In Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth, Baphomet transformed Iomedae's herald into his own. His CR is 20 and he also has 8 MR. Does that mean, while he is the herald of a god, he cannot be conjured with Greater Planar Ally spell? While this is a great example of a demigod gaining a herald, it is achieved by re-educating a pre-existing herald of a major deity. That sounds like it might be a loophole around the rule, rather than a disproof of the rule. Wasn't the Hand of the Inheritor Ragathiel's herald before Iomedae ascended? According to the Pathfinder Wiki, he was merely «a servant» of Ragathiel's. https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Hand_of_the_Inheritor In any case, I'm fine with not getting the title of Herald. My legend will speak for itself. And since I'm apparently only about two CR steps away from Ragathiel himself, maybe I should aspire to become his peer rather than his herald. >:)
Some Of Us Heard Yanniel And Some Of Us Heard Lauriel
Sorry about that; I am somewhat short on breath on account of all the running and shouting and hurtling toward towers at break-neck speeds. Drezen is about to fall to an overwhelming force of demons, rendering our entire expedition moot, and also dead. I suppose we could have seen it coming, had we had our wits together. I did, in fact, see it coming to some degree, but didn't have the self-respect to convince myself of the urgency of my suspicions, let alone the others. Gods, why is it that you so rarely bequeath wisdom and confidence unto the same people? Something to consider when you guys inevitably scrap this burning shipwreck of a world and start over. While you're at it, you might also want to rethink your minimal-intervention philosophy. We really could have used a few more pointers. Perhaps you cannot really conceive of how limited our point of view is, dirtside in the wounded lands, while you float somewhere remote in blissful omnisapience. In any case, while we were off gallivanting across the land for days so Tanaquil could collect her sexy dream succubus who wasn't even in a hurry to be saved, the Tiefling mage from the citadel's basement had all the time in the world to reattempt her apocalyptic ritual with a fresh batch of vrocks. (One of which, by the way, is of mythic proportions and glowing — no doubt another of those freakishly overgrown monstrosities like the chimera and the wyrm that this land likes to spwan.) All of that would be bad enough if our meagre ranks weren't consuming themselves in madness and corruption. I found Jesker, the wreck of an Erastil cleric we rescued from the lava cave a while ago, babbling in self-deprecating desperation while preparing to hurtle himself off the temple walls. It took both me and Thane our utmost to first talk and then shout him out of it. While Thane went off to rally the troops, I meant to traverse the temple to reach Jesker but was stopped by the sight of Sosiel cradling the corpse of Aron in a puddle of blood, throat freshly cut. Clearly the two of them hadn't suffered enough in the past weeks. I tried to talk to Sosiel, but he was mad with grief and attacked me with his sacred glaive before slumping back down next to his lover's corpse, clearly beyond any capability of lending our forces his much-needed clerical aid and succour. When I reached Jesker, I found him drenched in fresh blood, which seemed to implicate him as the murderer (along with his crazed wailing about his horrible deeds), but since neither he nor Sosiel were willing to stoop to speaking a word to me about what had happened, I wasn't going to leap to assumptions. What if he had merely ineffectually tried to save Aron? I wasn't going to be the inquisitor who beheaded bystanders at a mere suspicion, tempted though I was. Instead, I threw him over my shoulder like a bag of turnips and carried him all the way to Irabeth. Even if he is guilty of the murder — be it by demonic possession or by ridiculously bad judgment — we might still get a few spells out of him, and that's better than having no cleric at all. I would much rather have saved Sosiel, but I had done what I could on that front. I'm afraid he will die alone in the temple when the demons breach the walls. Maybe we'll be lucky for once, and the demons will head straight for the citadel. However exactly that murder ploy played out, it took out both of our two clerics and one of our two experienced scouts. No doubt this was the work of the infiltrator from the Baphomet temple (whether or not that person was Jesker). Well played. I would have loved the opportunity to root them out ahead of time. I was kind of looking forward to actually doing my job as an inquisitor for once, and perhaps even garner some positive public recognition for the profession, but no... we were gallivanting across the hinterlands in search of a sexy demoness while the infiltrator wrought their evil, and now it's too late. And now I find myself guarding some pointless gate against ground troops while, far above us, the Sword of Valor is under attack and exposed to the vrocks and dragonriders. If it falls, any demon in the region and their demonic dog can teleport in, and the battle will be over. It's certainly what I would do in the invaders' shoes, and I did voice that concern to Irabeth and the others... but not convincingly enough, it would seem. Maybe I should have a meltdown of guilt and self-pity too; it's certainly all the rage among the divine servants around here. But truth be told, I'd rather go out barreling up toward the tower like a vrocking cannonball, sword in hand, crimson cape billowing. Let's see if I can't distract them from the tapestry for long enough to make a difference.
