Alex Y's page

In my campaign, undersea-to-surface trading is that which sustains piracy in the Shackles, and some of the most desirable trade goods include rare artifacts taken from Azlanti ruins. Deep platinum and rare metals are also traded, as are "recovered" treasure from sunken ships.

I'm doing three things in my campaign to give players more flexibility:

1. All characters get max hit points.
2. Players may "retrain" their characters every level, if they don't like how they've allocated skills or feats the previous level.
3. Captured weapons will rarely have enhancement bonuses, but will often have special abilities.

Taken together, it gives my players more room to focus on other things than surviving combat, and gives almost every character the chance to shine in combat.

My group just started Book 2 (Raiders of the Fever Sea) after completing three four-hour sessions. We're having a great time!

The Gray Maiden gets my vote!

When my players were playing through Edge of Anarchy, I had five PCs who physically resembled each other (six feet tall and lean) and who decided to dress up as Blackjack to foil the execution. I wrote down everyone's encounter powers on a pack of cards (we're playing 4E), and set an objective to move Trinia from the scaffold to a sewer entrance. When the PC's initiative came up, each player was given the chance to play a card or move with Trinia. Since this was early in the Adventure Path, the players were new to each other and thus the "real" Blackjack powers went unnoticed.

In all the confusion, they lost track of who was passing Trinia to whom. Thus, it was a fun "aha" moment when five of them exited the sewers, none with Trinia.

They really enjoyed the costumes, and went one step further when they decided to crash the party at Carowyn Manor: three of them dressed as Blackjack, one of them as the "Cerulean Swan", and one more as the "Crimson Skull". The Blackjack costumes came in handy when they came across other "Blackjacks" who were carrying real invitations... ;>

I agree: please find out if your players actually want to play through the Adventure Path. If not, consider them horses who refuse to drink water.

In my case, my players joined the AP in twos and threes. So, two PCs had finished off Gaedren Lamm by the time two more PCs arrived on the scene. The PCs knew nothing about each other, so they parted ways (without searching or looting the Old Fishery). However, because they all agreed to play through the Adventure Path, they weren't surprised when I introduced a riot scene the next morning at Domina Square, when the Queen eulogized the King's death and followed it up with a number of controversial edicts.

This gave the PCs the chance to flex their muscles and be noticed by the Field Marshal and the Queen, and gave me a chance to bring them back together again.

I responded yesterday, but don't see it now. I'll try again.

Shadowcount Sial, Asyra the chain devil, and Laori Vaus: I used the companion character rules from DMG2 and let the PCs play the NPCs. I gave the Shadowcount controller powers like an Invoker, classified Asyra and Laori as strikers, but also gave Laori Avenger powers.

Krojun: The PCs didn't come into conflict with Krojun, so I didn't bother to stat him up.

Acropolis: The PCs were careful and quiet, and thus did not disturb the havero. Instead of throwing endless waves of vine horrors at them, I was planning to use stock ropers. I reskinned doppleganger assassins and dark stalkers as Red Mantis Assassins, but you can easily make up a strike team of one artillery, two skirmishers, and one controller by choosing level-appropriate monsters from the MM.

House of the Moon: Instead of pitting the PCs against one solo brute, I had a medusa archer and her two basilisk pets sniping at the moon maidens and turning them to stone. It was a fun fight up and around stairs and railings, and gave the Shadowcount a chance to help the PCs with his knowledge of the remove affliction ritual.

Cindermaw: I reskinned a purple worm and waited to see how the party would respond. The paladin donned the ranger's breaching armor and successfully ran away after his rebirth.

Trial of the Totem: There's probably a more exciting way to run a skill challenge that involves holding stone totems upright for two days straight, but I fast-forwarded to the bulettes.

Flameford Assault: I was happy to throw waves and waves of enemies, and the party was happy to burn through their healing surges. I used gargoyles as written, more reskinned Red Mantis Assassins, higher-level skirmishes to represent the Cinderlander and Cinnabar, and just sat back to watch the carnage. The cleric's beacon of hope/consecrated ground kept the tiefling paladin bloody but upright all night.

I've been DMing my group through CotCT 4E for many months now and we're having an absolute blast. They're currently assaulting Scarwall, but I remember Edge of Anarchy quite fondly. One of my favorite things about 4E is the competence and resilience of 1st level characters. An example:

A human rogue and an elven ranger were the first on the adventure path. They stealthily investigated the buildings around the Old Fishery, and managed to quietly flee from a jigsaw shark and hurl themselves silently away from a hold full of spiders. They eventually decide to raid the Fishery, but managed to snipe enemies from the shadows until Gaedren showed himself, when the ranger dropped him with one arrow (critical hit, quarry, encounter exploit).

Though I was tempted to make Gaedren an elite or solo monster, the truth is that he's just an old man who terrorized children. He had terrible combat stats in 3E, and it didn't make sense to make him incredibly competent in 4E. This change (or lack therefore) made the players feel special and important, and I'd like to think this feeling still remains.

I hope this helps you as you prepare your conversions. I've found 4E to be absolutely wonderful in telling a Paizo storyline while making my prepwork a breeze.

Thanks for reading! Hope everyone had a lovely holiday break -- here's a little something from Liberty's player.

***

Twenty years without a shot of whiskey or a warm bed. Twenty years breaking rocks in the cold sun.

There’re just people like me.

“You know, the Yard is really quite pretty in the spring,” Liberty observed as he, Valance, and Zhann were escorted through Citadel Volshyenek by the watch sergeant. “Are those crepe myrtles?”

“I think so,” Valance replied. “Have you been here before?”

Liberty gestured vaguely as the trio stopped at the entrance to the infirmary. “Not here, per se, but lower. I served part of my sentence here.”

“Really? For what?”

“Stealing bread.” Liberty shrugged. “I was young. Hey, is that the Field Marshal?”

“I think so…and she’s heading this way.”

Though no longer clad in red drakescale, the Field Marshal still walked slowly and deliberately. Dismissing the watch sergeant with a nod, she addressed the trio directly: “Priestess. Gentlemen. Thank you for coming. My name is Cressida, and I wanted to personally thank you for your bravery and your civic mindedness. Without your help, Sunday’s riot would have been much worse. As you can see, many of my guards were injured.”

Zhann nodded. “You are very welcome, Field Marshal. I’ll do what I can, but I do not think I can fully heal this many men…”

Cressida shook her head with a tired smile. “Thank you for offering, but we have an exclusive maintenance contract with the Church of Abadar – procuring services from a servant of Gozreh the Gozlarian will undoubtedly upset my accountant.” The Field Marshal motioned for the trio to follow. “Speaking of the Church…Master Delacour, I was told that you were wearing white and gold vestments when you brokered peace between the ironworkers and the merchants. Yet you are clearly an Acadamae wizard.”

Liberty feigned surprise, and smoothed the velvet panels on his robe. “Me? A wizard? No no no…it’s just that robes are terribly comfortable, and I think everyone will be wearing them in the future. I am actually a professional negotiator.”

“Really?” Cressida looked impressed, and ushered them into her office. “In that case, I wish to retain your services as agents of the Guard. I sincerely hope that you will say yes, because I need help with a few delicate situations.”

Liberty spoke first, after the Field Marshal finished talking. “Let me get this straight: you want us to bring in Vancaskerkin because he is giving away meat from the slaughterhouse that used to belong to one of his men, but which your queen nationalized?”

“She is your queen, too,” Cressida retorted. “And yes, I would like you to bring him in because…”

“We are not Chelaxian,” Liberty interrupted, “and you don’t want to increase racial tensions. No offense, but I really don’t think arguing over free food is the best use of my time. Surely there are other…Varisians…who would be willing to pay Vancaskerkin a discrete visit. At night.”

Cressida rolled her eyes. “So you’d rather negotiate with the King of Spiders?”

Liberty paused, and tried to forget the cat-sized spiders that infested the barge moored near Gaedren’s fishery. “Absolutely,” he lied with a smile.

I think you should keep the cinematics as well, because individual DMs can still choose to play it out. For example, my players already knew that Korvosans love an execution (they had helped capture an instigator of the Queen's first riot, and she executed him with much satisfaction). When they learned that the Queen was only going to spend one week on Trinia's trial, they guessed (correctly) that Ileosa was planning to execute Trinia.

