Well, zero people have responded to my PM so I guess that's a wrap. Scott if you were waiting to mark the campaign inactive now's probably fine.
Search Posts
I will PM the others and ask what they think.
Yeah, it'd probably end up reverting back to more standard high fantasy/normal Golarion timeline, but I enjoy RPing with you guys and would like to continue.
Scott, I'm super sorry to see you go, I very much enjoyed this game. That said, would you be offended if we sought out another GM and continued playing this campaign? (assuming the others are amenable, which I haven't asked yet)
Hoo boy, I am really antsy for y'all to come back so we can get this puppy rolling again!
Clearing his throat, Alec shuffles uncomfortably. "I was doing a walk around the house, and I discovered some strange tracks that I'm...not entirely certain what to make of. At the defaced tombstone in the Restlands you were really impressive with the analysis, I was hoping you'd take a look at this."
I'm very much enjoying the game, so no complaints on my end.
Given that we have an Investigator with us, and one of their schticks is "these potions only work on me," I don't see any reason the party wouldn't accept that rationale.
so...same as I had before :p
When he finds the bootprints Alec grunts in satisfaction, kneeling in the grass for closer look. As his eyes track the prints along their path, his breath catches as they are replaced by paw prints Saint's Breath...no, this is too much. A youthful prank, or, or..." he mutters. As a child he had hidden under the blankets late at night with the other wards, each trying to frighten the others with lurid tales of witches, wraiths, and bloodthirsty beasts that could wear the shapes of men...but that was ridiculous. Is it? You were ensorcelled by a woman who drank blood, and Ivan is friends with a dead elf made of fire. Maybe you're going mad, Alec, or maybe the Professor truly was involved in the stuff of nightmares, and now we're all tangle up in it. Standing, he follows the paw-prints a short ways, pausing on the edge of the treeline and peering into the shadows beneath the boughs for a time. Nodding as if at a decision reached, he completes his circuit of the property, then returns to the house, boots thudding dully on the wooden stairs as he ascends to the . Lighting rapping his knuckles on the wooden doorframe, he softly calls. "Master Pavlovich, do you have a moment?"
I have a question for Scott about how gunslinger ammunition & Automatic Bonus Progression should work. Given that ABP operates largely as a substitute for wealth/magic items, how would you like to handle the crafting of firearms/cartridges? It's not important yet because Alec won't take his first gunslinger level until next level-up (I'll be spending most character down-time figuring out the in-world mechanics of the pistol and black powder & practicing because it seems silly to be suddenly expert with a weapon he acquired just under 48 hours ago). With the Gunslinger feat, Alec can craft firearms & ammunition at 10% base value instead of 50% like most item creation, but it's still a significant sink of gp for a 'slinger. Since presumably our piles of gold will be considerably smaller, how would you like to handle this? Alec would eventually like include alchemical devices like Dragon's Breath cartridges & the like in his repertoire.
While attempting to be considerate of her traumatic experience, Alec does mention the beggar's invocation of "Illmarsh," to rewarding result. Going to the window, he watches the small crowd of villagers carefully to see how everyone else was responding to the music's end.
Alec's hand twitches towards his crossbow as the cloud of blood-sucking creatures rises...and releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as they flowed southwards. "Some farmer is going to lose a lot of stock tonight, but better animals than people."
Throwing the beggar a skeptical glance that stopped just short of a glare, the young man hurries ahead of Esdras to open the door to the shop, then follows the pair in. "Esdras, remember those gravediggers I told you of last night? The flute, the stirges, an eerily similar situation. My first thought was some sort of occult practice, but I think these folks are victims, not practitioners."
As the strange music is abruptly cut off, Alec shakes his head as though clearing away cobwebs. As Jominda collapses to the ground the guardsman growls, angling his blade towards the still-clinging creature, watching it move. It goes still for a heartbeat every time it takes a drink, then it gives that little shudder and repeats.
No worries, I though maybe you were sundering the accordion. At least we have a dead stirge, and I hope all those others stay in the trees...