Hey Ragathiel — (Can I call you Rags? Raggy? Raggamuffin? No...?) I am sure getting my ass handed to me a lot these days. I feel like I spend more time healing myself back up (badly) than dishing out the pain in the other direction. Serves me well for rushing in first every time, but... isn't that what you would do as well? Then again, I doubt you need to call medic at the first clash with the enemy. I'm told you wrestled a demonic serpent for 16 years. Probably didn't b&### about it either. I get it, I'll shut up now. I'm rather proud of how we fared with Joran Vhane and Nurah, though. Honestly, after seeing how Aron suffered under Nurah's manipulations, I had expected to strike her down in wrath at first sight. But she seemed so pitiful when we finally found her, like her work for the demons had cost her more than us. Tanaquil brilliantly stood her ground even when it turned out Nurah had been a slave to her reprehensible family back in Cheliax. Zsoltan managed to reach out to his uncle's family heart even though he been a toddler when he had last met him. While Nurah ultimately fled the scene under cover of invisibility, Joran was willing to guide us to the tapestry and then take his chances with us. I have high hopes for his redemption. On the flipside, Staunton Vhane gave no indication of being redeemable, so we had to defeat him the old-fashioned way. He and Thane more or less dueled each other, Antipaladin against Paladin, Evil against Good: a clash of extremes. If Tanaquil hadn't landed a truly Mythic Enervation on Staunton and I hadn't slapped some timely healing into Thane's back, he would likely have fallen. But then, having friends to back you up is part of being Good, so fair game in my book. We were even going to spare Staunton's life, but as soon as he fell unconscious, his body consumed itself in oddly crystalline-looking purple flames. Tanaquil called the color something like porpy-porpy and linked it to a certain place in the domain of the demon goddess Nocticula, so who knows, perhaps this display was meant to cheat death rather than to embrace it. We'll see. Ugh, but then the mage in the dungeon... a relative of Tanaquil's, apparently (what are the odds?), in the midst of performing some ritual to bring down the citadel, Drezen and everything around it in some new cataclysm. Protected by countless spells as she was, she herself proved rather unassailable. Meanwhile, I was stuck behind a wall of force and had to climb my way back out most ignominiously (in armor!), only to be taken out of the fight with a magical cloud of Chelaxian sewer gas. She eventually got annoyed of our cumbersome attempts on her life and made an exit. Oh well. At least we managed to interrupt the ritual. By the way, did you see my new armor? It's from the chimera's hoard on the tower we came in through. I love how light it feels — I wouldn't have made it over that wall in my old plate! I'm told it will change its heraldry to match my creed one it gets accustomed to me. I still have to learn how not to embarass you as a holy warrior, but at least I'll look the part now.
