This is it, Pathfinders—the conclusion of our world-spanning journey through the Age of Lost Omens! It’s only fitting, then, that we end in a region full of tried and true fantasy tropes, lands of elves, dwarves, knights in shining armor, and … guillotines?

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

Er, we’ll get back to those tall knives in a bit. Let’s start with those elves though, shall we? Kyonin, on the southeastern corner of Lake Encarthan in central Avistan, is one of the oldest nations in the Age of Lost Omens setting, predating even Earthfall over 10 millennia ago. But the elves of yore foresaw the disaster and fled through the mysterious Sovyrian Stone to a distant, alien refuge. When they returned to Golarion centuries later, they found their homeland overrun by the nacent demon lord, Treerazer, whom they still battle today. Among the many ancient tools at the elves’ disposal is a vast network of magical gates, called aiudara, that link Kyonin to elven populations in distant corners of the world, including in the Mwangi Expanse, the Crown of the World, and beyond.

Illustration by Fabio Gorla

Right next door we have the Five Kings Mountains, homeland of the dwarves. Upon arriving on Golarion’s surface at the end of their generations-long Quest for Sky millennia ago, this mountainous region was one of the first they populated. Since their founding, the five kingdoms that give the dwarven stronghold its name have waxed and waned in power, and internal conflict (including a recent turn toward the worship of Droskar) have led to a decline in the land. But after breaking free from Droskar’s influence, more traditional dwarven culture has been on the rise, and the worship of Torag and his kin are resurgent in the region. A people bound by tradition, the dwarves of the Five Kings Mountains have unearthed ancient ways as a result of this embrace of their history, including the resurgence of the shamanistic Rivethun throughout Avistan.

Illustration by Biagio d’Alessandro

To the west of the Five Kings Mountains lies the mercantile nation of Druma (most recently explored in the final First Edition Pathfinder Campaign Setting book, Druma, Profit and Prophecy). The influential Prophecies of Kalistrade permeate almost every aspect of Drumish society, most notably the pursuit of wealth and opulence. The Kalistocrats (as adherents to the strict code of conduct associated with the prophecies are called) are among the canniest merchants, investors, and speculators in the Age of Lost Omens setting, and their reach extends into markets across the world.

Illustration by Katerina Kirillova

To Druma’s south lies Andoran, the first true democracy in Avistan and Garund. Formerly part of Taldor, and then Cheliax, Andoran gained its independence in the People’s Revolt in the wake of the rise of House Thrune. Now free from the outdated constraints of nobility and monarchy, the fate of all Andorens is theirs to grasp. Andoran spreads its ideology of freedom and liberty to distant lands via its well trained and expertly equipped Eagle Knights, whose three branches—the infantry of the Golden Legion, the knights of the Steel Falcons (and their naval counterparts, the Gray Corsairs), and the secret agents of the Twilight Talons—work in tandem to oppose oppression, especially slavery, throughout the Inner Sea region. Members of this organization may find the magical epaulets presented in the chapter a nice addition to their character loadouts.

Illustration by Klaher Baklaher

Andoran isn’t the only nation to attempt to wrest itself free from the tyranny of nobility, though it remains the only one to do so peacefully. In neighboring Galt, a bloody revolution has gripped the nation for half a century as its people attempt to form a new government in the wake of political upheaval. Under the watchful eyes of the Gray Gardeners, who enforce the laws of the Revolutionary Council with their soul-trapping final blade, the people of Galt strive to establish their own nation free from bloodshed and oppression, though many feel that they simply traded the rule of an autocratic aristocracy for the domination of an autocratic Revolutionary Council. And yes, there are stats for a final blade included. What could go wrong?

Illustration by Andrea Tentori Montalto

Last but far from least, is the nation of Taldor, among the first new nations on the Inner Sea to rise from the devastation of Earthfall. Over the millennia, Taldor expanded to include nearly all of Avistan, and most of the human nations from Cheliax to Brevoy have roots as former Taldan vassals. But Taldor has fallen far from these great heights, and centuries of ineffectual bureaucratic rule, hedonistic waste by the upper classes, and general bad luck have seen its territory shrink to a fraction of its former glory. Still, the people of Taldor are proud and resilient, and their culture is ascendant under the new rule of Grand Princess Eutropia, who took the throne just last year. A progressive empress open to new ways of governing, whose ambitions are tempered with moderation and a dedication to improving the lives of her people, Eutropia nevertheless has her political enemies who are either bitter at their defeat during the recent war for the crown or who see her new approach to rulership a threat to their wealth, prestige, or both. What trials may await the people of Taldor as they attempt to reclaim their proper place as most influential and best respected nation in the world?

Illustration by Ksenia Kozhevnikova

For players, this section of the Lost Omens World Guide presents the aforementioned Golden Legion epaulets and final blade (okay, so that one might be more for GMs), but also seven new backgrounds tied to the region, including final blade survivor, Kalistrade follower, and Rivethun adherent, as well as the Lion Blade archetype, which puts your character in the role of a secret agent of the Taldan throne who uses deception and disguise to your advantage.

Illustration by Katerina Kirillova

Because Thursday is bound to be a busy news day here at Paizo HQ, we’ll be taking one final look at the Tales of Lost Omens tomorrow, with one more piece by Liane Merciel. Next week, we’ll change the focus of our ongoing web fiction offerings to our first Starfinder fiction—a series of Iconic Encounters written by former Starfinder Creative Director James L. Sutter.

In the meantime, enjoy the launch of Pathfinder Second Edition in just two days, and keep an eye out for the Lost Omens World Guide, which comes out just a few short weeks from now! Adventure in the Age of Lost Omens awaits, are you ready?

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Strap in, Pathfinders, because we're entering the home-stretch of our grand tour around the Age of Lost Omens, as presented in next month's Lost Omens World Guide hardcover sourcebook. We've spent a lot of time over the last few weeks on the continent of Garund, but now we're headed back to where it all began way back in 2007 with the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path—the northern stretch of Avistan now known as the Saga Lands!

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

Throughout Pathfinder's history, no region has been as thoroughly explored in the pages of our adventures as the frontier land of Varisia. For millennia, the untamed land was defined by its ancient past, as Varisians, Shoanti, and explorers and colonists from distant lands all eked out a living in the shadow of cyclopean Thassilonian ruins. But in the past decade, the long-dormant runelords awakened and attempted to reclaim their former empire. Alaznist, Karzoug, Krune, Xanderghul, and Zutha have all been defeated, and the powerful heroes who foiled their plans now watch over the land, leading many to hope for a safer future for inhabitants of cities like Korvosa and Magnimar. As the latter grows in prominence to become the largest and most influential Varisian settlement, Korvosa continues to decline, even under the new leadership of Cressida Kroft, who took over in the wake of the tyrannical, plague-tainted rule of Queen Ileosa.

Illustration by Andrea Tentori Montalto

But Magnimar is far from the only kingdom in resurgence. In the northern reaches of Varisia—the hilly plains of the Nolands and the impossibly high Kodar Mountains—the two surviving runelords have claimed a new kingdom of their own: New Thassilon! Under the conflicting rules of envious Runelord Belimarius and the less expansionist Runelord Sorshen, New Thassilon is already on the brink of civil war as the two powerful wizards vie for contril of the new kingdom. From her capital of Xin-Edasseril off Varisia's western coast, Belimarius already sets her sights on the elven forest of Celwynvian and the southern Lands of the Linnorm Kings, but these long-established lands are not so quick to roll over and bow before the upstart runelord. Sorshen has set her capital in Xin-Shalast, high in the Kodar Mountains, where no one has claimed the land since before Earthfall. With no feuds for territory (other than from Belimarius, who has no desire to share power), Sorshen has opened the isolated city up to outcasts and exiles from across the world, promising them a safe place to live their lives free from the oppression of their enemies.