Meeting Dmitry's glance, Alec nods. "The common thread seems to be music, someone stop that damned musician!" Advancing on Jominda, he pulls his short dueling blade from its sheath with a scrape of steel on leather, eyeing one of the stirges perched upon Jominda's shoulder. Cautiously he jabs at the creature, but his concern at accidentally striking the young woman causes him to hesitate, and the strike misses cleanly.
"No, and I regret that it happened, but Riff Trestleman chose that conflict. If you spoke to those men, you'll know that a full dozen confronted us there in the Restlands. When we implored them to leave us in peace, half of them departed. Those that remained--Riff Trestleman included--were those who refused to be mollified."
Ivan: For a long moment Alec is silent, observing the other man with a steady gaze. "That...is difficult to believe...but strangely enough, I do. To be honest I didn't expect you to come out with it so readily, and so I cannot do otherwise." Taking a deep breath, Alec takes the plunge. "I know a little something about beings that can control you. The reason I left Vigil, the reason I was in Caliphas when Professor Lorrimor's letter found me, is because I helped kill the Lord Marshal of Vigil--entirely against my will. There was a--a woman, I think, at least she appeared as one. Two months ago I was on the night shift when a carriage rolled up beside me, and this woman--she called herself Lady Illara, but I've no doubt that name was assumed--and when she looked into my eyes I simply wasn't in control anymore. I can't explain it, but I became an observer in my own body, and I obeyed her every order without thought. The Lord Marshal was a good man, a fair man who did his job well. I knew him well, as he was a close friend of my mentor Iram, so it when I spoke to the guards they let us in. He was in his study, unarmed and unarmored, when she ordered us to attack. She was horrifying, Ivan, stronger than any mortal has a right to be, and she ripped out the Lord Marshals throat with her teeth and...and drank his blood. Then she left. I was injured during the fight, that's where I got this scar on my neck, but once she left her control was broken and I fled the city." During all this, Alec's eyes dropped to the floor, but now he glances up again. "I think it's possible that all of here have some connection to the supernatural, the magical, and I think that might be why the Professor chose us."
All my characters arch one eyebrow all the time because I can't do it in real life and I'm jealous of people who can.
Alec arches an eyebrow at the question. "My...'strong feelings'? Sheriff I assure you they're anything but, my strongest emotion is probably puzzlement. The Professor and I were not close, and yet I was invited here, evidently by instructions he left behind. Why me, and not my mentor with whom he consulted? You know as much as I on that. I remain because I promised to do so."
Never the best at hiding his thoughts, Alec's suspicious scowl at Sheriff Caellar's priorities is plain. "Already have a firm grasp of the facts, Sheriff? Have it your way. I grew up in Vigil as a ward of the Church of Arqueros, my mentor was once or twice visited by Professor Lorrimor for consultations. The Professor was patient with my childish exuberance, and we struck up a correspondence. Nothing frequent, but for a child safe & secure in a crusader city his expeditions read like wild adventures. I'm sorry to say that when I was old enough to join the city watch I lapsed in my end of the correspondence, and I didn't hear anything from him for quite some time--until I received the letter informing me of his untimely passing, and now here I am."
Alec fishes out a healing poultice, a sunrod, & and flask of the alleged "holy water". He leaves the siphons alone, still skeptical despite the oohs and aahs of some of the others. Tucking these items into the pocket of his long coat, he bids the others a good night and wanders upstairs. When Ivan returns from the library, Alec is standing by the window looking out into the darkness. As he hears the door click shut, he runs his fingertips along the wooden paneling of the wall, unmarred by last night's ghostly flames. "Will we be receiving another visit from your demons, Fabulanov?" he asks softly. Turning to face the scholar, the young man swallows and tries to ignore the icy pit in his stomach. "First at the funeral, then tonight at the Restlands you've been...acting rather oddly. That, Hells I don't even know what to call it, APPARITION from last night? All those flames and yet look around the room: no scent of smoke, no marring of the fixtures. You called it "Gamorak," Ivan...why?"
Alec would like to fix up the Lorrimor house window at some point and have a chat with Ivan sooner rather than later, but yeah the clues seem to point to Harrowstone.