Brother dear— Eutropia, back in the flesh, wanted to return to Oppara and save the realm right away. We still wanted to deal with the two less-than-dead members of the Immaculate Circle, though, to ensure they wouldn't fall in our backs. Checking in on Panivar, we found that Estella had hacked the arms and head off of the talkative but motionless Wizard, and that the head had switched from spewing spiteful and self-aggrandizing one-liners to wailing in agony. So presumably this was the real Panivar after all, rather than some programmed image? As we speculated about how to end his suffering with a true death, which he had gone to great lengths to make impossible, the topic of acid was brought up, and Estella suggested transporting him to the Plane of Earth to dissolve him in its acid sees. After briefly wondering whether that would cause Panivar eternal torment rather than absolution (and whether it would turn our souls to Evil as a consequence), we eventually decided to try it, in part because Panivar himself wished it as well. Estella returned to report that his remains did indeed dissolve as expected, but whether his liquefied matter is still somehow alive, let alone capable of reforming itself, we cannot tell. As for the blood vampire, currently present in the form of a blood sludge trapped in the connective tubing between the rooms of her domain, I believe it was Eutropia who recommended simply plugging the exits of those tubes to prevent her from reassuming humanoid form. Estella used the Stone Shaping capability of the Band of the Crusaders' Alliance to melt the walls shut over the access holes, hopefully sequestering the undead spirit from the world forever. As we stepped out of the ancient building complex back out into the open air, a falcon came flying straight toward us and landed on Len's arm, bearing a message from Martella. Apparently, the tenuous construct of Carrius' mind had snapped, and the shy boy had turned into a power-hungry maniac in the blink of an eye. The unholy patchwork of legends that Panivar had used to «repair» the soul of Carrius had no doubt taken over the reins, and with them the rule of Taldor. His first act was apparently to blame Eutropia's death squarely on us (after all we had done for Taldor! the ignominy!), secure the loyalty of the Ulfen Guard as his de facto private army, and decorate Oppara with a mind-boggling number of WANTED posters promising vast riches for our apprehension. (At least mine turned out to be flattering.) Most open supporters of Eutropia's had been arrested, and Martella had gone into hiding to save herself. At least the message told us how to find her. We sent a warning and a recommendation to lay low to our allies and friends in Stachys, and then used my Shadow Walk to spirit ourselves directly back towards Oppara, which would take around two and a half days. Since we had to materialize a few times per day to take care of organic needs, we made a point of stopping in towns and spreading the rumor of Eutropia's imminent return in their taverns. This went quite well until in one particular town, one of Carrius' sleeper agents challenged me and Wilfen as traitors, trying to rile up the people against us. At first I tried to talk her down, confident I could win the crowd from her, but she immediately resorted to violence in the form of a Cone of Cold. I whisked us out of the tavern with Dimension Door, but when she flew into the sky and spotted us, I spent a Shadow Walk to make us disappear for good. The next day, we arrived in Oppara, which was going to be the true ideological battleground. A few taverns were not going to cut it. We would have to go after Carrius himself, but he was holed up in the imperial palace with its countless wards, and thus effectively unassailable. After a heated discussion with Eutropia and Martella, we decided Eutropia was going to make a public appearance and accept the Mantle of Taldaris, which would hopefully convince a large number of people of her rightful claim and incite a mass protest. To maximize the impact of this event (the Mantle would not speak a second time), we spread out and activated all potential allies in the city. Aridai visited his fellow bureaucrats, Kandor his brothers-in-arms among the Ulfen Guard, Lady Gael the city nobility, Len the Pharasmin community, and Wilfen and I the bardic colleges. In all cases, we were met with initial shock and distrust at first but cautious willingness to support Eutropia, should she be real, along with promises of punishment, should we be lying. Aridai and Virgilia also paid Baron Okerra a personal visit to bring his vast legal knowledge to bear for our side. Once more, he cautioned us that a civil war would be all too likely to break out of we took no deliberate steps to prevent it. Our plan, then, was to stage a planned appearance of Eutropia's in a public square close to the imperial palace, and call upon the bards of the colleges to churn the rumor mill and paint announcements onto the walls of the city. We would be Eutropia's bodyguards, and she would be doing the speaking, winning the hearts of the people and inciting them to what we sincere hoped would be peaceful protest. Before we did, though, Aridai wanted to have the shards of Koriana's Blade reformed into its glorious self. He entered the temple of Cayden Cailean under disguise and requested a casting of Make Whole , but the Cleric recognized the legendary blade and led Aridai into an ambush, alerting a whole roomful of his friends to the traitor in their midst while holding on to the shards. Luckily, Aridai was able to turn invisible, wrest the shards from the Cleric's hands, and survive the punishment of an Inquisitor of Cayden Cailean's long enough to take flight and escape the temple. Unfortunately, he never spoke out against the accusation of treason, so presumably the whole Caydenite community is now convinced of our guilt... I then figured Archbanker Paril might be able to teleport , and it turned out she was, so she did, and fixed the sword in short order. When the time came for our presentation, the assembled crowd was vast, and agitated both in favor and against Eutropia. But then the Queen spoke, we placed the Mantle upon her, and it shone like a sun. It was glorious, brother dear. There were still cries of disbelief from some fraction of the crowd, but overall the message had been received. We then got word that Carrius had been spooked by the spectacle, as we had hoped. He had apparently decided that his coronation needed to take place right now, rather than in a week as planned, and was reported to be rushing through the tunnels to the senate building for that purpose. It was now or never. We left Martella and Wilfen to bolster and guide the crowd, while the rest of us made haste to the senate building. We found its entrance guarded by some elite guards and an imposing polished-silver battle automaton, who impressed us with their highly-honed skills on the polearms and devastating use of the battle-axe, respectively. Virgilia took the concentrated brunt of their aggression and, to all appearances, died from it, but Len's masterful command of life energy brought her back in an instant as if nothing had happened. Kandor and Aridai took down the guards . I summoned a Shadowbard to sing holes into the guards' skulls and then circled around to bring my adamantine sword to bear on the automaton while granting Virgilia the flanking she needed to target its vulnerable joints. The foes had proven deadlier than they had looked, but we had survived, and now the way to the senate chamber was free.
