will help you beat the beast?"

Tali perked up. "Master Aberny! If you'd read the contract aloud?" She settled back to work on her canvas.

Aberny reached into the pocket where he'd secured the unusual contract they'd drawn up the previous night, when deep in drink back in Whistledown's popular inn, the Azure Cup. Over the years, the three of them had made a habit of meeting there during his stopovers in town. Odd companions, but familiar faces who helped ground him. Still, he never let personal attachments, however fond, get in the way of business.

He unrolled the parchment, revealing their three signatures at the bottom, and read the main statement.

"‘With the evidence of a chimera prowling the nearby countryside—reportedly responsible for at least a dozen deaths of travelers and homesteaders alike—a bounty of one thousand gold has been placed on the monster's head. We, the undersigned, do swear to partake in a hunt of the unnatural beast, employing our individual skills and resources toward the ending of its foul appetites. Furthermore, the first of our party to kill or capture the beast will receive not only the publicly posted reward, but an additional thousand gold pieces from each of the other two challengers.'"

The artist flourished her brush. "Aha! Hear that? Kill or capture." She popped to her feet and swept a bow. "And I will capture the chimera."

Ralynn snorted, an indelicate act that marred his fine features. "Sure. Gonna grab its tail for a moment before it gobbles you?"

Tali turned her canvas around, revealing Ralynn's face, painted with his tongue stuck out, eyes crossed, and cheeks puffed. "There. My first victim. I've captured you. You're trapped in my art forever."

Aberny couldn't quite contain a chortle.

Ralynn's ears reddened again. "Oh?" Before anyone could move, he dashed over and slashed through the sketch, leaving Tali holding ragged fabric on either side of her head.

Her face twisted in fury and she flung a hand out. A burst of dazzling lights exploded before Ralynn's face, forcing him to squint and turn aside.

"Brute!" She cast the scraps away and leapt up, slashing her paintbrush across Ralynn's chest, leaving a cerulean streak.

Ralynn snarled and Tali yelped as the half-elf grabbed the front of her dress and jerked her up inches from his scowl, sword clenched in a white-knuckled fist.

Aberny lurched up, scattering wine and food. "Ralynn! Let her go."

The fighter hesitated until the guards shifted, hands on sword pommels. As soon as her feet touched the earth, Tali jumped back out of reach. She brushed herself off and fixed her viridian hair back into its sweeping coif. Aberny held out a silk handkerchief so the half-elf could clean off his face. Ralynn snatched it away, muttering thanks.

"As host of this hunt," Aberny said, "I won't abide violence towards one another." He fixed a serious look on Tali. "The same for you, little mistress, even in jest."

Tali bunched her fists. "Hmph. I take my leave of you barbarians to dine in peace." She hefted her plate, still mounded with meat, snagged a wineskin, and staggered off into the brush surrounding the campsite.

Ralynn finished wiping off the paint and offered the silk back, but Aberny waved it away. The half-elf frowned in the direction Tali had gone.

"She can't just sketch the beast to win."

"She's technically correct, though," Aberny said with a sigh. "Same as my using hired guards to slay the beast for me, since they're personal resources."

"At least they could give me a real challenge—though I doubt it. She's missing the whole point of a hunt."

"Don't worry. Art is subjective. Even if she does manage to paint the monster, we'll argue the work doesn't truly capture its essence and so falls short of the prize."

Ralynn grinned. "You've thought this through."

"I always do."

Tali returned a bit later, plate and wineskin empty, while her stomach strained at the confines of her dress. With a few unladylike burps, she excused herself to bed and crawled into her gnome-sized tent. Minutes later, high-pitched snoring mingled with the far-off music of her hometown.

Claiming a preference for sleeping beneath the sky, Ralynn laid a simple bedroll beside the fire. He stretched out on this, still dressed in his fighting leathers and with multiple blades strapped to him.

Aberny then retired to his own tent, almost a small home in itself with a portable bed, desk, and chest of select personal items. When one spent countless weeks traveling between anything resembling civilization, investing in personal comforts paid dividends in return.

He spent another hour going through a ledger of contacts back in Whistledown, evaluating how he might invest the reward he fully intended to collect for the chimera's demise. Not that he believed Ralynn or Tali immediately possessed a thousand gold. But their debts would add to the many he'd accrued from others over the years and he'd inevitably find a way to translate them into profits. After all, why have friends if they didn't add value to one's life?

As he pondered snuffing the lamp for sleep, a scream tore the night's peace in two. Shouts rang out from the guards, followed by a defiant cry from Ralynn.

Aberny raced out of the tent just as the body of one of his servants flopped to the ground before him—missing a head.

Coming Next Week: A fireside attack in Chapter 2 of Josh Vogt's "Hunter's Folly."

Josh Vogt is the author of the Pathfinder Tales story "The Weeping Blade." His short fiction has been published in such venues as Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show and Shimmer. For more information, see his website at jrvogt.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Superstar 2014: Round 2 Voting!

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Voting is now open for the monster round of RPG Superstar 2014. For the first time in forever, the public gets to vote on a selection of 32 monsters submitted by amateur game designers!

In this round, each voter gets 8 votes to divide among the monster entries. Take your time, read all the monsters, then pick your favorites. You're also welcome to add your own comments to the discussion thread for each monster—let the competitors know what you think! You can change your votes as often as you want up until the Round 2 voting deadline: Monday, February 3rd at 2 PM Pacific time.

(Meanwhile, competitors should start working on their Round 3 challenge: design a Golarion Location, Encounter, and Map!)

Does your favorite designer have what it takes to get through this round and move on to the Top 16? Your votes decide!

Vote now!

Sean K Reynolds
Host, Designer, Former RPG Superstar Judge

Official Call for PaizoCon 2014 Volunteers

Monday, January 27, 2014

For PaizoCon 2014, we plan to make this bigger than last year! I am scheduling 210 tables of Pathfinder Society over three days. We will be offering all season five scenarios multiple times, including the debut of the final four scenarios for season five. We will also be debuting a playtest of one of the Season 6 Gen Con Specials on Friday night. This is similar to the multi-table special that will be run as one of the Gen Con specials, but like last year, there will be changes made to polish the adventure for its final publication. Finally, we be offering the GM 101 and GM 201 sessions again. It should be an awesome time.

I need a minimum of 75 volunteer GMs for Pathfinder Society games and I'll keep taking volunteer GMs until the slots are filled! I also need 4 Volunteer Assistants for the show—these folks will not GM, but will instead help me run Pathfinder Society HQ and will be our go-to guys and gals for all things Pathfinder Society. Finally, we need 6-8 volunteers for the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game.

Below you will find the reward structure for volunteering at PaizoCon 2014. Keep in mind that you're volunteering for slots, not a specific event. We will let you know the slots you have been assigned to before the lottery goes live. This should allow you plenty of time to plan a schedule with your friends who are also attending PaizoCon 2014. Please let me know via email which days you will be at the convention and how many slots you are volunteering for at PaizoCon 2014.

Volunteer Tiers and Rewards

Volunteer Assistant: 4 needed, treated as a Tier 1 GM

Tier 1 GM Volunteers: Tier 1 GM volunteers are my everyday GMs. They are invaluable to making the show a success! Tier 1 GMs must select and volunteer for a MINIMUM of 5 slots. I only have room for 30 Tier 1 GM volunteers so don't delay in volunteering for this tier. Volunteers will be chosen on a first-come, first-served basis, though I reserve the right to select volunteers who have previously worked for Paizo over new volunteers. Please do not volunteer for Tier 1 if you have any doubts that you'll be able to attend the show. Tier 1 GMs receive:

• A FREE 3-day PaizoCon 2014 badge
• A $10-per-slot voucher for Paizo.com credit, useable at the show or anytime after, including with your subscriptions.
• A FREE copy of one printed Paizo product of your choice valued at $49.99 or less.
• A FREE PFS goblin volunteer t-shirt.
• A special Pathfinder Society GM boon available only at PaizoCon.

Tier 2 GM Volunteers: While the rewards for volunteering for this tier are smaller, the majority of my volunteers will come from Tier 2. Tier 2 GMs must volunteer for a MINIMUM of 4 slots. Tier 2 GMs receive:

• A FREE 3-day PaizoCon 2014 badge.
• A $10-per-slot voucher for Paizo.com credit, useable at the show or anytime after, including with your subscriptions.
• A FREE PFS goblin volunteer t-shirt.
• A special Pathfinder Society GM boon available only at PaizoCon.

Tier 3 GM Volunteers: This is the minimum volunteer level. Tier 3 GMs must volunteer for a MINIMUM of 2 slots. Tier 3 GMs receive:

• A $10-per-slot voucher for Paizo.com credit, useable at the show or anytime after, including subscriptions.
• A FREE PFS goblin volunteer t-shirt.
• A special Pathfinder Society GM boon available only at PaizoCon.

While we will gladly accept anyone who wants to run just one slot during the show, there are no rewards for doing so other than our thanks.

When volunteering, please be specific about what days you are volunteering for. I will assign folks to scenarios on an as-needed basis, so you really only need to tell me the day(s) you're volunteering for. You may also include the tier of scenarios you are most comfortable GMing and I will try to assign you that schedule accordingly. I will update the needs in the thread below as I receive volunteers, so you may look there to remain up to date on where we still need help. You must have a paizo.com account and you must include your paizo.com email and message board name in your email to me, or I won't be able to get you a badge (obviously this is only for volunteers who are volunteering for 4 or more slots).

Slot 1: Friday 8 A.M. to 1 P.M.

Slot 2: Friday 1 P.M. to 6 P.M.

Slot 3: Friday 7 P.M. to 12 A.M.

Slot 4: Saturday 8 A.M. to 1 P.M.

Slot 5: Saturday 1 P.M. to 6 P.M.

Slot 6: Sunday 9 A.M. to 2 P.M.

All PaizoCon 2014 volunteers please email me at mike.brock@paizo.com with the subject line PaizoCon Volunteer.

Thanks in advance for volunteering, good luck, and have a great spring convention season!

Mike Brock
Pathfinder Society Campaign Coordinator

The Battles of Marathon: The Pathfinder ACG at BoardGameGeek.Con

Sunday, January 26, 2014

At BGG.Con, an attendee wins a stack of games while playing the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game. Photo by Brian Bagenstose.

A few weeks ago, most of the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game development team landed in Dallas with a mission: to play all 30 sessions of the Rise of the Runelords campaign by the end of BoardGameGeek.Con. That meant six sessions a day for five days, playing adventures we hadn't opened since the playtests in February. For us, it was a trip down memory lane.

But for more than a hundred gamers, it was an exposure to the future of the game. Sure, they knew how to beat goblins. Staring down gargantuan dragons, giant thaumaturges, and succubus queens was another matter entirely.

We'd built six characters: Valeros, Merisiel, Lem, Ezren, Kyra, and Harsk. Developer Paul Peterson arrived a day late, so he didn't get to make his personal favorite character, Lini. (This was a tactical decision on my part: If we included Lini, Paul would never let anyone else play her.) With our sextet ready to go, we waded into BGG.Con hoping to find some people who wanted to play a game with us.

Developer Tanis O'Connor had built us a schedule which we intended to carefully adhere to—and then I blew it out of the gate by launching the Attack on Sandpoint an hour early. Tanis is used to this. I'm not the easiest person to keep on a timetable.

Within an hour, our Wednesday signups were overflowing. We barreled through "Burnt Offerings", teaching new players and giving veterans a chance to show off their skill. But then our big problem evinced itself: At this breakneck pace, with new players at every session, the characters were getting to be…odd. Good, solid boons were being chucked in the box in favor of flashy cards. And that meant one thing: Suddenly, we were losing games.

We back-to-back nosedived the last two "Burnt Offerings" scenarios, Approach to Thistletop and Thistletop Delve. In the Delve, my team ended with villain-fail with two cards in the blessings deck, then villain-fail with one card in the blessings deck. It was brutal. Tanis said, “We have no time to die!” We resolved that we wouldn't lose again all weekend.

So between scenarios of "The Skinsaw Murders" on Thursday, we looked at the character rebuilds and see if we could make a few strategic decisions. Harsk didn't need another Potion of Healing as much as he needed a Spyglass. The Merisiel player—whoever that was at the time—kept tossing out Ilsoari Gandethus, and developer Chad Brown kept tossing him back in. Auto-evading the Sandpoint Devil is something that can't be overvalued.

And then some crazy stuff started happening. In Them Ogres Ain't Right, the first scenario of "Hook Mountain Massacre", Paul found the villain on turn 1 with an Augury. In the next scenario, Here Comes the Flood, we rescued 13 of the 15 available allies through blind luck. Then in Battle at the Dam, Paul's team closed three locations on the first three turns.

And all of that paled to my tweet during "Hook Mountain Massacre's" final scenario, Into the Mountains: “First turn villain, third turn villain, fourth turn villain.” Gah.

On Friday afternoon, the convention stopped briefly for a moment of silence for the 50th anniversary of JFK's assassination. You don't realize how loud 3,000 gamers are until they all decide to hush themselves at once. Quite the moment.

Back at the table, we were cruising. We had a few touch-and-go sessions during adventure 4, "Fortress of the Stone Giants". The Black Tower nearly killed a couple of characters, with its overabundance of harpies and difficult locations. (You are not going to like the combo of Courtyard and Giant Lair, I promise you.) But going into Friday night, we were feeling confident of our chances to complete the marathon on time, with no casualties.

Then, oh yeah, "Sins of the Saviors" did its level best to shatter that confidence. Adventure 5's scenario Rimeskull is a weird one, with lots of big stone heads blowing up all around us. We were ripping through it, looking like we'd have a victory with 15 blessings to go – until we weren't. Like by a lot. We had our first encounter with a big-time dragon, and it broke us over and over. Suddenly, we were staring at one card in the blessings deck and a unpromising sink-or-swim roll in my hands. I nailed it by 1.

And now we were racing a different threat: the weather. On Saturday night, Dallas was being hit by an improbable ice storm, and flights were being cancelled all over the place. Now we didn't know if we'd even have people around to play. But we weren't going to let a little hail (in Dallas!) take us out. Our characters were now titans, bristling with artifacts and the favor of the gods.

It was fitting that the impending blizzard mirrored our most difficult task of the weekend, Sunday morning's scenario 3 of "Spires of Xin-Shalast". That's called Scaling the Mhar Massif, a giant mountain cliff, and it's terrifying. There's a location called the Death Zone, and – no, check that. There are many locations called the Death Zone, and they lived up to their name. Harsk, Ezren, and Lem were all at next-turn-we-die when we hit the top of the peak.

With the convention closing around us, we assayed our last task, Into the Eye. This is a make-or-break throwdown against Karzoug the Claimer, who is the toughest thing in the game. The scenario rips your cards away from you, so much so that TableTop producer Boyan Radakovich realized that he might die before he took his first turn. We really didn't have a chance against Karzoug, with all of us at death's door, until by some miracle we skated out with a victory just as they were turning off the lights.

Amazingly, we realized that we'd just played almost 60 hours of gameplay, and never once got tired of the game we were playing. We have more than 100 people to thank for playing with us (especially our handler, Felipe!), and we hope to try it again with Skull & Shackles next year. Thanks for having us, BGG.Con!

Mike Selinker
Designer, Pathfinder Adventure Card Game

How I Got to Destroy Avistan

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Actually, I didn't destroy it. Your PCs did. Blame them.

While planning out the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path, we realized that the usual "Continuing the Campaign" article wasn't going to work. After all, by the time the Adventure Path concludes the PCs should be 20th level and have 10 mythic tiers, so there's not much to continue (mechanically at least), which led us to title this one "Beyond the Campaign." While I did include a few ideas for what to do after the PCs save the day, my favorite part is that I got to explore what happens if the PCs fail. In the final volume of the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path readers will find the map you see here and an accompanying explanation of what happens in varying nations after the Worldwound expands. Tune in to Pathfinder Adventure Path #78: City of Locusts to see how this mythic failure could play out if the PCs don't manage to defeat their foes.

