Wizard Class Preview

Monday, May 21, 2018

With Paizocon getting underway in just a few days, we wanted to round out our previews by looking at the final class that you will be able to play at the show. So, without further delay, it's time to look at the wizard!

Wizard Features

If you are building a wizard, everything starts with your key ability, Intelligence. Having a high Intelligence gives you a boost to the DCs of your spells, and it gives you more skill choices at 1st level.

At 1st level, you begin play with a spellbook containing 10 cantrips and eight 1st-level spells, giving you a wide variety of spells to draw upon when you prepare your magic each morning. Starting out, you can prepare four cantrips and two 1st-level spells each day. In addition, you also select your arcane school at 1st level, which grants you one extra spell slot of each level that you can use only to prepare a spell from your chosen school. You can compare this to the cleric, who doesn't get extra spell slots, but instead gets a narrow ability to cast extra heal or harm spells. Your school also grants you a school power that you can cast using a pool of Spell Points. Take a look at the nifty power you can pick up from choosing divination as your school. (Remember, that [[A]] code you see indicates that this is an action, and it will be a snazzy icon in the final rulebook!)

DIVINER'S SIGHT

Concentrate, Divination, Fortune

Casting [[A]] Verbal Casting

Range 30 feet; Targets one willing living creature

Duration end of your next turn or until dismissed

You glimpse into the target's future. Roll a d20. When the target attempts a Perception check, saving throw, or skill check, it can use the number you rolled instead of rolling, and the spell is dismissed. Casting it again dismisses any active diviner's sight.

Even if you don't roll so great, it might still help avoid a critical failure on a vital saving throw.

You can forgo selecting an arcane school, instead choosing to be a universalist. This grants you a bonus wizard feat and extra uses of your arcane focus.

Speaking of which, all wizards gain the ability to place some of their power into a designated item called an arcane focus. You can drain the power from that focus once per day to cast any one spell that you have already cast without spending another spell slot. Universalists get to use this ability once for each level of spell that they can cast!

As a wizard goes up in level, they gain more spells that they can cast (either one extra spell of their highest level, or two of a new level) and their proficiency at spellcasting also increases. They start as trained, but rise to the rank of legendary at 19th level.

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Wizard Feats

Wizards have never had too many class features to choose from to help distinguish them from one another, so when it came time to design feats for the wizard, it was a clear opportunity to add some variety to the class.

Lets start out with a few classic concepts. At 1st level, you can pick up a feat that allows you to spend your reaction to counterspell any spell someone else casts as long as you currently have that spell prepared. If that isn't to your taste, you can take a wizard feat to recruit a familiar instead. Every day, you can select a pair of abilities to give this loyal companion, some of which grant you boons as well. At high levels, your familiar can even grant you an additional spell slot, as long as it is 3 levels lower than the highest-level spell you can cast. At 8th level you can select from a series of feats that enhance the power of your arcane school, increasing your pool of Spell Points and granting you an extra spell you can cast using that pool. One of my favorites is the necromantic power called life siphon, which lets you draw some of the magic from a non-cantrip necromancy spell you cast to regain 1d8 Hit Points per level of the spell.

Not surprisingly, the wizard also has a lot of feats to choose from that modify the spells that you cast. While many of these metamagic feats will be familiar to veterans of the game, allowing you to extend the reach or widen the area of a spell, for example, others are new. Conceal Spell lets you add an action to a spell as you cast it to hide the fact that you are casting. Focus Conservation is an action you can add to any spell that you cast by draining your arcane focus, and it lets you drain your arcane focus again the next round, casting another spell as long as it is 2 levels lower than the spell you just cast. Better still, you can keep using this feat as long as you have lower-level spells to cast. For example, if you start out draining your focus to cast cone of cold (a 5th-level spell dealing a wicked 11d6 cold damage to all your enemies), you could follow it up next round with a fireball. If you use the feat again, you could drain focus again on the following round, casting any 1st-level spell you had already cast.

As a wizard rises to the highest levels of power, their feats grant them more and more options when determining how to best utilize their spells. Effortless Concentration gives you a free action at the start of each round to concentrate on a spell you have cast, freeing you up to use all 3 actions normally. Superior Focus gives you another use of your arcane focus. Quick Preparation lets you swap out spells you have already prepared in just 10 minutes. At 20th level, you can pick Spell Combination, which lets you combine two spells into one terrifying attack that you can unleash on one unfortunate foe.

Spells

One of the biggest ways you can customize your wizard is in your spell selection, so it's probably worth looking at a few signature wizard spells to see how they work. Let's start with one of the most iconic spells of them all.

MAGIC MISSILE SPELL 1

Evocation, Force

Casting [[A]] Verbal Casting or more

Range 120 feet; Targets one creature

You send a dart of force streaking toward a creature that you can see. It automatically hits and deals 1d4+1 force damage. When Casting this Spell, you can increase the casting by a Material Casting action, a Somatic Casting action, or both. For each component you add, increase the number of missiles you shoot by one. You choose the target for each missile individually.

Heightened (+2) You shoot one additional missile with each action you spend.

Magic missile shows off a couple of interesting options in the wizard's arsenal. Casting a spell can be done in a number of ways using a variable number of actions. While most of the time this is through metamagic feats, it can also come from the spell itself. Adding casting actions to magic missile gives you more missiles to throw. In addition, a wide variety of spells can be prepared using a higher-level spell slot, giving you a better effect without having to refer to an entirely different spell. (You can find out more about that in the All About Spells blog.) That means you can prepare magic missile as a 9th-level spell and spend three actions casting it for 15 missiles!

Another important aspect of picking spells for your wizard is to balance what saving throws they allow and what effects you can get depending on the results of the save. For that, let's take a look at a spell that might instantly kill a foe.

PHANTASMAL KILLER SPELL 4

Death, Emotion, Fear, Illusion, Mental

Casting [[A]] Somatic Casting, [[A]] Verbal Casting

Range 120 feet; Targets one living creature

You create a phantasmal image of the most fearsome creature imaginable to the target. Only the spell's target can see the killer, though you can see the vague shape of the illusion as it races forth to attack. The effect of the killer is based on the outcome of the target's Will saving throw.

Success The target is frightened 1.

Critical Success The target is unaffected.

Failure The target takes 8d6 mental damage and is frightened 2.

Critical Failure The target is so afraid it might instantly die. It must attempt a Fortitude saving throw; if the target fails, it is reduced to 0 Hit Points and dies. On a successful Fortitude save, the target still takes 12d6 mental damage, is fleeing until the end of its next turn, and is frightened 4.

Heightened (+1) The damage on a failure increases by 2d6 and on a critical failure by 3d6.

This spell is perfect for removing a lower-level foe from a fight, but it has the chance of greatly hampering a higher-level foe as well. The frightened condition reduces by 1 each turn, but it applies a penalty to almost all of your checks and rolls until it does. You will find interesting choices like these throughout the arcane spell list. While most will be familiar to a Pathfinder veteran, there are a lot of new spells to explore as well, from grim tendril to chromatic wall, so your wizard will be ready for anything.

Well, that wraps up our look at the wizard. If you want to give this class (or the alchemist, cleric, fighter, paladin, or rogue) a try, make sure to stop by PaizoCon (this weekend), the UK Games Expo (early June), or Origins (mid-June), as we'll be running demos during all three conventions!

Jason Bulmahn
Director of Game Design

Note: Due to PaizoCon, there will not be a Pathfinder Playtest Blog on Friday, May 25th or Monday, May 28th.

Gaby's Best Character Ever: Ezren

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Greetings, dear readers! I know there's been a rash of these "So-and-So's Best Character Ever" blogs going around, but all of them have been lies. LIES! And on this most frabjous of days, I'm here to tell you which PACG character is actually the best. For real cats this time.

It's Ezren!!! If you know me, you probably saw that coming. I love old people, especially the curmudgeonly sorts. I can identify with them. If you don't know me, let me illustrate my point. When you sit down to play a cooperative game, are you there to make friends and help people? Oh, you are? That's lovely. Not me. I mean, it's kind of a miracle you got me to sit down to a cooperative game in the first place (how can I crush you if we're on the same team?), but you can bet if you did, I'm gonna be real Ezren about it.

What exactly does "be real Ezren about it" mean? Basically, I'm there to pick up some sweet spells, blow up some monster faces (I sure hope the number of faces to heads is a 1:1 ratio), and generally be a badass. I'm not there to give you a d4 when you need to do better, and I'm not there to cure you. You shouldn't need curing. Stop taking damage. Learn to be old and tough, like Ezren!

