"I see," Satinder replies, smiling. "It appears that Drelev's little gambit has not paid off for him."
She pauses, considering. "Fort Drelev's citizens are a downcast lot, at present; there's no love for the baron in town, even from his soldiers, though they enjoy having a free hand to take whatever they want, be it ale or gold or the company of my employees. But with little food, much disease, and above all an abundance of armed unfriendly faces in town, no one is particularly eager to step forward for a change in leadership. The few who have tried soon disappeared into Keep Drelev, and far fewer have come back out again. The rumors of what happens in his dungeons grow more gruesome by the day, and the giants wandering freely about town by night are bad enough on their own."
"All that is to say that you have a daunting task ahead, dear Taranis, if you intend to carry through with your aims. Even simply killing the Baron would not be enough. The people will need to see more from you before they are willing to throw off the Baron's influence---and worse, Irovetti's---for good."
To free Fort Drelev from the enemy control, you must accomplish two things:
1. Kill or capture Baron Hannis Drelev. 2. Gain a sufficient number of Liberation Points. These can be gained by killing or capturing key allies of the Baron, rescuing prisoners, and similar heroic actions. You can also lose Liberation Points when things go wrong, such as from citizen deaths, public destruction, or dilly-dallying. You currently have 0 Liberation Points.
"Given the nature of my 'clientele,' I cannot offer any public support. I believe I can, however, aid your cause: I have enough hidden rooms here that you can use the Velvet Corner as a base, so long as you come and go undetected."
"And, perhaps more importantly, I can tell you where to find the entrance to an escape tunnel the Baron built, which goes from his dungeons to a shaded grove on the shore of Lake Hooktongue just a little north of town."
For gaining the support of Satinder Morne, each hero earns 320 XP.
Bytor moves to the edge of the boat, reaching a hand down into the water to heal the Taranisaur. The closer elasmosaurus takes issue with such interference, whipping its long neck forward to close its sharp teeth painfully on Bytor's extended hand.
Black Bite AoO @ Bytor:1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25 HIT Damage:2d8 + 15 ⇒ (7, 2) + 15 = 24DC 36 Concentration check is too high to pass, spell fizzles
Augrym: Thanks for clarifying (you did mention your bow). I have updated the damage total, and will hold your attack for next round on your turn. A ranged attack at melee range does incur an AoO though:
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
Booker attends the Council's medal ceremony with great reluctance. Halfway through the second speech---and long before any medals are given out---he quietly slips off the stage. It's the last time most in the universe ever sees him.
With the others scattering to the winds, Booker takes the Sunrise Maiden for his own, and all but disappears from the publics of the Pact Worlds. The first several years in hiding take place mostly in an a cave nestled at the base of a remote canyon on Akiton. There, over the course of clandestine years, he painstakingly and methodically alters the Maiden' exterior profile, fuselage, registration, and even its name---making it all but impossible for anyone but its original crew to recognize the ship that brought down Ark Prime. While he dramatically reworks the ship's outward appearance, he leaves its interior mostly untouched: Gig's insane Stellar Degenerator X-705 keyboard machine, still functional but unplayed, is left to overwhelm the bunk that was once Hack-It's; he makes every effort, sneaking back into town at night on his motorcycle, to keep Dunk's spice rack well stocked; Munroe's viciously marked-up editing plans still litter Janzi's old table, still partially covered in aging peanut shells; even Hack-It's retrofitted escape pod nest still makes a mess of the first starboard bay. One might say that, though disguised, the ship remains invested with memory, and intentionally so.
Once the ship is unrecognizable but again spaceworthy, he takes up a lonely wandering among the stars. His goal, such as he has any, is to maintain a vigilance should Hack-It's surety prove wrong; in the deep reaches of the Vast, he meanders from isolation to isolation to poke and prod for any evidence that Ark Prime escaped its end at the core of a sun. But in many journeys he seeks only to be away from it all: to neither see nor be seen. At these times, Osteth is his only conversation partner, and they both settle comfortably into independent coexistences, often going months without needing to speak. Without needing to be told, the AI always helps Booker avoid getting anywhere near Hack-It's armada.
Whenever Gig gets particularly annoying with his incessant emails about hanging out, Booker humors his old friend, showing up mysteriously in the keyboardist's dressing room after a show. And while he always declines Gig's request to take over his security, the truth is that Booker has already been running it for years through a shell company.
I am electing to treat this as similar to the Scan crew action in Starfinder. A Reconnoiter action takes 2d4 hours to complete, requires a Profession (Soldier) or Perception check, and may require an additional check of some kind (e.g., Stealth, Swim, etc.) depending on your approach.
The base DC for a Reconnoiter is equal to the DV of the target army if using Profession (Soldier), or 5 + DV if using Perception. In either case, any Fortifications the target army benefits from are added to this DC. If you fail this DC, then the time is still spent but you do not learn any information. If you fail by 5 or more, then you also risk detection (and possibly an ensuing encounter). If you succeed, you gain the first piece of information from the list below. For every 5 by which you exceed the DC, you learn the next piece of information on the list.
1. Basic Info. You learn the species (and possibly class, if any) of the army's base unit, and the nature of any fortifications present. 2. Defense. You learn the size of the army, its complement, its DV, and its current and maximum HP. 3. Offense. You learn the army's OM, whether it has ranged capabilities, its speed, and any siege weapons it has at its disposal. 4. Resources. You learn of any special resources that the army has at its disposal. 5. Commander. You learn the army's name and that of its commander, as well as some basic information about its commander. 6. Morale. You learn the army's current morale.
Unlike the Scan action in Starfinder, succeeding at a second (or subsequent) Reconnoiter attempt does not automatically move you further down the list from wherever you got last time. Instead, Reconnoitering an army you have already Reconnoitered previously grants you a +5 bonus to the check, but your result starts at the top of the list as before. In other words, succeeding twice with a 10 on the die each time will net you exactly 1 additional piece of information on the second try relative to the first.
Given that these rules are entirely home-brewed, I reserve the right to alter these rules in the future if the needs of the campaign demand it. But hopefully these should work.
The young man blanches white as the sudden weight of responsibility lands on him like a basket of dragon eggs. He nods weakly. "Aye, m'lord..." Then he straightens and nods more firmly. "Aye, m'lord. I shall see it done."
Just to be sure, Unrak sends a small contingent of the Marchland Shields over to Tatzylford, to form the core of the Tatzylford Terrors during recruitment, and to reinforce the town in the meantime. He finds it easy enough to replenish his numbers from new recruits in Solasgaard before the week is out.
