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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, shitting 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 shit.

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 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.


My party has a good mix of players who are tactical, players who role-play to their detriment, and players without impulse control. I thought I'd share the following tidbits from last night's session:

Spoiler:
Not seeing anything, our dwarf fighter walks into Malfeshnekor's room. Having readied to attack anything that was not us, I move up and Mal hits my AC with a 2 on the AoO roll (our eyes widen). The scout tries the same thing, but gets bitten to dying with another AoO (we start feeling fear). When the dwarf bravely tells the rest of the party to shut the door and drag the wounded to safety...the monk does so.

After surviving the fight described above, we enjoy some downtime until the following happens:

Spoiler:
The Sheriff warns us that Katrine Vinder has been murdered, and that he's thrown her father in jail to cool off. He asks us to discreetly investigate. Now, Ven already distrusts our priest because of an incident with Shayliss, but our scout had also been attempting to woo Shayliss by leaving heads and scalps on their doorstep. How does the monk decide to befriend Ven? By revealing his sihedron medallion and asking if Ven's familiar with the symbol (the answer would be yes, since it had been carved into Katrine's flesh).

Would anyone else like to share a groan-worthy moment? :)


Zuzeca was leading the party of would-be adventurers north towards Darkmoon Lake when he suddenly held up a hand. “Do you hear that? It sounds like an animal, whimpering.”

Baltin shifted creakily from atop his mule. “I don’t hear anything.”

“I hear something,” confirmed Emilio. “Coming from the left?”

Zu nodded. “Follow me…quietly.” Moments later, Zu held up his hand again. “See that?” He pointed towards the shore of the lake. “That fox – or maybe it’s a fennec – has been trapped near the water’s edge.”

Baltin shrugged. “So?”

“So I’m going to get closer, to see if I need to put it down.” Zu hefted his javelin. “Keep an eye out – its cries may have attracted other things than us.” And with that happy thought, the Shoanti brave stalked towards the trapped animal.

The party watched nervously. Suddenly, an arrow streaked from the tree line and buried itself in Zu’s thigh. “Argh!” Zu screamed as he dove for cover.

“Alton says: take cover!” The golden-eyed man pronounced as he sprinted towards a fallen log.

“Never!” Baltin bellowed as he sprinted towards Zu, axe high. “For Redhammer!”

“Turn around, dumbass! He’s over there! Oh for crying out loud…” Jerk stood and charged the trees. With a muttered prayer, the large man hurled a javelin into the trees and was rewarded by a cry of pain.

“Await the dawn,” whispered Aesop as he motioned towards the trees. Seconds later, two crows and a hobgoblin fell sleepily from the branches. Though the hobgoblin would awaken upon impact with the ground, Jerk soon sent him on his way with a crushing shield bash.

“That’s for shooting my cousin, you ugly sonofab~%~&,” Jerk spat. “Yo Zu, you okay?”

The young brave grimaced as he snapped the arrow shaft and pushed the head through his thigh. I’ve had better days, Zu decided as he chanted a minor curative spell over his leg. “I’m fine! I think this fennec will live, too!”

Emilio raised an eyebrow. “How nice. The fennec will live, too.”

Jerk shrugged. “My grandfather says that projection is healthy, and is better than obsessing over one’s own wounds. Hey, help me with this armor – I think this hobgob’s just my size.”

***

The party stared at the upside-down bodies of three sprites, staked rudely to a dead pine tree. Trails of rainbow-colored blood glittered in the sunlight. Deep goat-like hoof tracks clomped around the macabre tableau.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that ain’t natural,” declared Emilio with a gesture to ward off the devil’s notice.

“Should we bury them?” Aesop wondered.

Jerk snorted. “Hell no. Whoever did this wanted everyone to know not to f$!@ with his bad ass. We’re leaving!”