Illustration by Rogier van de Beek

To the north, the balance of power in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings has shifted, and three new linnorm crowns sit upon new brows. King Thira Ash-Eyes earned her right to rule Kalsgard after her father, King Svienn Blood-Eagle departed for Valenhall across the sea, leaving the throne vacant for her should she slay a linnorm (she did). In Icemark, the Varki ranger Nankou surprised many by being the first non-Ulfen to earn the title. In the southern city of Jol, the famed adventurer Ostog the Unslain puts his moniker to the test as the Linnorm King closest to Runelord Belimarius's lands. What great sagas of these new Linnorm Kings and the mighty heroes who vie for future vacant thrones will be told in the near future? Perhaps some wise skald will regale us with tales of heroism in another decade's time.

Illustration by Yasen Stoilov

Relations between the Ulfen of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings and the Jadwiga of its eastern neighbor, Irissen, have cooled in recent years (pun intended), thanks to the rise of Queen Anastasia, who hails from a distant world where magic is less prevalent. While not a daughter of Baba Yaga like the ice queens who preceded her, the legendary witch's blood nevertheless flows through her veins. A much more benevolent ruler than past queens, Anastasia gives the people of Irrisen and its neighbors hope for a better future. Nevertheless, the constant winter of the enchanted land continues, and rumors of Baba Yaga's presence in the land out of season persist. Could the mother of witches have plans to reassert control over the land by placing a new daughter on the throne in Anastasia's place?

Illustration by Oksana Federova

Like the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, the Realm of the Mammoth Lords to Irrisen's east seems on the precipice of peace for the first time in over a century, as the threats of winter witches to the west, the demons of the Worldwound to the east, and the orcs of Belkzen to the south have all subsided. This has allowed the nomadic Kellids of the harsh taiga to travel farther into all three neighboring lands in their seasonal hunts of the region's megafauna than ever before. Despite the lack of open antagonists on their borders, potential conflicts with repatriating Sarkorians, xenophobic Irrisens, and those orcs not focused on the Whispering Tyrant's forces on their southern border could all prove problematic for the migratory Mammoth Lord holdings. After all, honor is everything and tempers can flare, and it just takes one spark to start a fire that could set the entire plain ablaze.

Illustration by Biagio d'Alessandro

Players from this region may select from seven new backgrounds like Shoanti name-bearer, Thassilonian traveler, and winter's child, or take the runescarred archetype, while arcane and primal spellcasters can learn the wintery snowball spell!

Illustration by Christian Schob

Check this space on Thursday for a new piece of flash fiction by Liane Merciel to inspire new stories of adventure in players and Game Masters alike, and then next Tuesday for the final meta-region of the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting: the Shining Kingdoms. Until then, Pathfinders, may your exploits be marked in the sagas of the gods!

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

In the history of Golarion, no empire has reached the heights of influence nor seen that influence ripped away by revolutionaries and anarchists than Cheliax—at least if modern accounts of Chelish history are to be believed. But in today’s Cheliax, ruled by Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, the truth is malleable and is often altered to support the reigning regime rather than objective fact. From the outside, Cheliax appears as a failing state, whose territories have slipped through its fingers in the wake of decades of tyrannical rule by devil-worshipping nobles more concerned with their own power than the plight of their people, an empire in decline despite its own claims to the contrary.

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

At the heart of the Old Cheliax meta-region is Cheliax itself. Two recent revolutions (one successful, the other not so much) within their borders have shown the people the precarious position their government and aristocracy find themselves in. In response to growing anti-Thrune sentiment, the infernal agents of the throne have redoubled their efforts to stamp out any discord and promote the propagandic party line of both House Thrune and the church of Asmodeus. Despite this, the downtrodden and abused commoners of Cheliax know of the success of the Silver Ravens in Ravounel and of the folly of mounting an overt assault on House Thrune as the Glorious Reclamation attempted to do, and they have adapted. With the help of the Firebrands and allied organizations like the Twilight Talons of Andoran and the halfling abolitionists of the Bellflower Network, small cells of dissenting Chelish revolutionaries are gaining a foothold in the deep shadows. Will the agents of the crown, the Hellknights sworn to maintain law and order, and the Asmodean church be enough to put out any new sparks of freedom that may take light in the dry kindling of the authoritarian regime?

Illustration by Tomasz Chistowski

The successful revolution that has so effectively inspired the people of Cheliax to consider alternatives to the status quo is that of Ravounel. Formerly a Chelish archduchy, Ravounel began its struggle for sovereignty in 4716 AR behind the revolutionaries of Kintargo known as the Silver Ravens. At the same time, the Iomedaen crusaders of the Glorious Reclamation attacked Cheliax in Westcrown far to the south. Its armies and resources split between the two fronts, Cheliax could only win one war, and in 4717 House Thrune was forced to recognize Ravounel’s independence. Today, Ravounel’s focus is on building the foundation of a stable government to last for generations to come and establishing trade with its neighbors along Avistan and Garund’s western coasts.

Illustration by Rogier van de Beek

Aside from Cheliax, Ravounel shares a border with the shadow-shrouded nation of Nidal—the oldest continuous nation state in the entire region. Founded by followers of Zon-Kuthon emboldened during the Age of Darkness, the isolationist nation is ruled by a secret cabal of shadowcasters known as the Black Triune. During the period of Chelish expansion known as the Everwar, Cheliax formally annexed Nidal, though the latter never truly ceded its independence to Chelish rule. Instead, the Black Triune maintained near total control of the shadowy nation by Chelish grace. Even under control of House Thrune, Nidal has been left largely to its own devices, though the common ground between Zon-Kuthon’s and Asmodeus’s faiths have strengthened the nations’ alliance.

Illustration by Fabio Gorla

In Isger, to Cheliax’s northeast, however, things are not so cordial. Isger is a vassal in every form of the word, with its ruler, Hedvend VI little more than a thrall under Abrogail’s iron rule. Despite its close ties to Cheliax, Isger gets little benefit from its powerful liege state’s influence, instead sending its resources to Cheliax with little in return. This dynamic was never more evident than two decades ago, when the goblins of Isger’s Chitterwood, under hobgoblin commanders, attacked much of the unprotected countryside surrounding the forest. During the ensuing Goblinblood Wars, the armies not only of Cheliax but Andoran and Druma had to come to the Isgeri’s aid, and casualties were high on both sides. Even 20 years on, Isger is still recovering from the bloody conflict, but a glimmer of hope has arisen, for among the surviving goblins, a new alliance of likeminded tribes has begun reaching out to the local human population in the hopes of preventing future conflicts between goblinoids and other ancestries from causing the same level of devastation. And with the undead threat around Lake Encarthan growing, the Isgeri largely welcome any allies they can get as their government largely ignores their needs in order to lick their Chelish masters’ boots.

Illustration by Michele Giorgi

Players hailing from or adventuring in the region can look forward to seven new backgrounds such as Chelish rebel, Goblinblood orphan, or Thrune loyalist, as well as the Hellknight Armiger archetype, which allows members of all classes to begin their journey as a keeper of law and order as early as 2nd level! Look for a new piece of horror-tinged flash fiction from Liane Merciel later this week as the Tales of Lost Omens series continues. Next week we’ll venture to one of Cheliax’s more distant former holdings, the frontier region of Varisia and its larger meta-region of the Saga Lands.