To reduce time spent on planning, I declared that they cannot infiltrate Castle Korvosa to rescue Trinia. Therefore, they decided to interrupt the execution: five PCs dressed up as Blackjack while one dressed like a Korvosan Guard, and all waited for the guilty verdict.

Because we're playing 4E, I wrote down everyone's daily and encounter powers on a deck of business cards. I also added Blackjack's powers, but I don't think anyone noticed. I told the players to speak and act like Blackjack, and gave them the option of either moving or performing an action from the deck. They faced an equal number of randomly-determined opponents (Korvosan Guard, Sable Company Marine, or Gray Maiden, plus the executioner), and were tasked with rescuing Trinia and escaping Domina Square.

Many rounds later, the Blackjacks escaped with the girl and didn't notice that they had passed Trinia to the real Blackjack until they exited the sewers and found her missing. The players had a great time. :)

I decided to kick off this game with a riot in Domina Square, and ran it as a combination skill challenge/combat. Depending on the skills used by each PC, I decided that they would either confront a mob or confront an instigator. Haras the Hellknight decided to use Intimidate, and actually totaled over 26 on five consecutive skill checks! Not only did he help the Order of the Nail shepherd the Queen to the Castle, he even helped rescue the Korvosan Guard (played by a fellow PC).

***

It became abundantly clear to me why the entire Order had turned out in force today: the Queen had gone mad, and her people were going to lynch her. ‘Truncheons out!’ I heard the Lictor shout, followed shortly by ‘Wedge to the Castle! Protect the Queen!’ We were outnumbered ten to one by the mangy curs, but I guess that is why they pay us the gold sails.

I screamed my disgust at the rioters. “Desist or be destroyed!” I thundered, as my squad and I pushed into the crowd. I could hear Avaxial whispering his encouragement in my ear, and could feel the red-hot wrath of Asmodeus blister the air around me, turning aside the sticks and stones that threatened me and my fellow Hellknights. I swung my truncheon again and again, infernal strength coursing through my limbs, and struck down all who refused to yield.

‘Surge right!’ I heard the Lictor shout again. ‘Clear the Square – the Guard will hold the line!’ We charged forward as instructed, leaving the Queen and her guests with the Field Marshal and a contingent of Korvosan Guards. I delivered my ultimatum again and again, and helped disperse all who dared stand before us. It was not until we had reached the Crest Circle entrance of Domina Square that we realized that the Guard had been overrun. Instead of fighting back, bloodied guardsmen were slowly but surely retreating up the stairs carved into the face of the pyramid.

‘Hammer and anvil! Show no mercy!’ the Lictor commanded. We turned as one, and charged the rabble on the pyramid. I drew my warmace, and smote the rioters with all the fury of the Nine Hells. I Cursed a particularly ornery-looking Chel, and promised him a painful, agonizing death if he should choose to strike another blow. Confronted by relentless devils in black iron, he and his fellows chose instead to turn tail and run.

Thanks! It's good to be back, and I hope you enjoy our story. I plan to alternate between a 1st person narrative (based on posts from my players) and a 3rd person summary (from my perspective), for as long as we keep playing.

***

“You look happy,” Melyia Arkona observed as her cousin Glorio sauntered into the dining room and leaned in for a kiss that lingered for a heartbeat too long. “Did you hate Eodred that much?”

The Lord Arkona sniffed at his carpaccio disdainfully. “Eodred was a t!**, undeserving of my hatred. His lovely wife on the other hand…such a hateful, delicious dish. I can’t wait to see how she’s going to f~&! up. Did you see the sun rise today? Blood red!”

Melyia licked her fingers delicately. “Isn’t that some sort of warning, about sailors?”

“Sounds familiar, but it doesn’t matter: change is in the air! I can feel it!”

***

On the 16th of Pharast, flanked by Archbishop Ornher Reebs of the Temple of Asmodeus and Archbanker Darb Tuttle of the Bank of Abadar, Queen Ileosa bravely addressed the crowd gathered in Domina's Square. Though all knew that she had once relegated Korvosa, the greatest city in Varisia, to the status of a backwater colonial village, the Queen vowed to redeem herself in the eyes of her people. Though she spent her last four years as the plaything of a beloved-yet-spendthrift king, Ileosa sorrowfully recalled, she promised to spend the next four years helping Korvosa become the most glorious city in the world. “If you do not agree that I have succeeded in this task when we celebrate the last day of summer in four year’s time,” she solemnly intoned as magic helped carry her voice and veiled image around the Square, “I promise to step down from the Crimson Throne!”

As plebeians and patricians alike wondered (quietly) at the Queen’s sanity, she proceeded to describe a series of sweeping reforms:

• A kingdom-wide Census, accompanied by Tax Reforms and Social Welfare programs to uplift the Needy, with a Royal Investment of not less than a Million Silver Sails annually in these programs.
• Amendment of the Contract between Korvosa and the Order of the Nail, in order to reduce expenses and curtail Hellknight operations in the City Proper.
• Promotion of Commandant Marcus Thalassinus Endrin, leader of the Sable Company, to interim Seneschal of Castle Korvosa. “The current Seneschal, Neolandus Kalepopolis,” Queen Ileosa observed neutrally, “has been missing since the death of King Eodred II.”
• Expansion of the Korvosan Guard under Field Marshal Cressida Kroft, to “help insure Domestic Tranquility, provide for the Common Defense, and promote Social Welfare”.
• Nationalization of Farms, Ranches, the Ironworks, and other necessary Industries so that Food and Materials may be equitably and efficiently distributed.

***

Lord Glorio Arkona shook his head as he watched the crowd around him seethe with anger and rage. “She is so f%*@ed,” he pronounced to his cousin as hooligans began throwing stones and rotten vegetables at the Guard, at the Hellknights, and at other targets of opportunity.

“As much as I’d like to see how this turns out,” Melyia responded, “we should leave before this turns into a riot.”

Glorio chewed his lip, but then smiled and began urging his chariot through the crowd. “As the lady wishes.”

I'm DMing the following 4E characters through this Adventure Path:

Liberty, a Varisian trickster rogue who spent 20 years in prison because of Gaedren Lamm.

Valance, a Forlorn elf archer who was abused by Gaedren Lamm almost 20 years ago. He took the name Valance because he liked Liberty's name.

Doniphon, an eladrin wizard and aide to Ambassador Perishial Kalissreavil. He took the name Doniphon because he liked Liberty's name.

Dayereth, an eladrin swordmage and aide to Ambassador Perishial Kalissreavil. He didn't want to take the name Stoddard. ;)

Zhaan, a Varisian priestess of Gozreh the Gozlarian [waterborn genasi].

Haras, a Shoanti who joined the Order of the Nail and sold his soul to a pit fiend named Avaxial [tiefling paladin of Asmodeus].

As chance would have it, they all stand around six feet tall and have similar physiques. With the exception of Haras (who would rather die than take off his plate armor), they all want to dress up as Blackjack to rescue Trinia Sabor from what they believe will be an execution. :)

They say that darkness lurks in every heart: a hint of iniquity in every paladin of Iomedae, a whiff of cruelty in every cleric of Shelyn. The darkness may lurk for a lifetime, but it is always there…biding its time, waiting until the flesh is weak, until the heart is broken, until the pain is too much. And then it strikes, consuming that person, filling him with dark urges: urges to make others suffer, urges to make others pay.

In my dreams, I confront Gaedren Lamm just steps away from the bloody roses. As he begs for forgiveness, I dream that I reach into his chest and squeeze. As blood washes over my hands, I wait for a sense of relief, for a feeling of freedom. But I feel nothing. And the dream never changes.

***

I looked at the Harrow card curiously: a Shoanti couple clasping hands under a full moon. It was waiting for me in my cell when I returned from my patrol, but the message on its back sent me back out into the streets again. I cursed my luck, for it was almost midnight – did I miss my chance? I arrived at Lancet Street just in time to see the unmistakable figure of the priestess Zhaan emerging from a townhouse: touched by Gozreh, her skin was seafoam green and her tattoos were electric blue. Over six feet tall, she towered over other Varisians (and some Shoanti, too). She did not seem surprised to see me.

“Zellara said you would come,” she said as she shut the door behind her.

“Where is Lamm?” I asked, not caring who or what Zellara was.

Zhaan looked at me coolly, and then turned on her heels. “Follow.”