Have you checked out Ezren's card list? And starting powers? SPELL ALL THE THINGS! Choo choo magic train!!! If you set your deck up right and go to the right locations, you'll be an unstoppable exploration machine. And yeah, Ezren may have a couple allies, but let's be honest, he doesn't give a hoot who they are. He just needs them to get some more explorations in case cards that have the Magic trait are scarce. As far as Ezren is concerned, those "friends" can go right in the woodchipper.

And those roles! Add to your checks with spells! Add to your checks to get spells! Add to your checks to recharge your cards! BE UNSTOPPABLE. With a blast blast here and a blast blast there, here a blast, there a blast, everywhere a BOW TO EZREN, FOOLS! And if straight-up blasting isn't your style, there's always the tricksy illusion side of Ezren. Not to mention the roles you can get with the Wizard Class Deck version of Ezren. Ch-ch-ch-check 'em out!

So, I made a big fuss about Ezren not being here to make friends or help people and to me, he'll never be a grandfatherly-type wizard. But the Ezren from the Class decks is a little more friendly. Also, HAVE YOU SEEN THAT TRANSMOGRIFIER TRANSMOGRIFYING? That's not a monster, it's a teapot! Hand size 6? I think you mean hand size 10! This boon? NO! That boon! There's also that Hedge Wizard, the most helpful Ezren of all. That's right, I said it. Helpful Ezren. Ermahgerd. You know what that means, right? Ezrens helping Ezrens. COWER IN FEAR, MORTALS!

Another lovely aspect of Ezren is that he cares about blessings about as much as he cares about your feelings. Other characters rely on their blessings like amateurs rely on their queen during a chess game. Ain't nobody got time for gods, least of all Ezren. He's making up for lost time and exploring the world, and he won't get bogged down by deities or their zealots. Word on the street is that Ezren is making a comeback in Mummy's Mask, and that he might have some blessings this time around. Of course, he has no interest in Divine blessings.

Alright folks, you've spent enough time reading about why I think Ezren is the best. Now you should go get all the versions of Ezren you can get your hands on. (In case you were wondering, that's four—two roles from Runelords, and two from the Wizard Class Deck. YOU COULD BE FOUR DIFFERENT EZRENS ALL AT ONE TIME!) Why are you still sitting here? Get off my lawn, and go play some PACG!

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

Some of the PACG folks were at Origins this past week. Wave to Tanis, Chad, Mike, and Paul, readers! They worked super hard all week and received some fancy loot! SHINY!

Type: Loot
Check to Acquire: Be awesome!
Powers: Reveal this card to add 2d12 to your anything.

Anyway, we're real excited to have something that will allow us to make "it was Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the Vanguard Award" jokes. Thanks so much for all your support! Our game wouldn't be in the place it is without all of you... or without Ezren. We should probably all just thank Ezren for this. He is the best, after all.

Gaby Weidling
Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Developer

Ultimate Campaign Art Preview!

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The release of Pathfinder Roleplaying Game: Ultimate Campaign is getting ever closer. Whether it's kingdom-building or leading an army, starting a business or crafting magic items, Ultimate Campaign is for all of the adventures that take place outside of the dungeon. The pages of the newest Pathfinder Roleplaying Game hardcover provide all kinds of useful information for your campaign, but many fantastic illustrations are contained within! Check some of them out!

Being a ruler has many responsibilities, but also many rewards.

Eidolons and other companion creatures are more fun when treated as a separate character rather than an obedient stat block.

Retraining rules allow you to replace a feat, change an ability score increase, or improve your hit points.

The quest to find a missing family member is a driving force for many heroes.

The section on marriage talks about how a spouse (or any relationship) can be an ally or an adversary.

Illustrations by Sam Burley, Eric Belisle, Lydia Schuchmann, and Maichol Quinto

Kingdom-building rules allow PCs to control their own country—or be the power behind the throne.

Followers, apprentices, and similar companions can be positive or negative plot hooks for a PC.

A character's lineage is a chain of characters linking a PC to the history of the campaign setting.

Illustrations by Denman Rooke, Jim Nelson, and Grafit Studio

Ultimate Campaign releases this May, preorder your copy today!

Sarah Robinson
Senior Art Director

Pathfinder Battles Heroes & Monsters Preview: Getting Into Character

Friday, October 14, 2011

Things are moving rapidly on the Pathfinder Battles front! This week, our partners at WizKids sent us 13 pre-production samples from December’s Heroes & Monsters 40-miniature set. These figures are very similar to the final production-run, so we’re within 95% of the final look of the miniatures. These figures are not yet attached to bases, but beyond that, they’re pretty close to done. We’ve spent the last couple days looking over every millimeter of these miniatures, getting our final feedback to WizKids so they can make minor adjustments before the figures start coming off the production line.

For today’s blog, I thought it would be fun to show off brand new photographs of three of these miniatures. Unlike the monsters we revealed last week, these three figures are designed to represent NPCs and player characters, and each belongs to a race and class found in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game.

Our first miniature is the sneaky Human Rogue. This little guy wears a long, dark cloak with a cute pointed hood, but his hidden short sword shows he means business. This figure doubles as a good urban thug or even an assassin.

Next we’ve got an Elf Wizard, caught in the act of casting a deadly spell. Though it doesn’t come through particularly well in the photograph, the elf’s robes have a neat color gradient that blends from bluish-gray at the shoulders down to purple at the hem of the robe.

Lastly we have a Human Druid from the deep jungles of the Mwangi Expanse. Who knows what powerful ritual is inscribed on her huge scroll? As much as I like this picture, it’s difficult to appreciate the detail on this figure without holding it in your hand. With metallic blue shards hanging from the strap on her side to the cool texture of her hair, this is a fantastic-looking miniature.

There you have it. Three adventurers ready for your game table, and we haven’t even gotten to the set’s iconic character yet!

All three of these figures are at the Uncommon rarity. Next week I’ll reveal more of the preproduction samples, and I’ll also list several more Uncommons we have planned for the Heroes & Monsters set.

See you in seven days!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Ezren, in the Flesh

Thu, Aug 4, 2011 at 02:01 PM Pacific

If you were here, you could see up close and personal just how good this looks: the paint master of Ezren, from the Pathfinder Beginner Box Heroes Miniatures Set. (Photo by Jason Bulmahn.)

Gary Teter
Software Developer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play Part XI: Pick Your Pace

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Well, loyal Pathfinders, I have returned from a weeklong adventure in which I conducted an ancient ritual at the prophesied time to eternally bond me with an intelligent magic item of incredibly high Charisma that now occupies my left ring slot. And whether the Rapture came or not, I'm in heaven (though there's little time to take in the sights as we scramble to get the finishing touches on all the great new Pathfinder Society material debuting at PaizoCon in little more than a week).

But enough about me and my new cohort (or am I the cohort?). Let's talk about one of the biggest changes coming to Pathfinder Society Organized Play next year: variable advancement tracks!

Illustration by Maichol Quinto

Currently, all Pathfinder Society PCs level at the same rate: 3 XP to level up, which breaks down to three scenarios per level, or at the most 37 scenarios between character creation and retirement after a completed 12th-level adventure arc. For someone playing only a handful of scenarios a year at large conventions, this means they can play the same PC for years and years and still feel like they're actually getting something out of those few sessions they play at Gen Con or PaizoCon annually. But for players who participate in the campaign on even a bi-weekly basis, they will have leveled a character from inception to near retirement in just over a single year.

We’ve listened to the feedback, and feel there's a simple solution already present in our rules system. The Pathfinder Roleplaying Game includes several different advancement tracks to allow GMs to run their campaigns at the pace that works best for them and their players. While most of our products to date assume the medium advancement track, some groups prefer using the fast or slow progressions to move more quickly to higher-level play or to savor each step along the way to 20th level. Pathfinder Society Organized Play will be implementing a similar optional advancement track beginning in Season 3.

Players who enjoy the three-scenario-per-level pace don’t need to do anything. For you, nothing will change. But for those who want a slower progression, you can opt instead to move at half-speed, earning only 1/2 XP, 1/2 the total maximum gold, and a maximum of 1 Prestige Point per scenario. Because the net gain per level will be the same whether you use the slow track over six adventures or the normal track over three, PCs will be able to choose which progression they'll use for their next level each time they gain a level.

In addition to allowing individuals to operate at their own pace, this plan should allow small home groups or even growing store and convention groups to cooperate to ensure that higher-level PCs slow down enough for new players or replacement characters to catch up, condensing the level spread to make things easier for event coordinators. I'm sure there are other benefits to these new options that we haven't even thought of in-house yet. What most excites you about this new development?