In trouble right now, will keep it short. Turns out the queen was going to behead a different young woman groomed to look superficially like Trinia. Perhaps she knew, and was therefore willing to sacrifice an innocent for the sake of the public appearance of justice; perhaps some other opportunists in her service had arranged the deception without her knowledge; perhaps some bounty hunter had sent a hapless victim to her death to reap the rewards. We had no way of knowing. In any case, the execution never happened. A mysterious black-clad figure, styled to match the century-old local hero legend by the name of Blackjack, swooped in from nowhere, cut the fake Trinia free from her bonds with one dagger, pinned the executioner to the scaffold by the foot with another dagger, called upon the people to turn their anger against the queen, and fled the scene with the would-be victim across their shoulders. Amazingly, the crowd did exactly that, and started booing and jeering at the queen, forcing her to retreat. Now, whether that was the original Blackjack, having lived through the past century by grace of being an elf or somesuch, or some new upstart following in their idol's footsteps, they clearly possessed heroic levels of acrobatic skill, martial prowess, and rhetoric presence. Among the people we knew, I could only see Vencarlo Orisini or Sabine Merrin fit the bill, and the latter had been at the queen's side during the incident. Someone also suggested Cressida Kroft, though somehow she strikes me as too... tired these days to lead a heroic double life as a vigilante. We returned to Vencarlo's fighting school to check on the real Trinia. She would have to keep her head down for a while, and Vencarlo suggested sending her to an acquaintance's farm in Harse, a sleepy town in the rural hinterlands north of Korvosa. We considered a few alternatives but ended up going with Harse; the trusted contact man there was a convincing selling point. We dressed Trinia up to conceal her signature blonde page cut and simply walked out through the city gates. While the trek was more strenuous than I expected — Wind was the only one among us pampered city folk actually accustomed to overland walking — having Trinia with us helped lighten the mood, as she grew cheerier with every mile we left behind us. Halfway to Harse, we met our contact man over dinner at an inn, and he seemed sincere enough, so Trinia was happy to join him. As the guy suggested a card game to pass the evening, Zellara's ghost rose from the Harrow deck in Ticaria's pocket, congratulated us on the good deeds we had done, and reminded us that she couldn't talk to us unless someone mentioned «cards» to summon her. She laid out another Harrowing for us, and it was ripe with ominous threats and lurking dangers... I suppose it was too much to hope for an early retirement from adventure. Indeed, upon our return to Korvosa, we were stirred from our sleep by an early visitor: Grau Soldado, who implored us to help his niece, who had falled mysteriously ill. He led us to the Varisian ghetto on the mainland just off the North Bridge, where his sister received us with guarded suspicion in a modest but well-kept home. Her young daughter Brienna lay in a bed upstairs and looked very ill indeed, racked with fever and riddled with red pustules. An Abadari priest stood at her bedside, but his expertise and herbal remedies had not sufficed to break the disease. He suggested resorting to magic, which his peers at the temple of Abadar would be willing to dispense for the fair price of 150 crackers. After we tried our own hand at treating Brienna, we came to the same conclusion and agreed to pay for the spellcasting service, much to the shock of Grau's sister. (It's good to be rich.) We returned to the city proper and headed for the temple of Abadar, only to find its magnificent steps clogged with a mob of a good two dozen angry people... covered in red pustules, clamoring to be let in. Uh oh.