Adam Daigle
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Behind the Scenes

Friday, January 14, 2014

In the comments thread to last week's Pathfinder Battles preview, user Pigraven asked several questions about the Pathfinder Battles product line that might be good fodder for a blog. The community thought that would be a good idea, and so do I. So in addition to posting three more figures from the upcoming Reign of Winter set of prepainted plastic gaming figures this evening, I thought I'd also go through Pigraven's questions and provide some quick answers.

Q: How much does ease of sculpt matter? Do they tend to rule out certain characters or creatures because they worry a sculpt might prove too worrisome?

Ease of sculpt informs rarity more than anything else. Most of the figures in a Pathfinder Battles set are composed of between 2 and 8 parts, with the figures that require more pieces generally falling into the rare or uncommon categories. Occasionally, after I've put together a proposed set list, WizKids will consult with their factory and make suggestions for a few "rarity swaps." This is generally a pretty painless process, but it can cause some potential problems. For example, I'm currently working on a set list for an upcoming set that includes an Attic Whisperer, a child skeleton spirit thing that is creepy as hell. I'd slated it at the uncommon rarity, because you really don't need a handful of these (most Attic Whisperer encounters involve a single creature), but because the factory came back saying that it would only require 2 pieces, WizKids suggested that we move it to common. Doing that would result in too many Attic Whisperers in a given case, so I probably won't go along with their suggestion in that case.

To date, the only figure we have chosen not to make due to sculpt complexity is Baba Yaga's Hut, which I really wanted to be the limited edition case incentive figure for Reign of Winter, but the factory said that doing it right would simply be too expensive.

Q: What role does the potential paint process play in their decision-making? As we've seen, this entire line is a process. And like any great artist or musician, part of the process is always working to perfect a craft. We know that there are issues with some Medium-sized, human faces in these lines; does this influence the amount of these characters Paizo chooses?

Not yet. I'm impressed with WizKids' ability to improve the paint process from Legends of Golarion to Wrath of the Righteous, which we've already covered in detail here. I take a look at the overall quality of the paint application both in my own cases and packs that I open here at the office and in reports from consumers on this and other sites, and send along comments on WizKids, who do their best to make improvements. Sometimes that means simplifying paint masters, sometimes that probably means refining the tooling, and sometimes that probably means a manager at the plant standing over someone's shoulder and making sure they do the right thing. Even with all of those controls, we're still talking about a mass-produced product, here, so there are going to be some problems. I've definitely moved a figure from uncommon to rare, for example, because I was dubious that the plant could pull off the quality we needed at the lesser rarity.

Q: Is there a specific ratio per set that they aim for in regards to enemies & good guys? Humans & other creatures?

Not really. I make all of the decisions as to what stuff to include. Sometimes WizKids or some of my colleagues at Paizo make their own suggestions, and I try to accommodate them as much as possible. About my only "rule" is that once per set I like to include one figure simply because I want it. There are certain perks to being the publisher. Just ask my friends the Seaweed Siren and Gibrileth Demon.

Q: Is each set an entirely new entity, or do they allow what they already have released play a role in what makes it into a new set? For example, Wrath of the Righteous is very demon-heavy, so it seems natural to load up on demons for the set. There are a few demons that appear in Reign of Winter, including some Cold-specific ones. Theoretically, would they hesitate to put a demon in the new set after including so many demons and other outsiders in the last set?

"They" is really "I" in this case, and generally speaking I wouldn't hesitate to put a cold demon into the Reign of Winter set if it seemed appropriate and there were not better/cooler figures in the mix. I am a little burned out on winged female demons, however, so my own fatigue with certain types of figures (and my impression of what the audience wants/is tired of) definitely plays a role. That said, I'll probably be laying off demons in general for a while, because we've done so many of them generally. That wouldn't keep me from including a demon we haven't done, but it will keep me from putting another Serpent Demon or Fire Demon in a set for a while.

Q: How much does potential mass appeal play into the decision-making process? Do you ever rule out particular characters or creatures because you don't think they have a wide enough appeal outside the particular adventure? For example, there haven't been too many plant miniatures that appear in your line, despite a fair amount of creative creatures and well drawn illustrations to choose from. Is this because you speculate that if given an opportunity, more people using miniatures would likely choose a devil or aberration to use in their homemade campaign than, say, a Basidirond?

Lack of plant creatures at the moment is more a coincidence than anything else. It does really help to have excellent art that would work with the round base of a size-appropriate figure, meaning that something like a long assassin vine might need a new illustration before I send it to WizKids. I do not have a particular bias toward devils and against basidironds. If I had a good opportunity to put one in where it was thematically appropriate, I'd do so. In fact, I'll make sure to add some plant creatures to an upcoming set specifically due to this question!

Q: How much do other lines-both past and present-matter when making decisions for a set? For example, how about the Reaper Pathfinder minis? Do you look at that line and think "Well, there is already a sculpt for this particular character, so we could keep this out of the pre-painted set for awhile and include him somewhere down the line?" The old D&D pre-painted lines have hundreds of different characters and sculpts and were around for the better part of a decade. Most of them are still readily available on different websites, including plenty at affordable prices. Does this play a role at all when deciding what makes it into the Pathfinder sets?

I'd say this matters a little. When deciding which creatures not to include in the Rise of the Runelords set, for example, I definitely felt better cutting a figure if I knew there was a Reaper version available. I've been collecting prepainted plastic figures since they first came out, so one bias I definitely have is toward figures that are relatively popular creatures of fantasy, but which have never been done in prepainted plastic before. That said, if you fill each set with a ton of obscure corner cases it tends to alienate newer/more casual collectors, so you've really got to balance things carefully.

Q: How much input from these boards are considered when making selections? While I realize this is just a small set of the people who ultimately buy the product, I would assume there are still good ideas to be had from posters on here.

I've incorporated a ton of the feedback provided here into the development of the line in general. From figure suggestions to criticisms of paint applications or sculpts, I read everything and rely on your feedback for most decisions I make about this (or any of our other) product line(s).

Q: When you are in the decision-making process for what miniatures make it into a set based off an Adventure Path, do you have a master list containing each character and creature found in the adventure?

Yes. I generally make this myself, although with newer Adventure Paths that have more art (due to higher art budgets than we enjoyed in 2008, for example) I tend to do a "first pass" based mostly on what art really catches my eye. Luckly, we have good illustrations of most if not all of the really important characters, so they tend to get swept up in this initial dragnet. Then I look at all of the encounters of stuff that you fight, but that are not illustrated in the Adventure Path. If there's a good illustration of that monster elsewhere, and there's room for it in the set, I'll include it.

Q: How much does the artwork of a particular character or creature play into the process?

It is the single most important factor. Up until recently I haven't had the budget allocated to commission new art exclusively for these sets, so if there is no illustration or a bad illustration (which could include simply weird anatomy or a pose that won't really fit on a base), that creature does not get a miniature. Unless I really, really want it to now, in which case I have a little money tucked away to order a new piece. But this has never happened to date.

Q: Are you hoping to eventually produce a line for each Adventure Path series, both past and present?

That would be really cool, but I've learned never to make long-term predictions like that. All I can say is that we will keep making these sets as long as you guys keep buying them. If we keep it up long enough, we'll have no choice BUT to make minis for all of the Adventure Paths!

But enough with the preamble. Let's get to today's minis reveals!

Here we have the Falcon. He is a falcon. The Falcon is a Small figure slated at the common rarity.

We wanted to give the Falcon some sort of companion, and thus I present here the Winter Guard Falconer. The falcon on this gentleman's arm is a little smaller than the stand-alone Falcon miniature, but it still looks great. The original illustration for this guy had him wearing snow shoes, but I decided to remove them for the miniature to increase this figure's versatility. He makes a good elite guard, ranger, or even bird-oriented player character. The Winter Guard Falconer is a Medium uncommon figure.

Pathfinder Adventure Path #69 contains tons of centaurs, but my favorite of all of them is this woman, who we call the Centaur Archer. In the campaign itself, this is a friendly wilderness guide called Erdija, but she works just as well as a generic centaur archer. WizKids did a great job on both the sculpt and painting on this figure, who is probably my favorite centaur yet produced in prepainted plastic. The Centaur Scout is a Large, rare figure.

That's it for this week's Reign of Winter previews. Our previous set, Wrath of the Righteous should start showing up in stores and in the mailboxes of subscribers very shortly, so do keep your eyes out for it!

I hope you enjoyed the Q&A at the beginning of this blog. Please feel free to post additional questions in the comments below, and I'll try to answer them either in the comments section or in a future Friday blog!

Until next week, I remain.

Erik Mona
Publisher

Worldbuilders Charity Auction

Thursday, January 23, 2014

If there's anything that we Paizonians have learned over the years, it's the value of community. The Paizo community has been the backbone of our business and the emotional core of our company since the beginning—the thing that carried us through the rough patches of magazine transitions and edition changes, into this awesome place we are now. But that's only one small part of what this community does. On the other side, it's been amazing to watch our fans and friends interact with each other—helping people through health crises, natural disasters, and the everyday problems we all have to face. We talk a lot about how proud we are of our products, but helping foster one of the friendliest messageboards on the internet? That's a pretty big deal, too.

So why am I getting all sentimental right now? Because community isn't just about helping your friends—it's about working together to help other folks as well. Toward that end, for the last several years we've been working with Worldbuilders—a charity started by best-selling fantasy author Patrick Rothfuss to help get livestock and education to folks in need all over the world—to help raise money for their annual funding drive. This year we're auctioning off some ultra-signed copies of the Core Rulebook and Inner Sea World Guide, as well as a copy of Stalking the Beast—you can bid on them here or read more on Pat's blog. (And even if you aren't intrigued by those particular products, check out worldbuilders.org to see all the other awesome and rare stuff that's been donated by your favorite authors and game companies!)

Whether you bid on the books, donate to Worldbuilders, or get inspired to donate or volunteer locally, thanks for helping us make this a community that gives back!

James L. Sutter
Managing Editor

The Cloak of Belonging

by Chris Willrich

Chapter 4: The Ultimate Weapon

Mortil spun only just in time to let loose a spell. Colors ravaged Gull's eyes, and he felt dizzy, as if a full drunken night were compressed into one heartbeat.

When his senses returned, Mortil was gone, a crowd of people was combatting the fire in the kitchen, and Tambour was speaking urgently.

"She'll be all right, Gull, but we must speak, now."

"Corvine..."

"I'm telling you, your friend will be all right."

Gull stumbled onto the veranda where Admiral Kasaba and Governor Bozbeyli themselves were among those tending to Corvine Gale.

Not a mark was on her, but Corvine looked as weak as Gull's elder brother the day a horse kicked him and permanently scared Gull away from honest work.

"Corvine..."

"Gideon... It will be all right. Whatever that bastard's up to, you stop him, okay...?"

"Me?"

"Hey, you're Gideon Gull, gentleman adventurer... I saw..." She handed him a crumpled piece of paper, patting his hand. "Take it, for luck..."

"Corvine..."

He took the poem, and she closed her eyes.

"Is she—"

Mortil, the governor's man, is more than he seems.

"I've seen this sort of injury before, Lion Blade," the admiral told Gull. "She should recover."

"Go with Tambour," the governor said. He passed a bejeweled ring to the corsair. "You Lion Blades are authorized to do anything necessary to hunt down this traitor."

"'Lion Blades?'" Gideon said, rising.

Tambour took his arm. "We'll talk as we walk."

The corsair steered Gull through garden and guards and gate, out into the moonlit streets of Old Cassomir. They passed the public gallows called Pharasma's Pulpit after the goddess of graves, and Gull was unhappy with the omen. He made the sign of the antlers, but good Erastil seemed as far away as Andoran.

"There's no time to spare, so we'll plan as we go," Tambour said. "Most destinations in Cassomir are south of here."

"What plan?" Gull said.

Tambour's response was a grim laugh. "You aren't thinking like a Lion Blade, my friend."

"That's because I'm not a... whatever that is..."

Tambour seemed not to hear him. "We don't need a plan of our own so much as we need to guess Mortil's. He spoke of a target, yes? I don't think he could have meant the admiral. Mortil had enough opportunity, and enough power, to kill her just now."

"But—" Objections crowded Gull's brain as thoroughly as rich houses crowded this walled section of the city. The Admiral's Citadel rose ahead, its towers jabbing at the moon. Beyond, across the harbor, lay the even larger edifice of Grayguard Castle. "Isn't the admiral key to all of Taldor's defenses?" Gull said. "She was vulnerable tonight. Why else plan an assassination for now? Who else to kill?"

"Ah! Now you're thinking, rather than mooning over your diva back there."

"Shut up. She could have died."

"Count yourself lucky. I've lost comrades tonight. Rack your brains, gentleman adventurer. Did the dog Mortil specifically speak of killing?"

Gull thought. "No," he admitted. "I don't think he did."

"I fear he has another target in mind. Something important, something less carefully guarded what with the admiral's party. Something Mortil could still attack with his magic—and certainly will, now that he's exposed."

"The shipyards?" Gull guessed.

Tambour nodded. "That's my thought as well. We have magic-sniffers scattered throughout that district, but as a governor's man, Mortil could bypass them. As ever, betrayal is the greatest weapon."

"Magic-sniffers?"

"I don't have to tell you everything, Gull. Come, let's be quick."

They ran through Old Cassomir's gate and dashed near the looming ruins of Quickfall Abbey. To distract himself from ghosts within and without, Gull said, "If not magic-sniffers, can you tell me of Lion Blades?"

"Why not? Since Lion Blades don't officially exist. We serve in the shadows and the light. For it is a dark time for Taldor. We Taldans are a mutinous crew on a sinking ship—at each other's throats when we need to patch the hull and watch for sharks. Sometimes it's only those who do not properly exist who can do what must be done."

"Why did the admiral and the governor call me a Lion Blade?"

"Well, it was an understandable error. From their perspective you helped me, so you must be one of us."

"Am I not obviously a minstrel—not a spy?"

Tambour chuckled. "My dear Gull, we recruit from the all the bardic schools of this land. Most of us sing quite well. I am a rare exception."

Gull laughed. They were approaching the shipyards, and the lights of the dens of ill-repute lightened his spirits. "If you wore this cloak," he said, "you would no doubt believe yourself a fine singer. Just as it made me think I was an adventurer."

"Yes, that cloak... At first I thought it a strange tool for an infiltrator. Why not a blade? Or something that makes one invisible? But I see now that the cloak allows one to enter into any setting and be accepted—in its way, a greater power than invisibility."

Gull said, "That suggests the agent needed to get very close to something... what's wrong?"

Tambour had stopped. "Listen."

There was a lapping of waters, patter of conversation in a nearby tavern, chirping from the marsh.

"I hear nothing."

"Exactly. No sound of assault."

"Mortil may have fled the city."

"Perhaps... but what you said just now... the Chelish agent wanted to get close to something. Perhaps it isn't a target as big as the shipyards. Perhaps it's something enclosed. A treasure, a device. Can you think of anything else Mortil said?"

Gull could not. Yet his mind was twisting something else, as he'd twisted the poem that lay now in his pocket.

A river swells to spill, dark and rapid through the silent room—

He'd awakened that morning startled from a dream, a dream of the music of the spheres...

What if I'd rolled it out, banquet-carpet, banner unfolding?

And what awakened him was a sound of mechanical grinding, stamping, booming...

Dancing dark, shadow-whisper, marked for crumpling.

"A device..."

"What?"

"Do you know of any mechanical device, Tambour, a large one, inside Grayguard Castle? For I've heard such, from the Dog's Teeth."