Feeling confident that Tatzylford and their western border is secure, at least for the moment, the Huntsmen gather by the roaring hearth in the Great Hall of Castle Redleaf on [color=teal]8th Calistril[/color].
Minor sidenote: I am adding +3 to the Marchlands' revenue this month, on account of thrice taking steps that would otherwise reduce Unrest below zero.
Remembering something, the young lord reaches into a pocket and draws out a silver necklace with a hawk pendant. "In return, we offer you this heirloom, which we recovered from Halmash's den. I believe it belongs to one of your kin, Amallah, whom Halmash wronged to set you on this path."
The Huntsmen strike south, hugging the eastern shore of the Tuskwater. Near sundown on [color=teal]16th Sarenith[/color], you return to where the Little Sellen flows into the Shrike as the larger river turns south towards Mivon. The rotted ferry docks that once made crossing here still stand empty.
You make camp on the riverbank. Unrak strokes his beard thoughtfully, gazing into the cookfire, then its embers, then the tapestry of stars crawling by the old posts by the water. A memory in his mind as he finally finds sleep. More formally, if you establish a settlement here, the abandoned ferry station has enough working infrastructure to grant the settlement a free Pier.
Over the next four days, you proceed east along the Little Sellen, taking your time to map and explore the hills on either side of the river. Now and again, Taranis offers strange guidance and foresight about what you find over the next hill or around the next bend. Then again, he does seem to be spending more time meditating in the mornings...
Partway through the journey, you reach the hidden lair where you felled the mighty owlbear that once ravaged Solasgaard. The cave shows evidence of black bear droppings, suggesting that it was used for winter hibernation by the usual fauna, and is empty now. A day later, towards the end of the week, you return to an area marked "Leucrotta Territory" on your map. You keep in tighter formation as you explore, wary of the beasts tricks and ambushes. But there is no sign of the creature any longer; your chase must have scared it off to find fresher pastures.
You break your fast on [color=teal]21st Sarenith[/color] to debate your next move.
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
"So..." Booker looks from the giant's remains to the ysoki, and back again. "Does this mean Gig's the emperor now?" The old soldier makes a face. "At least it ain't Hack-It..."
"Then let us give thanks to Mother Moon!" Aecora exclaims happily. "As a token of our gratitude, please accept these gifts, brewed with care by our own masters."
A centaur comes forward with 6 potions of cure moderate wounds and 6 potions of lesser restoration.
For confirming Xamanthe's safe return to the Nomen, each Huntsman earns 960 XP. For securing a treaty with the Nomen, each Huntsman earns another 960 XP.
Once word is sent to Restov, the Swordlords send the promised reward of 4000 GP. Go ahead and add it to the Tracker now so it is not forgotten. Additionally, true to their word, the Nomen keep watch over your eastern flank, providing a +2 bonus to Stability (already added to the Marchlands tracker).
Luck turns against the Redleafs; Taranis elicits only a disdainful "hmph" out of Pavetta, and her brother's eyes glaze over when talking to Unrak.
Natala listens attentively to Bytor's spoken performance. "Not bad, for a great uncle," she smiles. The roll is not quite enough, but I am granting a circumstance bonus for the reference that will put it over the line.
For this portion of the event, there are several "games" that you may play instead of engaging with a single NPC. For each game, you make a single check with the listed skill; the result of this check is applied against every NPC for who has that skill listed as an influence option (including unidentified options), but at a -4 penalty (because they may not see your success). Each PC may attempt each game once.
"Carnival Ladder" --- Ascend a rope ladder, attached by a single point at either end, without tipping over. Acrobatics.
"Count the Money" --- Correctly identify the value of a bag of coins without opening it. Appraise.
"Ring the Bell" --- Swing a giant hammer at a wooden block to try to send a shuttle high enough to ring a bell. Intimidate.
"Known Heraldry" --- Identify as many banners as possible within the time limit. Knowledge (Nobility).
"The Stage" --- Take to the stage and offer a performance. Perform (any).
"The Bull" --- Stay in the saddle as long as you can. Ride.
"Analyze Dweomer" --- Correctly identify the properties of a strange magical item. Spellcraft.
On docks or lonely mountains, In palaces or vales, In bright saloons near fountains, 'Tis love alone prevails.
Ooooooooh 'tis love! 'Tis love! 'Tis love! Youuuuuuu broke her heavy curse. Ooooooooh 'tis love! 'Tis love! 'Tis love! Thaaaaaat shall the same for you.
Here under the right bright moon, To-morrow 'neath the sun, Again, Corran, you shall swoon, Be-cause love again has won!
Perform (Song) vs DC 20:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26
1. Taranis Redleaf holds the title of Baron. He has not been conferred the title of Duke (yet).
2. Jemanda (who is in Oppara) promised a wand of find traps. You can reasonably expect to receive this in about a month.
3. If you wish to acquire curative wand(s), you must roll for them. As always, a 1 to 75 on a d100 means you succeed in finding the desired item, and a 76 to 100 means you fail. I strongly recommend that the party pool financial resources rather than saddling Bytor alone with that expensive responsibility.
4. I will reiterate the request to use the above rolling method for d100 rolls. I do not want to be irksome about it, so I will not make an issue of the roll of 96 above for the Belt of Giant Strength, but please adjust for the future.
At the east gate of Solasgaard, the company gathers to bid farewell. Tess has elected to accompany Ervil back to Oppara to ensure his safe return, and to seek answers to the mysteries of the still-throbbing stone implanted in her skull. Meanwhile, Marc has decided to take up a guardianship at the Temple of the Elk, taking some personal time to commune with his god.
The other five---Taranis, Unrak, Augrym, Bytor, and John---turn east along the Gudrin River. On [color=teal]18th Kuthona[/color], they reach Lake Silverstep and its promised bounty of eels. The shores surrounding the lake consist of idyllic swaths of nettles, cattails, reeds, and lilies that are home to numerous nixies, grigs, and faerie dragons.
You may each make a DC 30 Survival check to fish for silver eels over the course of a day. The eels are exceedingly difficult to catch, but a success will net you 1d6 eels.
Trex, during our time at Varnhold, can I go to the smithy and collect any materials that are mine? Specifically, I had commissioned a mithral breastplate from the smith here; I'd imagine any mitrhal here is probably mine. Wouldn't mind not losing ALL of that investment, savvy??
I believe you already grabbed it. It should be a fairly simple matter to pay a smith on Solasgaard to finish the work.
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
Booker turns instantly on Hack-It. "Janzi an' I both checked the door. You wanna not get fried, check the damn door yourself an' be helpful for once, since you've got better eyes than I do." He jabs his rifle into the ysoki's chest. "If all you've got is complaints, keep yer mouth shut, or so help me, I'll have Janzi sew it shut while Gig sings you a lullaby."