Be sure not to miss next week's Monday blog for a look at the fifth of the existing factions: the decadent empire of Taldor. Anyone who's already played The Dalsine Affair likely already has an idea of at least one change that will be coming to this faction—a change that players of the four new scenarios at PaizoCon are likely to notice right away.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Adventure Begins Here!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The first RPG product I ever purchased came in a red box, with a fighter laying the smack down on a red dragon. I was 12 and I've never stopped gaming since. I suspect that this fall some young whippersnappers will see this Beginner Box, pick it up, and begin their own journey into this great hobby of ours. With this amazing art from Wayne Reynolds, how can they not? And what can you do to make their journey easier?

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Illustration by Kieran Yanner

Ultimate Magic: Witches and Wizards

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

This week's theme is witches and wizards: two new familiars, two new patron themes, and two arcane discoveries.

New Familiars

The following are two of the many new familiars presented in Ultimate Magic.

Fox    CR 1/4
XP 100
N Tiny animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +8
Defense
AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +2 size)
hp 5 (1d8+1)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +1
Offense
Speed 40 ft.
Melee bite +1 (1d3-1)
Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Statistics
Str 9, Dex 15, Con 13, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 9 (13 vs. trip)
Feats Skill Focus (Perception)
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+10 jumping), Perception +8, Stealth +10, Survival +1 (+5 scent tracking); Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics when jumping, +4 Survival when tracking by scent
Ecology
Environment any
Organization solitary, pair, or skulk (3–12)
Treasure none
Foxes are small, doglike carnivores with narrow snouts and bushy tails. A fox's master gains a +2 bonus on Reflex saves.

Hedgehog    CR 1/8
XP 50
N Diminutive animal
Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +1
Defense
AC 18, touch 17, flat-footed 15 (+3 Dex, +1 natural, +4 size)
hp 2 (1d8–2)
Fort +0, Ref +5, Will +1
Offense
Speed 20 ft.
Space 1 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Statistics
Str 1, Dex 16, Con 6, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB –1; CMD 4 (8 vs. trip)
Feats Athletic
Skills Climb +5, Stealth +19, Swim +5
Ecology
Environment tropical or temperate forests
Organization solitary or pair
Treasure none
Special Abilities
Spiny Defense (Ex) As a move action, a hedgehog can roll itself up into a spiny ball. While rolled up, it gains a +1 enhancement bonus to its existing natural armor, and any creature attempting to grapple the hedgehog takes 1d3 damage on making a grapple check. While rolled up, a hedgehog cannot take any action other than leaving this state. The hedgehog can leave this state as a move action.

Hedgehogs are spiny, insectivorous mammals. When threatened, a hedgehog rolls up into a spiny ball as a defense mechanism. A hedgehog's master gains a +2 bonus on Will saves

Witch Patron Themes

The following are some of the alternative witch patron themes presented in Ultimate Magic.

Healing: 2nd—remove fear, 4th—lesser restoration, 6th—remove disease, 8th—restoration, 10th—cleanse**, 12th—pillar of life**, 14th—greater restoration, 16th—mass cure critical wounds, 18th—true resurrection.
Winter: 2nd—unshakable chill*, 4th—resist energy (cold only), 6th—ice storm, 8th—wall of ice, 10th—cone of cold, 12th—freezing sphere, 14th—control weather, 16th—polar ray, 18th—polar midnight*.

Arcane Discoveries

Arcane discoveries are a new option presented in Ultimate Magic. A wizard can learn an arcane discovery in place of a regular feat or wizard bonus feat.

Fast Study: Normally, a wizard spends 1 hour preparing all of his spells for the day, or proportionately less if he only prepares some spells, with a minimum of 15 minutes of preparation. Thanks to mental discipline and clever mnemonics, you can prepare all of your spells in only 15 minutes, and your minimum preparation time is only 1 minute. You must be at least a 5th-level wizard to select this discovery.
Multimorph (Su): Your studies in transmogrification have increased your control over shapechanging spells. When you cast a spell of the polymorph subschool on yourself, you may expend 1 minute of the spell's duration as a standard action to assume another form allowed by the spell. You can do this as often as you like, subject to the duration of the spell. You must be at least a 5th-level wizard to select this discovery.

Sean K Reynolds
Developer

The Illusionist

by Elaine Cunningham

To Oyamba, High Sun-Mage of the Magaambya, from apprentice and sojourner Bonali Kwazeel.

My lord,

I am well settled at Korvosa's Acadamae, in good health and most grateful for this opportunity to learn the ways of foreign wizards. Most of the first-year magic is familiar ground, but an unexpected lesson was taught to me yesterday by a fellow scholar. Though the story does me no credit, I will nonetheless report it faithfully.

My first impression of the Acadamae was, admittedly, not very favorable. The compound itself is impressively large, a walled city within the city, but the buildings are scattered about in random fashion rather than arranged in a sun-circle to focus power. It is strange to walk streets more twisting and contrary than goat paths, to see water contained in wells rather than free-flowing through the dreamwalk patterns of ancient cisterns. There is no symmetry in the Acadamae, and little beauty. It seemed incredible that magic could be called to such a place.

Still, the school is world-renowned, and I felt one might reasonably expect a certain breadth of knowledge in its scholars. To my surprise, little is known of the Mwangi Expanse. We are all one to these northerners. When they express admiration for my gold ornaments and the thread-art on my garments, their manner suggests an expectation of jangar-skin loin clouts and necklaces of monkey bone. On the whole, however, I found my new peers to be cordial and curious, if only in the hope that I might share some bit of exotic magic, or perhaps some jungle spices more potent than those they currently smoke.

I was assigned quarters with one Jamang Kira, a young man of Korvosa. If you can envision a strutting kimboda rooster, endlessly crowing and preening at his black-and-red plumage, you need no further description of the man. Despite his small stature and irritating ways, he stands near the head of our class and shows promise of becoming a powerful wizard. He is a first-year student, no older than my twenty years, but he spends much of his time ingratiating himself with older, more powerful scholars. One of them is Asmonde Avari.

Rumors flourish in any school. I had thought the Magaambya scholars worse than village gossips, but in the Acadamae whispers wander the halls like the unquiet dead. More than a few of them speak of Jamang's mentor.

Shortly after the dinner hour, Jamang, whom I seldom see before midnight, burst into our shared room. "Asmonde is casting a summoning in his chambers tonight," he announced with great excitement. "He allows a few friends to observe. You should come with me."

I put down the herbs I was grinding for the morrow's potions class and turned to face him. "Were I tired of living, I would gladly accompany you."

A smile bent one side of his mouth. "Asmonde is ambitious," he admitted, "and he does tend to overreach. Even so, his reach is long. We could learn much from him."

	"The Korvosans have little knowledge of the grand traditions of southern magic."

With difficulty, I suppressed a shudder. The summoning of demons and devils is bad enough, to my way of thinking. For a mere student to summon devils more powerful than most wizards can contain is hubris. Rumors whispered tales of earlier failed attempts. It was said that most of his family's wealth had gone to shielding him from the consequences of these failings. That Asmonde kept on with these summonings, despite the devastation he'd already wrought, was incredible to me.

To my surprise, Jamang did not press me. He reached for the small pot of herbs I'd just crushed. I caught his wrist before he could raise the pot to his nose.

"That is zumalli," I explained as I carefully reclaimed my property. "It is like mosswort in tincture, but far stronger."

Enlightenment flowed into his small black eyes. "No wonder you best me in potions class," he murmured. "You've access to plants most of us have never heard of. Stronger than mosswort, you say?"

I nodded. "Had you inhaled the volatile oils, you would have become confused and sleepy."

Jamang strode over to the little cabinet where I kept my pots and vials. "And this one?" he demanded, pointing to a jar of snakevine sap.

"Greatly diluted, it is a powerful restorative. In its current state, it is green-death. Deadly poison."

He stared at me, clearly puzzled. "Aren't you concerned that someone might use it?"

A moment passed before his meaning became clear. Horror swept through me like venom.

"That would be... most unwise," I said carefully. "The use of any Mwangi medicinal would swiftly bring the Acadamae's masters to my door."

"My point precisely," he said. "It would be an easy way for a rival student to implicate you."

"Or you." Some instinct I did not quite understand prompted me to add these words. Jamang did not take offense. If anything, he looked amused.

"In that case, we are both safe enough. If Mwangi poison were suspected, a magical enquiry would quickly establish our innocence."

I thought that would be the end of the matter, but Jamang reached for the setoli sitting atop my cabinet.

"This is a spirit house, yes? A protection against evil?"

The observation surprised me, since Jamang had shown little interest in Mwangi customs before. The reason for his inquiry came to me suddenly.

"I am not sure whether it could contain a devil," I said candidly. "That is not its intended purpose."

He nodded as if he'd been expecting this answer. "If I thought it would come to that, I wouldn't ask. Asmonde promised he would take every precaution known to him. Asmonde is good, but I'd feel better if magic not known to him were guarding the perimeter."