Quick question about my gift from Lorrimor: the box was described as containing six cartridges and six doses of powder. Since cartridges are their own ammo type and have a crunch effect (faster to reload), should I be treating those cartridges as bullets instead?
Hefting one of the strange little devices, Alec gives Dmitry and Magdalen a quizzical look. "What exactly are these mythical trinkets supposed to do? I don't recognize them at all, and what interest did the Professor have in a burnt-out husk of a prison?" Carefully returning the 'siphon' to its box, he does a quick check of the other contents, tallying the inventory in his head. Sunrods, healing paultices, arrows...the professor was preparing for a small expedition all right. But why risk concealing such items in the cemetery? Why not here, or indeed anywhere else that couldn't be construed as grave robbing? You continue to puzzle, Petros. As he counts the supplies, Alec also recounts the strange scene in the cemetery to the others, as well as what he had learned from the apothecary Jominda. "She made vague intimations about how the folk of Ravengro have been acting strangely, even violently, in recent weeks. She also seemed quite taken with Sheriff Caelar and claimed he was the only one holding things together here. This whole situation feels off to me."
Crossing his face like an ugly parade, Alec's expression turns from confusion, to horror and disgust. For a moment, he places a hand on his crossbow--but no, these men had done nothing to warrant such violence, though their disturbing little ritual raised more than a few questions. Giving Dmitry a small shrug and shake of his head, the young man slips back through the cemetery. Unconcerned by the departure of the others, he winds his way cautiously back to the Lorrimor residence, giving the door a soft, polite knock.
With a small motion to the others to remain quiet, Alec carefully sets down his crate and slips off between the tombstones towards the source of the music.
Bending to retrieve his sword, Alec's hand freezes for a moment at the sound of Ivan's hoarse cry before firmly gripping the hilt. Setting down the candle, he fishes a old scrap of cloth from the pocket and cleans off the blade, quietly observing the other man while his hands moved through motions born of long habit. His distress seems genuine enough, though Arqueros knows I've no eye for good actors. Taking a step closer to the storyteller, some impulse leads him to offer Ivan cover. Not unkindly, he offers, "Everyone responds to battle a little differently, you might be in shock. Take a moment, it'll pass." After a moment's hesitation, he adds significantly "We can speak of it later, when we have left this dark place." . . .
Upon opening the dark teakwood box his breath catches--he recognizes the pistol for what it is, as merchants from Alkenstar had been trying (with great fanfare and considerably less success) to win a major contract with the armies of Lastwall--their public demonstrations in Vigil were quite popular. Running his fingers over the dark steel and wood, he mouths the words of the inscription. Shrugging off his long leather coat, he buckles on the cartridge belt and holster arranged so that the pistol rests beneath his right arm. "It is a fine gift, Professor. Thank you," he whispers, in case the man's ghost were listening. Now I just have to learn how to use the thing. Shrugging on his coat once more, he turns to observe what wonders may have been granted the others.
My IRL group has borrowed the concept of "bloodied", where damage that totals to less than half of your total HP is more superficial--deep bruises, maybe a sprain, or even just "your blow dents his pauldron badly, limiting his movement with that arm (no other mechanical effect)". After the halfway point the character/monster is considered "bloodied" and the wounds are considerably worse. So a fighter with 100hp who thrashes a gang of orcs while only losing 30hp can be described as battered and covering with bruises and light cuts, but nothing serious. Same guy missing 70hp can be described as having suffered more drastic wounds--it's a pretty loose system but with a little creativity it covers all the points. As a player & GM I think it's also valuable for letting the players know in a very general way how the fight is going. Since ordinarily hit points have a weird effect of "you function at 100% until you start dying" thing, the "bloodied" benchmark lets you describe the damage that's being done in terms of how much oomph the monster has left.
Surprised by the sudden weight of Magdalen, for a split second Alec thinks she might be fainting and drops his sword to catch her, the ichor-stained steel clattering painfully loudly in the confined stone tunnel. As she didn't faint, he somewhat awkwardly covers the motion by giving her a pat on the shoulder instead. "You did well, Magdalen. Deep breaths, you're alright...and the ruffians of Caliphas' alleyways had best steer clear of you!" Raising his candle to better see Wictor, he softly calls over "Is it bad?"