Is the door open (it is not on the map)? Or are we worried the trap has already reset?
Striding over to the table, the Ladies Ianthe and Aurelia beside Martella catch Xavien's eye, along with the Lord Corran. A smirk flashes across his face. He knows of the other three nobles, if not well. They have moved in different circles and had different schooling, after all, and he does not recall conversing with any of them at the various balls and parties he frequented this week. The two other men are strangers to him.
"Marendo Karthis," he introduces himself, with a bow and a smile. Martella gives him a look. He gives an apologetic shrug. "That is, Lord Xavien Marendo Domitian Iactarus Karthis. But Marendo will suffice for friends of the Lady Martella," he adds with a grin and another bow towards their host. Xavien stands a little above average height and stocky build. This evening he is dressed in a fine crepe doublet in navy and deep green, a rich tailcoat of burgundy, and sable-lined boots of tooled leather. His only jewelry consists of two thick gold torcs worn at the wrists and another at the neck, plus a signet ring on the last finger of his left hand, which bears the Karthis family crest, but with the charges reversed. At his side is a straight-edged soldier's longsword, which seems to be an intentional choice over the flimsier blades popular among duelists in Oppara today.
"Where have you served, Kenton? Perhaps I have seen you at Zimar?" he asks of his neighbor. But before Kenton can answer, Xavien notices a passing waiter. "Waiter! Some cured ham, goat cheese, and grapes, if you please. And the fig jam with your Galtan croissants for the table."
The days at Cloudforge seem to pass slowly; a place of peace, knowledge, and creation is a welcome change from the road of desperation and destruction that had been trod for many moons. Raen leaves in Jorifah's care all astronomical plates, two thousand pounds in spare silver, all cloud engineer badges, roc rider badges, and scopes of stormsight, and of course the Cloud Diadem itself. She enjoys conversing with the many giants about the castle complex, observing the engineers at their reparative work, and meandering among the teeming shelves of the library (and of course copying down a few notes for herself).
Spells:
Adding: Alter Self, Bear's Endurance, Bull's Strength, Eagle's Splendor, Fox's Cunning, Knock, Make Whole, Owl's Wisdom, Greater Magic Weapon, Mass Enlarge Person, Greater Polymorph, Giant Form II, and Form of the Dragon III to my spellbooks. Total cost 2,340 gp in rare ink.
Time passes unhurried, deliberate, and altogether pleasant. At length, Jorifah calls the three Trunauans together again for a parting.
Dungeon Master S wrote:
Before Raen can ponder, Ushyle can prepare for combat, or Whistle Pig can check the door, a limnus of warm light begins to glow around its edges. The door itself fades from reality. Beyond is a fantastic land that is not Golarion. The mere sight of the fantastic castle beyond fills the Heroes with a sense of peace and comfort. Jorifah, blind but sighted, simply smiles. She leaves the three heroes there, giving parting words as she goes. "It seems we are not the only place to offer succor."
Raen can feel a strong pull as she gazes through the door. To leave her world, its troubles, and its anguish behind. To seek wonders anew. To travel beyond limits. She knows not what lies beyond, not exactly, though an inkling forms in her mind, and she smiles at the thought.
But she knows, too, that it is not yet her time to pass through. Peaceful as the days have been, she cannot altogether keep from her mind what she buried beneath Zephyr Hall's heavy flagstones. Nor the dragon she knows still covets that secret. Nor the fire giant queen's parting threat. Nor of those who sought to use the Storm Tyrant himself as a pawn.
No, it is not her time.
"Not yet for me, I think," she murmurs to her companions, after gazing a long while through the portal to another world. "If it calls to you, I bid you go." She waits a while before speaking again. "I must converse once more with Jorifah, then I shall take my leave of Cloudforge. Should you wish to return to Trunau, or any corner of this world, I would be glad to take you there." She turns back towards the surface.
She finds Jorifah standing on the bridge, contemplating the wind as it whistles through Zephyr Hall's battlements. "Master Jorifah, you have been a kind and generous host. I must ask of you one final courtesy: that I may enter Zephyr Hall, alone, to rid it of one last danger. This must never be known, just as the existence of Cloudforge itself must never be known."
* * *
The Gallery is still and empty, the windows shrouded by fog brought in by the late evening sea-breeze. Raen takes a deep breath, staring down at the floor. She gently sets an unadorned leather pouch, crafted carefully on journey here, on a nearby sill. Then her hands and voice begin to sing. The stone along the hallway slithers and slides, encasing the Varisian entirely in a pitch-black box of solid rock, blocking out even the windows, rendering her completely and utterly alone. In the darkness, the wizard’s form warps and grows. Her skin turns to scales the blood-red color of a dying sun. Thick leathery wings sprout from her back, and a spiked tail swings behind her. Smoke fumes from her nostrils, as her massive draconic form settles on its haunches. The dragon’s features shift and clarify into a familiar, leering face. Then the stone at her feet is drawn upward, making a box within a box, before cracking and shattering as huge chunks fall away.
And in the center, an orb like molten glass.
Raen acts quickly, never looking directly at the thing, and never touching it. It dances into the air as if on a puppet's strings, floating towards the waiting maw of the leather pouch. It disappears inside, and the pouch cinches shut. Raen lets out her breath, only now realizing that she had been holding it in. Her hands dance again, and the dragon shrinks down into a woman once more, and the broken stone returns to the hole in the floor, and the encasing box slides away back into the walls, and the grey half-light filters in again through the windows. Raen scoops up the pouch and buries it deep in one of her many pockets, relief heavy on her.
GM:
Wall of Stone to isolate, Form of the Dragon III to become a huge red dragon, Disguise Self to look like Naximarra (T10 Disguise = 36), Stone Shape to retrieve the Orb, Telekinesis to put the Orb in a Pathfinder Pouch, dismiss Disguise Self, dismiss Form of the Dragon, Stone Shape to fix the room back.
She leaves Zephyr Hall by way of the bridge, never to return.
* * *
Many moons pass. She travels far and wide seeking knowledge that will aid her in the tasks ahead. Raen meets privately with Halgra, impressing upon the Chief Defender that Trunau could ever call upon her if in need, and that she had left a scroll with Agrit for that purpose. Whether from a vantage near or distant, she watches as each of her companions settles into their own next chapters, their own new tales, and is contented. For now, at least, the only one she need risk is herself. And there is much left for her to do.