This was a side of Jamang I had not seen. It was clearly difficult for him to ask this favor of me, but his concern for his friend outweighed his pride. I'd dismissed him as vain and shallow, concerned about no one but himself. He was a better man than I'd credited him, and I was ashamed to have judged him unfairly.

All the same, I locked up my medicinal cabinet before we left.

∗ ∗ ∗

Asmonde Avari met us at the door. I saw at once why Jamang followed him like a hound. Power surrounds some men like shadows and mist. Asmonde stood in a dark cloud of his own creation. He was nearly as tall as me and quite handsome, with the dark hair and pale skin common to Korvosans. There was something about his eyes, however, that I did not like.

Still, he greeted us cordially and showed us where we should stand. His chamber was larger than the one I shared with Jamang, as befitted his years and higher standing. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and a circle surrounded by elaborate runes had been painted onto the floor. Painted, not drawn—a permanent work of art and magic, clearly the product of considerable time and effort and study.

This was unusual, but I must admit that I breathed a little easier. Clearly Asmonde was not quite as reckless as rumor suggested.

Six of us had gathered to observe the casting. At a gesture from Asmonde, we fell silent.

He began the casting, chanting in a voice as resonant with power as an oracle's as he strode slowly around the circle. When he came to a stop, I noticed that there was a small gap in the circle and an empty place where a rune should have been drawn.

Asmonde drew a small knife from his belt and pressed it to his arm. A line of blood welled up. He knelt, still chanting, and closed the circle with his own blood.

I lack the words to describe what happened next. Imagine that thunder and lightning struck simultaneously, yet without sound or light. There was no roar or flash. There was only the devil.

Several moments passed before I recovered from that first shock of power, and even then my mind could hardly encompass what my senses perceived. I have a half-memory, like something from a fading nightmare, of great size and glistening hide and twisted black horns.

I glanced at Jamang. He stood calmly at my side, meeting the devil's gaze without any apparent difficulty. For some reason, that disturbed me more than anything I'd yet seen. I tore my gaze away. It was easier to watch Asmonde as he intoned the chant that would bind the foul being to his will.

But his words faltered. A strange look came over his face, the expression of a man confused, not by some failing of will or intellect, but by some enchantment. Or perhaps even by green-death...

My gaze flew to the knife in Asmonde's hand. It was small and silver, identical to the blades most scholars carried for magical purposes. Substituting another knife—a knife touched with zumalli—would be a simple matter.

Asmonde continued to chant, but he no longer controlled the spell. Blood spattered the floor as words of power tore free of his throat. He rocked back and forth like a man retching himself dry. Closer and closer to the circle he rocked.

Too close.

A great, black-taloned hand snatched Asmonde by the hair. The devil dragged him into the circle and tore his head from his body.

All of us stood frozen, too horror-stricken for thought or action.

Jamang was the first to recover his wits. He slapped the shock from my face and pointed to Asmonde's body, lying half in the circle, a bridge of mortal flesh.

"The spirit house," he shouted. "Contain the devil now, before it crosses over!"

Whatever Jamang's part in this catastrophe might have been, his reasoning now was sound but for one thing: I was not sure my magic could reach into another wizard's circle.

Nor could I risk setting that devil loose.

I gave a curt nod, more to steel myself than to respond to Jamang.

"When I step into the circle, pull the body out," I said. "Then run for help."

Not waiting for a response, I leaped into the circle, brandishing the spirit house and shouting the word that would activate it.

At least, I think I shouted it. Any sound I might have made disappeared into the devil's shriek. A terrible wind buffeted me with blistering heat and a roar like the screaming of tortured souls. How long it went on, I could not say, for when two of the Acadamae's masters stepped into the empty circle and lifted me to my feet, my ears still rang with the hellish sounds.

One of the masters took the spirit house from my hands and raised it to peer into the window. A look of wonder crossed his face, as if the thing captured within were no more than a pleasant toy. He looked upon me with new respect and said something I could not hear. The other master pointed to his ear. An expression of chagrin crossed the first master's face and he handed me a small amulet.

The cacophony died, suddenly and completely.

"You may keep the amulet," the master said, lifting the spirit house meaningfully.

"A fair exchange," I agreed.

Jamang reached up to place a hand on my shoulder. "That was the most astonishing act of courage I have ever beheld," he said solemnly. "As is custom, Asmonde deeded his personal effects to a younger student, but I think he would want you to have this."

He pressed something into my hand.

Asmonde's knife.

Without thinking, I raised it to my nose. There was no trace of zumalli. For a moment, I knew shame for my suspicious thoughts.

And then I realized that there was no trace of blood on the knife, either.

∗ ∗ ∗

The first thing I did upon reaching my room was to empty all of my Mwangi herbals, every pot and vial, into my jug of asperengi. I did it quickly, before Jamang could return and learn that I possessed a nearly universal solvent. I did not like to imagine what use he might make of such knowledge.

He came in late that night, flushed with self-satisfaction and laden with Asmonde Avari's books and scrolls. I made no move to help, nor did he seem to expect it.

I meant to keep silent, for what good can come of barking at a jackal? And I might have done so, had he not smirked at the sight of the empty zumalli pot on my table. Temper overcame me. I snatched up one of the books, a slender volume bound in blue leather, and hurled it against the far wall.

"I will go to the masters," I promised. "I will tell them everything."

Jamang made a show of yawning and stretching, as if he could barely hold himself awake for such inconsequential threats. "And what exactly is 'everything,' Bonali?"

"You killed Asmonde Avari!"

"A devil killed Asmonde Avari," he corrected me. "Several people bore witness to that fact."

"But the knife—"

"The knife in your possession?" He shook his head in the manner of someone gently chiding a boy too slow of mind to learn simple runes. "If anything is found on it, who do you think they will accuse?"

I was about to remind him of our earlier conversation about our shared access to my store of green-death when my gaze fell on "Asmonde's" spotless knife. I had no doubt that the knife Jamang gave me was not the knife Asmonde had wielded. If dangerous herbs were found on it, it could only be because I myself put them there. Any magical inquiry would reveal this. No one would believe that I did so to bring another man to justice. If I accused Jamang, I accused myself. Bringing the spirit house to the summoning, destroying my store of Mwangi herbals after—these would not be construed as the actions of an innocent man.

But perhaps the masters might listen and believe, if the motive were sufficient. "Are those books so valuable?"

Jamang glanced at the slim blue volume, which he hadn't bothered to retrieve from the floor. "Asmonde's books? I doubt it. He comes from a family of innkeepers. Even his knife—and you do have his knife, by the way—is of middling quality."

A great confusion fell over me. "Then why? What did you gain that was worth a man's life, even such as man as Asmonde Avari?"

He picked up the empty zumalli pot and placed it among the other empty containers in my cabinet. The smile he turned upon me was something I will not soon forget.

"Ask me again," he said pleasantly, "after tomorrow's potion class, when I stand first in the student rankings."

∗ ∗ ∗

Master Oyamba, I am mindful of your desire that I learn the art of abjuration, but with your permission I would like to devote myself to the study of illusion. Perhaps knowledge of how falsehoods are told with magic might prepare me to better perceive the illusions built with words and deeds. That ability, I suspect, might hold me in better stead than anything else I might learn from Korvosa.

Respectfully,
Bonali Kwazeel

Coming Next Week: Erik Mona introduces us to the etiquette of cannibalism in "Two Pieces of Tarnished Silver."

Elaine Cunningham is the New York Times best-selling author of numerous novels in such varied settings as the Forgotten Realms, Star Wars, EverQuest, Spelljammer, and Ravenloft. Her other contributions to the Pathfinder campaign setting include the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch and work on Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Guide to the River Kingdoms

Art by J. P. Targete.

The Walkers from the Crypt

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Four: The Pendant

Prince Dolandryn explained that in life he'd known only a handful of spells, for he had bent his concentration upon necromantic studies to the exclusion of almost all other magics. Yet he had learned one or two useful tricks, and upon Elyana and Arcil he placed a dweomer that hid their pulse and gave them a semblance of... Elyana was not sure how to describe it, for she saw nothing different in Arcil's appearance once the spell had been cast, but she certainly perceived it upon both of them when she looked down at her hands.

"You will no longer seem alive to the dead you encounter," the spirit told them. "But you do not have long. You must move quickly."

And so they did. They left Mirelle on the steps near the horses, neither of them offering suggestions as to what she should do if they failed in their mission. The girl would have no good options left her.

Elyana and Arcil hurried through the streets toward the city outskirts. Here they finally saw more of the moving dead, and sign that at least some of the Galtans lived, for scores of the animated corpses had gathered around a square redoubt that looked like a watchtower. Lights burned at its heights; figures in Galtan liberty caps were silhouetted in the vacant windows of the place. By that light Elyana recognized men in Galtan uniforms gathered in the ranks of dead about the tower and knew that many of those who'd tracked them to this place must already have fallen.