Illustration by Biagio d'Alessandro

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Since we first revealed the map of the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting, with its ten meta-regions and updated names for existing locations, fans have been asking for more information about the Mwangi Expanse. Well today I'm happy to be able to grant that wish, with a brief overview of how the setting's iconic jungle has evolved between editions!

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

One of the key differences between the Mwangi Expanse and other regions of the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting is that it (mostly) lacks nation-states with capitals and well-established borders, instead offering a number of city-states spread throughout a vast wilderness of adventure-filled jungles, savannahs, swamps, and mountains. Whether it's Nantambu, with its ancient magic academy, the Magaambya; Mzali, ruled by the mummified child-god Walkena; or the mercantile pirate port of Bloodcove; each of these political entities is presented with the same level of detail as the nations on the Inner Sea. We took special care to ensure that each one is described from the perspective of a native rather than from the eyes of outlanders coming into the region to explore and research the “lost” civilizations within, and longtime fans of the Mwangi Expanse should appreciate the new point of view for the variety of stories it can inspire in players and GMs alike.

Illustration by Mirco Paganessi

On the Expanse's western coast lie the Sodden Lands—a collective name for the flooded nations of Lirgen and Yamassa, which were destroyed with the Eye of Abendego formed off their shores. No centralized government rules these waterlogged lands, and what antediluvian settlements survive are now mostly ruined spectres of their former glory, overtaken by cannibals, cultists, and monsters. Many Lirgeni refugees and lizardfolk resettled in the Mwangi city of Jaha, and unlike the city's vanished former inhabitants, open the city to visitors who hope to learn from the famed astrologers and work with them to find a way to end the raging hurricane and reclaim their homeland.

Illustration by Roberto Pitturru

South of the Sodden Lands, the former nation of Sargava has undergone incredible change in the last few years. A revolution mounted by the nation's native population overthrew the Chelish colonial government that had ruled for centuries, establishing the new land of Vidrian in Sargava's place. As with all new nations, Vidrian has a long road to stability ahead of it, but its people are hopeful that self-rule will bring about an era of prosperity and innovation. Under the leadership of heroes of the revolution, the ruling council of Anthusis (what used to be Eleder) hopes to establish new trade and military alliances with nations both abroad and in the Expanse, and prevent colonization efforts like that of Sargava from occurring again elsewhere in the Mwangi.

Illustration by Rogier van de Beek

Humans are not the only inhabitants of the Mwangi Expanse, however, and rich societies of elves and orcs are also present. The elves of the Mualijae nations—the Ekujae, Kallijae, and Alijae—occupy most of the Expanse to one degree or another, and though no longer part of a unified nation as they once were, the elves nevertheless exert incredible influence over the entire region. The orcs of Lake Ocata, for their part, have a much more localized reach, but their influence is no less important. In the wake of the Gorilla King's death and the fall of Usaro, it has been these jungle orc tribes who have led the efforts to re-stabilize the region and retake their homeland from the demon-tainted forces that once ruled.

Illustration by Andrea Tentori Montalto

Player characters from or familiar with the Mwangi Expanse can select from eight new backgrounds, such as Bonuwat wavetouched, Bright Lion, and Shory seeker, or acquire a blessed tattoo from the Mwangi orcs. Modern heroes who hope to emulate the powers and traditions of the Ten Magic Warriors and Old-Mage Jatembe may also take the magic warrior archetype.

Illustration by Klaher Baklaher

Be on the lookout for the third and final piece of flash fiction from Pathfinder Tales author Tim Pratt later this week in the Tales of Lost Omens series. Next week, we'll travel back to southern Avistan to the meta-region of Old Cheliax with new fiction from Liane Merciel!

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

When we were first dividing the nations of the Inner Sea region into the ten meta-regions that comprise the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting, one of the first ones we floated as a proof of concept was the Impossible Lands—the nations of Geb, Nex, and Jalmeray, and the magic blasted wilderness of the Mana Wastes. This is the "high magic" part of the core setting, where centuries of warfare between archmages shaped the land and imbued the local culture with magic unlike anywhere else on Golarion.

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

At the heart of this region are the nations of Geb and Nex, each named for the mighty archmage who founded it and home to incredible wonders, even millennia after the conflict that came to define them. In Nex, the northern of the two lands, the mysterious Arclords carry on the magical research started by their founder, who disappeared into an extraplanar realm at the climax of his war with Geb. In Quantium, the nation's capital, towers soar above vast palaces illumined by the ethereal glow of perpetual arcane lights, and visitors are as likely to run into a golem on the street as they are an ambitious scholar of wizardry.

Illustration by Mirco Paganessi

To Nex's south lies Geb, a land of undead ruled by the ghostly necromancer of the same name. The debauchery of the Blood Lords who govern the nation at Geb's behest is legendary, and nearly every day visitors to the capital of Mechitar can witness glorious feasts of humanoid flesh, parades to the glory of Geb and Urgathoa, or misery wrested upon the living for the pure enjoyment of the ruling class. Geb's fertile fields are the breadbasket of the region, for nearly all of its produce can be exported to other nations, Geb's own populace needing no sustenance from the earth. A constant target for enemies of undead—from the displaced Lastwall Knights to the church of Pharasma—Geb has no shortage of adventure for those who dare risk passage across its forsaken borders.

Illustration by Fabio Gorla

Between Geb and Nex stretches the Spellscar Desert of the Mana Wastes. Having changed hands countless times in the centuries of magical warfare between the two nations, the wastes were a constant battlefront, and ages of arcane attacks and defenses did irreparable harm to the land itself. Primal storms of raw magical energy flow in unnatural patterns through the unforgiving desert, and pockets of dead magic leave travelers with no defenses against the mutated inhabitants of the scarred region. In the Duchy of Alkenstar, however, the innovative inhabitants have embraced technology as a defense against the wastes' threats, developing new alchemical and clockwork wonders to protect them. The most closely guarded of their secrets is the key to firearms, which have slowly spread from Alkenstar throughout other parts of the world, but which are still largely produced in the duchy itself, guaranteeing a stable economy for the isolated city-state even amid the chaos of the Mana Wastes.

Illustration by Roberto Pitturru

Across the Obari Ocean from Nex lies the island nation of Jalmeray, home to a large population of ethnic Vudrani. Here the mystical practices of psychic magic are common, and students of more martial pursuits harness the elemental powers within themselves in the monastic Houses of Perfection. Just as Qadira serves as the Inner Sea's gateway to the riches and wonders of the Padishah Empire of Kelesh, Jalmeray offers just a taste of the mysteries and power of distant Vudra, and many heroes stop here on their journey eastward around Casmaron only to find enough adventure here to keep them in Jalmeray for decades.

Illustration by Ksenia Kozhevnikova

Player characters from or adventuring in the Impossible Lands can make use of seven new backgrounds, the student of perfection archetype, and the Eye of the Arclords feat, allowing them to harness some of the magic of the region and add a spark of ancient arcane mystery to their repertoires. Yesterday, we posted a for a glimpse into life in the Impossible Lands with Tim Pratt's story, "Bound for Glory." Next week, we'll journey west into the Mwangi Expanse, so get your mosquito nets ready!

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Sit right back and I'll tell a tale, a tale of a frightful trip that started in a tropic port and involved a fateful ship. Tighten your floatation devices, take a deep breath, and let's dive in to our tour of the High Seas meta-region of the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting!