"I do not, Gull. But I think we should be going there."

∗ ∗ ∗

"This is most irregular," the castellan of Grayguard said, even as Tambour flashed him the governor's ring and led Gull inside the vast grim fortress.

"We've had no trouble here," the man continued, getting in the pair's way.

"We intend to keep it that way," Tambour said airily. "Can you point us to the machine?"

Wariness entered the castellan's voice. "What machine?"

"The one that wakes up drunks in the Dog's Teeth," put in Gull. When the castellan blinked, Gull added, "Oh, yes. We have informants everywhere."

Whether it was the cloak or Gull's voice or the governor's ring, the castellan gave in. "There's nothing about the apparatus that need worry the crown, Lion Blades."

"Show it to us," Tambour said.

The castellan muttered to himself, told a guard, "Send a runner to the governor," and led Gull and Tambour through a wide, soldier-lined passage into the castle courtyard. After passing a magnificent temple dedicated to many gods (none of them the being that Mortil had sworn by) they reached the far wall and there entered a much smaller passage with a stairway snaking up.

"You realize," the castellan said, "the governor is entitled to his personal projects..." He stopped as he nearly stumbled over a dead guard, whose face was frozen in pain though he bore no obvious wound.

"No!" the castellan cried.

Looking up the stairway, the trio beheld more armored corpses.

"Summon help," Tambour said. "I will deal with the wizard behind this."

"The castle is my responsibility," said the man.

"That's why you must summon help."

The castellan hesitated, but Gull gave him a curt nod and the man turned and descended, bellowing for guards.

Tambour motioned in the direction of the retreating man. "You too, Gull."

"No," Gull said. "I'm finishing this."

"Is that you speaking, or the cloak?"

"Either way, I do this for Corvine Gale."

Tambour grunted and led the way.

The torchlit room at the top was stuffed with machinery—or rather with one single machine. For a long disoriented moment Gull could not understand the sprawling steel mechanism's purpose, but it came to him that the walls of the room were lined with paper and books. He saw titles like A True History of House Thrune and The Benefits of Infernal Rule for All Chelaxians.

"It's a printing press," Gull said. He'd seen them before, for his politically minded compatriots back in Andoran grew ever more fond of posters and pamphlets and broadsheets. But this machine was to a normal printing press as a hydra was to a newt. An octopus of hinged arms terminated in presses that seemed poised to hammer out publications at a blinding rate. The heart of the mechanism possessed a steel face with eyes of blue crystal and a flat, determined expression. It reminded Gull of a bookplate.

"Yes," Mortil said from across the room. The man grasped a tome of great thickness, bound in red leather, and Gull suspected no printing press had ever touched it. This was surely the stern elder kindred of Corvine's gentle reference works: a true book of spells.

Mortil continued, "This thing, this apparatus, this is the great weapon Taldor dares aim at Cheliax."

"But it's all merely words," Tambour answered, voice full of honest confusion. As he spoke crept around the mechanism toward Mortil. "For that matter, it would seem to be words praising Cheliax and its masters."

"'Seems' is the correct term," Mortil answered. "This printing press is producing official-seeming works that are to be smuggled into Cheliax. But unlike the approved works, these contain ideas that would plant the seeds of sedition."

"You mean," guessed Gull, sidling toward Mortil in the opposite direction, "they tell the truth."

"'Truth' is hierarchical," answered Mortil. "Wizards all understand this, though some may deny the knowledge. Not all revelations are appropriate for all people. The common folk need not know every detail about the lives of their betters. Certain lies are, for them, better than truth. Only Cheliax understands this reality and acts upon it. That's why Cheliax will triumph."

"I don't understand," Tambour said. "It's just a printing press. With all this effort, you might have thrown our navy into chaos."

Mortil laughed. "You lack the immortal perspective of our patrons. To you, the struggle is all about land and gold. We understand it is equally about thought. This weapon here is more significant than any warship. And more insidious. The words it prints, though brimming with Chelish pride and patriotism on the surface, magically imbue the reader with sentiments quite the opposite. We need to discourage Taldor from trying this tactic again. I would come no closer were I you."

"You're finished, Mortil," Gull said. "You can't kill both of us and destroy the printing press all at once."

"I don't need to." Mortil cried out in a strange tongue Gull did not understand, and the crystal eyes of the printing press glowed as it rumbled to life.

Inert, it had allowed Gull and Tambour just enough room to step around the perimeter; active, its gyrating arms—grabbing paper and bindings, sinking stamps into ink buckets, pounding out text—made hazardous any path to Mortil. The machine was so thunderous Gull could barely think. He needed to hug the wall to avoid a concussion and at best could only inch his way along.

Tambour was in worse shape, having been tripped by a metal arm and now lying flat for fear of being beaten with the weight of history.

Tambour shouted the strange words the wizard has used to activate the machine.

"Alas!" Mortil cried, laughing. "To shut it down takes a different phrase!"

Gull swore.

"That's not it!" Mortil said. "Now, you've cost me enough time and magic." The wizard began incanting.

Unless the spell was absurdly convoluted, Gull doubted he'd reach Mortil in time to stop its casting. However, his movements did bring him near a bucket of red ink.

It was not so big he couldn't lift it—

Gull ducked and grabbed and heaved, and red ink spilled across the room. Most of it splashed the printing press or the floor, but enough of it hit Mortil to distract the wizard and ruin his pages.

"You!" Spattered with red, Mortil looked as though he bled from a thousand paper cuts. "Whom do you work for? Taldor? Andoran? Rebels in Cheliax?"

"I work for a sad, sweet moment on a long winter's day." Gull shifted ever closer. "I work for the lumberjacks coming home with too little pay."

"What?" Mortil began a spell, this time one from his own memory—perhaps nothing that could destroy the magical press, but surely enough to slay one minstrel with delusions of grandeur.

Gull kept going. "I work for the child's laughter and the lover's kiss. I work for weeks of sorrow and seconds of bliss."

"You're mad!"

Gull laughed. "I am Gideon Gull."

"Then die, Gideon Gull." And Mortil began the words that would make his spell complete.

And screamed.

Sebastian Tambour had crawled beneath the swinging limbs of the machine and planted a dagger in Mortil's foot.

Now Gull reached Mortil, knowing he had just moments to act.

He removed the cloak.

Standing there beside the contraption, the corsair, and the traitor, Gull suddenly felt frail and foolish, like a mouse chasing cats. But he did not falter.

He threw the cloak over Mortil's head and shoved him into the works.

The wizard howled with the pain and outrage of being pummeled with the very propaganda of his Chelish masters. Yet amazingly, Mortil scrambled free of the machinery and on some blind instinct dove for the window.

By the time Gull and Tambour could reach that location there was only moonlight on the waters outside, and the silvered crags of the Dog's Teeth, and no trace of Mortil.

The governor of Cassomir appeared in the doorway and shouted something in a strange tongue.

The printing press slowed and ceased, and the light faded from its eyes.

"It seems I owe you a great debt, Lion Blades," Governor Bozbeyli said in the silence that followed, lowering his scimitar. Armored guards beside him looked around in wonder.

"I'm just a singing drunk, Governor," Gull said, looking again toward the Dog's Teeth. He shivered as his body recognized the danger was over. "Not a Lion Blade."

"Perhaps we should fix that," said Tambour.

"At any rate," the governor said, "I repay my debts. You've exposed a traitor and preserved my little project. What might I do for you?"

Tambour smiled. "I assign my prize to the captain of the corsairs. I'm sure he'll think of something."

The governor frowned a little, but eventually nodded. "And you?"

Gull began to refuse any reward, but he withdrew Corvine's poem from his pocket, stared at it. "This printing press..."

"Yes?"

Gull smiled and held out Corvine's poem. "What I ask is that you print enough copies to make the author of this poem, one Corvine Gayle, well known in Cassomir and Oppara and beyond."

Governor Bozbeyli took the poem. "Corvine Gayle. Ah, the young lady from the birthday party. Yes, it shall be done."

As the minstrel and the man in motley took their leave of the governor and walked through the castle courtyard, Gull watched the constellations and heard Tambour's voice as if from a great distance. "I have two questions."

"Yes?"

"I was in earnest, Gull. You could join us."

"I'm no corsair. I'm a singing—"

"A singing drunk." Tambour laughed. "Yes, I know. That's why we are visiting the Knotty Mermaid. But it's also why I bring up the Lion Blades."

"You know I'm no bard."

"You could become one. We could ensure you are enrolled in an appropriate school... and an appropriate Shadow School at the same time."

Gull did not even bother to ask what that meant. "I'm not a Taldan man, Tambour. I'm Andoren. More so now than ever."

"Yet you've seen what Andoran and Taldor face together. We have our differences. But if you stand with us, you'll stand with civilization, against whatever it is that Cheliax represents."

Verses came to Gull's mind. He wondered if that would happen more and more, now that he'd left the Dog's Teeth behind. He hoped so.

I'm halfway down the road to dead
But woman you have cleared my head
And now the best that I can see
Is to make me worthy of thee.

"The college," Gull said. "Just the college, for now. We can speak again about the rest. In a year."

Tambour nodded.

And I'm busy with the living.

They left the castle, passed the barbershop, entered the muddy streets of Admiral's Fen. Gull said, "You said you had two questions."

"Will you see her again?"

"Ask that also in a year, Tambour. For now, I am not worthy, or ready."

"Much can happen in a year. She may be someone else's then."

Gull shot him a look. "You?"

Tambour shrugged.

"Love is risk, sir," Gull said stiffly. "I would not burden her with the man I am now. But the man who returns in a year—perhaps."

To the wild corners of the page and back again.

Tambour laughed as they reached the threshold of the Knotty Mermaid. "You are ever the hopeless romantic, aren't you, Gideon Gull?"

"No. There is always hope."

Coming Next Week: Chasing down monsters in Chapter 1 of Josh Vogt's "Hunter's Folly."

Dive into more adventures with Gideon Gull in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust!

Chris Willrich is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust. He is a former children's librarian best known for his sword-and-sorcery tales of Gaunt and Bone, which have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and elsewhere, and which continue in the novels The Scroll of Years (Pyr, 2013) and The Silk Map (forthcoming). Chris lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family. Visit his website at www.chriswillrich.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Superstar 2014: Top 32 Revealed!

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Paizo Publishing today announced the finalists for RPG Superstar, the largest open-call tabletop roleplaying game design contest in history. The paizo.com community cast over half a million votes to sort the best gamer-submitted wondrous items using the rules from the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, available in stores and in electronic form at paizo.com. Judges Judy Bauer, Patrick Renie, and Russ Morrissey selected the best 32 items from the highest-voted wondrous items. The Top 32 wondrous items are now on display at paizo.com, complete with judge commentary. Gamers are invited to contribute their own comments to the entries.

"This year's RPG Superstar competition is off to a great start. It's a unique to get RPG industry professionals to scrutinize your work, with the end goal of join Paizo's stable of talented freelance writers," said host and Paizo game designer Sean K Reynolds. "This year's competition has many new faces, but some familiar ones from previous competitions as well. As was the case last year, the public voting on the wondrous items has selected the best items for the judges to review—the zeal and dedication of the Paizo community shows a real commitment to making RPG Superstar a continuing tradition of gaming excellence. Congratulations to this year's Top 32, and good luck in the monster design challenge!"

The Top 32 finalists (and their winning wondrous items) for RPG Superstar 2014 are (in alphabetical order):

Andrew Marlowe Round 1 Scourge Vial Andrew Shumate Round 1 Charlatan's Symbol Andrew Umphrey Round 1 Choker of the Siphoning Scorpion Brian Lefebvre Round 1 Evergreen Seed Pouch Brian Duckwitz Round 1 Voidspun Lenses Brian Fruzen Round 1 Groundbreaker Cloak Bryan Jones Round 1 Hedgewall Seed Pouch Calder Rooney Round 1 Stormcrusher Gauntlets Casey Clements Round 1 Patternward Spectacles Christopher Wasko Round 1 Bonedancer Bodhrán Clay Clouser Round 1 Nightsbane Quiver Emmanuel Greene Round 1 Crest of the Fallen Iain Reid Round 1 Goblet of Liquefied Cognition Jacob W. Michaels Round 1 Poltergeist Knot James Casey Round 1 Gossiper's Gourd Jesse Southwick Round 1 Quicksilver Gloves

Joseph Kellogg Round 1 Ironmorph Dust Kalervo Oikarinen Round 1 Murktouch Cloak Kenneth Elliott Round 1 Bosun's Call Mark Nordheim Round 1 Horned Helm of the Wild Stag Michael Patrick Round 1 Bog Boots Michele La Barbera Round 1 Familiar's Soulstone Mikael Sebag Round 1 Amulet of Reverse Incantation Mike Kimmel Round 1 Earthbind Boots Mikko Kallio Round 1 Deck of Falling Houses Peter Jhansen Round 1 Death Mask Robert Brookes Round 1 Spirit Window Sam Harris Round 1 Star Cinder Terry Dutton Round 1 Fetish of the Frog Queen Tyler Beck Round 1 Deck of the Hellwasp's Sting Tyler Cowart Round 1 Jar of Mottled Clay Victoria Jaczko Round 1 Bitter Widow's Veil

2014's alternates are Rich Malena, Robert Hetherington, and Tyler Coveney.

The Top 32 will now be required to design a monster to the specifications of the RPG Superstar judges and submit that concept by 2:00 PM Pacific time on Friday, January 24. These Round 2 submissions will be revealed to the general public on Tuesday, January 28 with judges' comments, and the public will then get to discuss the entries and vote for their favorite. Voting ends on February 3 and the Top 16 by votes will move on to Round 3.

The ultimate winner of RPG Superstar, announced March 11, 2014, will write an adventure for Paizo's Pathfinder Module line to be published in early 2015. The 2013 RPG Superstar champion module, Steven Helt's Tears at Bitter Manor, releases in March 2014.

Sean K Reynolds
Host, Designer, Former RPG Superstar Judge

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Winter is Coming

Friday, January 17, 2014

We've previewed all of the figures in the Wrath of the Righteous set, which officially releases next week! As a special treat this week, I want to show off three figures from the NEXT set, Reign of Winter, which is currently slated for a May 14 release.

The Reign of Winter Adventure Path concerns several winter witches (which we'll get to in future reveals), but I wanted to kick off the previews for this set with one of our favorite iconic characters, Feiya! This figure, entitled Feiya, Human Witch, is a great representation of Wayne Reynolds's iconic character art, originally from the witch class description in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Advanced Player's Guide. She makes a great female spellcaster player character, and her dark blue color scheme makes her a perfect proxy for an enemy mystic. Feiya, Human Witch is a Medium uncommon figure.

A witch is nothing without her familiar, of course, so we simply had to include Feiya's fox familiar, Daji, in the Reign of Winter set. We call Daji "Fox," and have slated him at the common rarity. He is a Small figure.

In many ways the most important character in the Reign of Winter campaign, the arch-witch Baba Yaga makes several appearances in the Adventure Path. WizKids has done a fantastic job with both the sculpt and the paint application for this biggest of big bads, right down to the colorful orange carrot on her pack and the cool shrunken head at the top of her staff. Baba Yaga is a Medium, rare figure.

And that's it for this week. We've got a ways to go until the May release of the Reign of Winter set, so I'm going to focus on about three figures per preview for the time being.

In the meantime, check out stores and mailboxes starting NEXT WEEK for the Wrath of the Righteous minis set, and come back here next Friday for a look at more awesome Reign of Winter miniatures!

Erik Mona
Publisher

This is the End

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

This month the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path goes out with an epic bang. Throughout the course of this Adventure Path, the PCs rose to become some of the greatest heroes Golarion has seen. Will their mythic power be enough to finally seal the Worldwound or will the forces of the Abyss gain a greater control over the world? Tune in to Pathfinder Adventure Path #78: City of Locusts and see how Wrath of the Righteous ends.