Making our way to the Citadel, it seemed everybody and their dog was participating in the witch hunt for the regicidal portrait painter, going from house to house and making noise. Walking past an alley, we found a completely drunk and dissheveled member of the city guard muttering to himself in the dirt. He had apparently taken the king's death and the city's turn to chaos very personally and all but given up on himself. We gave him a collegial pep talk, which raised his spirits enough to join us. He figured finding Trinia with us might just be the lucky break to bring him back into the game. First he was going to need a shower and a shave, though. His name was Grau Soldado. Cressida congratulated us for completing the set of Shoanti collectibles and averting the war, and passed us a rumor about Trinia Sabor being holed up in the Shingles. Cressida wasn't too happy about her accusation — apparently the queen's word constituted the entirety of the evidence — and asked us to bring her in quietly so she could have a chat with her. Agnor and I both unpacked our fond childhood memories of the Shingles and went about asking people for directions. Apparently our secret handshakes and street lingo were still legit, since the locals were surprisingly forthcoming, and we found ourselves in front of a certain rooftop apartment complex in short order. I knocked at the door and said we just wanted to talk, and when nobody answered, I raced back down to the entrance to see whether somebody was climbing down the façade. Sure enough, there she was, nimbly leaping, squeezing and swinging her way through the labyrinth of the Shingles. I tried to follow in her tracks, but mostly just got stuck in a narrow passage such that Wind and Agnor had to help me back out with spells and good old-fashioned pushing. Meanwhile, Ticaria didn't feel like getting herself dirty and fired small but unerring magic missiles into her back from where she stood. After the second barrage, Trinia missed a step in a particularly daring feat of rooftop acrobatics and fell to the street below, where she crumpled into a heap. The least heroic chase in the history of chases was over. We healed her back to her feet and senses and threw a hooded cloak around her to shield her from the vigilante troops. We discussed hiding her in Zellaria's house or Lamm's fishery, but figured either of these were vulnerable to search parties. Grau suggested bringing her to Vencarlo Orisini's fighting school, since he had a history with Vencarlo and trusted him. We didn't feel like involving another party and marched her to the Citadel instead. Cressida made good on her promises and just chatted with her and then suggested we hide her... yes, in Vencarlo's fighting school. Apparently it's just everyone's go-to place for hiding fugitive artists. Trinia was forthcoming with information but didn't know much either. It would seem had been selected for the task of portraying the king on the basis of her honest merit as a painter (she had been surprised he didn't make a move on her), and they just had a few uneventful sessions before he died. Nobody even knew the means by which she was supposed to have murdered him. We brought Trinia to Vencarlo, who spirited her away into a secluded room in his school and promised to keep her safe. Grau hadn't been wrong about him. (According to Cressida, Grau and Vencarlo had both been in love with Sabine Merrin, who rejected both of them, and Grau provoked Vencarlo into duelling Sabine, costing him three of his fingers...) Ticaria also decided to take some heat off of Trinia by sowing out a rumor that she had fled the city, and it spread like wildfire. With no other leads on the Trinia case, we took some time to spend our riches from the necromancers' crypt (I treated myself to a suit of honest-to-gods plate) and then followed my idea of buying a scroll of Speak with Dead to ask the fat jailer's corpse in the crypt for Lamm's whereabouts, given that he had said something about expecting a reward from Lamm before we killed him. To my surprise, the spell worked, but unfortunately, he suspected Lamm had moved shop to a different laboratory and hired new crew, neither of which he would know. (I had so far assumed Lamm had only been a customer or supplier of the necromancers in the crypt, but possibly he had been their leader?) If nothing else, this information might help us narrow down our search. Perhaps we should tour the city's alchemical suppliers and ask for their customer lists... In any case, the next day greeted us with the news that the king's murderess had been captured and would be publicly executed in a day's time. Unsure whether to be outraged at Vencarlo or Cressida, we made haste to the fighting school, only to find Trinia still hidden away in her room. Then who was going to receive the queen's Galtese shave on the morrow...?