Illustration by Roberto Pitturru

By far the largest of the meta-regions in the Lost Omens World Guide, the High Seas consist of, well, all the seas and oceans that cover Golarion’s surface. And though the shape of these great bodies of water remains largely constant, the sea is ever changing, with new, unexpected threats and bounties awaiting over every horizon or washing ashore with every wave. That said, not a lot has changed between Pathfinder's first and second edition in this region, leaving more room for us to explore all new locations and dive deeper into the lore of established but only lightly detailed locales and organizations.

Among the areas given new revelations are the Mordant Spire, the ancient elven outpost formed from the remains of a dead Azlanti god; the utopian island nation of Hermea, where the benevolent gold dragon Mengkare oversees a grand experiment to perfect humanity; tropical Mediogalti Island, home to the pirate port of Ilizmagorti and the secret, jungle citadel of the Red Mantis assassins cult!

Illustration by Rogier van de Beek

Illustration by Valeria Lutfullina

Illustration by Mirco Paganessi

The region of the High Seas we've done the most with in Pathfinder's first decade of development is the archipelago known as the Shackles, off Garund's western coast. Here, in the shadow of the permanent hurricane called the Eye of Abendego, the Free Captains of the Pirate Council rule their fellow buccaneers as much with fear and the threat of violence as they do loyalty and the promise of coin. A few years back, the Hurricane King Kerdak Bonefist was defeated by an ambitious crew of pirates who'd begun their career as simple deckhands on the famed ship Wormwood. Replacing Bonefist as the head of the Pirate Council and ruler of Port Peril is Hurricane Queen Tessa Fairwind. To the pirates and other natives of the Shackles, life is pretty much what it was before the edition change, but the Free Pirates, no longer receiving bribes from the government of Sargava, have ramped up their operations in the region, leaving the entire southern Arcadian Ocean ripe territory for both potential cutthroats and privateers looking to quash piracy at its source.

Illustration by Cynthia F.G.

One of the most exciting parts of the High Seas region, however, are the lands and settlements beneath the waves. New sites in the Inner Sea and Arcadian Ocean are presented with exciting adversaries, political intrigues, and adventure seeds for any sea-faring campaign. Among them are the aquatic elf city of Irim, the gillman enclave of Kienek-Li off the Isle of Kortos, consisting of the coral Boneglade and the buoyant, wooden Float, anchored to the ocean floor by giant chains, and the deep-trench alghollthu city of Gholinom, dubbed the Passage Outward by its sinister masters.

Illustration by Fabio Gorla

Illustration by Klaher Baklaher

Presented alongside the setting details of the High Seas are a number of new character options, including both magical and mundane equipment useful in both maritime and underwater exploration, seven new backgrounds such as the Hermean expatriate, scholar of Azlant, and storm survivor, and the Red Mantis assassin archetype, allowing cultists of the mantis god Achaekek to begin their training as early in their careers as second level.

Next week, we'll head back to solid ground for a trip through the Impossible Lands along the Obari Ocean! On Thursday, Pathfinder Tales veteran Chris A. Jackson wraps up his trilogy of Tales of Lost Omens flash fiction with a return to the genre he perfected in his novels Pirate's Honor, Pirate's Promise, and Pirate's Prophecy.

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Invisible and as silent as a church fart, Twilp Farfan slipped through the sparse midday crowds of Sothis's Malhitu Bazaar. Skulking in broad daylight always freaked the halfling out, but if he didn't stir up too much dust or bump into anyone, his passage would go unnoticed. Sothans tended to close up shop and nap in the blazing heat of the day, so there weren't many people about.

All good for me. He paused in the shade of an awning and wiped his face. All except the heat.

Twilp studied the blue-domed cupolas across the square and found the right building. Two burly guards stood beside the beaded doorway of Kepeshka's Antiquities Emporium. Sweat glistened on their ebony skin, their eyelids sagging, but each rested a hand on a khopesh at his belt.

Nobody trusts anyone these days. Of course, that included Twilp. He didn't care who he stole for or from, as long as the gold was yellow. In Sothis, gold was all that mattered, and after the fall of the pyramids, there had been a glut of expensive antiquities on the market, ripe for the picking. The halfling's gaze drifted up to Sothis's looming Black Dome and the recently fallen pyramid beyond. The instant it hit the ground, grave robbers had swarmed like ants over a fallen elephant. The very trinket he was being paid to steal had come from that megalithic monstrosity. Twilp didn't know what was so important about this particular bauble anyway; a dagger was a dagger as far as he was concerned. But gold...

The ground-floor windows were girded with ornate iron latticework, and the sheer walls defied even the deftest climber. Twilp edged around the square and up to the bead-curtained doorway. The guards blinked lazily, half asleep. The burglar eased down to the ground and squirmed quietly beneath the curtain.

Good thing I'm skinny. He rose up inside and scanned the showroom. A woman sat behind a counter, idly polishing a lamp. Twilp grinned. Now for the prize.

Illustration by Illustration by Tomasz Chistowski

Upstairs, he found the merchant's bedroom. Two more guards stood at the door, which gaped to allow the breeze to circulate. They didn't even twitch when he slipped past them. Gauzy curtains billowed, the Black Dome and pyramid looming beyond. Some said everything from the inside of the fallen pyramid was cursed, but Twilp didn't believe it. Gold was the only thing he believed in.

Twilp tore his eyes away from the view, and skulked over to the merchant's bed. Big enough for six, it currently accommodated only three: the merchant, Lorisi Kepeshka, and two comely men, husbands or toys. Sweat glistened on their skin like the luster of precious metal. Like gold... The dagger hung from the headboard above Kepeshka's tousled black hair, worth enough to keep Twilp happy for months.

The halfling examined the serpent hilt and pommel, its fanged head and ruby eyes. Gaudy. As his fingers curled around the scaled hilt, however, the dagger's eyes came alight.

"Hello, little thief."

Twilp jerked his hand away, unsure for a moment if he'd heard the voice with his ears or in his head. His client, Lady Nikiri, hadn't told him it was haunted. Doesn't matter. As he reached again, a bead of sweat fell from his brow and plopped down right between Lorisi Kepeshka's eyes.

Twilp froze.

She stirred, one hand reaching up to wipe the drop away, her eyes blinking open. She stared right through the invisible burglar for a moment, then looked up to the dagger. She sighed, smiled, and reached for it.

Oh, no you don't! Twilp grabbed for it, and their hands touched the scabbarded weapon at the same instant.

"Well, this should be interesting," the voice said in his mind.

Lorisi Kepeshka's eyes flung wide. "Thief!"

Crap! Twilp jerked the dagger out of her grasp, and the weapon became invisible.

"The dagger! Thief!" Kepeshka's bedmates lurched up, and the door guards burst in, swords drawn.

"Kill her!" the voice said in Twilp's head. "Use me!"

Bugger off! Twilp backed away.

"Someone took the dagger!" Kepeshka vaulted out of bed. "They're invisible! Block the door and sweep the room!"

"Is that any way to talk to someone who can make you a god?" the voice of the dagger asked.

You can hear my thoughts?

"Yes, and read your greedy little soul, Twilp Farfan."

Great. Now shut up; I'm busy! He clipped the dagger to his belt and dashed for the window.

"Wait! Aren't you going to kill her? You really should, you know."

I'm a burglar, not an assassin. Twilp leapt and tore through the gauzy curtains.

"Oh, but her life force can be yours! I can give it to you!"