Adam Daigle
Developer

The Cloak of Belonging

by Chris Willrich

Chapter 3: The Unexpected Assassin

Old Cassomir was like a stately anchorage of petrified ships, and in the case of Madame Velm's domain, one strewn with harbor lights.

Gull, Corvine, Thea, and Nicolaus presented their invitations first to the constables, then the navy officers, then the manor guards, and finally the doorman. The doorman proved the most difficult.

The man, a thick-built but by no means thick-headed Taldan, was by his accent from Zimar and the Qadiran frontier. Luckily he was new to Velm's service and unacquainted with Gull, but he frowned at Gull's invitation. "Seems to me I've heard you sing, Mr. ‘Alaric Reynard.' The harp looks the same, but seems to me you looked different then. Younger. Healthier."

"Perhaps I have degenerated some..."

"Degenerated. De-gen-er-ate. Sounds like a word a Chelaxian would use. You Chelish? A Chelish sympathizer?"

The objection that he was a free man of Andoran rose to Gull's lips. It was Corvine who saved him from such a foolish declaration. She glared at the doorman. "Are you a Chelish inquisitor, to speak thus to my partner?" She linked arms with Gull, squeezed his hand.

The doorman blinked, though his face remained stern. "My apologies, Madame Gale."

The musicians entered the mansion, Gull whispering to Corvine, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. And don't rely too much on that cloak of yours. It doesn't seem to work on everyone."

"Agreed. Those of mighty spirit seem able to resist."

She blinked at that, as though turning the remark this way and that to discover the hidden insult.

Inside they got a glimpse of the powers of Cassomir. There was Governor Bozbeyli, gray-bearded and stout, holding forth on the promise of magical mechanization, bearing a war-trophy scimitar where weapons were otherwise forbidden. There was Admiral Kasaba, frowning in obvious impatience at all the fuss, in her dress uniform the plainest woman among the mighty, and, despite these things—or perhaps because of them—a striking presence to Gull.

There was the high priest of Gozreh beside Madame Velm, white beard beside black crown of hair, silken sea-green robe beside shimmering evening-blue gown. The first had tried to convince Gull to set aside the crude worship of Erastil for the fickle benefits of the god of ocean and weather. The second had seen Gull as a project, a gem to be cut, before disgustedly tossing him aside.

He turned away from the mighty. Household staff steered his group from the party proper toward an unobtrusive passage and the narrow hallways and rooms beyond. While not secret, these servants' domains were easily ignored by the family and guests. It was clear to Gull this was not to be his party.

He looked around for signs of trouble but saw nothing.

And why should he? The true assassin was dead, and since Gull had no intention of harming Admiral Kasaba, why, surely all would be well.

Except that by morning Mortil would know he was a fake. Soon enough Gull would meet a Chelish killer again, and this one wouldn't be conveniently dead.

As Thea and Alaric located the free food (an important skill for musicians), Gull and Corvine claimed their waiting spot beside the garden, where statues of heroes embellished a stone veranda. They stood beside the visage of Sir Gothmoor, shown carrying the head of the enchanted Knight of the Pit, who according to legend had cheerfully continued talking after Sir Gothmoor beheaded him, and whose advice proved surprisingly helpful on subsequent quests. Gull rubbed his neck as he regarded the Knight of the Pit's fey smile.

"All right, Gideon," Corvine said, "I think we can talk. I asked around. There were indeed sightings of a man in a purple cloak. The sightings today all match your story. But the sightings last night had him fighting a group of corsairs at the shipyards. They said the man fell into the harbor with a knife in his back."

Gull felt the rip in the back of the cloak. "That fits."

She shook her head. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"The sort of thing a bard gets into."

"You're no bard, Gideon."

"Perhaps I will be yet. A little fisticuffs, a little swordplay, a little magic—these seem achievable talents, just now."

"It's that cloak. It will get you killed."

"No. I have a plan."

"This ought to be good."

"I will seek a new patron tonight, and thereby find security."

"Just like that?"

"With this cloak I can do it. I feel it."

Her eyes searched the garden's topiary as if the green animals could offer up auguries. "It's a false confidence, Gideon. It will betray you, and you'll be back in the Dog's Teeth."

"Amazing. You broke off what we had because I failed to rise as a singer—"

"That's not—"

"And now that I have a new chance, you want to reject that too."

"Gideon—"

But the call came for the quartet, and there was no time for argument.

There was indeed a giant cake, and there was Admiral Kasaba beside it, her stern face registering resigned patience. She brightened a little as the quartet performed.

Gull struggled to pull his weight. It was not that he lacked skill with voice and harp; rather he lacked formal training in this sort of music, as well as the practical experience that might compensate for such a deficiency.

He forced himself to smile. A frown could poison a perfect performance—and this was not going to be perfect.

Happy happy (la la la) happy birthday (la la) birthday birthday (la)...

And yet, where in the past an icy winter of fear might freeze his throat and stiffen his fingers, a spring returned to his voice and his joints, and he was at least able to carry his part. The audience clapped and even the admiral looked pleased. No one jumped out of the cake (and that seemed just as well to Gull, for Kasaba's earlier glares looked sharp enough to cut rope) and the group was briefly free to mingle with the elite.

"Bravo," said Admiral Kasaba. She squinted at Gull. "Have I seen you before?"

"I have sung here and there."

"I hope we'll hear more of you. And your companions, of course."

And Gull understood. The listeners had been unaware of Gull's struggle; from their point of view he was the strongest singer, because of the effect of the cloak.

It was unfair. And yet... why should he not enjoy their mistake? Having sold himself through magic, he would apply the hard work necessary to make good on the deal. Was that really so dishonest?

He abandoned any thought of the satirical song they'd discussed at Corvine's. He gave Alaric's harp into Nicolaus's keeping and commenced weaving in and out of conversations, collecting promises of future performances, encounters that could secure patronage. At first he avoided individuals he'd met before, but he needn't have worried. Even Madame Velm seemed to consider him somebody new. Everywhere he left some witticism gleaned from unwritten songs, and was greeted with rapt attention.

"Common sense can't be that common. It's mainly brought up when people are accused of lacking it."

"People talk about being fat and happy as if that were a bad thing. I'd like to try it, just to make sure."

"You live long enough, everything's a phase. Live a little longer, life looks like a phase, too."

However, even with the cloak there was an ebb and flow to the party, and as desserts vanished and drinks took their place, Gull began getting hints the powerful wished to keep their own company. He found himself alone in a corner among gilded eggs on display, counting his unhatched chickens.

Corvine reappeared. She actually seemed a trifle shy.

"I..." she began.

"Yes. It's okay. Say something."

"You were wrong."

That was not exactly what he'd been hoping for. He tried to sound unconcerned. "I'm shocked."

"I didn't break it off because you were failing to rise. Do you have any idea how many good musicians never get anywhere? Even among bards—"

"Don't."

"I just need you to know. I always respected you. Except when you were trying to be someone else."

"You mean, sophisticated. Charming. Witty. The things the nobility appreciate. What I was finally managing to do, just now."

"I liked my blunt Andoren man," she said, "who wasn't afraid of anyone, high or low." She leaned in closer, touching his face, as if reading the music written in his weathered face. "Except, you were afraid, weren't you? Down deep, where no one could see. Afraid of not measuring up."

"Not anymore."

"I wanted you to read this." She passed him a scrap of paper filled with words, and also strikes and smudges and second thoughts. "I don't have the music yet. Something I've been working on."

He read it.

Spilled Ink

I dressed your name in inkwell silks
And curled it slow through the dance of hand and pen
To the wild corners of the page and back again
Dancing dark, shadow-whisper, marked for crumpling.
What if I'd rolled it out, banquet-carpet, banner unfolding?
Would you have divined the grace that runs
From hand to pen to eye, from me to you?
Or would words and grace have drowned together in your eye—
Spilled ink, black oil, a blot on white water.
A voice dams up behind a quiet smile.
A river swells to spill, dark and rapid through the silent room
Where I'd sing or swim, your hand in mind,
In the water-dance where voices break
Crying ever over spilled and unspilled ink.

He twisted the paper in his hand.

"What do you think?"

The first thing that came to his mind was not words. He wanted to take her hand. He wanted to kiss her lips.

But something old and bitter rose within him, and it glittered like the courts of Oppara and smelled of the Dog's Teeth.

"It's... precious."

She hesitated. "Precious?"

"I mean, its heart is in the right place but it's a little... adolescent, don't you think? A trifle... twee?"

"Oh." She took the paper back. "I see. Thank you for looking at it."

He'd expected an angry waving of hands, lashing like wild calligraphy. But her manner, her voice, was compact, withdrawn, controlled. A blot of ink.

"I mean—don't misunderstand—it's good..."

"Don't." She turned and strode to where the servants were scavenging the leftover desserts.

He stared after her, reaching out. His glib remarks of the past half hour were like dead moths on his tongue.

He shuffled toward the veranda.

"Leaving so soon? You haven't tried the cake." Gull glimpsed a servant with a tray veering in close.

"I am not hungry..." Gull began, and felt a dagger against his back.

"Look at that," came the voice of the thug Eutharic, whom Gull had last heard what seemed a thousand years ago this morning, outside the Knotty Mermaid. "There's even a rip here in the cloak, just right for a dagger. Guess it's an unlucky bit of treasure. For you."

"Um, no need to be prickly."

"I got a message for you. From Tarik the Unclean."

"Is it really necessary to say Tarik the Unclean? It's not like I'm going to confuse him with Tarik the Washerwoman, or Tarik the Singing Barber, or—"

"Outside, Gull."

They stepped among the statues of heroes. Eutharic herded Gull toward the statue of Sir Gothmoor. Gull wished the Knight of the Pit's head would give him advice. "What's the message?"

"You know," Eutharic said, "I got confused. The message isn't for you. The message is you. Your bloody corpse at a fancy house, showing the whole city no one cheats Tarik the Unclean—"

"There you go again."

"Cheats Tarik the Unclean of his salvage. They won't miss you, Gull. You're fooling yourself with this lot. You're just another commodity. Plenty more where you came from."

"You might be right." Gull closed his hand on empty air where verse had been. "But you wouldn't be talking about this message unless there was another option."

"You're right. There's stuff going down with Cheliax, stuff you maybe know about, stuff Tarik might profit from. I whistle, my pals Adamantius and Thok create a diversion, we get out of here, you spill to Tarik."

Spilled ink, Gull thought.

"So..." came a new voice. "It is as I thought."

It was the governor's man—and Chelish agent—Mortil. He emerged from the veranda's shadows and raised his hands in a way that instinctively made Gull as nervous as if Mortil had raised an axe. He'd seen such poses from Corvine, after she'd consulted certain books.

"You have not sought the target," Mortil said to Gull. "Instead you have wasted your time on nonsensical activities—or so I thought. But your true purpose was to sell your information to the highest bidder. Disgusting."

"Who's this guy?" Eutharic said.

"I am your death," Mortil said, "if you do not leave now."

"Nobody talks to me like that."

"Hey, that's right," Gull said, "you lose face like that, I might have to write a song..."

Eutharic lunged. It wasn't clear which—Gull or Mortil—he was seeking, especially as Mortil immediately spoke some manner of trigger word and a blast of blue light engulfed Gull's vision.

When he could see again, the Knight of the Pit's head lay at his feet, freed from Sir Gothmoor's stony grip by an eldritch blast. The same blast that had burned a hole through the chest cavity of the gaping Eutharic.

The thug fell, smoking, and Mortil stepped forward. "I will say," he said thoughtfully, "that I exposed enemy agents. It is true enough..."

"You!" called a strident voice. "Governor's man. Stand back from that musician. He may be a spy—and a sorcerer it seems!"

It was Sebastian Tambour, stepping ahead of the astonished partygoers, a few of his fellow corsairs close behind.

Sebastian Tambour is first mate of the Happenstance.

Mortil stepped back, chuckling at his good fortune.

Gull's normal tactics in this sort of situation would be to stare, or plead, or duck, or pray.

Instead, he did two things. With one hand he jabbed his thumb toward the statue and shouted, "Would I blast something behind me?"

With his other hand he hooked the Knight of the Pit's curly stone hair and flung the bemused-looking boulder at Mortil.

The Chelish agent swore—and the being sworn by had an address far removed from those of Taldor's patron gods. Gull did not wait for the crowd's reaction, however, but dashed for a servants' entrance and the kitchen.

At the door he paused only to stick two fingers in his mouth and whistle.

Once inside he was confronted by pots, pans, dangling meats, a brick oven big enough to roast two boars, and a gaggle of scattering servants who'd probably already heard the shouted word sorcerer. "Boo," said Gull.

He was doomed, so he might as well enjoy it.

Once alone in the kitchen he grabbed a large iron skillet and crouched beside the door. It was Sebastian Tambour who entered first, and Gull found it rather satisfying to swing something heavy at Tambour's head.

Alas, the corsair ducked sufficiently to be merely clipped. Tambour rolled, snarling, into a bucket of fish heads.

"I'm not a sorcerer!" Gull said. "I'm not a wizard! I'm not a Chelish agent!"

Tambour swept fish guts from his eyes. "Hit me again, Gideon Gull. That will make your case more convincing."

"Would a sorcerer use a skillet?"

Tambour was up now, knife unsheathed. "I might just believe you, Gull. If you are a spy, you are perhaps the sloppiest, most ridiculous clandestine agent I have ever seen."

"It's Mortil. I think he wants the admiral dead. He thought I was working for Cheliax too. But you killed the real assassin, didn't you?"

"Perhaps..." Tambour backed away with a calculating look.

And Tambour's men grabbed Gull from behind.

Gull did not resist. At this point, surrender was safer.

Thok.

Suddenly the men let go, slumping to the floor.

Gull turned to see Eutharic's compatriots, Adamantius of the demonic tattoos and Thok of the big stick.

"Who killed Eutharic?" snarled Adamantius.

"Thok weeps," Thok said. Gull was startled. This was the first time he'd ever heard of Thok saying anything.

"It was not I," Tambour said. "Nor my men. I am beginning to believe it wasn't Gull."

"Gull could never kill Eutharic," scoffed Adamantius.

"Gull is weak," Thok said.

"Hey..." Gull began, and finished, "that's right. It was the governor's man, Mortil."

"That knowledge," came Mortil's voice, "will die with you all."

Fire filled the doorway.

Adamantius and Thok screamed as an explosive magical blaze consumed them and Tambour's fallen men. Gull and Tambour were barely able to take cover behind a counter. An unused chicken on a hook burned above their heads like a comet of culinary omen. The reek of roasted flesh made Gull gag.

"And when you are finished," Mortil said, "so will the target burn. I may be implicated, and that is regrettable. But in Hell my masters will laugh."

Wedges of light erupted from Mortil's fingertips, and Gull heard a scream.

He knew that voice. Corvine.

Gull scrambled around the counter, skillet in hand, and Tambour was with him, dagger ready. Together they rushed the wizard.

Coming Next Week: The ultimate weapon is revealed in the conclusion of Chris Willrich's "The Cloak of Belonging."

Dive into more adventures with Gideon Gull in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust!

Chris Willrich is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust. He is a former children's librarian best known for his sword-and-sorcery tales of Gaunt and Bone, which have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and elsewhere, and which continue in the novels The Scroll of Years (Pyr, 2013) and The Silk Map (forthcoming). Chris lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family. Visit his website at www.chriswillrich.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Superstar 2014: Round 1 Voting is Closed!

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

And with the flipping of an electronic switch, voting is closed for Round 1 of RPG Superstar 2014!