GM:
Arcanamirium visit for three spells:
Plane Shift:1d100 ⇒ 24 Available
Greater Scrying:1d100 ⇒ 27 Available
Create Demiplane:1d100 ⇒ 17 Available
A small popping sound echoes in the vale above Skirgaard. Raen, dressed in long flowing robes of blues and whites, kneels down to gently brush away some snow from the brow of the mountaintop. She stops, for poking out of the ice and snow is a still-red rose petal, and there the handle of a mug and of a hammer, and over there the leather of a boot and a gauntlet. A single tear rolls down her cheek to fall among them, and then she covers them with snow again.
After one last look at the vast mountain range stretching north and south, where so much had transpired, where so much life was bought and so much stilled, Raen begins what she came here to do. Her voice rises, and her hands trace arcs of reality to and for, weaving and weaving and weaving, creating a tapestry that belongs truly and only to her, shaping a world that is wholly wrought from her own mind. Her song flows down the mountainsides, echoing through hours of toil. In time, this island between dimensions will come to hold a rich forest with bounding streams and waterfalls, trees of fantastical fruits and wild nuts, days and seasons accustomed to Raen and not the other way around, and a natural feeling of goodness and wholesomeness that ever tingles the senses. This place is to become her residence, her library, her workshop, and her safehouse all in one; a solitary eyrie, perhaps, but with peace and comfort and quiet whenever she desires it.
At last, the song and dance conclude; the weave is finished. With a last echoing crack in the mountain air, Raen vanishes from Golarion.
Untethered Harbor:
Raen’s personal demiplane, the Untethered Harbor, is a small island in a mist-shrouded sea. The island is dotted with bright little meadows, tall trees bearing ample fruits and nuts, and clean streams of water that flow from a spring near its center and on over small waterfalls and into little pools. A small stone house sits by the spring, its walls lined with bookshelves, and numerous covered workbenches can be found in various glades and clearings. The night on this island lasts only two hours, while the day lasts twenty-two, and each season lasts only a third as long as on Golarion. Anyone who passes through the fogbank around the island eventually breaks through the mist, only to find themselves back at the island. The entirety of the Untethered Harbor feels to be a place of peace and learning, and any with evil in their hearts who travel there would find it unwelcoming.
Surrounding Plane: Astral Primary Content: Air Borders: Water Shape: Self-contained (loop) Gravity: Normal Alignment: Mildly good-aligned Light Cycle: Day 22 hours, night 2 hours Seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter (1 month each) Ecology: Bountiful
Creation: Create Demiplane (Astral location, air content, water borders, normal gravity, normal light), Permanency (20,000 gp), Create Demiplane (shape), Create Demiplane (light/seasons cycle), Create Demiplane (ecology), Create Demiplane (alignment).
* * *
Some time later, Vael finds a forked metal rod in her backpack that she was sure she had not put there. A note in Raen’s gossamer script is attached.
The knock on the door comes when expected. "Good morning, Vael," Raen says, opening the door. "I am ready to begin. Are you?"
"Aye, I'm ready," the dwarf says resolutely. "This is my future, and I appreciate your help."
"Good." Raen sets a key and a few coins on the sill. "Now hold tight!"
*POP*
They reappear in a familiar forest, in a familiar grove. The Mindspin Mountains rise high on either side, and a stillness in the air speaks to a true remoteness. Somewhere nearby, the sun glints on a broad lake. Tulia gasps, but Vael only chuckles. "I see what you did there."
"I thought this a fitting locale for what we are about to undertake." Raen smiles softly, before her expression turns serious. "Now. This magic is not for the faint of heart. What you desire will take time. Do you trust me?"
Vael nods. "I always have. And I always will."
"Then let us begin." Raen's hands and voice dance like raindrops on a pond, pulling threads from distant reaches of the universe, weaving a delicate melody in its fabric. Vael's form begins to change. His beard puffs and billows, then his eyebrows, then his hair. Within a moment, the whole of Vael has become insubstantial, a mass of cloud and wind, shifting this way and that, comically struggling to keep its heavy armor afloat.
"Well, that is not quite right," Raen chuckles softly, like a pianist offering dry commentary between chorus and verse, while the hands keep playing. Vael's form never quite settles; his hair has turned to lightning, and the half-plate eases again around a more human body.
"Almost there." In an instant, Vael seems to shrink into himself, growing smaller and smaller. The hair crackles and turns shock-blonde. At the last moment, butterfly wings sprout out her back.
And there, at last, is Vael Oakfist, the lyrakien azata.
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
Booker takes a long draw on a cigarette and talks over his shoulder to Janzi. "Doc, you wanna look at those two? They used t'be good at this kinda stuff."
As Bytor continues to tend to his wounds, Unrak heaves mightily on the timbers to his north. He puts enough pressure on the arrow slit that its reinforcements give way, widening the aperture to expose another spriggan on the opposite side!
Okay, here is how I am ruling this: Unrak's check succeeds sufficiently to reduce the cover provided to the spriggan by the arrow slit from "improved" to "partial." You can make melee attacks through the widened opening. Additionally, it is now possible to wriggle through to the other side with a successful Escape Artist check. I have marked this aperture on the map with a thin red line between Unrak and the opposite spriggan.
I don't like this. Why put up a magic mojo wall? What are they keeping out? Or...
"...or what they are endeavoring to contain within," Raen finishes Hamilton's thought. She considers the specter for a moment. "I surmise that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and recommend we attempt a dialogue."
First, though, Raen tries to identify the spirit's qualities. Kn Religion:1d20 + 21 ⇒ (18) + 21 = 39
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
Achievements As of This Post:
I believe this is an accurate accounting of Dead Suns achievements:
First Blood: R1G5 (#31) First Spell Cast: Gig (#33) First Enemy Kill: Gig (#33) First One-Shot Kill: Dunklezahn (#1136) First Critical Hit: Booker (#521) First Critical Miss: Booker (#292) First Creature Identified: Janzi (#436) First Trap Disarmed: Hack-It (#2848) First Trap Set Off: Hack-It (#508) First PC Unconscious: Hack-It (#2422) First PC Death: None Honorable Mention: Sputter (#2422)
Highest Skill Check: Booker (54 Piloting) (#5241) Highest Attack Roll: Booker (35) (#5130) Most Damage Dealt in One Hit (excl. AoE): Dunklezahn (80 dmg) (#3842) Most Damage Dealt in One Round (incl. AoE): Dunklezahn (113 dmg) (#3842) Most Damage Taken in One Hit: Dunklezahn (47 dmg) (#3190) Most Damage Taken in One Round: Booker (106 dmg) (#3792) Most Times Unconscious: 3-way Tie among Hack-It, Dunklezahn, Gig (once each)
Most Killing Blows: Booker (51)
Most Critical Hits: Booker (16)
Most Critical Misses: Dunklezahn (14)
Most Gum Chewed: Gig
Most Cigarettes Smoked: Booker
Most Eggs Consumed: Dunklezahn
Most Peanuts Consumed: Janzi
Most Scrap Metal Consumed: Hack-It
Total Killing Blows: 141
Total Critical Hits: 54
Total Critical Misses: 44
Total Starships Defeated: 15
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
*BWAH* *BWAH* *BWAH* *BWAH* *BW--*
"Nnnnhhhh..." Booker groans, sitting up to glare groggily at the alarm clock. His head feels like a Brethedan thunderstorm. Probably the rum. He rubs his temples and reaches blindly for a pack of cigarettes on the floor.