Noting with quiet alarm the blood soaking through Wictor's pants leg, Alec keeps his focus on the remaining vermin, noting its twitching movements and unsettling pincers, slick with blood. Darting forward to keep the fill the vacuum left by the older trapper and keep pressure on the creature, he jabs a quick thrust at what passed for its face, grinning with grim satisfaction as he felt chitin give way to steel, though the wound was not deep.
I do have a few questions about how this changes up the world. Is divine magic relatively well known and accepted? Is technology still at about the same early-renaissance level or have firearms stepped into the breach left by magic? Are the deities & monsters still known quantities (as in, could a knowledgable explorer reasonably warn you "don't go into that canyon, harpies live there" without being laughed at) or are they more faith or fearful rumor? Is there an updated timeline for the Whispering Tyrants' rampages? I don't recall the exact numbers but I figure it's worth checking.
Never taking his eyes on the writhing, oversized insect, Alec nevertheless frowns in surprise at the sudden change of pitch and tone in Ivan's voice. "You're babbling again, Fabulanov," he quips, the words clipped with a sudden resurgence of suspicion. That's twice now, and after that spirit of fire...you and I will speak soon, Ivan. Putting such thoughts aside, Alec turns the bulk of his focus to the creature confronting him. It's more flexible than it looks, certainly, but that's because those plates separate just a hair when it stretches itself out. If I time it right...there. As the creature twists around to strike at him again, the young ex-guardsman lunges.
At the feeling of a sudden force gripping his boot, Alec gives a startled half-cry and yanks his foot away. Stumbling back a step, the candle in his left hand flickers, throwing a mad puppet show upon the walls and floor. Blanching at the dozens of skittering legs and dull sheen of carapace, Alec drops his crossbow and rips his sword from its sheathe. "They're some sort bug, big as a man!" he chokes out. With a white-knuckle grip he darts in with a short, brutal thrust aimed for what he hopes is a gap in the creature's chitinous segments.
Are we assumed to be able to see them now that the surprise round is over, or should Alec be using his Standard for a Perception check?
Sheathing his sword, Alec unlimbers his crossbow, nocking and setting a bolt before giving the others a nod. As they disappear down the steps one by one he offers a small sigh and follows. "I am ready, if you are." he says softly.
With a shrug, Alec straightens and follows Dmitry through the gate. A good tracker, and not bad with a lockpick either. He doesn't look Varisian but mayhaps the Sczarni seek one of their wayward flock? Alec's eyes carefully track left to right, his hand loosening his sword in its sheathe but not drawing it as he carefully steps towards the Van Royen tomb.
Despite his reservations about leaving Miss Lorrimor alone, Alec nevertheless accompanies the others. Though the night is not especially cold the young man feels the chill hand of guilt clawing at him already, and draws his coat tighter around himself. Great Arqueros, please forgive me for what I am about to be a party to. After looping wide around the gravedigger's shack, Alec keeps a careful eye on the building, alert for any sign that they might have been noticed. At the gate, Alec glances only to ascertain that the lock is closed as he strides towards the wall. Placing his hands together to form a stirrup, he indicates with a nod of his head that the he will boost the next person over.
Murmuring a platitude about the health benefits of sunlight, Alec attempts to press Jominda on these nuggets of information. "Certainly the Sheriff cuts a fine figure, and you've piqued my curiosity Jominda. How has the Sheriff responded to these foul-weather incidents? For that matter, what manner of violence has beset Ravengro these past few weeks?" Alec also attempts to position himself so that he can get a view out a window or open door in order to observe anyone who might be passing by. Upon leaving the village, he takes care to mark whether he is followed or anyone takes an overly keen interest in his movements.
Alec nods along at Dmitry's description of the evidence. "I'm no tracker, but I've canvassed a tavern or two before. I'm going to have a look about that village."