I knew that Zhaan had been looking for a missing child. ‘Assuming he is still alive,’ I told her last week, ‘he won’t be a child any more. Not after Lamm has his way with him.’ I do not think she appreciated the truth. But I followed.

When we reached the fishery, I drew upon my pact with Avaxial and, with infernal strength coursing through my body, kicked in the door. The Varisian cutthroat and the elf archer looked up with alarm, but I ignored them. I laid my hands upon the body, but it was just a shell: soulless and dead. Nevertheless, I began to nail Lamm to the wall. As blood dripped slowly from my gauntlets, I felt no relief, no freedom – only cold, iron emptiness. Was this what I wanted?

The person I was, the dreams we had: dead as those flowers by the pond. Murdered. For what?

For nothing.

As the last nail was driven in, the midnight bells began to toll. They kept tolling, long past twelve strokes, but it was not until later that I understood why: ‘The King is dead! The King is dead!’ people cried on the streets, howling like so many dogs.

We went our separate ways: the priestess with a gaggle of orphans, the Varisian and the elf together, and I alone. Somehow, I knew I would see them again.

Glad you liked it! We have a very interesting mix of PC personalities, if I may say so myself. :)

***

The man with the close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair burped softly and brushed a bread crumb off of his vest. “So…what are we waiting for? I mean, I don’t have anything better to do with my time, but the note on my yellow ticket of leave explicitly mentioned Gaedren. I assume that’s why you’re here, elf?”

The elf in brown and green nodded solemnly. “I am here for Gaedren Lamm.”

The man smiled widely, and called out to the woman standing near the front door. “What do you say, sweetheart? Let’s get this show on the road!”

The woman sighed and turned to face her guests. “Pardon Monsieur – I just thought there would be more of you. But time and tide wait for no man…” With a practiced flourish, the woman fanned the cards in her Harrow deck and began to tell a most interesting story.

When the woman finished, the man addressed the elf: “Do you believe her?”

The elf shook his head, but then shrugged. “I have nothing better to do with my time.”

“Alrighty then. Follow me – I was just at the Westpier the other day.”

***

The evening bell tolled ten times. The gnome guarding the old fishery was so focused on lighting his pipe that he failed to notice the approaching shadows until a floorboard squeaked behind him. When he regained consciousness, he was bound, gagged, and blindfolded. He started to struggle, but froze when he heard the sound of a long blade purposefully clearing its sheathe.

“Good evening,” intoned a male voice to his right. “We have a few questions, and hope you can help. If I remove your gag, will you promise to answer truthfully and not make a fuss?” The gnome nodded vigorously. “Excellent. Where’s Gaedren Lamm?”

The gnome considered lying, but then he heard the sound of a second long blade being drawn. “In his bed, asleep! Please don’t kill me – I’m just a guard. I don’t know anything.”

“Where is his bedroom?”

“Just down the stairs, under the fishery. You can’t miss it,” the gnome promised. “Please don’t kill me – I don’t deserve it.”

The man opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then decided to replace the gnome’s gag. “Relax. My friends and I are just going for a walk – we’ll be back later to untie you.”

***

“What do you think?” the man asked the elf as the evening bell began to toll again.

“It’s a trap. The boardwalk is probably rigged to collapse under anyone heavier than a child (or a gnome). We should swim to the fishery.”

The man nodded. “Sounds like a plan – I’ll follow you.” One bloody encounter with a jigsaw shark later, the man reconsidered. “That was a lousy plan. What if the gnome was lying? Maybe Gaedren is sleeping aboard that barge. Follow me.” Many painful spider bites later, the man reconsidered again. “Scratch that – that was an even worse plan. Let’s go back to your plan, and hurry – looks like we woke up the fishery.” The elf nodded, and led the way up a shallow boat launch…where he came face-to-face with a sluggish (but still menacing) alligator.

The alligator lunged forward, jaws snapping, but the elf somersaulted away with inches to spare. As the man sprinted for the stairs, the elf sank three arrows into the beast, followed quickly by two more. “Cake,” the elf pronounced as the alligator died.

Not to be outdone, the man ambushed the first person to open the door at the top of the stairs; with a giggle, the ugly half-orc fell down the stairs and died. Pressing his advantage, the man vaulted over a wildly barking dog and flung his bloody knife at the lantern held by a blond man in silk pajamas. “Light! Someone light a light!” the blond man demanded as panicked children ran for cover and began calling for Gaedren.

“Light, light! Gaedren, Gaedren!” the man with salt-and-pepper hair mimicked as he slowly crept atop a wooden barrel. Moments later, an old man peeked carefully around an enormous wooden vat, with a candle in one hand and a small crossbow in the other.

“Gaedren,” the elf snarled and pinned the old man to the vat with an arrow. To his annoyance, Gaedren fainted. “Sit,” the elf growled at the blond man as he nocked another arrow. To his surprise, the blond man sat (and the dog did, too). “Everybody shut up!” the elf yelled. To his delight, the fishery immediately quieted down.

“Nicely done, monsieur elf,” the man with salt-and-pepper hair said as he pulled the arrow out of Gaedren’s shoulder and eased him to the floor. “Can you revive him? I was kind of hoping he’d put up more of a fight.” The elf nodded, and produced a small vial that he waved beneath Gaedren’s nose.

With a snort, the old man jerked upright. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Are you serious? You send me to prison for twenty years and you don’t remember me? I’m Liberty de la Coeur!”

“Sorry kid; you Varisians all look alike to me.”

“What about me?” asked the elf. “Do you remember me?”

Gaedren blinked, his eyes rheumy with age. “Yes…you’re Val…Valor…Valerie! Why did you shoot me, Valerie?”

“My name is Valance! Shoot you? I ought to violate you, you…you a&*!~%%!”

“We had good times though, didn’t we?” The old man chuckled weakly. “Seriously, what do you guys want? You’re scaring my poor kids half to death.”

“This sucks.” Liberty looked at Valance. “This f#~&ing sucks.” Liberty yelled at the cowering children. “Where’s the f@%!ing begging?” With a casual flick of his knife, Liberty slit Gaedren’s throat from ear to ear. “C’mon elf – we’re leaving.”

And that was when the Hellknight kicked open the front door.

We are formally kicking off the Curse of the Crimson Throne Adventure Path using 4E rules this week! I hope to devote at least an hour a week to this thread; the first post comes from the player of the Hellknight Haras (and my DM for my previous thread on the Rise of the Runelords). Enjoy!

***

A simple gold ring.

It was all that remained – a band of shining metal, where once there was a quick smile, bright eyes, and warm breath. She is gone and all I have is this gold ring.

We came to this city to forge a life together. We wanted a better life than living with the tribe, something more, something better for our children. We thought we would find it here: Korvosa, the shining beacon of civilization. But it was a lie.

Korvosa, the city of lies. It lies about its laws. It lies about its protections. The citizens are just dogs running in the street, s+#~ting and eating wherever the fancy takes them. The thieves, the murderers, the cheating merchants, the corrupt courts: all lies. Like dogs, they should be taught their place, brought to heel, or – if they cannot be taught – put out of their misery.

She went to gather flowers, in the park. She said she had seen some wild roses by the pond. I was to stay awake and wait for her after my shift, but she did not return even after the noon bells tolled. I went looking for her, but found only roses…scattered, their petals stained a dark crimson. Amidst the stinking mud and bloody roses, I found a large tooth, curious and dull. I followed the muddy tracks, calling upon skills I thought I would never need to use again, but lost them in the sewers. Blindly, I wandered in those dark, stinking tunnels, finding nothing. Nothing but rats and s$#$.

Still stinking, I went to the guard. I told them of what had happened. I filed a report as a good citizen should do. But I could see the lies in their eyes. I could see them laughing at me, a tribesman in the city, asking them for help. I heard the laughter as I left the office. She was just another victim, in a city full of them.

Knowing that no one would help me, I began my own search. I wandered the streets, looking for clues, asking questions of anyone who would speak to me. I lost my job, and spent what little money we had saved on “fees” and bribes. My searches led to a crooked merchant, a man who sold cast-off trinkets. Among his stock was the ring. The ring I had given her to pledge my love. Enraged, I asked him where he had gotten it. He told me it was Gaedren Lamm who sold it to him. I had heard rumors of this man, a man that profited from children and murder. A man rumored to have a pet crocodile. I asked the merchant how he could profit off of murder, how he could take something from such a man. He answered that money is money. I flew at him, arms flailing, causing the ring to fly into the air. As if time slowed, I watched as the ring landed in a black mailed fist.