"Good morning, sleepyhead,"Okwana's chipper, silky voice somehow sounds like a klaxon in his ear. Definitely the rum. Two dusky hands slip along his skin from behind to tangle in his chest hair, Okwana's soft chin coming to rest on his shoulder. "Time to wake up."
"Mm," Booker grunts in reply, lighting his first cigarette of the day. He settles back down onto the red sheets to stare at the brick-brown ceiling of the Rusty Rivet's captain's quarters. He glances over at Okwana for a moment, taking in the smooth curves of her nude form silhouetting the stars beyond the window. Her cheerful smile makes him turn back to the ceiling. "How long?" he asks.
Okwana shrugs. "Probably another week."
"You said that a week ago."
Okwana smiles coyly and shrugs again. "I mean it this time. Our supplies are gettin' low. Especially the rum, way you've been drinkin' it, and what's piracy without rum?" she giggles. Booker had to agree: no rum would be a problem. "Besides," she adds, sitting up and searching for a shirt among the tangled bedsheets, "I can tell you're in a rut. Need some fresh wind for your sails. You wouldn't think a Free Captain would keep you forever, do you?"
No, Booker thinks to himself, and that's both a blessing and a curse. He liked Okwana, and she him. But she was a bit too early in her piracy career to bunk permanently with him, and he knew it. And as much as she liked having him around, he felt like he was overstaying his welcome.
In fact, he'd done quite a lot of overstaying his welcome in the last few months. After the Sunrise Maiden crew had split their take, he had put the old Sanjaval in for refitting at a shipyard on Absalom Station (he never did tell Hack-It which one) and bought a nice retirement condo for himself in the Eye. But he soon grew bored. He bought a motorbike, which only helped for about a week before he got tired of it. He reached out to some old Stewards COs and lined up some work at the pilots' training academy. That lasted only two months before both the recruits were weary of getting wiped out by him in dogfight training sims, and he got weary of wiping them. Ringworks hired him as a test pilot for a bit, but that didn't work out either, since he always tried to push the prototypes further than the engineers would allow.
Which was why he had come out here to the Diaspora and the Rivet, and Okwana, in the first place. A little light piracy might scratch the itch, if nothing else would, he'd thought, and Okwana's certainly easy on the eyes. And it had worked, for a time. That time was passed. "How long?" he asks again, taking another long pull on the cigarette.
"We'll hit the Drift in a day or two, I promise," she replies, giving him a peck on the cheek and pulling on her tall leather boots. "We'll be back before you know it!"
Booker listens to the cabin door close behind Okwana and puffs a smoke ring up towards the ceiling. Under the pillow he finds a flask, mostly empty but with a few drops left at least. He takes a swig, then lights another cigarette. "Nnnhh..." He stands wearily, old bones cranky and a head still splitting, and steps gingerly towards the cabin's sole window, the cigarette in one hand and the flask in the other.
I'll be home soon, he thinks towards the scattered stars. The repairs and refit oughtta be done by now.
N Human Pilot Soldier 18 SP 66/216 HP 130/130 RP 13/17 | EAC 37 KAC 38 | F+15 R+14 W+19* | Init+12 | LLV, DV (60 feet), Perc+22 SM+1 | Speed 50ft
"Believe me, he'd like to. Well, one of 'em, anyway," Booker cuts in. "I don't think we can agree to leave you here... Can't have you breaking back into the facility again. You understand."
When Pig finally finds the mage he asks,” What’s up with this ring you gave me? I can’t get it off.”
The Ring of Invisibility is silver, by the by.
Raen looks at the halfling contemplatively. "Curious." She points at Whistle Pig's bulging waistcoat. "Perhaps a diet would help. You were a mite slimmer in Skirgaard. And who can blame you, with Vael's conjured sustenance your only nourishment?"
She closes her spellbook and stows it in her pack. "I must be off. Think about skipping your second breakfast for a few days."
In the morning, Raen again rises in the pre-dawn gloom, when only Trunau's sleepy sentinels give life to the dying night. She quietly makes her daily preparations and intones a handful of necessary spells. She gathers a few items collected over the past weeks and squirrels them away in her bag, which she shoulders out the door and into the warming summer air.
She walks silently to the crest of Bloodmarch Hill, out to where the Hopespring cascades into the pool below. She knows this place is not right, not for what she is about to do, but she feels grounded in the chance to look out over the town where she has made her home. She knows, too, that a cavern lurks beneath her feet, secreted away inside the very hill, where this whole journey began.
The golden hue now lining the eastern clouds heralds an end of her contemplation. She reaches for a familiar magic, and a soft noise of crashing air briefly disturbs Trunau's quiet.
The Varisian reappears, once again, in Skirgaard. Ever a place of death, the encampment is being slowly swallowed by the late summer snows high up in the Mindspin Mountains. Only the shrine to Thremyr seems to have retained any dominance over the unfinished winter.
The shrine's defiance irks Raen. A surge of hatred rushes through her, breathing hot life into a desire to wipe Skirgaard clean once and for all. To put an end to this place of evil and inhumanity. To destroy the last physical vestiges of the place where three of her loved ones were slain. She readies her magic and strides towards the shrine, plowing deep furrows in the snow.
Pink hues on the clouds beyond, due east, clamor for her attention, and she stops mid-stride. The anger, quick as it came, gives way. This was not what she came here to do. She glances to her left, to the frost drakes' lairs, to remind herself of her purpose.
She takes to the air and sets off for the tallest nearby peak, far above the shattered village. The air is cooler here, so high in the mountains, and the gentle wind feels soothing on her skin. Reaching the summit, she fashions a seat out of the meager, windswept snows, and sits to await the rising of the sun. She unslings her satchel and lays it on the ground, drawing from within several items and arraying them before her:
A freshly cut rose.
An old pair of riding boots.
A wooden mug.