"How are we going to get through there?" Elyana asked.

"I don't think we'll have to do so," Arcil told her, breathing a little heavily. He pointed out into the darkness. "As far as I can tell, the pendant is that way."

"Lead on, then. How much longer do you think we have?"

"Probably not long enough," he said, and was so startled by her abrupt laugh that his grin was rather charming. She slapped his back.

"Onward then, Arcil."

They did not have much farther to go. Out there in the darkness they saw another light, near a copse of trees. A group of dead men ringed the light, and their shadows were etched upon the surface of the earth before they stretched into the surrounding darkness. From within this ring came the distinct chuk of shovels thrust into the soil, the grunt of men at work, and the sound of earth being cast from the tools. Elyana perceived then that inside the ring of corpses were a handful of Galtan soldiers, along with another figure that was quietly cursing them to quicken their efforts.

It looked as though Elyana and Arcil were not the only ones protected by some kind of shielding enchantment.

Elyana decided then that things could quickly be made much simpler with a few easy steps, and so she darted behind a bush and slipped her bow from her back. Arcil went with her, smiling as she bent the bow and slid the string into place around the nock.

"A well-placed arrow, eh?"

"Or three," Elyana said. "It should save us a little trouble."

"And if this doesn't work?"

"I guess you'd better have your wand ready."

It did not take long. Elyana had three of her finest arrows remaining; the rest had been scavenged from Galtans. She watched the diggers for only a few moments. They did not seem to have been at it for very long, for their dirt pile was but a low mound.

One of the men with the shovels bent down, lifted something, and brushed at it. The hooded figure stepped closer.

	"The mask might actually improve the necromancer's appearance."

Until then he'd been partly obscured by the protective line of corpses and the diggers themselves. No longer. As the necromancer stared at what Elyana thought must be the pendant, she loosed her first arrow, then the second, in quick succession. As they soared through the night, she took a moment longer to aim a third.

The first one tore through the air, over the shoulder of one of the dead sentinels, then passed just beyond the head of the Galtan wizard, who looked up. The second one came within a handspan of his throat, but somehow dropped away just as it drew close. Elyana cursed—the Galtan necromancer must have some sort of protective barrier.

The third, though, took the fellow in his chest. He sank to one knee.

Arcil leveled his wand then, and at his shouted words a firewall appeared beside the Galtans, casting all of them in stark red light. The men with shovels screamed in anguish.

Elyana fitted more arrows and fired again and again even as the wall of fire raged.

Then the corpses were running toward them, eight in all. Five were the long-dead skeletal remnants of the valley, but three were Galtan soldiers. Their opponent was apparently an equal opportunity necromancer.

"Do you have anything else?" Elyana asked.

"A web," Arcil told her.

"Perfect."

The wizard set to work, and with a few whispered words a long strand of material glistened into existence between a bush and wall directly in the path of the charging corpses. They rushed right into the sticky strands, where they flailed helplessly. Elyana was already on the run, arrow in one hand, bow in the other. She and Arcil bypassed the writhing bodies, closing on the Galtan position. The necromancer was standing once more, and she fit the arrow to her bow as she ran.

And then there was something clasping her ankle and leg, and a rope of darkness had snared her wrist and waist. Black tentacles formed of shadow had shot up from the ground and wrapped her with implacable power, pinning arms to her sides, holding her legs in place. She turned her head and saw Arcil caught in the same fashion. The eerie, cold restraints were secure and inflexible.

The wall of fire had faded finally, but by the light of the lantern he bore, the necromancer could be seen as he walked to meet them. Two of his still-living guards paced at his side.

Upon closer inspection, the fellow did not seem especially intimidating. He wore a tanned, gray leather mask that concealed all of his face but his eyes, his mouth, and his chin. His hair was hidden by a hood that seemed tied to the mask itself.

The man was round and short, with large hands and stubby fingers, and though the high boots of a huntsman flashed from beneath his robe, his waddling stride made it clear they were an affectation rather than his customary dress. Probably he was a merchant of some kind when he was not serving his state as a Gray Gardener.

He stopped only a few feet before them. In one hand he held a tarnished pendant of silver and gold. The only sign of the arrow Elyana had skewered him with was a dark patch upon his jacket near his heart.

His two uniformed guardsman looked scorched, from their blackened faces to their singed coats and eyebrows. One of them had both his sword and his teeth bared.

"I would have been much more upset with you," the necromancer said in a mild voice, "if you had not led me to this place with this treasure. Why, if you're still alive when I decipher its workings, I may have to thank you."

"You don't need to decipher its workings," Elyana said. "I can tell you what it does."

The necromancer chuckled. "Really. And why would an elf know anything about it?"

"You hold the pendant fashioned by Lord Dolandryn to ward his valley from invaders."

The necromancer's mouth set firmly. This was apparently not the answer he'd expected. "How do you know?"

"Why do you think we came here?" she asked. "I could have lost you the moment we entered the forest."

"You should just kill her, honored citizen," the soldier with the sword suggested.

"Hush," the wizard replied without looking at him. "Elf, I have ways to learn the truth from you."

"There's no need for any of that," Elyana said. "If you free me, I will promise to tell you how the pendant's magic works."

The Galtan laughed, a merry sound such as friends share at a good jest. No one joined him. "You wish me to free you both?"

"Just me."

"Elyana!" Arcil said.

"Now what would the state say if I were to show favoritism to a criminal? Justice must be blind, elf."

"Think what you'll be able to do for the state with the power of that necklace."

The necromancer hefted the thing in one hand, clearly considering it. "Your proposal intrigues me. I sense the power in this thing, and know that it is linked to these dead."

"Then free me."

"No, no. I think you must prove your loyalty to me. Tell me its use, and then I will free you."

Elyana knew that he would never do that, but to acquiesce too quickly would make the fellow suspicious. "You must swear."

"Very well. I swear, by the love I hold for the republic and people of Galt, that I shall free you from those bonds once you have told me the secret of this necklace."

"Don't listen to him, Elyana!" Arcil spat.

It was clearly a very poor sort of oath. The necromancer might mean he would free her of those bonds but put her in others, and he had in no way indicated that she would be freed generally. She knew only that the necromancer would want both of them alive for the guillotine if at all possible, for Galtans loved a show.

"Very well." Elyana feigned reluctance. She heard Arcil still begging that she say nothing. "You must extend your power into the necklace itself," she said. "You will feel the stirrings of the dead when you do so. If you are truly talented, you might be able to command dozens upon dozens of the folks, though they say only Lord Dolandryn could send forth the whole of the valley at once."

The Galtan smiled. "I can do anything that this lord of yours could have done. He could not be so great, if I have never heard of him."

"Free me now," Elyana said.

"First," the wizard said, lifting the necklace, "I will test the truth of your words." He fit it over his neck, and the pendant hung down, shining incongruously on the pot belly that distended his robe.

The necromancer stared off into the distance, then smiled, then laughed. "By the glorious state! You did not lie! I can feel them. I will command them to depart the fortress... I can sense them all the way through the valley. They are set, somehow, to guard the place from intrusion." His voice sounded strained.

"You make it sound easy," Elyana said. "The prince had to work harder than that."

"I can command them all," the necromancer declared.

"Prove it," Elyana said.

He lifted his wobbling chins proudly. "I will. You will see me march from this forest with my new army, for you will be my prisoner! Oh, I will free you from these bonds, but you were a fool to think I would release you from the custody of the state and the justice you are due."

"You're all talk," Elyana told him. "I have yet to see this army you command."

His lips curled.

It took only a moment, then. He stared off into the distance, fists clenched. "I can feel them. I can feel them all! Come, children. Come to me—he will... we will... all..."

Quite suddenly he dropped limp to the ground. He made no attempt to catch himself, and lay twitching. The guardsmen started, unsure, and Arcil shouted a command. The tentacles vanished.

He had dispelled the Galtan's work by use of the ring he wore, looted like his wand from the River Kingdom crypt. Elyana snatched up her bow, charged forward and caught the blade of the lunging Galtan on the edge of her bow. She backhanded his face with its other end and drew her sword as he staggered, crying out in pain. A quick thrust sent him groaning to the ground.

By then the other Galtan was advancing.

Arcil shouted for her attention. "Elyana—the dead!"

She saw them from the corners of her eyes, advancing from every direction. The maddened or enfeebled necromancer lay on the ground, racked by spasms, but the last command he'd given through the faulty artifact still worked, and they had been called to him. Thus they came.

"Put up your blade, fool," Elyana shouted at her opponent. "There's no time for this!"

"Die, wretch!"