Brother dear— Before we had even fully acknowledged the reality of Len's death, they gasped, stood up, and brushed themselves off as if nothing had happened. By their own account, they had met Pharasma herself (!!!), who had explained that the psychopomp had been a former servant of hers and now a misguided apostate. The revelation that Pharasma should be powerless to stop, or careless enough to allow through inaction, a follower of hers committing murder in her name against her intentions, so shocked Len that they lost faith, not only in Pharasma but gods in general. I was very confused at that — after all, mortals have always had a proclivity for bad choices, especially about religious matters, and the gods have never been too keen on interfering with the material world too directly. There were entire sects of believers of the same deity with starkly incompatible worldviews. Yet Len appears to deem only omniscient and all-controlling beings worthy of the name god — a quality only the most extreme monotheist crackpot theorists have ever attributed to deities. Well, maybe they're just confused and will eventually come to their senses again. In any case, Pharasma appears to have sent them back to life, and they are still capable of casting spells (though possibly no longer exactly the same ones). We returned to Stachys for a week of downtime, which Len spent drinking themselves into a stupor. Aridai celebrates his young love with Sepsinia, whereas I made friends with Aresphena. Before we left, she handed me a novel she had written. I look forward to reading it! It's apparently a romance. Martella was in Qadira trying to prevent a war, so we met with Eutropia directly. She congratulated us for winning Yanmass and paid us the vast sum of ten thousand each. Honestly, I don't know what to do with all that money at the time being. Perhaps I'll invest in a town house in Oppara when this is all over, and Oppara still exists. She also gave us our next assignment: The Lion Blades, who traditionally refuse to take sides in partisan matters and serve only Taldor as a whole, have decided to side with Eutropia after the treasonous actions by Pythareus that we laid bare in Yanmass. Now all their agents in the southern city of Zimar, where Pythareus is currently residing, had gone silent at the same time. We were to receive special training from the Lion Blades and then infiltrate Zimar under false identities and investigate. Kathann Zalar, whom we had met before the senate hall a lifetime ago, formally welcomed us to the Lion Blades and brought us to their headquarters... in the midst of the Kitharodian Academy! Apparently they liked to select their recruits from the Academy. I had no idea! At least Kathann told me I had been earmarked as a promising candidate. Then we got to meet their secret drill instructor, an aged gnome woman. Her methods were utterly bizarre, involving effortlessly disarming Kandor, asking us strange questions under time pressure, and having us punch wooded pillars. Mostly the latter, really. For some reason, it worked. After a week of this, we had all significantly improved on our individual weaknesses and strengths. So we traveled south. We were to meet our contact, a Half-Elf named Cyricus, in a certain tavern in a small village near Zimar. He was there alright, and he handed us the identification papers for our cover identities. They belonged to real people so as to avoid the danger of being caught with a forgery (apparently the army was guarding Zimar in excessive numbers and with extreme zeal!), so the choice of identities was limited. There was a Half-Elf singer from Oppara among them, so I just had to disguise myself (with the assistance of my magic), get used to the name Argentea, and make sure to sound more... generic, should I ever get to singing. Certainly I'd have to avoid using my double voice. Len got a female merchant from Demgazi named Cadonia and Kandor a Taldan knight named Zenobius Baccar, both of which fit rather well. Aridai had to get used to being Keleshite and a blacksmith named Zadim al-Hadir, and Virgilia was left with no other choice than to impersonate a male Halfling baker named Zifer Arpador. She did an inexplicably convincing job at it, too! Even after all this time, the girl never ceases to surprise me. We had barely finished choosing our new selves when a few guards entered the tavern and demanded identification. Cyricus panicked, certain they would torture the truth out of him if they arrested him. So Kandor played drunk and I made a royal fuss of finding my documents, allowing Len to spirit the Half-Elf out of the tavern, pretending he was just about to vomit. Meanwhile, our false identities worked, and the guards eventually left us in peace. We then proceeded to the city of Zimar and entered it separately so as not to draw attention. Weapons were apparently not allowed in town, so I tried to pass off my scimitar as a dancing prop. They noticed it was sharp, which prompted them to confiscate it and search me more thoroughly. One of them suspected my ring was magical (and thus «contraband»), and when I tried to weasel my way out of that as well, they were just about to arrest me and let the judges sort me out. (Admittedly, I might have come off a bit more uppity than would have befitted my commoner identity. Then again, they painfully tore at my ears in the assumption they were fake. The ignominy!) I eventually managed to avoid that by playing my best harmless and clueless tourist and giving up the Envoy Ring to them . They did note I might have to pay a fee to retrieve them when I left the city. Ugh. Meanwhile, Aridai managed to smuggle in his rapier just by