A blacksmith's hammer.
A horse brush.
A falconer's gauntlet.
She waits. The whole valley below, a field of white studded by crops of rock and evergreens, is steadily bathed in a growing light. Calm eludes her; the anticipation of what she is about to do, what she is about to permit, grates at her typically patient demeanor. The pinks turn to red. And then...
Blinding light bursts from the notch between mountains a dozen miles yonder. With it, at last, Raen releases her iron grip on the cage where her emotions dwell. They creep out, slowly at first, an uncertain and confused jumble in their long confinement. But, soon enough, they come in a flood.
A thousand unfinished thoughts contend for her concentration. For every hurt, a hundred reproofs of what she could have done, what she should have done. For every sorrow, a hundred faults. For every death, a hundred desperate and forlorn hopes. For every resurrection, a hundred sequestered reliefs. For every funeral, an unforgivable failure.
Raen wipes away the first few tears, one by one. Within moments, though, her sorrow is too overwhelming to be brushed aside. Warm, salty tears run in rivulets down her face to plunge deep into the scattered snow. And Raen, wracked by thundering sobs, bellows her anguished grieving into the great emptiness of her lonely eyrie. The sun climbs steadily into the sky.
Ushyle. The half-orc still rests in her mind. Without conscious effort, she runs through a dozen ways she might return him what he lost. Yet she knows her magic is not up to the task, and deeper down she knows, too, that that very want is selfish, wrong. She returns to her grief.
Hamilton. Ever eager, ever brash. Dependable. Devoted. Dead. How could she have been so foolish? And so unjust, in not paying the price herself?
Vael. The protector, the salve for all their hurts. How could she have been so foolish, not once, but twice? He who took on such pain, in every battle, he too paid so great a price, instead of her.
Doxon. Living iron. Quiet, steady, and potent. Cut down like wheat, because of her hubris. And she to live?
Applejack. Ever faithful, a steed of courage. Faced giant, faced dragon. Faced death. Her ashes lie scattered somewhere far below. Her hooves will never again clatter along Trunau's narrow streets.
Whistle Pig. A rascal, to be sure, but so innocent and pure. What right had she to bring him such sorrow? And Cleo, poor Cleo. Broken, disfigured, buried. Never to set wing to wind again.
Raen struggles with her truest feeling, helplessness. For all her power, what is done cannot be undone. What is gone cannot be returned. What is lost cannot be reclaimed. There is only acceptance.
At length, the sun sets. Around her, the landscape is turned to rust-gold and then to darkness. Raen stays at her vigil. The weeping has slowed, but she will brave the frigid night, alone, to wash away her grief and, finally, atone.
The night is clear. Her vantage accords her a rich view of Desna's Tapestry. The stars are calming, chaotic but orderly in their own way. Their dance across the sky is a reminder that her journey continues, and that she must be ready. She will be ready. Her friends still need her, and she must not fail them again.
When morning comes again, she fashions her perch into a small igloo, in which she steals a couple hours' rest. The makeshift dwelling also serves as a cairn of sorts for her gathered mementos, here to rest above the killing grounds. She unfolds her spellbook and begins the familiar work of preparing for the day. Then, with one final look at the jagged mountainsides and Skirgaard far below, Raen returns home to find a pot of tea.
Arcane Eye:1d100 ⇒ 7 Available
Endure Elements:1d100 ⇒ 14 Available
Alarm:1d100 ⇒ 34 Available
"Ushyle," Raen calls softly as the half-elf turns towards the Killin' Ground with Whistle Pig. The half-elf turns, surprised to be addressed by the Varisian directly. She reaches into a pocket and produces a pair of spectacles, deep violet in hue, bound together by thin golden frames. She hands them to Ushyle. "These will help you see, where no light shines to guide you. As... as before."
The mage looks carefully at her friend, her expression inscrutable. Her friend has changed, certainly, but still the same. Still shy, still hard on himself... but still resolute, too. Still steadfast. Still true. Ushyle makes a small noise of shock as Raen give a gentle embrace. "Welcome home," she adds before flying off to find Othdan.
* * *
Raen finds Othdan at home, where everything is more or less in order. She does a bit of tidying up and reviews the accounts thoroughly, but the youngster has done quite well in managing things while the Giantslayers were away. She gives Othdan a substantial bonus -- 88 crowns and 2 silvers, more than half his salary during their absence -- and deposits the remaining earnings in Trunau's Countinghouse. (600 gp is available for Capital generation for additions to the House.)
Raen finds Vael, who, as the better storyteller, was designated to provide a report to Halgra. The pair tally the Giantslayers' unclaimed treasure and, the sum being far beyond the capacity of Trunau's markets, make arrangements to travel to Korvosa the next day.
Afterwards, she says hello to a few folks in town, especially Agrit and Sara, and heads to the Killin' Ground for a pot of tea. But she finds herself anxious, cold, and distant in these interactions and fails to enjoy her time with company. After a short while she takes her leave and wanders up to the Flame of the Fallen to sit quietly in reflection there. Even this is too close to the bustle of the town for her, however, and she flies up to find a more lonely perch among the mountaintops beyond Bloodmarch Hill. Still, what solace she feels there remains slight.
* * *
The next morning she joins Vael in the Commons, the dwarf bearing the Giant Bag of Holding filled with unwanted splendors. Raen casts her well-practiced spell, and the pair reappear a moment later in Varisia.
Korvosa's markets are busy, and they need only a little time to exchange their loot for gold and a great deal of magical crafting supplies. Raen stops in a few wizard's shops to look for some simple spells, and takes much of the day to copy them into her own spellbook. She also sends a note up to the castle before she and Vael return home:
Letter to King Odric:
To his majesty King Odric I of Korvosa,
I am pleased to inform you that the dread giant queen Skirkatla has met her end. My colleagues and I are deeply indebted to you for your repeated assistance during these trying days.
Our task is not yet finished, as the Storm Tyrant yet lives, but your aid has enabled us to take an important step towards ending his unjust reign.
In gratitude,
Raen Varkath of Trunau
* * *
On the following morning, Raen finds Doxon and offers to transport him to the Forge of Minderhal, so as to reforge the great weapon Deathdealer into a more suitable instrument for his purpose. Finding the blacksmith ready to depart, she takes the precaution to cast mirror image on herself and invisibility sphere over the pair before departing.
The Forge of Minderhal is warm as ever, but quiet and still. Raen conjures a magical sensor and sends it floating, invisibly, around the stone giants' fortress. Nothing stirs within. Working with Doxon, she reshapes the stone archways around the forge, sealing all but one of them, on which she places a mental alarm spell.