I don't want it. The burglar hit a canvas awning and slid. Anyone heavier would have torn right through, but Twilp didn't. "But it'll make you powerful, invulnerable, immortal!"

Don't particularly want those either. He flipped off the awning into the street, bowling down a man carrying a basket of flatbread.

"What kind of mortal are you?" The dagger sounded incredulous.

The kind who likes his life the way it is. Now shut up.

"Thief!" Kepeshka screeched from the window, pointing right at him. "Guards! After that thief!"

The two ground-floor guards drew their swords and advanced.

Twilp now understood why Lady Nikiri wanted the dagger. Denied the political power of her elder siblings, married to a lesser house, and now aging and bitter, the lure of power and immortality would be irresistible to her.

I'll settle for gold. Twilp dashed up the street.

"Coward," the dagger chided.

Twilp ignored it and ran.

"There!" one of the guards bellowed.

Twilp glanced back and saw the puffs of dust where his feet touched the street. They'd spotted him.

The burglar dodged under awnings, over, around, and under displays of goods, but they were hot on his heels, their longer legs doubling his best speed.

"Kill them! I'll make you a god!"

And deal with all that religion crap? No thanks! Twilp sprinted past the auction houses and into the Rose Quarter, trying to keep the dust of his passage down, but to no avail.

"There!" The guards were right on him.

Desperate, Twilp dodged into Wimiri's Bathhouse.

"Look! Footprints!"

Twilp glanced back at his dusty tracks on the otherwise spotless tile floor. Damn!

"Kill them!" the dagger screamed.

Shut up! The halfling dodged through a doorway and skidded to a stop inches before falling into a sunken bath crowded with chatting women sipping cool drinks. The guard chasing him wasn't so dexterous.

The man slammed into Twilp's back, and they both plunged into the bath. Twilp's head cracked the bottom of the shallow pool hard enough to stun him. He thrashed to the surface, women screaming, and a meaty fist closed on the neck of his jerkin.

"Got you, little thief!" The guard lifted him, raising his khopesh.

"Kill him!" the dagger bellowed in his mind. "Use me! It's your only chance!"

For once, Twilp agreed. He had to get free, and the blade hung at his belt. He drew it and stabbed the man's elbow.

"YES!"

Crimson light flooded the bath. The dagger's blade shone like a flaming ruby, pulsing with life as it pierced the guard's arm. The man drew a startled breath, eyes wide, not in pain, but in terror.

Flesh shriveled on the guard's bones, blood, life, and for all Twilp knew, his soul sucked away into the blade...and into Twilp. The dried husk of flesh crumbled, and the halfling hit the water.

The bathers erupted in panic, thrashing to get away from the spreading pall of ashes in the water.

"There, now." The dagger sounded satisfied. "Feel better?"

Twilp did feel better, his pain gone, his head clear, and he fairly bristled with energy. He felt like he could do anything, like he would live forever.

"And you can," the dagger assured him. "Every life you take with me will make you greater."

Twilp thought of it, immortality, power, riches, the helpless bathers fleeing around him, and almost puked. He thrashed out of the water and invoked the magic of his ring again, blinking into invisibility. Sheathing the dagger and snatching up a towel, he slipped out of the bathing room, avoiding the panicked patrons. The voice of the dagger rang in his head, urging him to sheath it in flesh, to drink their lives.

Quelling the temptation to become a god, Twilp crept into another wing of the establishment. Sheltered alcoves, each with a lidded commode, lined a wall beneath narrow windows.

Perfect! Twilp hopped up onto a bench and lifted the lid at his feet.

"What are you doing?"

He thought about what the dagger had promised him, and what someone like Lady Nikiri would do with it. The gold she had promised him suddenly seemed stained with blood.

Twilp drew the dagger.

"What are you doing?!"

"Saving my soul, you filthy piece of crap." Twilp held it over the dark pit.

"DON'T!"

Twilp released his grip and watched the blade's red glow vanish into the depths. With a wet plop, the crimson light winked out. Hundreds of patrons would bury the weapon deeper. Nobody would ever dig it up.

"Some treasures are better left buried." Twilp clambered up the wall to slip through the narrow window into the fresh air. "And some things are worth more than gold."

Chris A. Jackson
Contributing Author

I knew it would come for me. My thrice-cursed fate would not be denied: my blood, my birth, and my faith. I knew I would be chosen; my mother all but promised me.

"The year thirteen will fall on you, daughter. You cannot prevent it, but you can prepare."

Twenty-four black hooves, four iron-rimmed wheels, and fourteen glowing red eyes, the coach and six, the harbinger of my fate, my promise, my doom, glided down the cobbled street toward me without a whisper. The good citizens of Cesca scattered, scuttling into doorways, slamming shutters, scurrying into alleys like terrified rats. I stood and awaited my fate.

The ebony coach stopped before me, the driver's burning coal eyes transfixing me like needles pinning a moth in a display. Armor rustled like winter-dead leaves hammered from cold iron as one hand released the reins to delve the driver's cloak. A roll of ebony parchment bound with a blood-red ribbon issued forth, held out in that undying grasp for me.

"Your invitation, daughter of Arudora." The voice chilled me like the touch of an icy scalpel.

"Of course." I took the invitation in hand, pulled the ribbon, and unrolled the black parchment that sealed my doom. I read, "Marilisa Balcus Arudora," my name, the only words on the page.

The armored driver gestured, and the coach's door swung silently open. "Welcome."

The midnight coach swallowed me.

Illustration by Mariusz Gandzel

Black leather, satin drapes, and pale faces rimed with terror greeted me. I sat and adjusted my skirts. The seat was cold, and the faces colder, six of my kin doomed to the fate we all shared. I only recognized one, a cousin I'd met only once. His eyes took me in with subdued recognition, one hand gripping the head of his walking stick, a silver wolf, teeth bared in rage. The others, two peasants, a tradesman, a merchant, and a trollop, avoided my gaze, resigned to our common fate. A prospect worse than death lurked in their eyes.

The coach moved, but I'd not felt it and heard not a sound but the beating of my own heart and tremulous breath. The merchant rocked forward and back, his hands clutched white-knuckled. The trollop withdrew a silver flask from her ample bodice and drew a draught. She caught my eye and flashed a smile.

"Drop o' liquid courage, love?" She held out the flask, the scent of brandy heady in the air.

"No, thank you." I'd long ago consigned my courage to the flames.

"Suit yourself." She drank again and tucked the flask away.

"Can't do this...can't do this..." the fidgety merchant muttered.

"Oh, do shut up, man!" My gentleman cousin eyed him derisively.

"Bugger off and leave him be!" one of the peasants snapped, a lip curling back from tobacco-stained teeth.

"How dare you speak to—"

"Can't do this!" The hysterical merchant drew a stiletto.

"Don't!" The word escaped my lips before I could bite it off, but it did no good.

The merchant's trembling hand drew a ragged line of crimson across his throat. He cut deep, deep enough to paint the trollop seated across from him with the spray. She swore, fending off his lifeblood with a raised arm. The merchant choked and coughed, shuddering as the torrent slowed.

"Bloody fool," my gentleman cousin scoffed. "Death is no escape now."

True enough, for as the merchant's blood ceased to flow with the last fluttering beats of his dying heart, only surprise registered on his paling features. His eyes blinked, bloody lips gaping in shock as undeath took him. We could not escape our fate so easily.

The trollop withdrew her flask and drained its contents in one greedy draught, her cheeks pale under the cheap rouge and flecks of blood.