Elyana beat his blade aside and drove her own through the Galtan's coat and breast. He sank to his knees, dying with a look of astonishment.

Arcil was already holding the necklace when Elyana turned, and at the whispered word the ghostly prince had taught him, the thing fell open to reveal a glowing center. He set it amid the burned grasses.

Elyana lifted her sword and Arcil quickly backed off, leaving the necklace with its brilliant blue nimbus.

"Elyana!"

The two Galtans she had but lately slain were in motion. One staggered at her, arms outstretched. The other had not even bothered climbing to its feet—it snatched at her ankle, enclosing it in a grip of iron.

Elyana dragged it forward with her, raised up the sword, and sliced down into the amulet's blue glow.

She felt the magical energies of her blade thrum as she made contact with something, as if an invisible hand had slowed her descent. The pendant's light had not diminished or dimmed. The grip on her ankle tightened. She heard Arcil shouting something and the thud of his staff against bone.

She raised the sword higher and struck once more, and again, and a third time. Usually she wielded the weapon with more finesse, but she was tired, and, truth be told, more than a little afraid that all of their effort had been expended for naught.

But then, on the fifth blow, the glow shimmered and lessened. She felt the grip about her ankle relax, and on the sixth strike, the magic winked out. All about her the dead dropped, hitting the soil and pavement with a rattle of bones and armor.

There was then only the sound of Arcil panting. She turned to find the wizard leaning heavily on his staff.

"That was very clever," he said.

"Did you know what I planned?"

"I guessed. Did you like my dramatic denial?" He smiled. "I thought I did a fair job, acting. I waited for the right opening to use my ring. You certainly gave me one."

Elyana nodded, and bent over to wipe her blade on a dead Galtan's clothes.

"We make a good team, Elyana," Arcil was saying. "I think that was very nicely managed." He stepped over to the Galtan necromancer, the man's limbs still shaking at random intervals. "What shall we do with him?"

"Leave him," Elyana said darkly, and sheathed her sword.

Arcil appeared unsure about that. When he bent down over the fellow, Elyana thought at first he meant to deliver a mercy blow, but instead he rifled through his belongings until he rose with a book. "I fancy learning that black tentacle spell," he said.

"You're not going to start dabbling in the dead, are you?" Elyana asked.

Arcil shuddered a little. "You're joking, right?"

When they returned to the tower, Mirelle was waiting for them. The prince was gone.

"We were watching from the tower," Mirelle told them. "He told me when he felt that the necklace was in use, and he grew very sad. But a short time later he turned to me with the most amazing smile. He tried to say something, but I couldn't hear him, for at that very moment he faded away. It was like he had never been there at all."

They rested in the tower for half the night. Elyana expected no trouble from any surviving Galtans, but she still roused her weary group before dawn, leaving the valley via its southern exit. Arcil might ordinarily have groused about having to share a horse, but he did not complain about having Mirelle pressed behind him on the saddle.

By dawn they were on the southern heights, and Elyana could not keep herself from taking a final look over the valley. In the dim light, it was almost possible to imagine the ruins as they must once have been, with folk leaving the houses for their fields, hoes slung over their backs. They would have walked forth in groups, their children running ahead. Others might have pushed carts toward the city square.

"We did it," Arcil said. He had dropped off Mirelle's horse to join Elyana.

"Yes."

"You look sad. Against terrible odds, we came through alive. I can't think of better reasons to be happy."

"I was just thinking about the prince. He loved his people so much that he destroyed them."

"Love," Arcil said. "Sometimes I think we're all better off without it."

"Well, then we end up with the Galtans, don't we? Justice beyond compassion. There must be a middle path."

"Let me know if you find it," Arcil said. "Right now, though, I would rather you focus on the trail home."

"That I can do," Elyana told him. "That I can do." And she turned from her contemplation of the valley, climbed into her saddle, and headed for the woods.

Explore Further: Though this story is finished, the adventure isn't. Read more of Elayana's adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!

Coming Next Week: A blast from the past as Dave Gross brings us the adventures of a young Count Jeggare in the Mwangi Expanse in "A Lesson in Taxonomy."

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword and sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

The Walkers from the Crypt

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Two: City of the Dead

"I don't care for it at all." Arcil had swung down from his horse to contemplate some glyphs carved into a stone pylon thrust into the ground beside an oak tree. It was tilted a few degrees off vertical, and pitted with age. Overhead, the leafy canopy was so thick it seemed twilight had already fallen.

Elyana was eager to keep moving; she meant to lose the Galtans only after she'd led them deeper into the woods, but she hadn't reckoned on them pressing so close. Perhaps the sight of their quarry fleeing before them on the plain had excited them, for they were now crashing through the brush a few bowshots behind with almost reckless intensity. Yet her voice did not betray her concern. "What do they say?"

"This is old, and marks a boundary. A warding, perhaps?" Arcil brushed at some moss with two fingers to better view one of the glyphs.

"A warding for what?" Mirelle asked. She glanced over her shoulder, apparently more focused on the noises of their pursers. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her, stirring the leaves with its hooves.

"These are more initials than words," Arcil said hesitantly. "I'm not certain I can correctly infer the meaning."

He sounded as if he knew something and did not wish to say it. "Speak, Arcil. We've no time to waste."

He glanced up at her and then brushed fingers over the three uppermost glyphs. "I think this means 'the walkers.'" He stood, frowning, and brushed leaves and dirt from his pants. He passed close to Elyana, speaking softly as he glanced up. "Walkers from the crypt."

"What was that?" Mirelle asked, straining forward, her face screwed up with worry.

"We're in this together," Elyana said to Arcil. "You might as well tell her what you're thinking."

Arcil climbed back into his saddle, sighing a little. "I think we're heading toward an old burial ground. We're being warned away. It's likely some local superstition."

"Looks like we'll find out." Elyana started forward. She planned to keep moving south, into the woods. Come nightfall, she'd use her better vision and skills to cut west from the forest. She doubted even the best-trained Galtan woodsmen could keep up with them in darkness. More troubling was what a Galtan necromancer could do with a whole graveyard beneath his feet. Hopefully his selection of spells would be as limited as Arcil's after a full day of work. Surely it had been no easy feat to send so many hounds against them, even if he were a caster of great power.

She guided her charges on, ignoring the occasional grunt or low oath from behind her. The humans didn't always notice the branches she ducked.

Occasional gaps in the forest canopy allowed wide shafts of evening light to stream in, but far from reassuring, the muted illumination served only to emphasize the greater darkness around them. There was a silence here. The bird calls had diminished.

"I don't like this place," Mirelle announced quietly.

"Do not worry, my dear," Arcil told her. "Do not worry."

He sounded less soothing than patronizing.

They continued a gradual decent, and then, suddenly, arrived at what Elyana first took as the forest's edge, though she knew intellectually that the Verduran Forest stretched south for hundreds of miles. Slipping from her horse, she advanced to find instead that they had arrived at the edge of a small, crescent-shaped valley mysteriously bereft of trees. Within it were scattered the bones of a small city. Long-shattered stone walls stood out from the gnarled bushes. Paving stones showed gray here and there beneath the undergrowth and detritus. A few buildings were intact, notably a tower near the center, but most were fallen in, and all of the roofs had collapsed long ago.

The abandoned city felt even more desolate than the surrounding woods, and she thought first to skirt it, then reasoned that she could use the place to better confuse their pursuit. She even briefly considered wearing away their numbers from the defensible positions at hand.

They wound deep into the ruins, Elyana leading the way, and the silence here was so deep the sounds of the Galtan mob were quickly lost to her behind crumbling walls marred by thick vines . The sun sank lower, and twilight came on at last. Elyana had been raised by humans and was well acquainted with their instinctive fear of the dark. Still, she was surprised to hear the soft but clear concern in Arcil's voice.

"Elyana."

She looked back at him, saw him paused at a turn down a winding, cobbled road angling for the tower. Mirelle had paused beside him.

"What is it?" she called back.

"Something... someone... waved for me to follow."

There was no time for hesitation. Not hearing the Galtans made her more concerned about their position. If they reached the valley before her team cleared it...

Yet it was unlike Arcil to sound so indecisive. Or troubled. "A Galtan?" she asked.

	"Arcil may not be as suave as he thinks he is, but he's a good man to have in a fight."

"I think it may have been a ghost," Arcil admitted.

"You're sure you saw it?" Elyana asked.

"I am not entirely sure, no," he said, sounding a little defensive. "I saw something from the corner of my eye, and when I turned to look directly, it was gone."

Elyana frowned. Arcil was not especially prone to flights of fancy, but a more urgent threat loomed. "Let's press on," Elyana said. Reluctantly, she noted a new chill in the air and their mounts' ears swiveling nervously to catch no sounds but their own.