Alec's frown deepens at Kendra's words, though much of his attention is on Dmitry as the other man pokes about the desecrated gravesite. The sudden fierceness of her manner has taken him off guard, but he listens carefully to every word, and wonders. Burn like what, Miss Lorrimor? This mystery only seems to grow deeper and darker, and I suspect the ones who did this have not yet finished. More blood will be spilled before this is at an end, I fear. Oh Iram, I wish you were here, you'd know how to cut straight to the heart of the matter. Feeling alone and uncertain, Alec glances around at the group and ventures, "I can't say I'm comfortable with disturbing the rest of the dead, but it does seem plausible that Professor Lorrimor is sending us some sort of message. Now is surely a poor time, let us clean the headstone and finish our business in the village, there may yet be allies among them." Stepping closer to Dmitry, he takes a knee and examines the site himself. "Do you see anything, Master Pavlovich?"
Appalled, Alec stares at the gory scene before him, before turning a speechless stare upon Kendra. After an apprehensive look back in the direction of Ravengro, he ventures, "Miss...Miss Lorrimor, this is a serious threat, and Sheriff Caelar is clearly in on whatever is going on here. We should get you back to the manor house." Her suggestion at raiding the Van Royen tombs only serves to confuse the young man. "I don't understand how breaking into some long-dead noble's tomb is an answer to such perfidy? What possible connection have the Van Royens to Caellar and the Ravengroans?"
As the group walks towards Revengro, Alec plies the others with questions about the Sczarni crime families. "I was under the impression that they largely operated out of Varisia, and tended towards larcenies and other less-violent crimes. What would such a folk be interested in here in the backwaters of Canterwall?" Upon seeing the dreary village itself, Alec suppresses a sigh. If the other villagers are even half as dour as this pile of stones, we may be in for an unpleasant two weeks.
Alec offers a nod. This was all getting a good deal more tangled than he'd hoped, but heading off any further conflict with the Ravengroans could only help them. Keeping a low profile has already gone to hell, might as well do what good I can. I've two weeks, there's bound to be time to investigate vampire lore, and then I'll be gone from here. "I have...a little experience, in talking through angry impasses. At the very least I get along well with most people. We'll make Riff our first stop then, and deal with the other matters after. I confess I know but little of the Sczarni, perhaps a visit to town may well turn up some information on that point as well. As for the tome...Miss Lorrimor, has anyone else possibly had access to this chest since your father's passing?"
Not certain if gameplay is the place to post this, but Alec's two cps is that the books are potentially useful overall (not so much for him personally), but at the moment a distraction. He will choose to focus on assisting Kendra, and if possible attempt to smooth things over in Ravengro. He talked half the mob into going home, he figures a clear attempt at peacemaking ought to count for something.
Hefting a random text Alec flips through the pages, but the "encrypted Thassilonian" is utterly opaque to his untrained eyes. Gently setting it down next to Magdalen, the young man turns to Kendra and Esdras. "I'm afraid this sort of thing is a bit beyond my ken, I cannot make heads or tails of any of it. While I'm inclined to heed the Professor's warnings, I'm certainly in no position to assess it on its merits. That said, I'd be pleased to take you up on your offer as a guide in Ravengro, Miss Lorrimor. I'd like to help you out with your window situation--I'm no carpenter, but if I'm to be your guest for two weeks I'd be remiss if I didn't make an effort to recompense your hospitality. Esdras, you seem like a fellow who knows how to work with his hands, I'd be pleased for your company as well." Not looking at Dmitry, he continues, "Who knows, it may do some good to our image to be seen in town amongst the people, not hiding here. Half the villagers who confronted us in the Restlands chose to depart peaceably, it may be helpful to ensure their voices are heard too."
While listening, Alec reorients the medallion to face the others rather than looking up at Miss Lorrimor, glancing up only when she hesitates. He gives her a small smile, to reassure her that she is among friends, and waits patiently for her to resume.
Alec frowns thoughtfully, scratching his chin as he looks down at the medallion. No student of history, Dmitry's words about Van Roeyen are news to him, but something about the symbols tickles the back of his brain. Turning the disk to reorient it to face him, he snaps he fingers in sudden recognition. I can't say that I know anything about the Van Roeyens, but I have seen that sigil...upon the door of one of the tombs in the Restlands. Not far from the, ah, 'incident'. It does indeed seem a strange thing to make such a fuss over."
|