Standing next to me was a vision from the Hells: his helm was horned, his limbs were spiked, and a gigantic face glared at me from the center of his armored chest. A Hellknight. I knew of them, but never had met one. And here I was, assaulting a Chel.

The merchant began babbling at the Hellknight. He claimed that he did not know that the goods were stolen. The knight said nothing, and almost gently placed the ring in my hand. While the merchant begged for mercy, the knight pulled four long, iron nails from his pouch. From his belt he slowly pulled a hammer.

The merchant passed out before the first nail was hammered in.

***

I found the rigid strictures of Citadel Vraid comforting. I knew what was expected of me every day. If the penalties for failure were harsh, they were no more than I deserved. The days were easy, but the nights were unbearable. At night, we were left in our bare cells to contemplate what we had learned during the day. But all I could do was stare at the simple gold ring. Hellknight Mortigan had given it to me when he brought me in. He said that it would either strengthen me or break me. And he was right. It was breaking me every night.

A simple gold ring. Perfectly round, flawless, but weak. Like me. Melt me down and re-forge me in iron, I prayed, but nothing answered my prayers. And nothing dulled the pain.

I'm about to formally kick off this Adventure Path using 4E rules for my gaming group -- two PCs had previously avenged themselves on Gaedren Lamm, but the other 3-4 PCs will join in this Thursday.

Though I haven't really been tailoring the opponents, I did create the following channel divinity power for the player of the Hellknight:

Channel Divinity: Fiery Rebuke of Asmodeus
Encounter * Divine, Fire, Implement
Standard Action * Area burst 1 within 5 squares
Target: Each creature in burst
Effect: Before the attack, you can inflict your Charisma modifier fire damage to an ally within the area. If you do so, you gain a +2 bonus to the attack roll.
Attack: Charisma vs. Will
Hit: You push the target a number of squares equal to your Wisdom modifier and inflict 1d10 + Charisma modifier fire damage.
Increase damage to 2d10 + Charisma modifier at 21st level.

I just wanted to give playtest feedback about the 1st level destruction domain power destructive smite:

I play a 10th level cloistered cleric of Nethys with the destruction, knowledge, and magic domains -- we infiltrated the Fortress of the Stone Giants from the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path last night. To my DM's dismay, the change from 3.5 to Pathfinder has also changed my character from a reckless charger/smiter into a methodical destroyer who takes 5' steps.

Instead of dealing death from above a few times per day (I like to combine leap attack with smite), this ability now grants half as much bonus damage (and no bonus to hit) every time I use a FRA to make a single attack.

Below level 6 (when warriors get their first iterative attack), I believe clerics with the destruction domain can equal if not exceed the damage output of more martial characters.

I suggest limiting destructive smite to 1/day per cleric level.

I love the change to Power Attack, and think Deadly Aim is refreshing, but would vote to leave Combat Expertise unchanged from 3.5.

Additional skill (higher BAB) should allow combatants to better defend themselves -- there is no need to begrudge the boost to AC, especially when offense threatens to overwhelm defense at higher levels.

I just converted my 3.5 character (a cloistered cleric of Nethys) to Pathfinder and love everything about my new character except my greatly diminished skill list.

If I were permitted to value my skills at an exchange rate of one class skill at (character level +3) to two class skills at 1/2 (character level +3), my character would translate perfectly.

Maybe you can just call them Primary and Secondary Skills -- all classes may choose to be extremely proficient at a limited number of Primary Skills, but may also choose to be somewhat proficient with a greater number of Secondary Skills.

A relatively simple fix is to treat Damage Reduction as Damage Resistance. That is, instead of reducing the damage of each individual attack, DR would now reduce the total damage taken that round.

This would allow a swashbuckler to inflict 20 points of damage to a werewolf after stabbing it three times for 10 points per attack (DR 10/silver). This would allow the swashbuckler to be as competitive as a barbarian who can slash the werewolf once for 30 points of damage.

I hope I'm remembering resistances correctly in 3.5...

Who wrote this adventure? Nic Logue.
Who has access to the 4E rules? Nic Logue.
Who knows what the 4E mechanics for imps and pseudodragons look like?

I'm just saying...

Ayup. Baltin's player has a tough work schedule, so at times he comes in when we've already started. A typical conversation may go like this:

Baltin's Player: What's going on?
Us: We're going room to room. You're taking point.
BP: I love this plan. (To DM: "I walk into the living room")
DM: You hear a click...<rolls dice> and a massive blade scythes towards your head, stopping only as it hits your tower shield.
Us: <cheering> Redhammer!
BP: Redhammer! (To DM: "I walk into the next room")

We really missed him last night -- we just started the Fortress of the Stone Giants, and his attendance is going to be spotty through May.

Sorry for the three week delay, but thanks for your comments. Our DM also liked how we brought our loved ones into harm's way. ;)

I have been consumed by work and family, so this story hour is turning into an story minute. That said, here are a few paragraphs -- I hope to throw up a few more paragraphs every day until I get caught up. Thanks!

***

Baltin Redhammer was a Decider. When the High Priest needed someone to “redeem” the lost monastery of Torag, he Decided that he should in fact listen to his father and be the one to force redemption on those wayward heretics. When that city clerk feigned ignorance about his claim, he Decided that it would in fact be a good idea to listen to Alton and file papers in both Korvosa and Magnimar. Eating, drinking, whoring, sleeping – Baltin found it incredibly easy to Decide to do whatever it was that someone else wanted to do. Thus, he was somewhat discomfited when Zu led the party off the road, through the woods, and freed a black bear from a trap.

“What should we do, Baltin?” Alton asked. “This bear is obviously trying to lead us somewhere, but your mother wanted us to go to Fort Rannick with all speed.”

Jerk spoke before he could respond: “Do you hear dogs?” And indeed, Baltin could hear dogs. A few seconds later, he saw them, too, with a deformed ogrekin loping along behind them.

“I’m huntin’ bear!” the ogrekin yelled. “Bear, git inta mah belly!” Zu retorted with an arrow. Baltin Decided that he should help rid the earth of an ogrekin. Less than a minute later, the dogs were down, the bear was safe, and the ogrekin was moaning on the ground.

“I’m going to use short words,” Jerk said in Giant as he thrust a tattered rag into the ogrekin’s face. “Where did you get these patches?”

“Rangers. We, we caught them near our home,” the ogrekin stammered.

“How many?”

The ogrekin counted his fingers. “Six?”

Jerk pushed his estoc casually through a rock. “How many still live?”

“Three?”

Jerk looked at Baltin significantly. “These are the insignia of the Black Arrows. Something has happened at Fort Rannick – we should rescue the rangers, assuming we trust his math.”

Baltin nodded, and beheaded the ogrekin. He had Decided to rescue some rangers.

This is super awesome. I'm going to try and do this with my daughter's Play-Doh for the CotCT adventure path.

“Didn’t you say that Magnimar would never recognize Baltin’s claim on that ‘lost monastery of Torag’, because it would be like spitting in Korvosa’s eye?” Rosa asked Jerk as they waited for Grandpa Gaius to get dressed for dinner. “What changed? Did someone move Falcon’s Hollow without telling us?”

Jerk shrugged. “I dunno. I’m no ambassador, but it doesn’t add up.”

“Who’s an ambassador? Baltin?”

“Nah, it’s his mom. I don’t think he wants to go home, but what are you gonna do? She came, signed some papers, and now they’re leaving.”

“So whose chateau will we be staying at?”

“Hers.”

“And whose idea was it to vacation there?”

“His. He invited everyone: you, me, and the boys.”

“Won’t she mind having a bunch of humans stay there?”

“Nah. We’re practically family. Besides, she likes looking at Alton.” Rosa smiled dreamily, but then Jerk cleared his throat. “The trip from Magnimar to Turtleback Ferry to Janderhoff should take less than two weeks.”

Rosa frowned. “That’s not much of a vacation, if we want to make it to Korvosa before your classes start.”

“The entire trip will be a vacation! I’ve heard great things about Whistledown and Ilsurian – you’ll see.”

***

“I am Helge Redhammer of Janderhoff, Ambassador to Magnimar, here to deliver supplies to Fort Rannick.” The ambassador looked magnificent, with robes of gold brocade, a scarlet rod of office, and a half-dozen dwarven warriors arrayed beside her. The effect was only slightly diminished by the overcast sky and the threat of rain. “And who might ye be?”

