Ho there, stranger! If you're lookin' for shelter on a cold night like tonight, you could do a lot better than that cursed Ledinthorp estate you were prowling 'round. Come 'long. My daughters married and moved out ages ago—means we got a spare bed for a traveler who doesn't know how to stay out of trouble when there're Gray Gardeners keeping the peace.
You even know whose ruined home you were in? That once belonged to the old Ledinthorp clan. They played at being dukes and earls until the Revolution swept through in '67 and lopped off their heads! I hear the nursemaid smuggled out the duke's heirs before the mobs set fire to the place and made dresses out of the swanky curtains. Nobody's had a mind to fix it up, and the only reason anyone goes there now is to look for the inheritance the duke supposedly hid in the walls. Course, if there's any justice in the world, the Red Raven's found it long since and given it out to help feed starving mouths in these tryin' times.
What's that, stranger? Never heard of the Red Raven? That's a right shame, and something of a surprise for folk 'round here. He's famous—a hometown hero! Now I admit a lot of cities get to make that claim, but 'round here it's true. He was born a common man to a couple down on Razor Street. Some even say that he's the lost son of Darl Jubbanich, which would make the Red Raven the child of Liberty itself, raised by the common folk! But those were hard times; we were struggling with starvation inflicted by Galt's hungry neighbors, and the dark legacy of those traitorous aristocrats still strangled our lands. Even so, he fed on the freedom of a liberated nation—that part's exaggeration, mind, but it's how the story goes—and grew up strong, proud, and gallant. And handsome! You'd believe me if you saw him. My, if I was forty years younger…
Oh, don't give that look! At my age you're allowed to speak your mind. Now, where was I?
Just about everyone 'round here's seen the Red Raven from down the street or across the square as he pursues brigands and traitors. I'm lucky to have seen him eight times, myself. Why, he flies 'cross the shingles as if his cape were feathers, soaring on wings of grandeur stained by the blood of them rotten nobles. The glow of old Galt's torches'n'pitchforks can't compare to that righteous hellfire smoldering in his eyes, hotter'n Asmodeus's summer sweat! Course, what would you expect from someone whose passion for justice ignited from the sparks that flew from the first final blade? You know how our final blades all have ladies' names? That's 'cause they're the only wives the Red Raven takes, and hardly a night goes by that he doesn't bring home some bloody present for the missus. Har har!
Aww, loosen up, stranger. Jokin' aside, my youngest, Anjerille, she was at a festival when the Red Raven dropped into the crowd and picked out a villain—said he could sniff out nobles by night just by following the stench of their perfumes. Oh, you laugh. I did too, but only a month later we learned that he has eyes so sharp that he can tell the difference between a cobbler and a count from three streets away with only a crescent moon for light. Now, my eldest, Redarra, is known to tell some tall tales, but given what else I've seen, I half take it as truth when she says he can taste a man's bloodline back ten generations from just a single drop.
Who is he really? Anyone you ask will give a different answer. Some think he's a common bandit turned good. Others say he's a reformed noble seeking redemption. Me? I say he's everyone in Edme, for we're all willing to watch for aristocrats who think that after half a century it's finally safe to return to Galt. Aristocrats who would sneak around a burned-down estate and walk away with a bag of jewels, like the one I fancy you're carryin' now. Blue-bloods with a face like yours—the same as old Duke Ledinthorp's, whose head I watched tumble from Razor Jenni's blade so long ago. The son of a dead dynasty like yours, scavengin' what rightly belongs to the people of Galt. Who's the Red Raven? He's everyone we've passed tonight. He's every set of eyes that's seen us walking together. He's the footsteps you hear patterin' across the rooftops, fast as the heart of man who's got only an hour left to live.
Best get runnin' Your Excellency. The Red Raven knows you're here.
Pathfinder Society Lead Developer
Publisher Preview Update! Pathfinder Battles fans, the long break of miniatures updates is nearly over! Erik will return with news about the upcoming set next week!