"Hells and demons," the surly peasant swore, making a sign to ward off evil.

"That won't save you either, ignorant fool." My gentleman cousin's nose wrinkled, perhaps at the stench of blood, perhaps in sheer disdain.

"Neither will that blade in your cane, sir, enchanted though it be." I don't know why I spoke, but I felt the need to put the pompous ass in his place. "No mortal-forged implement will save you."

His eyes narrowed at me. "You seem quite sure of yourself, Marilisa."

"I am." I adjusted my skirts again, my hand exploring the folds for my one hope of salvation. Cold metal caressed my palm. "I've known my fate my entire life, Lord Wolthaven. As have you."

"Oh, and I suppose you've some trick you hope will save you!" He glared at me, dredging courage from anger.

"No trick." I gripped my only hope and prayed silently.

"Look!" The tradesman pointed out the window at the passing scenery.

Ruined buildings, dilapidated cottages, and crumbled towers took on a ghostly radiance, blazing blue with shadows of their former grandeur as we passed through the dead village of Maiserene. I recognized it from my studies. I wondered if anyone outside the carriage could see the apparition or if it existed only for our doomed eyes. Ahead the spectral bridge to our destination coalesced over the dark water of Lake Laroba. Our conveyance paused not as we crossed, silent water roiling beneath us, perhaps hungering for the living or welcoming us to our fate.

We plunged through the toothed maw of Bastardhall's gate, the wail of cold iron hinges, gears, and chains a cacophonous greeting. One of the peasants began sobbing. The coach pulled into a vast courtyard and stopped before the grim foyer.

Three tall figures awaited our arrival: a woman of pale complexion with white-streaked hair, another woman bearing the sigil of Urgathoa upon her breast, and a hooded shape holding a swaddled bundle in his arms.

I knew they had long prepared for this meeting.

The carriage door opened and my destiny propelled me forth, my legs steady, teeth clenched against useless screams, and my hand gripping the spike of silver that no mortal hand had forged. The fire of a burning sun scorched my palm as I strode forth to my fate.

Chris A. Jackson
Contributing Author

Selik slouched along at the back of the party with Boret and the other archers. "Stupid crusader. Why is he even here? We don't need him. Our god has returned and reunited us with the rest of the clan."

Boret grunted. "Dolok Darkfur is a power, no doubt, and without his leadership, we'd still be hiding in the forest. Even so... Ramnos has more practical demon-fighting experience than the rest of us put together. You'll be glad we have his sword on our side when we storm that keep."

Their god—a massive, bear-like creature whose bright feathers and intelligent eyes made it impossible to mistake him for an ordinary animal—led the group, flanked by that irritating crusader and the clan's god-caller, Nelket.

Selik spat. "The other crusaders left Sarkoris when the Worldwound closed. I don't trust him. Why is he still here? Shouldn't he be riding to the soft southern lands with the rest of his people?"

Boret snorted. "The crusaders only turned south because the Whispering Tyrant stirs. Things aren't so soft there."

"But why—"

"By the Stag Mother's antlers, boy, go ask him yourself if you want to know his reasons! The crusader doesn't confide in me."

Selik glared toward the front of the group, his eyes widening when the crusader stopped walking until Selik reached him, then fell into step beside him. "I could not help but overhear your question." His accent was atrocious. "I remain because I took an oath to cleanse your ancestral lands of the Abyssal taint. Some think because the land no longer bleeds demons, our work is done, but I disagree." He paused. "Also, I am very good at killing demons."

"Braggart."

Ramnos laughed, a sound that irritated Selik to his marrow. "I prefer to think of it as clear-eyed self-regard. I know you are angry, Selik. I don't blame you. Your people have suffered as much as anyone. But I wish your anger wouldn't settle on me. Not all outsiders are invaders. I've developed great affection for your people."

"You mean for my aunt."

"Starting with your aunt, let us say," Ramnos agreed.

"You'll never be part of the Farheaven Clan," Selik muttered. There were precious few of his people left, but Selik bristled at the idea of outsiders traveling with them, or, gods forbid, marrying in.

"Perhaps not. But—"

"We're here," the god-caller said, her voice somehow seeming to whisper in Selik's ear. He stepped away from Ramnos, joining the others on a low rise that looked down on the grim expanse of Carlhon Keep, once home to men and women, now a stronghold of demons, with black clouds swirling unnaturally above its towers and walls.

Illustration by Mariusz Gandzel

Selik had grown up in the forests and fields with members of his clan and had spent barely any time under roofs of wood and stone. Carlhon Keep was vast beyond his imaginings. Could his people really live there, if they removed the demonic infestation? "The walls are glowing," Selik whispered.

"Demonic runes." Ramnos sighed. "Those walls may need to come down entirely. The taint runs deep into the stone. The lightning worries me more, though." Sick green flashes lit the dark clouds.

Dolok Darkfur rose, towering on his hind legs, and Selik could not deny the stirrings of awe within him. With their god at their head, how could they fail? "I fear no lightning," Darkfur said, his voice all rumble and strength.

"The rest of us must." Ramnos pointed with his sword to tiny specks moving among the dark clouds and green flashes of electricity. "Those are wrath demons. Vile things. They do a dance—"

"They dance?" Selik scoffed. He made a mocking little pirouette.

"Their dance brings ruin," Ramnos said. "Few who witness it survive. The demons dance not for pleasure, but as a ritual, to call down evil upon their enemies. That lightning... I fear the fiends know we are coming, and have begun to dance our deaths."

"They can't dance if someone bites their legs off," Darkfur growled, and then rushed forward on all fours toward the keep, Nelket and the clan's warriors hurrying after him, swords and hammers drawn.

Ramnos watched them run. "It's a good thing we discussed the plan in advance. Ready your bow, Selik."

"What?"

The crusader pointed again. The specks in the air were getting bigger, and a few swooped toward them. Selik gasped, fumbled with his bow, and nocked one of the blessed arrows. He was one of the best archers in the clan, famed for his ability to shoot birds on the wing, but the things coming for them weren't birds—they were a grotesque cross between men and vultures, trailing feathers and dust.

"Better if they do not come close," Ramnos said. "They spew a poisonous cloud."

Selik took a breath, sighted, and loosed. The arrow sailed true and caught the approaching demon in its right wing just as it dove toward Darkfur. The demon spun, its other wing clipping the ground, and went down in a sprawl of feathers. The god paused briefly over it to deliver a killing blow, and then loped on. "I got it!" Selik crowed. Other demons fell to the holy arrows loosed by Boret and the other archers, and the rest of the demons in the air retreated back toward the keep.

"They were focused on your god, and didn't consider the rest of you threats before," Ramnos said. "Now, they do. Come on!" He rushed forward, and Selik followed, blood singing with something like the thrill of the hunt, but even more potent.

The archers stopped within bowshot of the walls and loosed arrows at the twisted figures on the battlements, protecting the warriors in the vanguard. To Selik's annoyance, the crusader stayed by his side, acting as a spotter and calling out targets—he seemed to know which demons were the equivalent of officers, and once Selik had killed a few of those, the lowlier fiends broke and fled.

Darkfur reached the keep's gate and rose up, roaring, to slam against the barrier. The runes on the walls flared and burned brighter. The warriors joined their god, battering the gates with their weapons, but the god was a siege engine in his own right, and soon the dark wood began to splinter and crack.

"Here." The crusader offered Selik a knife—almost big enough to be a small sword—with a blade that reflected more light than it should have beneath those clouded skies. "Your bow will be less use inside."