concealing it well, and while Virgilia had to give up her magical crossbow, she successfully held on to her kukris. Once inside, Aridai bought himself a set of blacksmithing tools, the better to play his part. We settled into an inn for a ruinously expensive 20 gp a night and then went looking for the safehouse of Gannaius, the only Lion Blade in the city that Kathann still believed to be alive and free. We found it easily enough, but it was deserted. Some of the storage jars contained clothes and other emergency equipment, so clearly we were in the right place. Finally, Aridai found a note on the floor saying that if we were friends of K, we should come visit her favorite place in town. Kathann was already keeping in touch with us through some communication spell once a day, so we asked her about it on the next opportunity. She mentioned a particular café. The café was not open for business, but Gannaius was indeed there and let us in. He served us coffee and started to ask rather prying questions about our operations and contacts. This prompted Len to start casting a spell, which Gannaius attempted to forbid them. When they continued casting, he drew a falcata and attacked. It was just about then that we felt the poison in the coffee gnaw away at our insides. Gannaius proved a surprisingly difficult foe; while his offense wasn't particularly impressive, he was incredibly resistant to all weapons save Koriana's Blade in Aridai's hand, who took a rather long time whittling the traitor's stamina down. I tried to shout him dead with sonic singularities, but his resistance to magic was even more impressive that his physical invulnerability. Len cast one Dispel Magic after the other on him, stripping him of defenses, including a set of Mirror Images he had just put up a moment earlier. This enraged him rather beautifully. While I didn't manage to blind him with Glitterdust, at least I prevented him from escaping invisible, which further aggravated him. When Aridai eventually wounded him enough to threaten his life, he made a dash for the door, cursing the nuisances that we were and vowing to let his minions take care of us. But Len cast Stunning Barrier and stumbled into him, tricking him into taking an attack of opportunity against them and triggering the spell. While he was stunned, I leapt onto him and wrestled him to the ground, where the others managed to put him down. In the back of the café, we found the corpses of its two former Halfling owners, and a number of highly interesting documents identifying our attacker as none other than Milon Jeroth, the notorious spymaster of High Strategos Pythareus. His notes included the locations of three safehouses of his own contacts, each with a passphrase for entry: Waterhill, an elegant manor; Sweet Dreams Tea Shop; and The Seven Forms of Sin, a martial monastery inexplicably focused on mixing debauchery into their discipline. There was also the following note: Esteemed Brothers, The Immaculate Circle shall be victorious. The high strategos proves quite pliable and receptive to ideas that sate his desperation and ambition in equal measure. The citizens are ready to tear each other apart, and when Pythareus emerges victorious, it will take only the gentlest shove to topple him, and I have secured the ideal prod, in the mitts of the grubby King of Filth himself. A few complications remain—agents loyal to Pythareus against all reason. They must be dealt with. Immortally Loyal, Milon Jeroth I do believe we have finally met the dark otherworldly forces that Bartelby was too terrified to name, and who might be behind the resurrection of Prince Carrius. None of us knew of the Immaculate Circle, but at least we had three obvious leads to follow now. We started with Waterhill manor. We knocked, I spoke the passphrase, and the woman who answered the door immediately took me for Milon (calling my disguise ridiculous). I asked her about her group's status, and she said they were all very bored and raring for some action. Except for the depressed guy whose name escapes me, who had taken to bathing all day. Eventually she mentioned a prisoner, so we immediately asked to talk to them. She thought it unlikely to work, given all the attempts they had already made, but let us in. It was Gannaius. Len entered, closed the door, and attempted to convince him to scream to cover the conversation, but Gannaius was so broken from the fake rescue his captors had previously staged to extract information from him that he didn't play along. Meanwhile, I figured we would have to clean out the place to prevent any of the agents from alerting the other safehouses, so I coordinated with Aridai and Virgilia to stage a surprise attack against the woman. She didn't last long. We then drew the strange bathing creature from the adjacent bathroom and did the same thing to him. Once the ground floor seemed under our control, Len gave up on convincing Gannaius and just pointed him to the open door. Suspicious and confused as he was, he still took the chance and bolted. There was a magical ring on display in the living room, which we took with us. It looked ancient and dwarven, and Aridai identified it as the Band of the Crusaders' Alliance. We went upstairs and started searching the rooms. We found quarters of two people apparently sending love notes to each other. In the next room, we found a crocodile-headed woman, whom we deceived, surrounded, and ambushed much like the others downstairs. Another crocodile-headed creature came to their rescue, but we dealt with it as well. Len suspected they were all Rakshasa, which would explain their resistance to our blades and their disguising abilities...