As they passed beneath the dark silhouette of the tower, Elyana herself glimpsed a figure standing in the gap between two craggy walls. It had the semblance a man, garbed in a white robe and motioning them onward, but before she could properly focus, it vanished.

At that same moment, from somewhere far behind came a masculine scream and a cacophony of shouting and clashing arms. The Galtans?

"What's happening?" Mirelle gasped.

Elyana pulled her horse around, but before she could locate a vantage point to investigate the distant struggle, a shadowy figure lurched up from the darkness on their right. The horses shied, laying back their ears, and Mirelle stifled a scream.

It lacked a head. Behind it, striding out from the yawning maw of a ruined building, were a half-dozen helmed figures in broken armor. There limbs were nothing but bone.

Elyana cursed. "Time to go!" Her horse was eager to race ahead, and Mirelle and Arcil followed. They quickly outdistanced the dead, but as Elyana continued down the street, more dark figures shambled out of the darkness.

"This does not seem to be Galtan necromancy," Arcil shouted up to her.

He was right. Although she supposed that some Galtan soldier might have shouted because he was frightened by the horrific power wielded by one of their mages, the sounds of battle had been unmistakable. The Galtans were fighting these corpses. More likely this was what the markers had been set to warn visitors away from.

"We ride, fast as we dare," she said. "Out of this valley. Follow me."

She darted down a winding side street, urging her horse to leap over something she took for rubbish in the middle of the street until it rose up, waving a notched sword. She pulled back instead and her animal reared, striking the thing with its front hooves. The dead warrior was flung backward, shedding bones as it flew through the air. It struck the street with a muffled clatter and did not rise.

Other shapes were slipping from the ruins. Some strode confidently, bearing weapons. Other shambled. A few were completely intact, but most were missing limbs, or even heads. And all advanced toward them.

She came to a halt and the others drew up near her. "I've few grand spells left, Elyana," Arcil said soberly.

"Then we shall cut a swathe." She drew her blade, a comforting weight in her hand.

"We cannot hope to destroy enough of them," Arcil said, gesturing around at the gloom alive with shambling movements. "What about the ghost?"

Elyana considered the overwhelming number of foes. "What about the ghost?"

"Suppose it meant to guide us to safety? It was the only one of these that did not attack."

True enough, but that didn't mean it intended no harm. However, there had been a tower nearby, which at least had the benefit of being a more defensible point. It had appeared intact, and was much closer than the crumbling walls that marked the city's edge. "Ride for the tower," she commanded. Her horse reared again as she turned it.

"Let me clear a way," Arcil shouted, and Elyana reined in. Mirelle looked on with wide eyes as the figures shambled ever nearer. The horses danced nervously.

When Arcil shouted and cast, his horse shied, but the sudden movement did not interfere with the tiny ball that left his hands. A moment later dozens of the corpses were wrapped in a sheath of expanding fire. So sudden and explosive was the blast that it destroyed them utterly, as if the street had temporarily been touched by the light of the sun. Unfortunately, other dead were already moving to take their place.

Elyana kicked her horse into gallop, sword outstretched to catch the corpses converging on their path some lengths beyond the reach of Arcil's flame. Behind her, Arcil grunted as he laid about with his staff. From Mirelle she heard only shouted commands to the horse. Elyana had no choice but to release Vallyn's mount, which in any case galloped after its fellows, trying to stay within the relative safety of its herd.

Elyana cut her way forward and slowed just two crumbling buildings away from their destination. Arcil shouted something from her left, and wind rolled forth from his hands, pushing a skeletal assailant into two of its neighbors, tangling all three in a heap of rotting limbs.

"Hurry," Arcil cried, and they pressed forward. Elyana chanced a glance behind at Mirelle, who frantically kicked a grasping, headless woman away and then saw Vallyn's horse go down under a pile of scrambling bodies. The horse screamed again and again, and Elyana gritted her teeth.

There must be hundreds of these animated dead throughout the ruins. There would be no way to gallop through them. She wondered if she and Arcil would be able to hold them off long enough even to trap themselves in a high tower room. The mage had already worn through many of his spells. Provided they could even make it to the tower, the poor horses were probably done for.

"One side," Arcil snapped, and came up a bit ahead of Elyana. In his hand was the black wand they'd found in the river king's tomb. He shouted a single word, and instantly a wall of flame licked into existence along their left, consuming the first two rows of dead. Arcil spun in his saddle and shouted again to right, and then behind. The flames burned on, and a charred, acrid smell washed over them. The horses screamed and rolled their eyes in terror.

"That," Arcil said breathlessly, "is about all I've got."

Their way forward was now free, and they kicked their frightened steeds into full flight. The corpses pressed forward determinedly into the flame, immune to fear or concern about their condition.

"Look at that, Elyana!" Arcil said.

The ghostly figure stood beckoning to them from a rotted doorway into the tower. This time it spoke in a strained voice, like a winter wind heard from a great distance. "Hurry."

They arrived before the portal to the tower. Elyana's horse uncharacteristically slid to a halt before the dark passage, despite her urgings. Arcil's and Mirelle's didn't make it even that far, and Elyana heard a thump and an oath as Arcil was thrown from his beast. Elyana leapt down from the horse, keeping tight hold of the reins, and reached out to grab the bridle on Mirelle's. "Go—inside!"

Mirelle slid off her mount and hesitated for only a moment before doing as she was told.

Arcil picked himself up, scowling and distinctly ruffled. His horse danced near the wall of flame, looking for an exit and keeping as far as possible from the tower.

"Arcil, hold this." She handed him the reins to her horse while she threw her cloak over the head of Mirelle's mount and led it in a circle, then into the tower itself. Elyana could barely see after the brightness without, but there was no sign of the ghost within the ebon gloom of the large chamber, which surely encompassed the whole diameter of the structure. She handed Mirelle the reins to her horse and hurried back to Arcil.

The flame walls were fading already as she emerged and saw Arcil struggling to copy her actions with his own cloak. With her assistance, they steered the animal inside while the third horse leapt over the diminishing fires into the crowd of dead, then died screaming under their blows.

Elyana briefly took in their surroundings. There was nothing within save some dilapidated shelving, some warped wooden planks—probably floorboards that had rotted out from the floors above—and a staircase leading up. As she studied this last, the ghost reappeared upon a stair. In the utter darkness, even the dim light of his transparent body shone like a beacon. For the first time she saw him clearly, a young man in a robe with great mournful eyes. He wore soft boots, and jeweled rings shown upon two of his fingers. He beckoned once toward them, turned upon the stair, and vanished again.

Elyana stepped back to the doorway, expecting to see the ranks of skeletons marching toward them. However, those few not milling over the remains of the dead horse seemed listless. Many simply sank back to the ground; others were wandering away.

"Well that's quite interesting," Arcil said. "I suppose that the tower's warded against them. Or perhaps they're unable to recognize intruders within the tower itself."

"What do we do now?" Mirelle asked.

Elyana eyed the stairway. "I guess we go up."

Coming Next Week: Galtan necromancers and ancient curses in Chapter Three of "The Walkers from the Crypt." This story is a standalone prequel to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword and sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Dan Scott. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here.

Bark at the Moon!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Last week we showcased the cover art from Howard Andrew Jones' Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. This week we go back to the beginning and give you a wallpaper based on Prince of Wolves by Dave Gross, the novel that launched the entire line. If you haven't read it yet you really should. It's got fighting, murder, mystery, true love, werewolves, ancient magics, curses from beyond the grave, and even dead Pathfinders! Best of all, if you know any Pathfinder Tales subscribers, they may have received a free copy to give away...

And tune into this spot on Monday as Pathfinder Designer Stephen Radney-MacFarland guest-blogs and things get... explosive.

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Iconic Love

Monday, February 14, 2011

For some of us, Valentine's Day is just another day. We go to work, come home, maybe hang out with our significant others a bit or send the kids off to the sitter for a rare night out. For other people, however, Valentine's Day carries more significance, and flat-out demands acknowledgement. They see it as an excuse to truly cut loose, to go all-out with the romance and treat it like a real holiday.

And then, apparently, there's a third type of person: the type for whom Valentine's Day means a chance to go totally insane. Such appears to be the case with Pathfinder Tales author Kevin Andrew Murphy. How else can you explain the fact that he chose the occasion to, without any prompting or warning, write us an entire heroic crown of sonnets immortalizing the iconic characters' backgrounds in prose. (For those of you who've forgotten your 400-level literature classes, a "heroic crown of sonnets" is a specialized form of poetry in which you have 14 sonnets, each linked by their first and last lines, plus a fifteenth which is made up exclusively of the previous sonnets' linking lines, in order. Needless to say, it's incredibly difficult to do well.)