This year, over 2,100 voters cast a total of more than 310,000 votes to sort hundreds of items into a manageable hierarchy. Now it's time for our three judges—Paizo editor Judy Bauer, Paizo developer Patrick Renie, and EN World's Russ "Morrus" Morrissey—to read over the top items, critique them, and determine our Top 32. The Top 32 are revealed Tuesday, January 21st, and their next challenge is to design a monster.

As a former RPG Superstar judge, I'd like to take a moment to again thank everyone who voted on the wondrous items in this year's competition. Before Paizo added public voting for Round 1, the judges had to spend many hours over the holidays evaluating wondrous item submissions. By sharing this responsibility with the public voters, you've allowed the judges to focus their efforts on the very best items.

In particular, a big "thank you" to the 76 people who voted over 1,000 times this year, you've definitely earned your custom Marathon Voter messageboard tag. And a super-big "thank you" to Azouth, Feros, and Thomas LeBlanc, who each voted over 5,000 times—congratulations on your 2014 Champion Voter messageboard tag!

Congratulations to everyone who submitted a wondrous item to RPG Superstar this year. Please refrain from discussing your wondrous items until the Top 32 are revealed on January 21st—we don't want to bias the judges or break anonymity for any items. Start working on your R2 monster, whether or not you think you're in the Top 32: it's good practice, and by starting now (instead of waiting until next Tuesday) you give yourself an extra week of design time. Monster entries for the Top 32 are due Friday, January 24, 2014!

Sean K Reynolds
Host, Designer, Former RPG Superstar Judge

Ancient Evil, New Opportunities

Monday, January 13, 2014

Illustration by Craig J Spearing

Seattle is rather far north by my reckoning, even though its proximity to the ocean keeps the temperature quite reasonable. It's certainly northerly enough to have some gloriously long days in summer as well as some long, dark, sunless nights in the winter. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? That's right. Vampires.

Vampires love winter because they only have to "call it a day" for about eight hours before night falls again. Fortunately, the Pathfinder Society has a proud tradition of training undead-thrashing heroes, and I'm calling on all of you to do your part in culling the glut of shadow-loving ghouls, wraiths, and other such risen monstrosities by playing the Carrion Crown Adventure Path, which is sanctioned for Pathfinder Society Organized Play beginning today! You can find the rules and Chronicle sheets for Carrion Crown on the Additional Resources page and product pages for each respective Adventure Path volume.

Of course, the folks in the southern hemisphere aren't off the hook, either. I understand trouble's brewing in the Mana Wastes of Garund, and the Pathfinder Society will need particularly brave and powerful heroes to send to Alkenstar. Keep an eye out for more sanctioned material later this month.

John Compton
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Last of the Righteous

Friday, January 10, 2014

We've only got two more minis to reveal for this month's Wrath of the Righteous set of Pathfinder Battles prepainted miniatures. Before I show off photos, however, I need to make an important update to the set's actual release date. Due to inclement weather across virtually the entire country last week, we've had to delay the official release of the Wrath of the Righteous set to January 22. So update your calendars (and your expectations) for this new release date, please.

That out of the way, I'd also like to share with you that last night I brought home and opened a case of Wrath of the Righteous figures. This case came directly from the warehouse, and directly from the factory before that. So unlike the images I post here, which are generally paint masters, I got a chance to see the actual production run figures and was able to gauge the impact of some of the paint master changes we implemented with this set.

As I've mentioned in a previous Friday blog, the production run of the previous set, Legends of Golarion, fell short of our expectations in regards to factory paint application. There are still tons of great figures in that set, and it's certainly possible to get excellent examples of each mini in the set depending on when in the production run the mini in question was painted (and presumably by whom), there was more inconsistency in that set than in any of the previous ones, so for Wrath of the Righteous we attempted to make the factory's job a little bit easier by toning down some of the color gradients, ink washes, and minor details like zippers and belt buckles.

Speaking broadly, after opening a case I'm pretty confident that this experiment was a success. While there is of course the quality variance you might expect with any mass-produced products, I can say with authority that Wrath of the Righteous contains several of the best-looking figures we've done to date. Creatures like the Dominion Invader, Gibrileth Demon, Will-o'-Wisp, and especially the fire demon Khorramzadah look just shy of perfect. I'm pretty excited by what I saw last night, and while there remains room for improvement, I feel like we are zeroing in on as close to ideal as one might reasonably expect. Lots and lots of sweet figures in this one, folks.

With that being said, let's take a look at the one remaining normal-sized figure in the set I accidentally left off last week's preview, the Frost Drake!

Meet the Frost Drake, a CR 7 menace from Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 2. This creature is also heavily featured in the Reign of Winter Adventure Path, giving you plenty of opportunities to incorporate it into play. Degenerate cousins of white dragons, Frost Drakes are ferocious predators that haunt arctic wastelands and mountain heights. They breathe freezing mist and generally like to eat adventurers (or anyone else). The Frost Drake is a Large, uncommon figure.

And with that out of the way, let's take a close look at the Wrath of the Righteous set's limited edition promotional miniature, Deskari, Lord of the Locust Host, a Gargantuan demon lord sure to send your heroes into itchy fits.

Known as the Lord of the Locust Host and the Usher of the Apocalypse, Deskari has long plagued the northlands of Golarion, where the walls between the Abyss and the Material Plane have always been weak. Long ago, one such foray into Golarion brought Deskari to the attention of the living god Aroden, patron of humanity, who defeated him and sealed him away. When Aroden died at the onset of the Age of Lost Omens about a century ago, Deskari emerged with a vengeance, bringing the Abyss with him and tainting Golarion with the treacherous landscape of the Worldwound, the setting of the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path.

And now, he can bring that same sort of hospitality to your game table. Here are some relevant statistics. CR 29. 742 hit points. Regeneration 30 (epic and good or deific). SR 40. You're welcome, Game Masters!

Deskari is a Gargantuan figure. He stands much taller than the four-legged Gargantuan Green Dragon from Legends of Golarion, and is even a smidge taller than the Rune Giant from Rise of the Runelords, making Deskari the largest Pathfinder Battles figure we've produced to date.

To purchase Deskari at this time, you must purchase a Wrath of the Righteous Standard Booster Case, either individually or as part of a Pathfinder Battles Case Subscription. Pathfinder Battles subscribers receive 75% off our price ($39.99) for this enormous premium miniature.

And that's it for this week, and for the Wrath of the Righteous set. Remember to look for the set to release on January 22. Seek it out at your local retailer or preorder here on paizo.com!

Next week, I'll have something new and exciting to share with you. See you then!

Erik Mona
Publisher

So You Want to Work at a Game Company?

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Think you have what it takes to work for the company that publishes the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game? Roll for initiative as Paizo is hiring for several open positions! Now going into its 12th year, Paizo is growing again and we have openings in several departments. We're looking to find the best and brightest to join a superstar staff.

Four positions are currently open and accepting resumes and you can view each job listing on our Job Opportunities page. All positions are full time and include perks like health, dental and vision insurance, access to a 401K plan with employer matching, employee discount on paizo.com and of course everyone's favorite; copies of all products produced by Paizo Publishing. None of these positions are remote, you'll need to be able to come into the Paizo office located in Redmond, Washington during regular business hours, Monday through Friday. If you aren't familiar with the area, Redmond is a bustling town neighboring two of Washington's largest cities, Seattle and Bellevue.

Software Developer: The tech team is the backbone of Paizo's daily operations and the software developer position helps maintain and create Paizo's codebase supporting not only paizo.com but also our custom internal software. This position is salaried.

Digital Products Assistant: The Digital Products Assistants are the magically grafted on octopus arms of the tech team.^* Focused on the production, delivery and support for Paizo's digital products, this position also assists with a wide variety of ongoing projects and events appearing on paizo.com. This position is salaried.
*A wizard did it

Customer Service Representative: Responsible for directly interfacing with customers and fans of Paizo, this position requires the desire to help people on a daily basis and the ability to quickly adapt to new tools and responsibilities. If the tech team is the backbone of operations, customer service is the studded leather armor (custom made to accommodate the octopus arms). This position is hourly.

Graphic Designer: Tasked with making our products look their best, the Graphic Designer works on a variety of projects including books and other gaming accessories. Fast-paced with new and exciting projects to work on constantly, this position requires attention to detail and a love for challenges. This position is salaried.

If you're interested in one of these positions make sure to get your resume submitted right away! Check each listing for further requirements and details on where to send your resume.

Will you have what it takes to be the next Paizo Employee?

Sara Marie
Customer Service Manager

The Cloak of Belonging

by Chris Willrich

Chapter 2: A Roving Young Fellow

Gentlemen adventurers needed to mind their steps, especially on roofs. Gull discovered that hard lesson—as well as that cold, wet, and muddy lesson—when he slipped off the mist-slick summit of Skua Croon's Curiosity Shop and toppled into the mud.

He stood up painfully, brushed the muck of Admiral's Fen off his new cloak, and acted as though such things happened every day.

The passersby nodded and smiled exactly as if it were so.

Striding through the fog toward Cassomir's shipyard like an admiral and not a vagabond minstrel, Gull wondered at the new poise that enveloped him. True, he was clearly no more coordinated than before, nor tougher, as his bruises informed him.

But something had kindled his spirit. Perhaps it was the strange rattles and cranks he'd heard from Grayguard Castle, or the stares he'd attracted with this peculiar cloak. Whatever the reason, Gull walked without fear through the heart of Taldor's naval power. And despite his odd appearance, workers, sailors, merchants, and officials all nodded or waved as he passed.

Once or twice he heard shouts behind him—the corsairs or the ruffians perhaps—and he took care to slip through fog-shrouded alleys between the businesses that catered to the navy and its sailors, the provisioners, sailmakers, coopers and the like, as well as the brothels, fortune-telling halls, and gambling dens. No one challenged him, though some beckoned him toward this ill-reputed doorway or that. Perhaps, with more time on his hands and fewer foes on his tail, he'd have lingered.

But now he'd a destination in mind.

He emerged from the maze of ship-related concerns and braved the shadowy ruins of Quickfall Abbey, making the sign of Erastil's antlers on his chest as he passed that reputedly haunted locale. Like the splintered bones of dead giants, the crumbled walls jabbed through the sunlit fog. Gull whistled, mentally revising an old Andoran drinking song.

Oh, my name's Gideon, I'm a songman gone bad,
And a roving young fellow at need.
So be easy and free, if you're haunting at me—
I'm a man who will run far away.

No spirit deigned to trouble his morning. The tune's energy seemed to pour into his feet, and it was with a light step that he emerged into the northern end of Cassomir, a realm of cobblestone lanes and pleasant cottages and houses. As the rising sun melted the fog away, Gull located a certain flower shop and purchased a red rose from a matron whose suspicious look similarly melted in the light of his smile.

"Why, Master Gull," she said. "You've not been this way in weeks."

"The life of an musician is a busy one, Mrs. Amaranth." Gull looked toward the ceiling. "Ah, is Corvine..."

"She is in, but I don't think—" But by then Gull was out the door and ascending one of the exterior stairs. Abbey Green held many such locales, harboring a shop or two on the ground level and lofting dwellings overhead. A widow, Mrs. Amaranth owned this building and reserved for herself a flower shop and a small home above, while renting the rest of the ground floor to a navy wife who supplemented her husband's pay with needlework and flag-making. As the wife lodged at the Citadel, the remaining space was rented to a pair of female musicians.

Gull had known one of them quite well. The other had regarded her roommate's taste in men as a mental affliction.

As he knocked, a snatch of song came to him, a piece with a backwoods sound, something he'd not worked on in years.

Howling like a mangy old wolf at the moon
Sleeping through the warmth of the sun
Worrying too much about getting the girl—
Not enough about getting the right one.

The door opened. It was the one who'd thought him an affliction.

"You."

Thea Zephyr (a stage name if Gull had ever heard one) narrowed her eyes beneath her artistic beehive of hair, which loomed above like a russet thunderhead with black hairpins for lightning. Taldan women fought endless skirmishes via their glorious crowns of hair. Men who supposed these displays were entirely or even mostly about them were naive.

Gull's own naivete lay elsewhere. "Me," he confessed, smiling.

"You selfish bastard." Thea stepped out, her stare pushing him backward as though she were warding her roommate from the very sight of Gideon Gull. "Do you have any idea how long Corvine looked for you?"

"I..."

"She thought you were dead!"

"She minded?"

Thea finally got a good look at him, taking in the shave, the wash, the raised hands, the cloak. She blinked.

"She minded," she said. She studied him a little longer, her expression shading from anger to confusion. "I'll get her." She shifted slowly inside, then slipped back, snatched the rose from his hand, and gave it a quick sniff like a child stealing a sweet. In she went, and now Gull wore the confused look.

Curious.

He heard new voices from the fog to the south. They might be Sebastian Tambour's men, or even Tarik the Unclean's. He practiced looking as inconspicuous as a minstrel in a gold-embroidered purple cloak on a second-story stairway could be.

A woman with a more subdued tangle of black hair, held by a single ivory pin, appeared at the door. She had bronze-looking skin and pale blue eyes that made Gideon shiver like a newly plucked string.

"You," she said.

"Me," he said.

She handled the rose like an idle conductor with a baton, tapping the blossom against one palm. “So?”

"Yes..." he began, and stopped. The word was like a steppingstone leading into fog.

"Well?"

He held up his hands. "I know."

"And?"

"I'm sorry."

The last thing Corvine Gale expected was a visit from Gideon Gull.

Corvine Gale's fresh appraisal of Gideon Gull did not seem to banish her disdain as it had Mrs. Amaranth's and Thea Zephyr's. Rather the opposite. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry..."

"Yes. May I... come in?"

"No." She followed his gaze to where a group of figures appeared to be emerging from the fog around the abbey. She noted his concern. She sighed. "Yes."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Don't thank me," she said as she led him into the crowded room.

Just before the door closed, Gull heard something hit one of the fallen stones of Quickfall Abbey.

Thok.

Gull looked around, seeing many familiar faces, most with a musical instrument to go with them. "Why, Alaric, Nicolaus, Walpurga... It's been too long."

Several people looked as though they might question that assertion. But they shifted uncomfortably and were uncharacteristically silent in the presence of the new Gull.

Corvine placed a hand on his shoulder, spun him to face her. In the process her balance faltered and she weaved into him. He smelled gnome whiskey. He had an excellent nose for that sort of thing. She stiffened and pulled away. "I'm having a party, Gideon. Well, a rehearsal with a friendly audience. Not much difference. You know how it is."

"I used to."

"Well. Four of us are singing at Admiral Kasaba's birthday at Madame Velm's." She gave Gull a scrutinizing look, for they'd both known Velm well.

"Maybe three," put in a harpist named Alaric. "I've been feeling ill..."

"You'll make it," Corvine insisted. "It has to be a four-part madrigal. And I believe they're going to surprise Kasaba with a giant cake and have a handsome midshipman jump out or some damn thing. I don't know, she's not my patron anymore." Here came another hard look. "They're just paying us to sing. But we need to be good. Just about everybody who's anyone is going to be there."

Gull said, "That's why you're practicing drunk? Madame Velm doesn't like lushes."

"You are not going to lecture me about drink. Nor about a patronage you deprived us both of. You are going to sit right there and not make a fool of yourself."

Gull knew when to shut up. Sometimes. He bowed and took a chair beside Corvine's bookshelf. He tried easing the commotion he'd caused by peering over his shoulder at the books. Although Gull could read, it was no easy task, and he'd learned music entirely from mentors, starting with backwoods fiddlers back in Andoran. Corvine, now, she was a reader. Gull saw books of ballads, scores for operas, and ragged collections of songs and folk tales collected from the villages of the Taldan interior. He saw, too, books about magic—The Olde Companion, The Magister's Tunebook, Songs of the Azlanti Twilight—not the intricate tomes of professional spellcasters, full of maddening esoteric formulae, but the sort of homely references collected over time by those worthy of the title bard.