The human hunter gaped stupidly. “Ye be…I mean, I be…I mean, I am William. Did you say Fort Rannick, your majesty?”

“Milady will suffice, and I did say Fort Rannick.” The ambassador pierced the hunter with a stare. “Why?”

“Well milady, we haven’t seen rangers in weeks, not since it started raining. Mayor Shreed sent some men to the Fort three days ago, but I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“Right.” Ambassador Redhammer squared her shoulders, and began issuing orders: “Harsk, find us lodging – we may be here overnight. Baltin, find me Mayor Shreed – I want to know more about Fort Rannick. Alton, go get my umbrella – it looks like rain.”

Rosa clutched Emily to her chest. “What should we do, milady?”

The ambassador looked curiously at Rosa. “Just stay out of the way, dear – things may have gotten a bit…complicated.”

Rosa was nursing Emily when Jerk walked through the bedroom door. “Jerk! What a surprise! I didn’t expect you home so soon!”

“I left as soon as I was done, and rode through the night,” Jerk murmured as he kissed his wife and daughter. “What are you doing in bed? Sarenrae services are almost over!”

“Emily was fussing all night, so we decided to sleep in. Did you pass your exams? How’s your nonna?”

“Nonno is fine,” Jerk corrected, “and my Devotionals went well. Dean Talamas really liked my dissertation on applied thaumaturgy. But he wants me to start attending classes on a regular basis.”

“Is that a bad thing? I mean, isn’t that why we’re moving?”

“Er, yeah, about that…” Jerk began to unbuckle his breastplate. “I have some good news and some bad news.”

Rosa frowned. “What’s the good news?”

“The Church would like me to enroll at the Acadamae. They even offered to pay for my tuition.”

“Really?” Rosa offered Emily the other nipple. “What’s the bad news?”

“The Acadamae is in Korvosa…”

“Korvosa?!”

“…and the semester begins in Abadius.”

“So soon?” Rosa looked bewildered. “What about our claim on the Foxglove townhouse?”

Jerk sighed. “Still stuck in probate.” He watched Emily suckle quietly for a while, and then joined his family in bed. “So what do you think? Will you come with me?”

Rosa looked at Jerk in surprise. “Are you actually waiting for my input?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t I always?”

Rosa snorted, and lowered the pitch of her voice: “‘Rosa, I just bought us a sawmill, and need you to sign this.’ ‘Rosa, the boys and I are gonna help Sheriff Belor with something. Be back soon.’”

Jerk scratched his chin in embarrassment. “Alright…maybe I’ve been a bit vague about, you know, adventuring. But I’ve had an epiphany: adventuring is dangerous. I didn’t like it when that demon b&~!~ was pushing us around, so I don’t wanna push you around.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it. I wanna do what you wanna do.” Jerk paused. “But I really wanna go to Korvosa.”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “Fine, we’ll go. But we’re keeping this house, and we’re coming back if I don’t like it there.”

“You’ll love it there, I promise.”

After a moment, when Jerk didn’t immediately turn around and fall asleep, Rosa asked playfully, “Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Yes. No. Well…we’re leaving this Oathday.”

“What?!”

“On a riverboat. With Baltin’s mother. And we need to make a slight detour near Ilsurian, so that she can drop off some supplies for some rangers.”

Tiera cut off her own arm to get free. That is hardcore! You go, girl!

We just retook Fort Rannick. As Father Aesop's player says: dem ogres just ain't right!

***

Two hours before dawn, on the first Toilday of Neth, 4707 Absalom Reckoning, Jer’kles Scarnetti discovered to his surprise and great shame that he was, in fact, abjectly afraid of dying. Earlier, when a monstrous scarecrow cracked his ribs with a mighty swat that sent him sprawling against the walls of the ramshackle tower known as the Shadow Clock, Jerk experienced a moment of doubt. Later, as he flung himself away from a massive bronze bell that destroyed the stairs and support beams around him, Jerk felt a flutter of trepidation. But it wasn’t until after the party had reached the summit of the Shadow Clock that Jerk truly believed that he was going to die.

“Who’s next?” The flying marilith cooed as she flicked Alton’s twitching body off of her longspear. “How about you, big boy? Xanesha can dance all night – can you?”

Jerk flinched, and called down a series of tiny falling stars to cover his retreat. “How’s Baltin?”

“Alive,” Aesop muttered as he rushed to heal Alton. “But I can’t keep doing this.”

“I think I weakened her with that nerve strike,” Alton gasped as color returned to his cheeks. “We can do this!”

Jerk stared at Alton incredulously. “Are you f*#@ing insane? She’s putting up spells as fast as I can take them down, and she seems resistant to magic missiles. We can’t do this!”

Baltin coughed and spat blood. “We have to do this! The only way off this roof is through her. We need to lure her down and kick her ass.”

Zu nocked another arrow as he ran by. “I make small talk, but she keeps trying to skewer me! Are we going to do this or not?

“You! Pretty boy!” Xanesha pointed a manicured finger at Alton as she soared lazily after Zu. “Run this Shoanti down, and I’ll keep you like a pampered pet.”

“Don’t even think about obeying that suggestion,” Jerk warned the unsteady aasimar as he leveled his fireball wand at the demoness. “Gods, I wish Sandoz was alive.”

And then, above Xanesha’s yowling, came an unmistakable drawl: “B!!&&, I will kill him myself before I’d let him turn on us. Kaleshak!”

***

Mayor Grobaras harrumphed his approval. “I thought she turned you to stone?”

Sandoz took a sip from his wine glass. “She did. But I’ll be damned before I let some woman have dominion over me. I recovered in time to hear her proposition Alton.”

Jerk dabbed his lips with a napkin and burped politely. “And then he blasted her straight up the, uh, snake. But I had no doubt that we would prevail.”

“You?” Alton sputtered in disbelief.

“That is to say,” Jerk amended as he pounded the choking aasimar on the back, “the tide soon turned in our favor. Xanesha was so distracted by Zu and Sandoz that she didn’t notice the rest of us pushing against the statue of the angel.”

“Oh.” The Mayor paused with his fork in midair. “That must be what destroyed the nearby tenement house.”

Aesop looked up in alarm. “Was anyone hurt?”

“None who matter. That was a joke, son.” The Mayor signaled for more wine.

Aesop laughed weakly; Jerk tried to make light of the situation. “So we saved you the trouble of tearing it down?”

“Exactly.” Mayor Grobaras winked. “You boys do excellent work: solving murders, destroying monsters – you did destroy Xanesha, right?”

“Oh yes.” Jerk replied. “She was in the middle of tracing out a dimension door when Baltin slid past her guard and buried his axe in her shoulder.”

“Redhammer!” Baltin pumped his fist, and reenacted the scene with a carving knife and a suckling pig.

“Redhammer!” Jerk acknowledged. “And that gave Sandoz all the time he needed to blast through her faltering defenses. I think the city watch still has her body in cold storage.”

“Hmm. Remind me to have it destroyed – hangings are good fun; demon corpses not so much.” The Mayor raised his glass in a toast. “To good fun, and good friends. I thank you again for saving my life, and for pulling my city back from the brink of hysteria!”

219,000?! For that much money, you can probably burn half the town to the ground and rebuild...

Taking a page from Shadowrun, perhaps one can buy a permanent lifestyle if one pays for ten years worth of upkeep. A "luxury" lifestyle costs 200 gp per month in D&D -- a 24,000 gp stake does not seem outrageous, assuming Lady Kaye wishes to take on a partner.

Also from Shadowrun, selling a lifestyle recoups 2d6 x 10% of the initial investment.

Very interesting! Does the Wheel of Time turn, is there a Circle of Life, and do Winter Elves ever become Spring Elves again?

I'm happy that you're enjoying this. Just one more post until we wrap up The Skinsaw Murders!

***

The party argued. On the one hand, Justice Ironbriar did attack first. On the other hand, the party did trespass on private property. Unable to reach a consensus, the party decided to look for more clues.

“Did you restart the waterwheel?” Sandoz asked when the others returned to the workroom after some time away.

“No. Some lumberjacks did.” Baltin said matter-of-factly.

“And…where are they now?”

“They’re dead,” Jerk sighed. “One fell into the chute that fed the log splitters when Baltin shook him off his shield. The other jumped into the chute when we tried to take him alive.”