Sufficiently satisfied that their position is safe and secure, the two begin their work at the Forge. In short order, Doxon's work is finished, and Raen begins her own. She finds that the Forge's power is potent, acting as a heavy anchor for the belt she has laid across it, seeming to draw her magic into the leather like gravity. All she has to do is bind it. She is rather pleased that the task is complete even before the setting of the sun, and she and Doxon are returned safely home in time for dinner.
* * *
For the next several days, Raen secludes herself in the repository, refining the magic of headband. Eventually satisfied that she can do no more, she lays plans for the daunting task ahead.
The next morning, she rises in the pre-dawn gloom and prepares her spells amid the snores of her comrades. Before any have woken, she conjures her teleportation magic and is whisked back to Skirgaard, now an empty village of broken buildings and snowdrifts framed against the rising sun.
She takes to the air and heads south. For hours on hours she flies, until a great, dormant volcano, rising some 7000 feet into the air, comes into sight. Ashpeak.
In the waning sunlight, she casts a glamer over herself and searches for a clearing in the wooded foothills of the mountain. She finds one where a campsite would be suitable. She sits in its center, studying it carefully, getting to know its appearance, its feel, its smell. Then she conjures another spell and returns home.
* * *
The next day, she returns to the Forge of Minderhal, where she takes the same precautions as before and forges a new magical belt, much like her own, for Vael. She weaves scenes of life -- laughter, camaraderie, tenderness -- into the chasing. Then, back in Trunau, Raen spends several days working Whistle Pig's belt. Here, she weaves symbols of luck into the chasing instead.
Once that work has been finished, Raen returns to the foothills of Ashpeak. The spell goes awry at first, and she arrives a little worse for the wear, but eventually relocates her clearing and studies it again. Then, taking precautions with illusion and divination magic, she begins the slow process of scouting the great mountain and surrounding lands. When the sun sets, she returns home to Trunau.
* * *
Over the next several weeks, Raen throws herself ever deeper into her work, eschewing all but minimally courteous contact with most everyone, and even trying to seclude herself from her own thoughts. She alternates between trips to the Forge, crafting in the repository at home, and -- ever conscious of the map hanging ominously in her head -- returning to Ashpeak to scout and study. Over this time, the Varisian completes a great many items, including a buffering cap for Ushyle fashioned as a bouquet of roses, a pair of winged boots for the half elf, and a sturdy backpack and some talismans for Vael. Many of the Giantslayers' existing kit also undergoes magical enhancements, from arms to armors to cloaks.
Eventually, Raen feels satisfied that she knows Ashpeak's terrain well enough. She has mapped out the giants' villages and camps dotting the foothills, and identified three massive caverns, each of which is irregularly patrolled, through which the Elite Training Camp must lie.
She sends word around to the others that they should be ready to depart in two days. "It is time."
Augrym leads the way down the steep, narrow cliff face. Having not checked whether it is safe, he inadvertently steps onto a long-weathered section of the cliff face. Part of the pathway collapses, and he plunges to the sharp rocks below! To make matters worse, a great cleft of the cliff shears off only a moment later, crushing the poor half-orc below.
A massive, carnivorous turtle erupts from the pool and immediately begins shredding and devouring his remains. RIP. Very sad.
Wait, hang on. That does not seem right.
*Checks book cover.* Sorry, wrong book. I should not read Grimtooth before posting here.
Ignore that. Let us try this again:
Augrym leads the way down the steep, narrow cliff face. The way is difficult, but all of the Huntsmen reach the bottom safely, where a wide, muddy eddy is tucked away from the great Tuskwater beyond.
The depth of the pool is difficult to discern, what with the muddy water. You cautiously approach, and with good reason! An enormous turtle erupts from the water to gnash madly at the nearest Huntsman!
Raen joins the others in evacuating the valuable relics from Skirklata's tomb into the snowy quiet of abandoned Skirkgaard. Vael gets a message to Vedin, who joins their makeshift camp some hours later, and Whistle Pig kindly retrieves Raen's iron spike of safe passage from the catacombs. Hamilton cautiously leads the famished hippogriff out and spends some time communing with the beast in the weak warmth of the sun.
While they wait for Vedin, Raen brings Doxon along to return to the Tomb. Using their combined magics to work stone, the pair collapse first the entrance to Skirklata's bier, then labyrinth of fallen frost giants, and finally the mass grave of frozen men and women from nearby villages. The dwarf says a quiet prayer over the freshly buried dead.
Raen works late into the night, as is her custom, weaving ocular magics into a pair of lenses for Ushyle. In the morning, she makes her preparations, eschewing several of her accustomed spells in favor of several teleportation spells -- and still yet more spells to transmute rock to mud and shape stone.
Before the others rise, she enters the Tomb once more, alone. Stepping before the accursed threshold of the Black Door, she thunders an arcane challenge to Skirklata's erstwhile throne room. The ceiling, of unworked stone only moments before, crumbles and buries yesterday's battlefield in ruin. The Varisian retreats a step, then collapses the archway of the Black Door itself, sealing off the throne room forever.
She picks her way back to the dawn. On her way, she expends spell after spell to collapse first the hidden catacomb entrances, then the great forbidding vault entrance to the entire Tomb itself. The deep grinding rumble echoes off the distant mountains like an avalanche -- and waking her companions, who she turns to greet at the break of the day.
After breakfast, Raen gathers the first group to return to Trunau -- Vael (with a merged Tulia), Doxon, and Whistle Pig -- and has each lay a hand on her shoulder.
*POP*
Teleport:1d100 ⇒ 71 ON TARGET
*POP*
The quarter arrive safely atop Trunau's high hill. Raen nods to the three, trusting them to make their arrival known to Halgra and Othdan, and casts her spell again.
*POP*
Teleport:1d100 ⇒ 59 ON TARGET
*POP*
Scarcely gone a moment, Raen returns to Skirkgaard. She gathers Ushyle and Vedin, leaving Hamilton and his new charge for the moment. She casts her spell again.
*POP*
Teleport:1d100 ⇒ 14 ON TARGET
*POP*
The three land safely in Trunau again, and the first three are still nearby, having hardly had a chance to move. Once again, Raen swiftly disappears...
*POP*
Teleport:1d100 ⇒ 90 ON TARGET
*POP*
Raen reappears in the snowy village once more. "Last one," she smiles wearily to the roughrider. "Is your charge calm for the moment? This may be disconcerting." The Varisian lays a careful hand on the hippogriff's gaunt flank, while Hamilton touches her arm...
*POP*
Teleport:1d100 ⇒ 28 ON TARGET
*POP*
And, at last, the Giantslayers are reunited again in Trunau. Home.