For all the bravado of this day, he now felt fully the bumpkin, and as the quartet resumed its jolly madrigal the feeling only grew.

Raise the sail, strike the drum
The long-awaited hour's come
Let all who live by wind and wave
Stand attention proud and grave.

Alaric's part faded in a fit of coughing. The man waved for the others to go on, and Corvine proved her status as a bard by gesturing and conjuring an enchanted mouth to sing from the wood of the door. The mouth used her own voice but made it possible to proceed without Alaric.

Though Taldor's foes yet ring us round
Our admiral runs them all to ground.
Though alarums summon all too soon
Hearken to this happy tune.

Now the song seemed to disintegrate like a flock of birds startled by human voices, only to careen back into formation at a higher pitch:

Happy happy (la la la) happy birthday (la la) birthday birthday (la)...

Gull knew there were variances and flourishes here he'd not the education to appreciate, but he understood this tune was both respectful and teasing, and would bring joy to the listeners, and applause—and then be forgotten. That was the way of much Taldan music. In contrast, he'd had only blunt verse, with whatever truth he could muscle behind it. Even songs of battle had eluded him, for he'd focused in Andoren fashion on the horrors common folk faced in war, not on the glory, real or supposed, chased by nobles in polished armor.

His musings led him so far from Corvine's chamber that he only slowly understood the rehearsal was over, the enchanted mouth had faded, and the quartet and its small audience were now gossiping and talking shop. Some snatches of conversation cut through his bitter reflections.

Alaric: It helps to first compose several stanzas about the history of the campaign, the battle setting, the distribution of forces, et cetera. Then you can just tack on an ending that celebrates the victory or mourns the loss. Last, you add a prologue about it all being destiny. Saves time and worry...

Thea: Could it be? Could I truly have been born to sing?

Corvine: Born to talk about it, maybe.../p>

Nicolaus: Alaric, give it up. There's no such thing as imitation quirky...

Alaric: But of course we trust pretty people more than honest people! Taldor's great tragedy is that we value faces over facts.

"Andoran's worse," Gull muttered, "in its way."

Conversation ceased. Gull uneasily looked back at these musicians of Taldor, each better versed in the craft than he. Corvine frowned, as though she'd forgotten he was there, and was unhappy to be reminded. "I'd have thought you would be missing Andoran," she said. "For a while, I thought you had returned there."

Gull saw no choice but to plunge in. "In Andoran anyone can hold high office. So even though we've no king, we the people are in the same position as a king choosing his ministers. But we don't have the leisure or learning of kings. We are busy... well, my fellow Andorens are busy... with our lumbering and bee-keeping and harvesting. So we are like the most foolish of kings—a wastrel prince, maybe, suddenly inheriting the crown and choosing his servants in a hurry. And so we choose the pretty. Or the silver-tongued. Or someone with a famous name, even if they were famous for something utterly irrelevant. Or we choose whomever now seems angriest at the last fool we elected."

He expected to be laughed off, a fool speaking of fools. Or worse, tsked and tut-tutted at by the superior folk of Taldor.

Instead they nodded with interest at his words. Had he spoken better than was his wont? Or was the strange charm of this day working upon them?

Alaric coughed and answered. "Far be it from me to praise Andoran before Taldor... but I think you are too harsh. What you speak of is simply human nature. It applies everywhere. Perhaps the consequences have special meaning in Andoran, but I assure you shallow judgment is as devastating here."

The other man in the quartet, Nicolaus, nodded. "And if the great of Taldor are foolish, who's to stop them? At least in Andoran the fools can expose each other."

And indeed, Gull felt a sudden yearning for his old land.

"I did not know," said Thea, "that you were a philosopher, Gideon Gull."

The other guests made encouraging sounds to echo Alaric, Nicolaus, and Thea's responses. All but Corvine.

"He's not!" she scoffed. "He talks a good story, always has. Maybe he's a little more polished now. But it's the same old Gideon!"

But the others ignored her, and from then on Gull was the center of the party. Alaric loaned him a harp, and with the other musicians' help he began composing something on his theme.

In Andoran, the founders so fine
Gave us all a bottle of wine.
Common Rule, the label had read
A glorious vintage of martyrdom red.
In drunken sprees we drank it all down
Rejoicing that no one would wear a crown.
In sickly dawn's light we needed to pee
And so used that bottle called Democracy.
O Andoran, you land of the free,
You drank up the wine of Democracy
But the price of gettin' some more of that drink
Is a plunge in cold water and a promise to think!

Alaric and Nicolaus jumped in with a verse they'd just concocted:

O Taldan lords, you trample our rights
While you battle each other for miniscule slights.
Our lords eat and drink while the commoners thirst,
True nobles would always put common men first!

"You'll get thrown in the stocks," Corvine warned.

"Just like I'll get tarred and feathered in Andoran," Gull said.

"It's the song that gets you in trouble everywhere!" Nicolaus said.

"But don't you see?" Thea said. "If we are more careful with the words... this song could actually criticize the nobility. It sounds at first like it's mocking Andoran. But it's not actually mocking Common Rule. It just says that Andoran's people don't live up to the ideals."

"Our royals would say," said Corvine, "that no one can live up to those ideals."

"But if we go on to poke fun at Taldor's foils," Thea went on, staring into the daylight beyond the window, "we can have a song that argues for a better world—and sing it right under the nobility's noses."

There was a chorus of assent.

"What?" Corvine said.

"Friend Gull," Alaric said, "you should take my place tonight in the quartet."

"What?" Corvine repeated.

"We all know I'm not feeling well," Alaric continued, "and it's affecting my voice. And just maybe, if there is the right moment, you can sing your song where the powerful can hear. Hold on to the harp. I'll return for it tomorrow."

"What?" said Corvine looking from one companion to another.

"You know," Nicolaus said, "I have had a few ideas of my own, for songs that mock the mighty..."

"I too," said another musician.

"And I," said a third.

"You are all mad," Corvine said. "Out of here, all of you! Gideon is addling your minds. Get some fresh air. I'm serious. You too, Thea."

Thea was the last outside, giving her roommate—or was it Gull?—a last, probing look.

Corvine slammed the door, and turned to face Gull. She did not look enchanted. "Where did you get it?"

"Eh?"

"The cloak, Gideon. It's obvious that's it."

"That's what?"

"The thing you're using to become such a smooth talker. A philosopher." She shook her head. "I knew something was amiss when I noticed Thea of all people making eyes at you."

"She was?"

"Don't act so innocent! You saw how they behaved. I swear they're ready to write limericks about the Grand Prince!"

"All right... yes." He steepled his fingers, leaned back in his chair. He'd seen scholars act like that. "I know there is something different about today. Something extraordinary has come over me. But it could be a concoction of my own mind." He remembered his dream of the music of the spheres. "Perhaps desperation has kindled something in me. Perhaps I am finally ready to awaken from my drunken dreams..."

"It's not you, Gideon. It's the cloak. It wouldn't be the first magic item to enhance a person's presence. Take it off, and you'll see."

He smiled. "Are you actually telling me to take my clothes off?"

"Go to hell."

"All right, all right. That's a spooky thought, you know, when you're wearing a Chelish cloak."

He began to remove the garment, albeit with reluctance. I can take it off anytime I want to, he insisted silently. So why did he hesitate?

He made a show of negligently draping the cloak over a chair.

"Ah," said Corvine. "There you are."

"What do you mean?" He suddenly felt naked as a mole rat, for all that his old clothes clung clammily to his body.

"I mean, you look like yourself."

He let out a long breath, as if weeks of hard living were woven through that gust of air. What had he been doing? Had he really taunted thugs and corsairs, run along rooftops, encouraged sedition? He was insane.

And yet, he'd rather liked it.

"Ah," he said, looking at his feet. "Myself."

"Where did you get it, Gideon?"

He stared at her. "Why do you really want to know?"

"I've the feeling you're mixed up with something bad. Magic like that doesn't just fall from the sky."

"No." He smirked. "It washes onto shore." He told her the story of his day. Her eyes widened at each new episode.

She gripped his shoulder, firmly this time. Her hand stayed put. Startled, he looked into her eyes. He found himself hoping he could keep doing that...

"Gideon,” she said. “I'm glad to see you. Truly. But you are impossible. You don't need magic to rise out of the gutter."

"The gutter has been a step up..."

"Enough. Stay off the streets. Stay here for a while." She rubbed her temples. "I know how to put an ear to a wall. I will go and see what I can learn about strange Chelaxians with purple cloaks—and those who might murder them. You... well, Alaric is sure to come to his senses, but if he doesn't..."

“What about your senses? You've been drinking.”

“Shut up.” She set down two sheets of handwritten music. "Do you remember what I taught you about reading notation?"

"Of course."

"Then practice. If you do end up joining us tonight I don't want you embarrassing us in front of Madame Velm."

"I am sorry. About all of that."

"Sorry you got sloshed before a duet, and cost us both our patronage?"

"That... and that I convinced you to come to Cassomir to work with her. Where there were no other patrons of similar stature."

"This... is not the time. Give me one of those gold coins."

"I have but three left."

"You need clothes." She sniffed. "Don't argue."

He didn't argue. To a degree he was enjoying the fuss. When she left he even dutifully studied tonight's madrigal, so he could adequately perform Alaric's part. He was still a musician. And moreover, he did not enjoy the disdain that had colored Corvine's words.

So he focused on this one small thing.

Presently he was nagged by a desire for drink. He looked about the room for something to sate it. A tiny, persistent disgust at himself crept in through some corner-crack of his soul, like a little animal stubbornly nesting in Gull's mental cupboards. At that moment he found an actual cupboard containing a bottle of Zimaran wine.

He gently closed the door.

And opened it again. And closed it.

He was somewhat in need of willpower.

His eye turned to the cloak, and in one fluid motion he was across the room and swishing it onto himself, tying it off with a dramatic half-turn. "No," he said, "Gideon Gull drinks when he wishes—not when the bottle demands."

And in that manner, proud and purple, he returned to the problem of the madrigal.

So focused upon the music was he that at first he believed the knock at the door to be some rhythm-induced hallucination.

On the second knock, he rose languidly and opened the door. "What did you—" he began, but choked on the words, for it was not Corvine.

Here instead was well-dressed man of hard bearing, his red woolen jacket buttoned with pewter, his blue felt hat bearing a silver pin depicting the Lion of Taldor crouched upon a ship. "At last," said the man.

"Are we acquainted, sir?" The man seemed somehow familiar.

"We know of each other. I am Mortil, assistant to Governor Bozbeyli." More quietly, he added, "I am also your contact." He waited for Gull to take that in, and although Gull failed, Mortil went on. "Are you alone here?"

"Well..."

Mortil brushed past Gull, eyes focused on the musician as if he thought Gull a dangerous customer. Gull was reminded of a look he'd seen back home in the eyes of wild dogs. Mortil took the chair beside the books; Gull shut the door and sat at the nearby bench along the wall.

Mortil said, "I had to call in help to find you. Do you know what that cost me?"

By now, Gull did indeed recall Mortil, someone he'd met once or twice under the patronage of Madame Velm. The recognition was not mutual, however, and Gull suspected he had the cloak to thank for that. A good thing, too. Despite the bland tones, something in the other's eyes spoke emphatically of prices like murder, torture, blood, and madness. This discouraged Gull from his normal loquaciousness. He ventured, "We all must pay the piper..."

"You were not at the rendezvous," snapped Mortil. "Where were you?"

"I—have had my difficulties."

"I have been assured you are exceptional at your work."

"Well... you know, back home I was considered great..."

"We are not in Cheliax. Things are different here."

That annoyed Gull. "Do I look Chelish?"

"Come now, don't fence with me. It doesn't matter to me where Cheliax finds its agents. I have been awaiting the man with the purple cloak for days, and in that time the target has begun working to undermine the efforts of our masters. It is time to strike back."

"Ah."

"Yes. The event is tonight. Never will the target be more vulnerable."

Gull had an uncomfortable feeling he knew who the target was. "I might be able to get close," he ventured, not sure why he was playing along, unless of course it was to avoid getting killed.

Yes, that might be it.

"Good," said Mortil. "I have been unable to divine your plans. You, of course, need not give me details...." Mortil paused.

Gull said nothing.

With a disappointed look Mortil continued. "... but I will ensure the guard is light. There will be enough distraction that you should have no great difficulty. I would do the deed myself, but I would likely be discovered."

"And what of escape?"

"That is your problem."

"And what of reward?"

"That is our masters' problem."

Gull made himself chuckle. "Of course."

Mortil was unamused. "You seem to take this matter too lightly. I assure you our masters, on Golarion and elsewhere, see your mission as essential to their plans."

"Oh, I take it seriously." Gull leaned forward. "Damned seriously." Gull kept a straight face. Mortil studied him, and slowly nodded.

"Very well, I take my leave." Rising, Mortil added, "I hope to hear a tale of woe upon the morning."

Gull opened the door. "Woe's the word."

Mortil shot him a grave look and departed.

"Well, Cloak," Gull muttered, once he was alone. "It seems we have a choice. Disappoint Cheliax and the hordes of Hell. Or assassinate Admiral Kasaba."

He stroked his chin and came to a firm conclusion.

"Where's that wine?"

Coming Next Week: Birthdays and mayhem in Chapter Three of Chris Willrich's “The Cloak of Belonging."

Dive into more adventures with Gideon Gull in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust!

Chris Willrich is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust. He is a former children's librarian best known for his sword-and-sorcery tales of Gaunt and Bone, which have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and elsewhere, and which continue in the novels The Scroll of Years (Pyr, 2013) and The Silk Map (forthcoming). Chris lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family. Visit his website at www.chriswillrich.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger

Superstar 2014: Don't Fear the Reaper

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Hello, gamers, and welcome back to RPG Superstar 2014!

We've had a week of public voting for the Round 1 wondrous item submissions, and now we have enough data to evaluate which are the least popular items in the submission pool. In order to help focus the voters on evaluating the better items, today we culled many of the the lowest-ranked items. For your information:

• So far we've had nearly 200,000 votes cast.
• The culled items had 60% or more votes against them (in other words, 60% of the time, a voter voted for the other item it was paired against).
• The culling removed the bottom 20% from the pool of available submissions.

We greatly appreciate the hard work of all the voters. By removing the lowest-ranked items from the pool, you can look forward to seeing the better items paired against each other, and your votes are what jockey the best items into the top of the hierarchy. Remember, there's still plenty of time to earn a message board title for casting 100, 500, 1,000, or even 5,000 votes.

Voting closes at 2 p.m. PT on January 14th, at which time the judges will look at the highest-voted items and pick the Top 32, who will be revealed on January 21. Those 32 competitors advance to Round 2: Create a Bestiary Entry (the rules for which will be posted soon)!

Good luck, competitors! And thanks again, voters!

Sean K Reynolds
Host, Designer, Former RPG Superstar Judge

Booncraft

Monday, January 6, 2014

The first project I ever did for Pathfinder Society Organized Play as a volunteer—really the start of my career—was creating boons, and by the time Paizo hired me, I had written about 100 boons for the campaign. Booncraft lost little of its magic when I took on the role of developer, and I continue to use boon-writing as a way of enabling volunteers to contribute to the campaign and, perhaps as importantly, as a means of testing out new and aspiring authors. I've had numerous folks ask me what goes into writing a boon, what makes a good boon, and how one goes about getting me to publish a boon. Let me start with good qualities.

Balance: A boon must be mechanically balanced. This includes it being balanced on its own, balanced in terms of the campaign, and balanced with regard to other boon options on a Chronicle sheet. If a Chronicle sheet has two boon options that a player can choose from, and one is far superior to the other, something's not quite right. A boon could also be great for a home game but have troubling consequences for Pathfinder Society. Finally, a boon might just not be balanced in terms of the game's mechanics. Most boons end up being about as potent as a trait; some might have a one-time use or have a niche application, but there's at least a rough metric for what is appropriate. It's reasonable for a boon's power to be greater if it's awarded at a higher level, particularly at 12th level and beyond.