“Really?” Sandoz tsked. “That’s too bad.”

Jerk did a quick count of the surviving lumberjacks. “Uh, didn’t we take seven of them alive?”

Sandoz nodded. “One untied himself. I had to put him down.”

“The elf?” Baltin asked hopefully.

“Still bound and gagged. Sorry.”

The party started arguing again. Just when it seemed like the others would follow Alton and turn Ironbriar over to the authorities, Zu suddenly walked into the room with a face in his hands: “Does this one look like me?”

Alton paused. “From a distance. But he looks more Chelaxian than Shoanti.”

Zu turned to his cousin. “Aesop, does this look like my father?”

The priest of Sarenrae blinked. “A little. But I haven’t seen him in years…”

“Right. Jerk, when did these murders start?”

“Three months ago…” Jerk began to smile knowingly. “How old is that face?”

Zu tossed the face to Alton. “At least ten years old.”

Alton sighed, and nodded with resignation.

***

“I can’t believe they didn’t arrest us,” Alton said to Jerk as watchmen descended on the Seven’s Sawmill.

“Why would they arrest us? Sergeant Moran there just solved the mystery behind many of Magnimar’s murders, old and new.”

“What about Justice Ironbriar?”

“What about him? I’ll no doubt be asked to testify that the former Justice was a traitor to the city. But the good Sergeant agrees that paperwork can wait until morning, since he knows where I can be found.” Jerk looked smug.

“At the estate of Gaius Scarnetti?” Alton said accusingly. “So what now?”

Jerk yawned. “Zu wants to follow through on a hunch. Better gird your loins, because we’re going to the Shadow.”

I also play a cloistered cleric of Nethys. If your DM allows it, the Knowledge Devotion feat from Complete Champion really helps make my character shine.

Glad you're still reading! It's always fun to see comments from readers, though I hope we're not spoiling anything for you.

If Sandpoint was as dry as southern California (instead of miserably wet like Seattle), we would have torched The Misgivings in a heartbeat!

***

As Jerk pummeled his chest and tried to regain his feet, men in hideous masks and garish red robes charged from their dormitory and assembled beside Justice Ironbriar. Baltin took one look at his opponents and burst out laughing. “You’re going to fight me in your pajamas, armed with shaving razors?” The dwarf warrior slammed his waraxe against the fetishes on his tower shield. “Well slap my monkey and let’s get busy. Redhammer!”

It was a massacre. In fact, the only opponent who gave Baltin and the party any trouble was Justice Ironbriar. The elf dodged every attack and followed up every stab with a charm, every slash with a compulsion, and every blast with a curse. Shield high, Baltin circled Justice Ironbriar warily. “Your men are dead or dying. Surrender now, elf, and we’ll show you mercy.”

“I think not, you meddlesome miscreant,” the elf spat from behind his vertigo-inducing mask as he retreated into his bedroom. “It’s just a matter of time before your will crumbles and your mind breaks. Flee!”

Baltin sneezed as the compulsion washed over him. “You’d think so, but you’d be wrong,” the dwarf growled as he pulled on his fleshscale mask and assumed the form of the elf. “Yo Sandoz, is this b#++$ glowing?”

The warlock looked down from his perch on the ceiling. “He’s as warded as a warpriest of Torag. Jerk, do something!”

“The power of Nethys denies you. The power of Nethys denies you. The power of Nethys denies you!” With a flourish, Jerk stripped away every spell affecting Justice Ironbriar. With a clang, Justice Ironbriar dropped his war razor and raised his hands in surrender. With a crunch, Baltin-Ironbriar buried his axe in the chest of Justice Ironbriar.

***

Alton craned his neck. “Justice Ironbriar?”

“He’s alive!” Aesop looked surprised.

“He’s alright? He’s not hurt?!” Baltin exclaimed indignantly.

“He should be dead – that axe would have split a log.” Jerk looked confused.

“I think there’s more to this elf than meets the eye.” Zu slashed open the garish red robes with his war razor.

Sandoz whistled appreciatively at the sight of silvery chain links. “Mithral. He’s full of surprises, this Ironbriar!”

Jerk nodded, and recoiled when he suddenly noticed the dozens of humanoid faces decorating the bedroom walls. Stretched over wood frames and carefully preserved, they grimaced and leered at the priest of Nethys. “Uh…I think we just found the murderers who have been stalking the streets of Magnimar.”

I am going to gush over two of my favorite story hours (both will in fact take many, many hours to read). The first, by Sepulchrave, started when a paladin named Eadric found himself conflicted over whether one could in fact redeem a succubus. The second, by Destan, hooked me at the first post. Enjoy!

Dungeon Grrrl, thank you very much for sharing this campaign with us. I'm very happy to say that the hour spent reading your story has been well spent indeed. I'm amazed at your ability to challenge and entertain seven PCs in what seem like some marathon gaming sessions, and think it's great that some can go off to entertain themselves when others are in the spotlight. I am especially impressed by the inclusion of so many non-core races, classes and monsters -- it makes the world seem older in my mind, and I look forward to reading more.

Do you read story hours on ENWorld? This reminds me most of Destan's story hour, with a good mix of PC motivations and world events.

I'm interested in your notes on Nethys. As one of two gods who grants access to the Magic domain, does Nethys view magical research as a means to an end or as a continuous journey? How would he feel about someone like Oppenheimer, who invested the atomic bomb? Is he zen-like in his ability to juggle both Destruction and Protection domains, or is he schizophrenic? Is his faith more prone to sects and factionalism because of apparent conflicts in his portfolios?

Would he allow his followers to destroy skinsaw masks, or would his church buy them for "recycling"? ;)

Catalyst: Summon Undead vs Evil Cleric

Wow, this is a great death. Ironic, but awesome.

“Where the f!+# have you been?” Jerk hissed as Zu hopped lightly into the covered wagon. “The moon is starting to set!”

Zu shrugged. “Those lumberjacks were having a good time. I followed them to three taverns.”

“Did they notice you?” Aesop asked.

“Maybe. But they seemed pretty drunk.” Zu snuck a peek at the Seven’s Sawmill. “What’s going on?”

Sandoz yawned. “Absolutely nothing. We think everyone’s gone home for the night.”

“Really?” Zu scanned the sawmill again. “Then let’s get going.”

Alton raised a hand. “I just want to say that breaking and entering is illegal.”

“Who’s gonna catch us? The Hellknights?” Jerk scoffed. “Relax: we’re just gonna look around – it’s not like we’re planning to kill anyone.”

***

“They do decent work here,” Jerk observed as he led the party past ropes and pulleys and stacks of lumber. Stepping carefully around the log splitters, Jerk then led the way up to a large workshop: handwork cluttered the tables, while tools hung neatly from hooks. There were three doors facing the party: the two on the left were closed, while the one on the right was open. Unfortunately, that door opened into a dormitory filled with bunk beds. As the party’s various lights shone into the room, one man snorted himself awake.

“What the…” the man blinked owlishly at the sight of five heavily-armed warriors (and Alton). “Who the f*!% are you?!”

“Do not be alarmed,” Zu said calmly as more men began to wake. “We are the Red Hammers, and we wish to speak to the Brothers of the Seven.”

The man lunged forward and slammed the door shut. “What did he say?” “They’re the Red Hammers!” “Who are the Red Hammers?” “Aren’t they that adventuring company from Sandpoint?” “What the f#~@ are they doing here?” “What time is it?” “Where are my pants?!” “Boss! Hey boss! Some men are here to see you!” A few seconds later, the leftmost door opened and an elf in garish red robes stepped through.

Jerk hesitated. “Aren’t you…Justice Ironbriar?”

“Yes. And you are trespassing.” The elf narrowed his eyes. “Die!”

With an inchoate gurgle, Jerk clutched his chest and fell over.

Absalomish? Salomish? Salomites? Abs?

Maybe the guys at Paizo could develop their own faction/affiliation system that's better than PHB2's that could work in some of those elements. This is espescially good if there are going to be a lot of groups like the Hellknights and Pathfinders so they won't have to make PrCs for everyone.

I wholeheartedly support this suggestion.

“Herakleos!” The old man embraced Jerk warmly. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through, nonno. I brought you a gift: two bottles of Vigardeis.”

The old man examined the labels carefully. “This is a very good vintage. I thank you, but how can you afford this? Annalisa tells me that the church pays next to nothing, and she’s a professor!”