Selik reached out, scowled, paused, then snatched up the weapon. It felt good in his hand, thrumming with power. "Why are you giving me this? Why are you sticking so close to me at all?"

"It is... possible... I told your aunt I would look out for you," Ramnos said, "while she and the other warriors stay close to your god."

Selik stomped his foot. "I am not a child in need of a nursemaid!"

Ramnos chuckled another infuriating chuckle. "That is fortunate, as I would make a poor nursemaid. I am, however, a capable fighter, and would be honored to stand by your side."

"I don't need your help," Selik said. "I can find glory on my own!"

"I do not doubt it, but she made me swear an oath." He shrugged. "An oath is an oath."

"I don't—"

The crusader suddenly shouted and shoved Selik aside as a vulture demon leapt down on them from the battlements. The crusader and the demon went down in a jumble of limbs and feathers, claws and blades, and Selik froze. Shooting arrows at distant shapes was one thing, but now the demon was here, at his feet, stinking and writhing and vile and terrifying. He froze for a long moment, then looked around for help, but the rest of the clan was disappearing into a crack in the gates.

Selik shook himself, raised his new blade, and waited for his moment. When he was sure he wouldn't hit Ramnos by mistake, he struck, plunging his blade into the back of the demon's birdlike head. It screamed, the wound smoking, and Ramnos rolled out from under and struggled to his feet. The crusader plunged his sword through the monster's back, ending its shrieks. He plucked a moldy feather from his hair and rubbed at a long scratch on his cheek, but smiled. "You see? You are the one looking after me."

Selik nodded. "That's right. You're... lucky I was here."

"I never could take care of myself alone. That is why I joined an order of knights in the first place." Ramnos nodded toward the cracked gates. "Shall we teach these demons to dance properly?"

"Dancing is soft," Selik muttered, but he followed Ramnos into the keep as lightning began to lance down from the clouds all around.

The crusader's answering laughter somehow annoyed him less this time.

Tim Pratt
Contributing Author

"Pardon..."

Over the din of the bustling street market the young boy's cry reached the passing nobleman. "Pardon me, my lord. Are you seeking the god rock? Do you need the courage to take the leap? The blessing of one who passed the test?"

The nobleman ignored him, but the young merchant persisted, obviously recognizing the robed figure's wealth from the quality of his clothes and the confidence in his step. "I have here the tears of Iomedae herself, shed when she learned of Aroden's death!" The boy pushed through the crowd, following the nobleman, waving a tiny vial that undoubtedly contained ordinary water. "My lord?"

The nobleman paid the boy no mind and walked through the throng seemingly oblivious to the solicitations of its eager vendors.

All along the Avenue of the Hopeful it was the same racket. Everyone had some divine relic to sell: a tabard supposedly worn by Iomedae in the Shining Crusade; a barroom dart thrown by a mortal Cayden Cailean; a blood-rusted dagger said to have been wielded by Norgorber himself. They were all fake, of course, but the visitors that streamed down this road every day to look at the Starstone Cathedral didn't know that—or pretended not to out of willful ignorance. Sometimes even the merchants believed the veracity of their claims, their fraud offset by their misplaced good intentions.

Illustration by Federico Musetti

Among themselves, the charlatans hocking these wares claim the cathedral is the straight man in their cons. Its very presence adds an air of mystery and divine authority to the propositions, no matter how obvious the counterfeit relics are. How could it not? Inside the towering ancient shrine, suspended in the center of an unfathomably deep pit, lay a chunk of rock that fell from the heavens millennia ago amid the untold devastation of Earthfall. Those who brave the cathedral, passing all of its cunning tests, defeating its deadly guardians, and surviving to touch the Starstone exit the cathedral as gods. Many have tried over the centuries since Aroden constructed the cathedral to protect the holy relic within, but only three have ever succeeded. Unsurprisingly, it is Absalom's most visited tourist spot—the epicenter of the City at the Center of the World.

"Just two silver weights!"

The nobleman was now so far from the desperate tear-merchant that the boy's last cries were all but lost to the sounds of the city. The kid was new to the street and if he didn't soon fall in with one of the many organized rings of counterfeiters and con artists who worked in tandem to move their merchandise, he'd undoubtedly end up like so many others in the Ascendant Court, picking pockets to turn a profit from even the most discerning of customers. Those with experience working the God's Market knew not to waste their time with this particular nobleman, either as a customer or a mark.

Lord Synarr arrived in the city only six months ago, and since then he has walked the avenue every morning to gaze upon the Starstone Cathedral. At first, he was swarmed by kids hawking sacred items and protective talismans, but over time, they learned not to bother. Lord Synarr never spared even a single copper for any of their wares, he never once inspected their goods. He only diverted his attention from the Starstone Cathedral at the end of the Avenue of Hopefuls for the hopefuls themselves—those adventurers, demagogues, and zealots ambitious (or foolhardy) enough to plan their own run on divinity.

In a bid to prove their worthiness, most set up in one of the God's Market's many empty stalls and proselytize to what small audience they can wrest away from their competition. Some preach a message that speaks to a particular listener, or are charismatic enough to enthrall the crowd with their pageantry, and convert real followers from among the masses. On any given day a half-dozen or more hopefuls line the avenue, preaching their new faith, offering indulgences for coin, or performing rituals to prepare themselves for their journey.

For his first few weeks in Absalom, Lord Synarr stopped at each one as he made his way down the avenue, listening to the articles of the hopefuls' soon-to-be faiths before stoically moving on. The enigmatic noble no longer tarries before such aspirants, but he listens carefully to their tirades as he walks past, sometimes even smiling smugly to himself when a hopeful exhibits particular skill at capturing the crowd's attention.

Today, Lord Synarr witnessed a Keleshite trade prince offering a golden scabbard to Golinarth, the hulking hopeful who always wears a wooden skeleton mask and claims to have come back from the dead to become the god of second chances—one more rube offering wealth for miracles that would never materialize. A few yards further down the avenue, Ryni the Jest, a prankster hoping to become a god of mirth, gave the stern noble an unreciprocated wink of acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the butt of his public ridicule. The lord had his suspicions that the clown never actually intended to attempt the Test of the Starstone, but was simply amassing followers to start his own cult of personality.

A half-orc woman with a lilting accent offered Lord Synarr a score of rings, pendants, and bracelets tied to a velvet pillow. "Welcome back, my lord. Taking the test today?"

The noble didn't flinch, continuing his leisurely stroll toward the cathedral without a second glance in the merchant's direction.

"I got a new one, I did. Lets you walk on air." Her arm shot toward the end of the avenue like an arrow loosed from a hunter's bow. "Fttt—straight over the pit!" Recognizing that her daily pitch to her regular "customer" would have the same results today as it had the last six months, she turned her attention seamlessly to a wide-eyed gnome wearing Mwangi fashion to Synarr's left. "How about you, chum?"

Lord Synarr doubted any of the woman's jewelry was even magical, much less powerful enough to help someone cross the yawning expanse that separated the Starstone Cathedral from the surrounding city. Some fool, he was sure, would slip the ring on and dive headfirst into the abyss, cursing the merchant the whole way down. His dark eyes twinkled at the thought. One more shrine for the cathedral of the Failed, if even that.

Finally arriving at the edge of the chasm, Lord Synarr stopped for a moment and looked at the ancient temple. He was not the only one to hesitate near the precipice, and he had noted other regulars with their own routines in his time performing this daily ritual. Very few of them had lasted longer than a month or two, either giving up on their hopes of godhood or having perished in the attempt. Lord Synarr would be neither distracted nor a failure; he had one shot, and he would only attempt it when the time was right.