Flavor: A good boon typically has some flavor text describing why it grants the bonus that it does. This not only explains the intention of the boon, but it helps to chronicle what the character accomplished to earn it.

Integration (modules and Adventure Paths): When developing a boon for a sanctioned adventure such as a module, it's important that the boon actually tie into the core product. I would be quite confused if I acquired a pirate ship during Reign of Winter, and I would scratch my head at learning special ice magic during Skull & Shackles. Reverse them, though, and things make a lot of sense.

Innovation: Boons—particularly convention boons—present a special opportunity because they are not print products and often have a limited time in which they're available. That means it's possible to experiment with new mechanics in ways that might not be appropriate for a new hardcover book. If the boon ends up being too potent or a poor fit for any other reason, the limited number of those boons will gradually disappear as those characters gain levels and become Seekers. If the mechanic is particularly interesting, word gets around, and other developers begin saying, "Hey, that's pretty cool!" It's only a matter of time before we might see it in a book or returning to a convention near you.

Wow Factor: I love boons that make players' eyes go wide with excitement, even when the mechanical bonus might not be very potent. It's usually obvious whether or not a boon has wow factor within a minute of handing out Chronicle sheets.

Narrative Potential (optional): Boons can provide a fun story-telling hook. This is the case for Missing Mentor, which sends the PC looking for a lost teacher over the course of five scenarios. The boon may only take 30 seconds to use each scenario for a fairly minor bonus, but the flavor of the boon makes the player think, "huh, who did teach my character how to be so awesome?"

A few of my most active boon-crafting volunteers have given me permission to share an earlier draft or two of their work to illustrate how a boon evolves from idea to draft to development to distribution. Keep an eye out for these in the coming weeks as well as a few sanctioning projects that are coming down the pipeline. In the meantime, what qualities in a boon make you excited? Using spoilers (at least for boons found in scenarios), are there any boons that really exemplify what a boon should do?

John Compton
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: The Last of the Evil Horde

Friday, January 3, 2014

We're about two weeks from the official release date of the Wrath of the Righteous set of Pathfinder Battles prepainted plastic figures, which means our previews for this set will soon come to an end. This week we focus on the final six figures in the 55-mini set, leaving next week for a final, triumphant look at the demon lord Deskari, the case-incentive limited edition promotional figure for this set.

Following that, we'll begin to clear away the snow covering our NEXT set, Reign of Winter, but let's not get too far ahead of ourselves for today. Instead, let's take one last look at some of the evil creatures and antagonists in store for you in those Wrath of the Righteous booster packs!

Here we have an Apocalypse Locust, a great-looking figure that actually snuck its way into this set thanks to a mistake we made here at Paizo. You may recognize the locust from the pages of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 4, making it one of the fastest creatures to make the leap from a bestiary to a miniature in the whole time we've been doing this. That's because the Apocalypse Locust was actually supposed to be a different locust demon, the equally hideous Derakni Demon from page 43 of Pathfinder Campaign Setting: The Worldwound. The Derakni, as servants of the locust demon lord Deskari, arch-demon of the Wrath of the Rightous campaign, are prevalent monsters throughout the Adventure Path. Somewhere behind the scenes (I blame myself), we mixed up our locust demons, and the wrong one made it into the set. Happily, both the Apocalypse Locust and the Derakni Demon are the same size, and look quite similar (hence our mistake), so the error resulted in a more or less perfect proxy (I personally think the Apocalypse Locust looks cooler). There will not be a Derakni Demon figure in this set—an oversight I hope to fix as soon as I can slip one into a future set. Until then, we've got this guy, who really is all kinds of cool. The Apocalypse Demon is a Large, uncommon figure.

Speaking of Pathfinder Campaign Setting: The Worldwound, our friend the Grimslake here comes from that very same reference book! Grimslakes are nauseating creatures that dwell on Abyssal battlefields, feeding from the demonic dead. Those suckers on its tail can suck the bone marrow from your body, so you really don't want to get too close to these things. This is up there on the list of the most disturbing figures we've made to date, and it makes a perfect proxy for any kind of gross worm monster you might need. The Grimslake is a Large, uncommon figure.

This former paladin now serves the dark powers of the Abyss and plays a critical role in the campaign's second adventure, Sword of Valor. And I honestly can't tell you much more than that without including major spoilers, so I'll leave it at saying he is probably the best dwarf figure we've done to date, and his armor and paint scheme make him great to pair with the Deskari Cultist we previewed many many weeks ago. Staunton Vhane is a rare, Medium figure.

Not all demons are enormous monsters with giant claws and huge fangs. Some of them, in fact, are rather alluring. Such is the case with Nocticula, demon lord of assassins, darkness, and lust. She was the first succubus and a full-on demigoddess in her own right, and the bad news is that the player characters may have to fight her. The good news is, you'll have the perfect mini for the job. Nocticula stands about a head higher than most Medium figures, giving her a sense of gravitas on the battlefield. WizKids did a great job on the fine details of this figure, from the intricate hand crossbow to the magical runes etched into her wings. She also has three tails and feet made of red-hot magma. Nocticula is a Medium figure slated at the rare rarity.

We probably won't do another demonic familiar after this set (or all that many demons in general—at least for a while), but when we saw Wayne Reynolds's art for this little bastard on the cover of Pathfinder #78 we couldn't resist bringing him to prepainted plastic to faithfully serve his master, whom we'll get to in a moment. Gimcrak here is more than an ordinary demonic familiar, for he's also a witch's familiar, granting him (and his master) extraordinary powers. He also has an adorable leather mask and some great sculpting for such a small figure. Gimcrak is a Small (really Tiny, but on a Small base for stability) creature slated at the rare rarity.

The last regular-sized figure in the Wrath of the Righteous set is Areelu Vorlesh, the creator of the Worldwound and the demon lord Deskari's most powerful servitor. Arguably, this half-succubus witch/demoniac/archmage (CR 27!) is the "big bad" of the entire Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path, and WizKids has delivered with a great-looking figure. From her metal gauntlet to her looming wings, this figure has a ton of dimensionality to it that makes it a true stand-out. Areelu Vorlesh is a rare, Medium figure, and is very likely the last succubus-type figure we'll make in a long time. Having done about a half-dozen, I'd say we've covered this niche effectively (or uncovered it, if you're in a particularly succubussy mood).

And that's it for the regular figures in the Wrath of the Righteous set! Next week we'll take one last, lingering look at the absolutely enormous Deskari, and then it's off to a set that perfectly matches our cold weather this week.

I hope you all had a great New Year's Eve, and that your holiday celebrations were full of festivity, gaming, and lots of cool miniatures!

We'll see you next week!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Pathfinder of the Month

Friday, January 3, 2014

Hello Pathfinders!

The Pathfinder community is rapidly growing, reaching numbers in the hundreds of thousands, spread all over this great wide world. We thought it would be nice to get to know each other a little better in a new monthly blog called Pathfinder of the Month. Each month, we'll ask a member of our community to tell us a little bit about themselves. We'll feature players, hobby shops, and anyone else helping to make Team Pathfinder awesome.

Since our Customer Service team has the most contact on a daily basis with our community, I asked them who they thought we should feature first, and unanimously John Halpin was at the top of the list. Without further adieu, meet our inaugural Pathfinder of the Month: John Halpin.

Pathfinder of the Month: John Halpin

Hello, all! I'm John Halpin. I started roleplaying with basic Dungeons & Dragons, and I've explored numerous systems including Palladium, Hero System, 2nd and 3rd Edition Dungeons & Dragons, GURPs, the Marvel Super Heroes Role-Playing Game, Earthdawn, Feng Shui, Everway and, of course, Pathfinder. I've been playing for almost 32 years and have been a game master in my own game world for the past quarter century.

I'm active in four tabletop campaigns. As a GM, I run a game that has seen parties ranging from 1st to 30th level (I use the Epic Level Handbook, and am working on converting these character to the Mythic Adventures system). In my other groups, I play a human paladin/ranger of a forgotten deity, an elven warblade (played straight from the Tome of Battle alongside Pathfinder characters), and a redeemed human assassin. I began playing Pathfinder with the alpha release and have advocated the system to all of my friends, often running "one-shot" games for those who haven't yet converted. I also coordinated one of the card game beta tests.

I enjoy a wide variety of games, but I especially enjoy stories of redemption, war-based themes, and moderate levels of magic. Time travel and alternate realities are favorite themes of mine; every so often, I like to run sessions in which we take a break from my normal campaign to play an alternate reality version of the game world with new characters for the PCs. The biggest influences on my gaming style are J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, the Malazan Book of the Fallen series by Steven Erikson, Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels, and Dennis L. McKiernan's Mithgar series, starting with the illustrated Tales from the One-Eyed Crow.

I've been the Paizo "Dream Date" for the Gen Con ENnies award show for the past four years, and attended it with the Paizo staff, and have attended the last four PaizoCons. As a gamer, I believe it's my role to introduce others to the hobby, and I often run introductory adventures for those new to gaming. These sessions have been well received and typically include 6—10 people. I also helped coordinate three Pathfinder gaming days for my semi-local gaming store, Days of Knights, in Newark, Delaware.

Outside of gaming, I enjoy visiting abandoned areas, such as Centralia, Pennsylvania, with my friends, exploring areas that could be inspirations for future games. I'm an avid scuba diver and enjoy Hong Kong action movies. I also spend a lot of time online reading gaming blogs and message boards, including the Paizo boards, mostly as a lurker.

I live with the love of my life, my wife Heather, in New Jersey where we volunteer at a greyhound rescue.

From the Paizo family to yours, Happy New Year!

Jenny Bendel
Marketing Director

PS: If you'd like to nominate a Pathfinder of the Month, or would like to be featured yourself, send a blog of 500 words or less, along with a photo, to press@paizo.com.

Beyond the Labyrinth

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Last time we talked about the adventure in Pathfinder #77: Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth, so this time around on the blog I’m going to share a bit about some of the other features.

Demodands have always seemed like the gross cousins of the other fiends. Fueled by hubris, the thanototic titans tried to make their own servants and worshipers, but only created twisted, foul creatures. In this volume of the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path, we explore the ecology of the demodand in an article by Amanda Hamon. Sean K Reynolds provides a look into the demon lord Baphomet and Robin D. Laws continues Sweet Ichor in the Pathfinder’s Journal. Among other Abyssal threats, the Pathfinder Bestiary contains stats for Baphomet, protectors of the Ivory Labyrinth, and a disgusting new demodand! Everything in the back half of the book can heighten the experience of the adventure, so pick up Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth now!

Illustrations by Johan Grenier. Ekaterina Burmak, and Jon Neimeister.

Adam Daigle
Developer

Superstar 2014: R1 Submissions are Closed, Public Voting is Open!

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Hello, gamers, and welcome back to RPG Superstar 2014! I'm Sean K Reynolds, host of this year's RPG Superstar competition, designer at Paizo, and a judge for the previous four RPG Superstar competitions.

As of 2 PM Pacific time, the Open Call for Round 1 submissions is closed. If you submitted a wondrous item, congratulations and thank you! If you didn't submit a wondrous item, there's always next year!

Now it's time for the public vote. Anyone with an account on Paizo.com can participate in the Round 1 public vote. Just go to the voting page, sign in to your Paizo.com account, and you'll be shown two wondrous items. Take a minute to read both items, then vote on which of the two items you think is better. If you honestly can't decide which item is better, there is a “both items are equal” option, but that actually doesn't help sort items (it's a neutral result in the voting), so use that only as a last resort.

If you see an item that you think breaks the rules of the contest (such as being a copyright violation, such as an item from a novel or movie), contact contest@paizo.com.

Once you've voted, the website will present you with another pair of items to evaluate. You can vote as many times as you like.

You may see your own item—and you're allowed to vote for it. You may see some items come up more than once. As there are hundreds of items submitted to the contest, you might vote many times and still not see all of the items. You might want to save a copy of items you'd like to use in your game, or items you want to talk about later.

Your participation in the voting process is use and critical for the success of RPG Superstar. For the 2013 competition, over 500,000 votes were cast by hundreds of voters. Just like we did last year, we'll be awarding people who vote 100, 500, 1000, or 5000 times with custom message board titles (Star Voter, Dedicated Voter, Marathon Voter, Champion Voter) as our thanks for participating in the voting process.

Over time, these numerous votes sort all the wondrous item submissions into a hierarchy. At the top of that hierarchy are the items which got upvoted more often than any item they were paired with, and at the bottom are the items which got downvoted more often than any item they were paired with. (The Paizo tech team may cull the lowest-voted items partway through the voting period so voters can focus on the evaluating the highest-voted items.)

At the end of the public voting period (January 14, 2014), our panel of judges will look over the highest-voted items and select the Top 32. We announce the Top 32 on January 21, and the authors of those items proceed to Round 2: Create a Bestiary Entry!

Good luck, competitors! And thanks in advance, voters!

Vote now!

Sean K Reynolds
Host, Designer, Former RPG Superstar Judge

The Cloak of Belonging

by Chris Willrich

Chapter 1: A Vagabond and a Gentleman

The clank and whir of infernal machinery called Gideon Gull back from the music of the spheres. At first he thought the din was dragging him down to Hell, but in a way it was worse. He woke up on the Dog's Teeth.

As he sorted the mechanical noise from the pulse of his throbbing head, Gull's namesakes scattered around him, foiled in their efforts to pry last night's crusty bread from his death-grip. Since making a home on these coastal islands, Gull had become used to the squawking scavengers. They were an honest crowd of greedyguts, and their voices possessed a kind of desperate music. In any case, he liked them better than his human and near-human neighbors.

Better get up, Gideon, he thought, before one of those neighbors knifes you.

The thought was a prophetic one, for when Gull rose blinking in the tentative gray dawn, he saw the dead man.

The corpse and the ongoing mechanical racket were both located across a tide-covered waterway. Gull beheld the dark cloak and sprawled limbs of the former, facedown on the shore. Meanwhile the latter boomed from the high windows of the great castle looming above the body. For a moment Gull had the eerie impression that the carcass was a sacrifice to some clattering stone god.

The mechanical sound ceased, and what passed for silence returned to the Dog's Teeth. Amid the screeches and ripple of waves and the stirrings of work in the harbor city of Cassomir, Gull cast a look over his shoulder, nibbled a bit of the bread in his left hand, swirled the nearly empty bottle in his right. The look reassured him that the various vagabonds and thugs who occupied these islands were either sleeping off the night's adventures or hatching new plans, and that he was unobserved. The bread nearly cut his lips, but the combination of food and pain helped revive his wits. The bottle held just one crimson drop, the same color as the cheerful red hat pictured on the torn label—a reminder of his home in Andoran, a handful of miles and years of broken promises away.

The past was gone. He sucked out the last drop and tossed the bottle. Hands itching for his lost harp, Gideon Gull took another look at the corpse. He shivered from more than the morning chill. That's a nice cloak, he thought.

I'm halfway down the road to dead
Armed with a bottle and crusty bread.
And friend, the best that I can see
Is that you're doing worse than me.

As he walked through the knee-high tidewaters toward the mainland, Gull was already thinking through a tune for his bitter ballad, something spare and sharp, far removed from the celestial sounds of his dream. Once he'd followed such dreams to the bustling squares of Andoran and beyond to the glittering manors of Taldor. Now he'd hit bottom in this border city between, and he was learning that his true nation was the Dog's Teeth outside this Taldan navy town, and his true calling the songs the dogs of the Teeth preferred.

You wore a cloak so fine
I wore a reek of wine.
I'd say our places are reversed,
But dead man, you're no longer cursed...