I'd say more, but I'm still processing the whole thing, so I think it's better to just post the sonnets in their entirety. Happy Valentine's Day!

The Fifteen Loves of Golarion

A Heroic Crown of Sonnets for Valentine's Day 2011
by Kevin Andrew Murphy

1. Alain, the Cavalier, "For Love of Glory"
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.
The victor is the braggart of his fame,
The first to know the glory of his name
But not the last. The bards now all regale
The common folk with ballads of my deeds,
The battles won by force of my prowess,
The ransomed kings who've bowed to my duress,
And Donahan, the noblest of steeds.
Sometimes I think he is my only friend.
The men I ride with? Those I can replace.
The maids I bed? Each just a pretty face.
Yet Donahan is mine till journey's end.
If he falls first, then part of me is dead.
I've said the words that needed to be said.

2. Alahazra, the Oracle, "For Love of Truth"
I've said the words that needed to be said,
For Truth is blind, and I am blind in truth.
My clouded eyes see little but forsooth
My inner eye sees clearly. I have read
The fates of men with but the barest glance.
I know the future as I know the past,
Which seeds will sprout and which of them will last,
For Destiny leaves nothing up to Chance.
It was not Chance that burned me with its fire.
The simoom's breath is but the Wind of Fate
That claimed me with its Flame. I now relate
The Fate of Love, if that is your desire:
All present loves become in days ahead
Mementos kept in memory of the dead.

3. Seelah, the Paladin, "For Love of Those Now Gone"
Mementos kept in memory of the dead,
Reminders of what nothing can restore.
The wingéd helm that dead Acemi wore
Now hides my face and my unworthy head.
I feel its weight: part guilt, part gift, part theft.
Part love. She saw and yet forgave her thief,
The child who stole her helm. Ergo, my grief.
Acemi is still dead and I am left.
I have no words to say in my defense.
I know my deeds. I must have faith in grace
So now I wear her helm and take her place.
What Iomedae learned: Inheritance,
A gift of trust from those you must not fail
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale.

4. Harsk, the Ranger, "For Love of Solitude"
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale,
My brother lies–and those who took his life.
I ended theirs with crossbow quarrel and knife.
The giants dead, now I alone prevail.
My kin who dwell below with bended backs
To toil at the forge or in the mines,
Or worshiping our gods at dwarven shrines,
Have my regard, and yet my brother's axe
Is all I bear away from whence I hail.
A hunter's life is love of solitude.
A Spartan camp, a pot of tea fresh-brewed
Will keep him more alert than mugs of ale.
My quarry's tracks are runes left for the sage.
I know the letters written on this page.

5. Ezren, the Wizard, "For Love of Scholarship"
I know the letters written on this page,
My father charged with some impiety
Against our god, some awful blasphemy
Too dire for words, and nothing can assuage
The gossips' tongues, for rumor needs no proof.
And Abadar? The merchant god cares not
Who prospers or who fails nor what is bought.
The Golden One stays in his Vault, aloof.
I spent my youth to clear my father's name,
In quest to save the business that he built,
But in the end I only proved his guilt.
Now scholarship's the only love I claim.
Yet law for arcane law can be exchanged.
Old orders sometimes must be rearranged.

6. Sajan, the Monk, "For Love of a Sister"
"Old orders sometimes must be rearranged."
So said the monks when taking twin from twin.
My sister Sajni's gone. I should begin
Describing how we came to be estranged.
We were conceived. Our lives were intertwined
Like threads of web and woof strung on a loom,
So were our limbs locked in our mother's womb.
Though born as two, we're more when we're combined.
We trained with temple swords and so time passed
Till at twelve years we each were sent away
And battle woes lost her to Jalmeray.
I left, deserting all I knew, my caste,
To seek my sister. Far too far I've ranged.
I've changed some facts which never should be changed.

7. Damiel, the Alchemist, "For Love of Change"
I've changed some facts which never should be changed
And yet that is the goal of alchemy:
Quicksilver shifting, mutability.
The philosophic art just seems deranged
To those too dull to grasp aetheric heights
Or dream of fixing one's perfected form,
Not living with the dull and banal norm.
You reach out when the stars are in your sights,
Yet what you grasp may be the fulgent dark
For nightmares ride as well between the stars.
Like Shelyn's smile can hide Zon-Kuthon's scars,
The bright quicksilver sea conceals a shark,
And from the left the villain steps onstage
To let men feel the battle fury's rage.

8. Amiri, the Barbarian, "For Love of Oneself"
To let men feel the battle fury's rage,
The Six Bears tribesmen donned the skins of bears
They'd taken from our totems in their lairs.
Each boy was sent to do it at an age.
We girls were told to sit inside and spin,
Awaiting a barbarian's return.
This never was a name that women earn.
I brought a she-bear's hide back to my kin.
The time came that a warband of my clan
All dared me to bring back a giant's blade.
When I returned, they mocked me as a maid.
The blood rage came. I slew them to a man.
That bastard blade I bear with me. Beware
To taste the kiss of malice and despair.

9. Seltyiel, the Magus, "For Lack of Love"
To taste the kiss of malice and despair,
One needn't know the touch of love or hope–
At very least, not of an equal scope–
And pain is seldom more than one can bear,
And when it is? Well, there is always death.
My mother died the moment I was born.
My sister's cries, those spared my life that morn.
I often think she should have saved her breath.
Sioria, oh how could you divine
The babe you saved would still be here alive
Or on a feast of wormwood one could thrive.
I'll kill your father once I first kill mine.
Foul Lairsaph was a fool to teach his spawn
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn....

10. Valeros, the Fighter, "For Love of Adventure"
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn
Is how a sellsword passes most his days.
That much at least is truthful in bards' lays.
The rest? Well yes, there is a need for brawn–
The same goes for an ox that pulls a plow–
But when your sword-arm makes some villain yield,
That's better than some plowshare in a field.
At least it's more exciting anyhow.
One day I may retire to a farm,
Grow beans and beets or brew a bit of beer,
But now I love my freedom and I hear
A distant village sounding the alarm.
If there's adventure calling, I'll be gone
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn.

11. Kyra, the Cleric, "For Love of Hope"
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn,
The Crown of Our Beloved Sarenrae
Who cast the Beast below to Asmodae,
Is how a priestess prays for I'm Her pawn.
Whate'er the Dawnflower wishes I will do.
When bandits burned my village and Her shrine,
That's when I saw the face of the divine.
Through streaming tears the sun shone and I knew
The Everlight had filled me with Her power
To heal the sick and ailing with Her light
And cleanse those past redemption of their blight
By scimitar, like Dawn's Eternal Flower.
One day I'll join my goddess in the air
To live a life of joy and forswear care.

12. Merisiel, the Rogue, "For Love of Freedom"
To live a life of joy and forswear care
Is what I always felt the world should be.
See something that you like? Then take it. Free!
If you don't like your lot, then folk should share.
They call it thievery, who gives a fig?
My knives can teach their tongues to be polite,
And while some think I could be more contrite
It's not like they're not working the same gig.
This knife I got from some Azlanti queen.
This one? From Galt. Belonged to some coquette
And these? From Geb. But most I just forget.
I only care if I can keep them keen.
You make life up like some bard's folderol.
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul.

13. Seoni, the Sorcerer, "For Love of Magic"
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul
And write the runes appearing in my dreams.
The ones I walk with talk about my "schemes,"
If schemes they are, or just an unknown goal.
I'd like to say I like just who I am,
Yet who can say just who they are? Not I.
Or what I am, or how I am, or why.
That statement just might be my epigram.
I only know when spells wish to be wrought,
The way they say that love pulls at the heart.
Just so I feel the call of arcane art.
It springs to mind like any other thought.
I'd work alone, but I lack that control
For love and friendship are what make one whole.

14. Lini, the Druid, "For Love of a True Companion"
"For love and friendship are what make one whole."
So spake the norn who whispered in the wood.
She vanished but her fey advice is good
And with it I can talk to mouse or mole.
The purest love is love you get from beasts.
My friend Droogami taught me this is true.
It's something though that I already knew.
I never bought the nonsense from the priests
About the love of gods as the most pure.
Who can believe a love you never see?
My love is for the leopard next to me
And she for me and that's what shall endure.
She's great and strong where I am small and frail.
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.

15. Lem, the Bard, "For Love of Happy Endings"
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.
I've said the words that needed to be said,
Mementos kept in memory of the dead
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale.
I know the letters written on this page.
Old orders sometimes must be rearranged.
I've changed some facts which never should be changed
To let men feel the battle fury's rage,
To taste the kiss of malice and despair,
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn,
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn,
To live a life of joy and forswear care.
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul
For love and friendship are what make one whole.

James Sutter
Fiction Editor