Jerk shuffled his feet. “Well, uh, I’ve been supplementing my stipend with a second job.”

“You didn’t!” The old man looked scandalized. “So the rumors are true: you’ve been adventuring! I thought we agreed, after what happened in Falcon’s Hollow – what if that warg had attacked?”

“But nonno, I’m never more than an arm’s reach away from Cousin Aesop. He’s practically a Radiant Servant of Sarenrae!”

The old man snorted, and handed the wine to his valet. “So are you in town for business or pleasure? Where’s my great-granddaughter? What’s her name again?”

“Emily. I’ll bring her in the summer – Rosa doesn’t like traveling in the rain.”

“Doesn’t like the rain? You should have moved to Korvosa, then, like your father!” The old man sat down in a rocking chair. “What were we talking about?”

“Business.” Jerk produced a sheaf of papers. “Nonno, have you heard of an organization calling itself the Brothers of the Seven?”

“Seven what?”

“Seven sins, maybe? No? How about Justice Ironbriar?”

“What about that a$@##@!? Is he trying to ask you about that thing? Tell him to talk to my lawyers.”

“Uh, okay…” Jerk looked around the room. “Listen, nonno, can you do me a favor? Can you do something about these titles? The owner is dead, but he may still have family around. We’ll be staying at his townhouse for a while.”

“Sure, sure, just leave it with Brian. Come for lunch tomorrow – it’s not safe to be out at night any more: too many crazies!”

***

“So what did Grandpa Gaius say?” Aesop asked when Jerk returned to the Foxglove Townhouse. “Does he know the Brothers of the Seven?”

“Nah. He knew Ironbriar though – the elf is apparently a ‘hanging judge’ who likes to get personally involved in the cases that come before him. Nonno needs to give a deposition next week about something or another.”

“Ah well. So, do you want to visit the Seven’s Sawmill, to see what’s going on there?”

“Sure. How about Moonday night? Baltin’s buddy should be done with our stuff by then.”

“Did he end up buying your sword?”

“Yep. Didn’t tell him about the curse, of course, but he loved the story of Koruvus the Four-Armed Goblin King.”

In addition to the creepy mood music from Midnight Syndicate, the skeleton attack track ("To the Pirates' Cave!") from the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack is great during a big fight. Yar!

***

Sandoz-Aldern led the way into “his” townhouse, and found it in complete disarray. Muddy footprints criss-crossed the foyer, and all of the trophies in the great hall were cast down and ripped open. The dining room looked no better: someone had apparently taken a hatchet to the table and chairs.

“I don’t do this much damage when I search, do I?” Alton picked up a broken chair and set it in the corner. “I mean, why would someone split open a table leg?”

“Maybe they couldn’t magically detect secret doors or compartments.” Sandoz-Aldern replied as he watched Jerk methodically scan the walls, floor, and ceiling. Just then, the far door opened and revealed…Aldern and Iesha.

“What are you doing in my house?!” The other Aldern demanded as he drew his longsword.

“What are you doing in my house?” Sandoz-Aldern retorted as he brandished a fistful of green flame.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Jerk drew his own longsword and leveled it at the other Aldern. “Why are we even talking?”

The skirmish was brief and bloody.

“I don’t know which is more disturbing: that this is their true form, or that you voluntarily used the mask to assume their true form.” Aesop told Baltin as he checked the vaguely-humanoid-shape-formerly-posing-as-Aldern for signs of life. A vaguely humanoid Baltin, having added Sir Aldern’s mask to the two other fetishes on his tower shield, simply giggled menacingly at a vaguely humanoid Iesha.

“What are you going to do with me?” Iesha asked as she bravely tried to ignore the axe-wielding giggler.

“That depends on you.” Jerk replied as he sheathed his estoc and retrieved his longsword. “You had the good sense to surrender; tell us something we want to know.”

“I am not a doppleganger,” Iesha protested. “I cannot read minds.”

“Try.” Jerk leveled his longsword at the vaguely humanoid shape. “This is the cursed sword of Koruvus the Goblin King. It hates me, and spurns my grasp. But it hungers, and has promised to obey me for a fortnight if I would only feed it your soul.”

“You wouldn’t.” The vague semblance of Iesha’s face looked worried. “Would you?”

Jerk smiled kindly. “Let’s start with who sent you.”

***

“Do we believe her?” Aesop asked as he watched Sandoz-Aldern escort a haughty elf off the premises. “Why would a Justice employ faceless stalkers as guards?”

Jerk shrugged. “I think the better question is how a Justice managed to find faceless stalkers to hire in the first place.”

“Want to search the rest of this house?” Alton suggested after a moment of silence.

“Why not.” Jerk stretched. “We may find something useful before Justice Ironbriar pays us a visit.”

Believe me, we have as much restraint as the next D&D party -- the DM bribed us with action points so that we would listen to Aldern's monologue. Heck, Sandoz's player still tells stories of when my d20 Modern Lara-Croft-wannabe emptied an assault rifle into the BBEG before he could so much as muahahah.

This is just a quick post before our game tomorrow -- we face Xanesha!

***

“I really enjoyed that.” Jerk confessed to Sandoz as the two stood over the hacked and blasted remains of Angelic Alton. Sandoz nodded, and regretfully pulled off Alton’s mangled face to reveal the ghastly visage of Sir Aldern Foxglove. “Yo Father,” Jerk called, “are we done here?”

Aesop looked hard at the patch of fungus on the wall. “I think so. We really should raze this house and hallow it, but surviving members of the Foxglove clan may object. Let’s just torch this room and go home.”

***

Sheriff Hemlock walked into the Sanatorium and found Aesop polishing his armor by the hearth. “Is it done?” The Sheriff asked. “Did you destroy the necromancer?”

“Yes and no,” Aesop replied as he tossed a mangy raven feather into the fire. “We found and destroyed your serial killer – it was Sir Aldern Foxglove. We identified the necromancer – it was Vorel Foxglove, Sir Aldern’s grandfather. We think the essence of Vorel is haunting The Misgivings, and turned Sir Aldern into a ghast when he attempted to reclaim the manor.”

Sheriff Hemlock furrowed his brows. “So…will there be more murders?”

“I don’t know.”

“What should I tell the townsfolk?”

“Tell them they’re safe. For now.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“With all due respect, Sheriff,” Aesop stood up and looked the lawman in the eye, “that’s all I’ve got. Jerk wants to chase a few leads in Magnimar, because Sir Aldern said a few things before we had to put him down, but it’s been a very long day and I still need to help Father Zantus tend to the Guffmans.”

The Sheriff considered his options. “Want me to send word ahead – let Magnimar know you’re coming?”

“Better not. Magnimar may not appreciate some of our techniques.”

***

Jerk addressed the others: “Alright people, listen up! Sandoz here is going to assume the likeness of Aldern and attempt to unlock the front door with this key. That’s Plan A. If he ‘accidentally’ drops the key, we’re going to casually walk up and engage him in conversation, so that I can use The Crowbar on the lock. That’s Plan B. Any questions? Zu?”

The Shoanti brave lowered his hand. “Alive Aldern or undead Aldern?”

“Alive,” Aesop replied, “because most folks don’t chat with the undead.”

“Very good point. Thank you Father Aesop. No other questions? Let’s go!”

I say don't worry about it. Clerics are tough, and that death touch will go a long way. You'll probably be coming back in a few months asking how to rein her in. ;)

Some obvious weaknesses: 8 Dex means a lousy touch AC, 12 Con means fewer hit points, and 10 Int means few skills. You should be thankful that she chose to have such high Wis and Cha -- these stats are probably less important to a frontline cleric than one who spends every round casting spells.

I don't know if you're playing with the aasimar's +1 LA, but that's a very good balancing factor at lower levels.

Edit: it occurs to me that I dismissed your concerns and gave you answers that were unrelated to your original questions. In general, when playing a frontline cleric, your sister should wear the heaviest armor she can afford, hurl javelins as she closes, and use situational modifiers to her advantage (charging, flanking, aiding, attacking from above). Spells like bless and protection from evil are good choices, as are spells that can bring the enemy to the party (command). Bear's strength will probably be more useful than hold person, especially if she likes to wade into melee.

I love the intro, but I doubt I'd follow this to LiveJournal. Why not cross-post to Paizo?