The robed lord turned to the left and walked around the chasm, the same route he took every day.

As he walked, his gait embodying both purpose and tranquility, Lord Synarr's thoughts turned to the temples adorning the grand plaza surrounding the pit. Iomedae and Cayden Cailean, two of the four whose apotheosis occurred mere yards away, had monuments here, built by their faithful as testaments to their success. A bridge spanned the chasm between each temple and the Starstone Cathedral, a physical manifestation of the gods' connection to the Starstone through which they attained divinity. The ascended god Norgorber, second after Aroden to pass the test, was far too secretive to put his temple out in the open. Those, like Lord Synarr, who studied the Starstone Cathedral could guess in which direction Norgorber's temple lied from the alignment of the third bridge, which appeared to point toward nothing in particular.

Lord Synarr ended his circuit of the Ascendant Court each day before the ruined fourth bridge across the mighty chasm. The missing span once pointed to the city's great temple to Aroden, who had raised the Starstone from the ocean depths along with the entire Isle of Kortos and in so doing captured his own spark of divinity. Though the bridge and even Aroden himself are gone, the temple still stands, now serving as the Chelish embassy. Despite the addition of the infernal insignias of House Thrune, Lord Synarr could still make out symbol of Aroden's eye that was once emblazoned above the grand entry, a negative outline in old dirt and moss.

The noble ended his daily stroll here to remind himself of his own mortality. While Lord Synarr welcomed the dignity and experience the gray in his hair and the lines at the corners of his eyes indicated, he could too easily allow the comforts afforded by his vast wealth distract him from the unwelcome truth that unless he passed the Test of the Starstone, he too would die. Though Aroden, god of humanity, may have died, Lord Synarr would not, he told himself.

His gaze turned from the repurposed Arodenite temple toward the towering cathedral at the city's heart. From this vantage point, he didn't see the gulf separating him from the home of divinity, and the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis fell away. With the focus of an owl trained on its unsuspecting prey, he was aware only of the Starstone Cathedral and the power within. And just like every other day, he said one word, quietly to himself, before turning and walking back to his stately manor and the day's extravagances.

"Soon."

Jason Bulmahn
Director of Game Design

The Inner Sea region the serves as the core of the Age of Lost Omens campaign setting is comprised of over 40 independent nation states and unincorporated regions, each home to diverse populations and the setting of countless adventures. And in the heart of the Inner Sea lies the Isle of Kortos (which translated from ancient Azlanti means "Starstone Isle") and on it, the world's largest metropolis—the teeming city of Absalom.

Illustration by Roman Roland Kuteynikov

Founded nearly 5,000 years ago by Aroden, the Last Azlanti, when he raised the isle and the Starstone from the Inner Sea floor, and in so doing became a living god, Absalom is the home of some of the region's most illustrious organizations, including the Pathfinder Society from whom the entire game gets its name. It was here that four mortals attained divinity by passing the Test of the Starstone, and here that countless would-be gods have laid unsuccessful siege to the city to claim the Starstone for themselves. Aptly called the City at the Center of the World, Absalom is a veritable melting pot of all of Golarion's myriad ancestries, cultures, and faiths.

In updating the setting for the Age of Lost Omens World Guide, we looked at scores of sources that fleshed out the vast city, incorporating events, locations, and personalities that grew organically over the last 12 years. Many of these sources were Pathfinder Society Scenarios, and players of the largest Pathfinder campaign in the world will notice a lot of their efforts represented in the current state of the city. Slavery has been abolished; the long-serving primarch, Lord Gyr of House Gixx, has disappeared (retired captain of the city's First Watch, Wynsal Starborn, rules in his absence); the magical cornucopias gifted by Aroden to the people of the city to provide for them in times of siege no longer work. Other updates come from adventures and sourcebooks from distant lands, such as Watcher-Lord Ulthun II of Lastwall's migration from Vigil to Absalom, from which he and his goblin aide-de-camp now coordinate operations for Lastwall's knights throughout the world. Now, why would he have done that?

Illustrations by Valeria Lutfullina and Katerina Kirillova

In large part, the updates to the city proper are the consolidation of hundreds of developments over the game's history, but that's not the case for the Isle of Kortos at large. Despite its prominent location, the island has received very little love in the last decade, so Paizo's Chief Creative Officer and Publisher, Erik Mona, sprang into action and personally filled the island with dozens of new adventure locations, many linked to the island's ancient history and its ties to the dead god, Aroden! Among the many new features gracing the island are a series of Aeon Towers, monolithic towers with glowing pinnacles believed to have been created by the Last Azlanti himself. The Aeon Towers (and much of the interior of the Starstone Isle) play a prominent role in the sophomore second edition Adventure Path, Extinction Curse, which launches in January, but you can get your first glimpse into this expanded world in August!

Illustration by Ainur Salimova

As with all ten new meta-regions in the Age of Lost Omens World Guide, the Absalom chapter presents several new player options, including a magic item, 8 character backgrounds, and the Pathfinder agent archetype!

Illustration by Klaher Baklaher

Check this spot Thursday for the first Tale of Lost Omens, a piece of flash fiction called "The Hopeful," written by none other than Absalom's original co-creator, Paizo's Director of Game Design, Jason Bulmahn!

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager

Now that we've concluded our Iconic Evolutions video series, I'm sure all of our readers are eagerly awaiting news of what exciting content we'll be sharing on Tuesdays going forward. Have no fear, brave Pathfinders, for I've got you covered!

Starting next week, hot on the heels of what's sure to be the best PaizoCon yet, we'll be showing the first of the new regions of the Pathfinder setting as presented in the Lost Omens World Guide, coming out on August 1. These 10 meta-regions are geographically contiguous and thematically linked sections of the Inner Sea region, each intended to be a bit more accessible to new players and Game Masters than the previous 40+ nations presented in the Inner Sea World Guide.

Cartography by Rob McCaleb

In addition to new groupings of neighboring nations, we've also updated the "status quo" of the setting to incorporate the effects of the past 12 years of adventures. We'll share a few of these changes every Tuesday until August, giving you a glimpse of the state of the world in 4719 AR and beyond. Don't worry, though, we'll do our best not to spoil past APs for those still finishing up their First Edition campaigns, and we'll leave plenty of reveals for August when you can read the full book yourselves.

Illustration by David Alvarez

For fans of the Iconic Encounters series of flash fiction we've tied to the weekly Iconic Evolution videos, we'll be continuing that with a piece starring Fumbus on Thursday of this week, and then continuing the flash fiction trend with a new series beginning next week: Tales of Lost Omens. These pieces are slightly longer than James Sutter's Iconic Encounters, but are still closely tied (as best we could) to an epic piece of art from the forthcoming Lost Omens World Guide. Fans of past Pathfinder Tales novels will be happy to know that we've gotten some of our most prolific authors to return for this series, so stay tuned!

Let us know in the comments or at PaizoCon this weekend what you've thought of the Iconic Evolutions, Iconic Encounters, and other preview content we've featured over the last few months here on the blog. We've been really pleased with the level of engagement on both series so far, and hope that varying the format a bit will keep things fresh and exciting for the coming months.

I've got lots of PaizoCon preparation to get to, so I'll wrap this up, but I look forward to seeing everyone at the con and then showing off our first region next week. Until then, Pathfinders, may your wayfinders always point toward adventure!

Mark Moreland
Franchise Manager