Pig stops at the door and smacks himself in the forehead (since he's invisible no one notices...).
Raen does. : )
Raen watches the translucent halfling and says nothing. Once he leaves the plane, she cannot monitor his status until his return, so she contents herself to count the seconds.
Fear, and the feeling of an absent friend, are added to her emotional cage to contend with the rest.
Raen is quiet. Silent, even. She ignores Whistle Pig's flooding tears, his questions, his tugging on her robe. She ignores Tulia's anguished interrogatives and exclamations. She ignores Hamilton's heavy quietude and the weight of Ushyle's emotions.
Instead, she silently wraps Vael and Doxon each in a shroud, going through the motions methodically and mechanically. Her face betrays no emotion, nor even tears. Now is not the time for that.
She rolls each body into the bag of giant holding, brushing away the halfling as she does so. When it is done, she straightens and turns to Hamilton and Ushyle. "Hamilton. Ushyle. I must ask you to do something for me." Her voice is soft, but flat. She pauses.
"I must ask you to remain here. Gather Applejack and return to the hidden cavern, and there wait. Vael and Doxon shall again live, and you will see them on the morrow." She glances at Whistle Pig and Tulia. "I will bring those two with me to Korvosa for the raising. I suspect they would be too distraught if I did not."
Raen's cage is roiling, but the walls have not been breached. She remains calm. She reaches to Whistle Pig to begin her spell, and stops short as the bottle in her mind threatens to burst. A long moment passes, and then... the halfling reaches back.
*POP*
1d100 ⇒ 86
*POP*
Raen, Whistle Pig, and Tulia reappear outside the Temple of Calistria in Korvosa. "Tulia, please find Gaius and tell him of our need." Caged emotions or no, Raen would rather not have that conversation herself. "I will acquire the necessary jewel. Whistle Pig, stay with Tulia please."
Without another word, Raen flies to the market to locate a jeweler.
Raen cheerfully informs Whistle Pig over breakfast that his ring is almost ready for use. A short while later, the illusionist leads the group back into Skirgaard to the mammoth stockades.
Raen returns Ushyle's look, her expression hard as stone. "I do not blame you, Ushyle," she says, addressing the half-elf directly for the first time in ages. "You were dead." There is steel in her voice, but it seems softer somehow.
The Varisian turns back to Vael. "This is not about appearance. The mind and spirit cannot be wholly separated from the body. They are woven threads to make a single cloth. A scar is the physical manifestation of a living memory. Sensory inputs through the body evoke thoughts, feelings, emotions -- and these in turn evoke visceral reactions in the body. To separate the soul from its body, from its physical history, and place it in a new-formed vessel... that is unnatural. It is to rip away part of the self and supplant it."
She looks at Ushyle again. "Ushyle's memory, character, and spirit have proven whole, that much is true. But you are changed." She lets out a long sigh as she looks over the half-elf again. "In ways you are still discovering, I expect."
"We did not have the means then to return you to your composite self, and for that I am truly sorry, Ushyle. I do have the means, today, to ensure that Hamilton can. And so I will."
Alright, here is the deal. I have chewed on this a bit now. I will allow Charisma OR Wisdom as the primary stat for the Ruler.
HOWEVER.
If Wisdom is used, it ONLY applies to the first Kingdom attribute chosen (Economy, Loyalty, or Stability). Once your Kingdom grows large enough so that you get a bonus to the second and third attributes, Charisma applies for these second and third attributes regardless.
My rationale is essentially that a small community is tight-knit enough that a ruler can have a more direct relationship with their citizens and convey their legitimacy through the wisdom of their decisions. Once a kingdom gets bigger, sheer force of personality is more necessary to hold the disparate parts together.
Raen instructs her heart to stop pounding. The gravity of this endeavor is immense, but she does not have time to think about that right now. Instead, she weaves the most complex illusion she has ever conjured.
In the distance, on the FAR side of the guard tower from the slave pens, a pair of frost giants come plodding through the snow. Their chain mail is rusty, their helmets dented. One is missing a boot, and has his foot wrapped in what appears to fir branches. The other has his tunic on backwards. Both carry clubs spiked with wicked iron nails.
"Oi!" one of them calls up to the tower in Giantish. "OI!!! You there! Which way to the commander's hut? New recruits, see."
"I'm hungry," the other comments, seemingly to no one in particular.
"You're always hungry," the first one responds, clearly annoyed. He turns back up to the tower. "Point the way, eh? Which way?"
When the giants in the tower respond:
The first giant cups a huge hand to a tattered ear. "What? I can't hear ya, you gotta talk louder. It's windy and I got a bad ear."
"I'm hungry," the other comments, again addressing the wind as much as anyone else.
"Shut up!" the first one snaps, "I'm tryin' to get us where'n we need to go." He turns back to the tower. "So which way did you say?"
When the guards respond again:
"I'm hungry," the hungry fellow says, and sits down in the snow. "Like, really hungry."
"WHAT?" the first giant shouts at the tower over the noise of his comrade, clearly agitated now. "SORRY, BUT THIS IDIOT WON'T SHUT UP!!! WHICH! WAY?!"
"I could eat an ox you know. Maybe a whole dozen, even."
"SHUT UP! I can't hear them!"
This continues in a similar fashion for the next 9 minutes. DC 23 Will save to recognize the illusion.
"Tomorrow," Raen replies matter-of-factly. She offers no further clarification.
The Varisian stoops to appraise the gems laid out on the shoreside grass, noting their values on a scrap of parchment as well as the Giantish runes from the temple that she committed to memory.
Would like to appraise the chrysoberyl, malachites, tourmaline, the mithral disk, and the ring of jagged steel (checking them for magic too). Appraise take 10 is 25, Spellcraft is 30.
She snaps her journal shut and places it back into her bag, then walks over to join Whistle Pig at the water's edge. She selects a stone from around her feet and makes a gentle toss. The stone skips once, then sinks, and Raen makes a small noise of discontent.
She tries again. The stone skips thrice, then sinks. "Hm."
She picks up another. This time the stone sinks immediately. Raen, practically growling as she leans down to pick up another, mutters loudly in what seems like several languages, and Whistle Pig suspects the words are not meant for polite company.
She throws her arm around in a clean arc to release the stone. At that moment, the magic she had been surreptitiously weaving sets off, and she keeps a clandestine grip on the stone. Meanwhile, the illusion of a stone splashes across the lake's surface.
Whistle Pig watches in disbelief as the stone bounces, over and over again, not stopping even when it is out of sight. "Ha! I knew I could do it," Raen laughs.