Have you thought about chatting with your DM and your fellow players? Unless you're starting above 1st level, it's pretty important to flesh out how you guys met and how you plan to survive in the future. Multiclassing to match a concept is great, but may be impractical if half the group start as rogues but then all multiclass away.

Alternatively, the 3.0 DMG had apprentice-level rules that allow you to start out as a paladin/rogue at 1st level. I'm told those rules don't exist in 3.5, but using those rules may help you rationalize your training and background, avoiding the need to "find God" in-game. Your superiors may have conveniently sent you where the action will be because of your unique skill set.

We laughed, too, when Aesop's player turned to us and said, "Ibn." He had spent all except one turning attempt on the other ghouls in the caverns, so could not destroy the goblins and had to settle for a normal turning. "Ibn" is the only one that managed to flee.

It was way past our end time when we finished with the dire bat-ghoul, so I had to fluff out Redshiv and The Crowbar via e-mail. Sorry to disappoint you, but I believe my exact words at the table were, "What kind of stupid name is Redshiv?!" followed by "Do I need to bring everything back to Magnimar?"

The following post is courtesy of our DM, who had to clarify everything in written form so that we could remember exactly who revealed what to whom, since we ended the last session debating the fate of Ironbriar.

***

The first thing the party noticed was the unearthly stench that practically roiled the air around them. The second thing the party noticed was the source of the stench: a ghast in satin and velvet standing motionlessly in front of a painting on an easel. “I am Sir Aldern Foxglove,” the ghast pronounced pompously as he looked Baltin up and down. “Lower your weapon, sirrah, lest I draw mine. Do I see more visitors? Come in, come in! I bid you all welcome.”

Hesitantly, Alton walked into the cavern, flanked by Baltin and Zu. “Sir Aldern?”

“No!” Aldern’s eyes suddenly widened at the sight of the aasimar. “You were supposed to die! You still live! You still…urk!” Fumbling at the handaxe that Zu had hurled into his chest, Aldern reached out to Alton. “Please…save me! He will come again! Or even worse…the Skinsaw Man!”

“Who?” Jerk asked, as he tried hard not to gag.

“Can’t say. Won’t say.” Aldern’s eyes darted around the room nervously. “I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to come home, but no one would help. So I contacted some of my father's friends – the Brothers of the Seven. They counseled me, and helped me with the paperwork. But I couldn’t find any workers! Only the most desperate would come, and none would stay for more than a few days. It’s those rats! Scratching, and clawing, and making it impossible to sleep.”

“Who’s the Skinsaw Man?” Jerk asked again.

“Iesha!” Aldern’s eyes relaxed. “It was a dark and stormy night, and she was stranded here with her troupe. As beautiful as the night, with the heart of a lion – she was the most striking woman I had ever seen. I loved her. I wooed her. She became mine! But then she betrayed me…”

“I don’t think he’s listening to me,” Jerk whispered to Baltin; the dwarf was staring at a patch of fungus on the far wall, and did not answer.

“The elf was right!” Aldern sobbed, and threw down Zu’s handaxe. “He told me that she was just after my money; he said that she would sleep with the workers when I’m not around. I did not want to believe, but I saw them: her and that carpenter, side by side in the library. She actually tried to stop me, to protect her lover! But I killed him, and then I killed her…”

“And then what happened?” Sandoz, resplendent in Iesha’s scarf, began to creep towards a shattered puzzlebox near the far wall.

“I threw him in the well!” Aldern roared, and then quieted. “But I couldn’t do the same to my love. I wrapped her in a drape, and took her to the attic. I asked the Brothers for help. They told me that I should stay in Magnimar while they took care of things; they said that I should tell visitors that Iesha was in Absalom visiting friends. I began taking flayleaf…” Aldern’s face grimaced spasmodically. “I paid the Brothers more and more, week after week. The payments were killing me! But I had to keep paying, or else they might have reported me to the justices…And then I met the woman!”

“What woman?” Jerk asked.

“She didn’t tell me her name,” Aldern replied calmly. ”She just said that if I brought her rats from my basement, my debts would be paid in full. I cleaned myself up, gave up the leaf, and headed home. But I found myself in Sandpoint, at the Swallowtail Festival. I was lost – and then I saw him.” All eyes turned to Alton. “He was so beautiful…so pure. He saved me from the goblins. I wanted to be just like him: clean, and perfect.” Sandoz caught Jerk’s eye, and traced a circle around his temple with his forefinger. “I returned to the Manor and vowed to start a new life. I pushed all thoughts of Iesha from my mind. I just needed a few rats…but they were gone! I couldn't find them anywhere! And then I heard the scratching, from beneath the floor.” Aldern stared at Alton. “I dug. For you! All for you! I found them. Thousands of them. I also found mold, but it made me sick…so sick. You said that you would keep me pure. You lied! You lied! You lied!”

“Now?” Zu asked as he eyed the distance between him and his handaxe.

“Not yet,” Aesop answered.

Aldern sighed. “By the time I returned to Magnimar, all I felt was hunger. All around me: delicious, warm meat. Just like you. But you are pure: pure angelic flesh. Your flesh will make me pure. You will make me better.” Aldern’s eyes narrow, and he grins. With one swift motion, he pulls on a mask and suddenly his appearance becomes like Alton’s. "I wonder how your deaths shall affect your friends. What things might you have done that will go unfinished? What will those broken promises spawn? How will your murders shape the world?"

“Now?’

“F+!# yeah.”

Anything for my only reader. :)

***

Hours passed. Visions of tragedy and horror awaited the party in each room, so much so that Jerk briefly contemplated selling the rights to the Foxglove story to the Sandpoint Theater. After bashing down an iron door in the basement, the party rested as Sandoz relayed the story of Vorel Foxglove’s bid for lichdom and Alton relayed how Aldern was dragged into the depths by a pack of ghouls.

Jerk nodded sagely as he listened to the stories. “Alright, I think we found our necromancer: it’s Vorel. If he wants Alton, he’ll have to come through us. Father, can you destroy a lich?”

Aesop thought for a moment. Ephod of Authority…Talisman of Undead Mastery…Scepter of the Underworld…Phylactery of Undead Turning… “Maybe, but the holy relics of Sarenrae are hundreds of miles away.” Aesop looked at Alton. “Do you want to go down there? Vorel may be beyond all of us.”

Alton looked at the opened stairwell, and then at his companions. He began glowing, and led the way into the darkness.

***

Eldritch blasts from Sandoz and magic missiles from Jerk smashed into the dire bat-ghoul again and again, staggering it long enough for Alton to jump up and punch through its head. “I think we found Farmer Grump’s fearsome bat-winged devil,” Sandoz muttered as he scanned the large cave for magic. “Ah! A new hat for me, and a strange sword for Jerk.”

Jerk hefted the sword and measured the blade between thumb and forefinger. “Two feet nine inches long…one inch wide…diamond cross-section, with a six inch ricasso and a nine inch hilt. Unless I’m mistaken, only one man carries a Varisian estoc like this: Shaz the Redshiv.”

“Shaz the Redshiv?” Baltin asked as Jerk began pulling the pants off the half-eaten corpses in the room.

“Shaz the Redshiv!” Jerk exclaimed triumphantly as he pointed downwards. “This little f@$*er’s worth ten pounds of gold. And this,” Jerk crooned to the matte-black blade in his hands, “is the adamantine beauty known as The Crowbar.”

Zu handed Jerk a knife and a sack. “I do not collect those heads,” the Shoanti brave explained.

***

“Did that goblin-ghoul look familiar to you?” Jerk asked Aesop as the two climbed down a sloping ledge toward a stone door below. “I thought I heard him yell ‘Birdcrunchers’ just before he dove into the water.”

“Really? How odd.” Aesop turned to the others. “This is it: whatever has been plaguing this house is probably behind this door. You ready?” All nodded; Alton opened the door, and Baltin entered.

Instead of waiting for Paizo to do the work for us, why don't we start reviewing the PrCs that already exist and just adjust for Pathfinder flavor?

For example, based on finerion's comment above, I think the SRD PrCs can probably be adjusted as follows:

• Loremaster - access to the Knowledge domain can substitute for one of the Feat prereqs
  
• Mystic Theurge - often sponsored by the church of Nethys
  
• Shadowdancer - Race: Varisian instead of Combat Reflexes
  
• Thaumaturgist - aka Chelish Devil Binder