The sandy shore was covered in a hash-pattern of webbed seagull prints, like a carpet woven by a weaver with a mania for threes. Gull shooed the birds away, and although he looked nothing like his family's emblem, what with his haystack of blond hair and his sun-parched gangly limbs, he could squawk with the best of them.

Alone, he bent over the pale, dark-haired body. He made the sign of the antlers and checked for a pulse. But the man was cold and his spirit gone, and no servant of the good god Erastil clomped forth to gore Gideon Gull. He took this as permission.

For the cloak was indeed beautiful. It reminded Gull of opera cloaks he'd seen in the capital, its strange purple material silky soft but warm to the touch like velvet. Golden designs swirled about it with strange interweaving patterns that drew the eye into endless labyrinths. Even soaked by the waters, the material looked vibrant, and where the dim sunlight had hit it, the cloak was already dry. Only a small rip testified to the violence that occasioned this find. The tear matched a gash in the dead man's shirt, with a deep knife-wound beneath.

Almost as an afterthought did Gull search the man's pockets for coin—gold Andoren sails, oddly enough, and what's more there were six, enough for some high living.

If he was living high, he thought, he should have a nice cloak, torn in the back or not. He put it on.

The wine-haze and dog-tiredness seemed to bleed away like harbor fog beneath the sun. He stood and tied off his cloak in one swift movement. The rocks and sands around him came into sharper focus. Shore-grass twisted on the breeze, and sand fleas danced—and boot steps sloshed and crunched their way to shore.

He turned to see three ruffians approaching from the Teeth.

"Off to the opera, Gull?"

Eutharic is the sneering lieutenant of the lord of the Teeth.

He knew these three, two Taldans named Eutharic and Adamantius, and a wanderer from the Mammoth Lords' lands named Thok. Folk declared Thok got his name from the sound his only real possession—the improbably big tree branch he carried everywhere—made when connecting with a target. They said he rarely failed to produce that sound. It was probably an apocryphal story, but Thok never tried to correct it, nor communicated at all save to grin whenever he had the opportunity to make that sound.

Adamantius was hardly less intimidating. The man was wrapped in salt-brined leather armor, and what one could see of his skin was a strange blend of scars and tattoos, the artwork portraying monstrous claws and tails erupting from the old wounds, as though the depths of Adamantius were akin to the demonic Abyss.

Eutharic was the brains of the trio, a lieutenant of Tarik the Unclean himself, unofficial lord of the Teeth. Eutharic was only unthreatening by comparison with his colleagues. Thin, taller even than the barbarian, the man exhibited nothing overtly menacing other than the clammy calculation written all over his sneering face. It was Eutharic who had spoken, and Gull knew immediately it had been foolish to assume this loot was unobserved.

The smart move now would be to offer the cloak and some coin to Eutharic. Gull would still come out ahead. Maybe he'd even earn a little gratitude from Tarik's organization.

The deal was upon his lips, and his body was starting its descent into the correct amount of cringing, when something peculiar came over him.

Gull stood up straight as a martial flagpole and said, "I might be. I might not. I haven't decided how to enjoy my salvage."

Eutharic looked amazed. "Your salvage? What washes up on the Dog's Teeth is Tarik's salvage. Give it up, minstrel, and sing us a ditty, and maybe Thok'll only thok you once."

Gull knew about now he ought to be placating the man. All the loot and a round of "The Qadiran's Winsome Widow" might save him from some broken bones. But something buried within him, something like good Andoran steel, rebelled.

He thrust out an imperious finger.

"Then you ought to be about Tarik's business, Eutharic, for there are the Dog's Teeth. Here is the very wall of Grayguard Castle, where Gideon Gull has dared to strike. And what Gull has risked his life to claim, Gull keeps."

By the time he reached Gull keeps, his voice was booming nearly as loud as the surf on the outer reaches of the islets and the strand. The ruffians stood amazed; even Thok's eyebrows rose. Gull felt then almost as though he were two individuals: one who blazed with righteous fury at the threat to his lawful salvage, and the other who fully expected to be gutted and crushed beside the corpse at his feet.

"You... what?" managed Eutharic, too startled even to sneer.

Knowing this was his last chance, Gull raised his hands to implore the thugs to break only a few bones.

Yet something deep and dark as his hometown woods reared up snarling in Gull, and told him no.

And as his fingers rose they did not spread in supplication, but began tracing imaginary designs in the air as he'd seen wizards or bards do now and again. Deep in his throat he gurgled out nonsense words thick with consonants. "Mrrglurrg rumdiggity belchighast blurff! Glark-snaarfl aftblast gassbaggen floof!"

"It's a spell," shouted Eutharic, rushing three paces back, and Adamantius and Thok followed suit, the first crouching low to present a smaller target, the second cursing with the old contempt of his people for civilization and its wizardry. For there was yet about Gideon Gull the reputation of a bard, for all that he'd never truly mastered bardic lore, let alone bardic magic.

Astonished that his bluff had worked, Gull bowed, tossed a gold coin over the trio's heads, and ran like a corsair in a fair wind.

Gull did not stop to scream over the toe he stubbed while rounding the castle wall and scrambling over the breakwater into the town. Nor did he take much notice of his surroundings until he was gasping in the stone streets of the district of Grayguard's Shadow near the Admiral's Barbershop and attracting the stares of two constables.

Little good could come of such attention, so Gull staggered into the shop, struggling to breathe normally. Familiar faces looked up. Though Gull was not a frequent customer, sometimes he came here to sing a shanty or two and earn a shave for his trouble.

He expected a friendly grunt from Bosun Rack the barber, curt indifference from the Taldan sailor in the chair, and easy waves from the laborers waiting for shaves. Instead he got immediate attention.

"Mr. Gull," said Bosun Rack, pausing with his cream-dabbed blade in the air, sounding as if he still had two arms and was serving aboard ship. "What can we do for you?"

Gull searched the tone for sarcasm and found none. The laborers straightened in their chairs. The sailor, half-shaved, sat up, studied Gull, and said, "You seem to be in a hurry, sir. Perhaps you'd like to go first?"

Gull felt as stupefied as the thugs he'd just left behind. But with constables watching outside, he thought a shave would be a good choice about now. He thanked the sailor and sat down, saying, "Nothing fancy, Bosun. Don't want to put on airs."

Bosun Rack brushed cream onto Gull's face and chuckled.

"Full shave, please," Gull said meekly. Bosun Rack was acting as though Gull were still a noted musician, the toast of the capital even, not a washed-up minstrel in a military town. This was becoming an odd day indeed. Maybe the strange mechanical noises of dawn had disturbed everyone's dreams, left them funny in the head. Soon his companions would notice the reek rising from his clothes. The sailor cleared his throat—here it came.

"Begging your pardon," the sailor said, "but are you singing at the admiral's birthday party? It's tonight, you know."

"I... had not planned to."

"Oh, well. That singer, Corvine Gale—didn't you used to do duets? She'll be there, I hear."

Bosun Rack finished the shave while Gull blinked his surprise, and insisted on washing and trimming Gull's hair too, a task fit for a combat veteran. The thought of Corvine darted through Gull's mind like a crow diving for corn. She'd been about the last good thing to happen to him. And like all good things, it had ended it badly. Bosun Rack ended too, by cajoling Gull for a song.

So Gull entertained the group with a rendition of "What Shall We Do with a Sober Sailor?" and the tapping and hooting brought the constables inside. They tapped and hooted too, and clapped Gull on the back as he left. Gull smiled, bowed, and got away from the barbershop before their sea-fevers broke.

What was happening here? By odds he ought to be locked up or bleeding. One thing was sure, he had gold in his pocket, and close by the castle was no place to spend it. He needed a good meal—and perhaps some paid companionship? He hummed a tune as his feet took him toward the rowdier district of Admiral's Fen, in search of the sign of the twisted-tailed mermaid.

Half-dead man with a dead man's cloak
Where do you think you're going?
Pocket full of gold from a man that's cold
Dead on this fine morning?
Off to the Admiral's Fen, my friend
Where streets are ripe and muddy
'Cause dead man's gold is better sold
For wine than left all bloody.
Half-dead man with a dead man's cloak
Do you not have pity?
Well, I'm still alive with gold coins five
And I'm busy with the living.
And I'm busy with the living.

He was not fool enough to drink at this hour, of course, and the gold he offered the barkeep at the Knotty Mermaid wasn't bloody. Nor was Gull a murderer as his new song implied. Nevertheless he resolved not to sing it here. One coin bought him eggs and sausages and bread and a seat beside the common room's sunnier windows. The windows were of straightened and polished strips of ram's horn, which let the light bleed in all golden and glorious but more importantly kept Gull hidden from the street. A return to the Dog's Teeth was surely unwise, and Gull would have to find somewhere else to live. Homeless men in Cassomir had a way of getting press-ganged. The Knotty Mermaid had rooms, but Tarik's operation had fingers in Admiral's Fen. Perhaps Gull could sing in the streets up in Abbey Green. He was feeling energized, with many new ideas for songs. Something peculiar was happening.

From outside, the voice of Eutharic cut through Gull's thoughts. "Word is," Tarik's man was saying, "there's a foreign agent in there."

"Indeed?" said a haughty voice. "We'll handle it."

Knowing some sort of officialdom was entering the inn, Gull hastened to the bar and used his new line of credit to get quill, ink, and paper from the tavern keeper. "Of course, Master Gull," said the man. There was no irony, no sarcasm. There were no complaints about his stench from the shipwrights preparing for a long Toilday. It was almost as if Gull were a respectable citizen.

As if in answer to that thought, a group of sailors strode into the Knotty Mermaid, all dressed in mismatched rich clothing, and their leader did indeed have a whiskered chin. This motley crew received a rousing spontaneous toast from the laborers, for it appeared they were among the corsairs who operated out of Cassomir. Gull belatedly lifted his tankard of water, but he drew attention as the privateers claimed a table.

He tried to ignore their stares and focused on his work. If he appeared to be just what he really was—a musician come into some luck—perhaps all would be well.

So he worked out the details of the dark ballad that had rattled through his mind since seeing the cloak's dead owner. Gull had no superstitions about projecting himself into his work, and gleefully put his narrator into a noose. He'd not worked this swiftly in a long time. Why had he not composed more? It only went to show that fooling yourself you were a musician was easier if you did it every day. Only the conversation of the corsairs impeded him, for he caught distracting snatches of talk from their table.

"Wrong wrong wrong," the bearded man was saying, and Gull knew him for the man who'd spoken with the thug Eutharic outside. "You're all wrong. I'm wrong too, but I look better when I do it."

There were chuckles from the shipyard workers. More came in, and waved at the corsairs.

"I'm just saying," answered one of seamen, "the Chelish are chumps. Making a pact with Hell, well it's about as stupid as getting a loan from my uncle Wulf."

"No, no," said the bearded man, "the Chelish are just recognizing their true value. Look, a Taldan vessel is worth, what, ten Chelish ships?"

There were snarls of agreement.

"And a Taldan corsair is worth any ten Chelish fighting men?"

There was laughing affirmation.

"And a Taldan lady in bed is worth any ten Chelish women in bed?"

That gave the men a moment's hard consideration, but patriotism won out.

"And so," concluded the bearded man, "while any of us would think our souls a matter of high price, for a Chelaxian it may not be much to speak of. 'My soul for a pint! My soul for a chair by the window! My soul for sausages and a good cloak!'"

The corsairs' laugher had a pointedness to it, and Gull snapped out of his ballad (sometimes you got to do, he was writing, what you got to rue) and realized the pirates believed they were goading him. He looked up, bewildered. They were all looking back at him, expectantly.

"I am sorry, good sir," said the bearded man with a deep nod. "I did not mean to offend. I merely wished to cheer these good sailors after their hard weeks harrying foreign merchantmen. Why, just three days ago they sank a Ch—ah, but again I risk offense." He smiled, and made a fair impression of a dandified crocodile.

"Excuse me," Gull said. "You believe me to be Chelish?"

The smile stayed fixed as a steady blade. "You are not, sir?"

Anger flushed in Gideon Gull. "You speak to a free man of Andoran. Many a Chelish bottom still wears the imprint of Andoren boots."

That earned laughter from the other tables. The corsairs glanced around them in surprise. Their leader narrowed his eyes. "I could have sworn that cloak was of Chelish make."

"Perhaps. Do you not also wear clothes taken from Cheliax? Or from Qadira, Osirion, or Nex? Or, dare I say it, from Andoran?"

"The sea provides," said the leader, scratching his bearded chin as though sizing up an attack.

So it does, Gull thought, pulling his cloak tighter around him. "Our lands are not at war, and I may overlook the presence of a familiar style of red hat on one of your companions, my friend. But do not insult me again by calling me Chelish. I may be a fool, but I am not a damned fool."

The shipyard workers rewarded him with laughter and a few raised mugs. This response clearly annoyed the bearded man, who was used to adulation. That made Gull smile. He decided to finish things off. "Let me buy the heroes of Cassomir a round."

The privateers seemed rather appreciative, and the one with the red hat tipped it to Gull, but their leader's face became more set, his gaze more appraising. "Sebastian Tambour takes what he wants. He needs no bribe from foreign agents."

Gull knew the same Sebastian Tambour. The man was first mate on the Happenstance, the current flagship of Jean Coromant's crew of corsairs, who operated out of Cassomir with the full blessing of Taldor.

As with his encounter with the trio at the Dog's Teeth, Gull knew he really ought to be quaking now. Instead he was furious.

In an exaggerated rendition of Tambour's voice, Gull said, "Sebastian Tambour has a stick up his backside. Sebastian Tambour is too proud to let his men drink."

Now the guffaws spread to Tambour's own table.

The man stood. "I will show you a stick, dog. Let us settle this outside, like men."

"I will be glad to do so," said Gull, turning away and taking a long swig, "as soon as any men arrive."

The laughter was this time confined to the laborers, as the corsairs all frowned at the jibe.

So it was that the whole group descended on Gull.

Slammed into the table, his already-aching head concluding that whatever new confidence had bewitched him this day had not made him a skilled combatant, he punched and wriggled in a futile attempt to escape.

All at once he was dropped and fell with a thud upon the floor.

The tavern had rallied to his defense.

The laborers had set upon the corsairs—the very heroes of Cassomir—with fists and mugs and plates and candlesticks. The barkeep was gesturing him over. Gull scrambled on all fours behind the bar.

"Quickly, man," said the owner. "The fog's rolled in. If you get out by the roof, you'll likely escape. They're just drunk, I'm sure, else they'd not have preyed upon a fine gentleman adventurer like yourself. You'll be safe once they sleep it off."

"Yes, yes," Gull said, "of course. Lead the way, good man."

They ascended the stairs and the owner unlatched and shoved a creaky window and worked a hand-crank to extend a plank toward a neighboring building.

"This sort of thing happens often?" said Gull.

"Many of my clients need a discreet escape route. I have an arrangement with the neighboring landlord."

Gull fished out one of his gold pieces, handed it to the man. "Gideon Gull will remember you," Gull said. The barkeep winked and shooed him out the door.

Gideon Gull stepped outside into mist and mystery.

Gideon Gull, gentleman adventurer, that is. He liked the sound of that. This cloak had brought him luck. He wrapped it tighter around himself and fled across the rooftops.

Coming Next Week: An uncomfortable reunion in Chapter Two of Chris Willrich's "The Cloak of Belonging."

Dive into more adventures with Gideon Gull in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust!

Chris Willrich is the author of the Pathfinder Tales novel The Dagger of Trust. He is a former children's librarian best known for his sword-and-sorcery tales of Gaunt and Bone, which have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction and elsewhere, and which continue in the novels The Scroll of Years (Pyr, 2013) and The Silk Map (forthcoming). Chris lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family. Visit his website at www.chriswillrich.com.

Illustration by Glen Osterberger