To be on the safe side, Agnor treated all of us who had suffered rat bites for filth fever. However, Ticaria was worse for wear on the next day, so we took her to the Shelynite temple and bought some Clerical spellcasting to clean her up. We were rich, after all. Agnor and I didn't get sick. It takes more than filth to bring down a greenskin! We went to Field Marshal Croft to cash in on our marine rescue mission, and picked up a new job while we were there: Apparently some obnoxious Chelaxian ambassador (is there even another kind?) by the name of Darvain Chios Ambras had been stirring up trouble by spreading rumors of an impending trade embargo by Cheliax, only to buy property cheaply from panicked sellers. The city watch had been looking around for a way to rein him in without causing a diplomatic incident, and Vencarlo Orisini, the leader of a local fighting school and a friend of Croft's, just so happened to chance upon a solution. He was in the office with Croft when we arrived, and explained that one of the kingpins of the Korvosan underworld, Devargo Barvasi, had Darvain by a tight leash by virtue of some compromising material. Croft sent us to obtain said information from Barvasi, and forked over an allowance of 1000 quackers to ease the transition. We were welcome to keep any leftover funds to ourselves. Devargo's realm happened to be built on a number of ships tied together in port, some of them clearly only staying afloat on account of their neighboring vessels. They each appeared to specialize in a different kind of vice. We spent some time and gold on the gambling ship, and lost more than we gained, but at least were told where to find the boss. We walked right up to the aftercastle of his ship, convinced the guards we had legitimate business with Devargo, and waited to be let in. He greeted us with half a dozen of his goons watching and many more of his pet spiders scurrying around the ceiling. It appeared he was called the Spider King for a good reason. What is it with spiders and ships in this city...? In any case, he confirmed the existence of the compromising documents: a stack of love letters to a mistress that would plunge the married ambassador into trouble if it ever reached the public. Devargo praised them for their explicit entertainment value, but was willing to part with them for 1500 imps. He proved unwilling to be haggled down to something we could afford, but then offered to settle for 1000 if one of us were to beat him at a game of Vulture's Claw. It involved two people standing on a table covered in coins with a dagger stuck into the middle, and could be won either by bagging more gold than your opponent or pushing them off the table, dead or alive. I suspect very few of those games ever get to the point of counting coins. In any case, while I was still sizing up Devargo and figuring out whether I could take him, Agnor took him up on his challenge. I took his scythe for safekeeping (and to ensure he would get it back the instant the room turned against us), and he climbed up. When the game started, Devargo beat him to the dagger and slashed at him, but Agnor was unfazed and went straight for a bullrush. It worked on the second attempt. Not bad for an elfling! To his credit, Devargo proved a dignified loser and held up his end of the bargain. We left the ship without the goons piling on us as I had feared, and with the letters in hand. Vencarlo just so happened to cross our ways soon after we set foot on land. He seemed satisfied with the result of our evening. We chatted a bit and found out that he knew Sabine Merrin; presumably she had been one of his students a long time ago. We then headed back to the Citadel to turn in our expensive goods before they could be stolen from us, even though it was late. Croft didn't have a new assignment for us right away, so we spent the next day trawling the city for information on the off-chance of finding out something about Lamm. We didn't, but caught a few new rumors. Apparently, the Cerulean Society was so bold as to steal from the Queen herself, and Basha sells fake treasure maps that he draws himself... we decided to turn the rumor mill to our advantage and spread the rumor (or rather, exaggeration) that a band of adventurers stole back an invaluable piece of the Queen's jewelry to return it to her, and that they killed Lamm's son and fed him to his cro— ...alligator. Maybe that will provoke somebody into making a move. Hopefully we'll survive it if they do. Later that day, Croft did come up with a job for us. Apparently, many city guards had abandoned their post to protect their families during the riots, which she was willing to forgive to some degree. One group of deserters, however, had instead taken over a butchery in town and were presumably stuffing their pockets at the cost of the poor people starving under the current acute food shortage, and presumably procured their meat by participating in the assaults and robberies of merchants in front of the city gates. Croft thought it best for us, as relative outsiders, to handle the crisis, rather than to send her people to fight their own. Their leader was one Eric Vancaskerkin. When we cased out the joint, we found a long queue of rabble waiting in line, and a steady stream of them leaving the place with a wrapped hunk of meat. They said the meat was being given away for free, and turned rather aggressive when they suspected we were there to end this. Wind entered the shop and was, in fact, offered free meat, even if they salted it with a few racist slurs. Had the guards really deserted to run a charity? As an orphan, I found the notion of feeding the poor with meat very suspicious indeed. There are much cheaper ways to do so. We decided to enter the shop together and ask them to their faces what they were doing. Agnor implored them to return to the city guard and run their side business in their spare time, but they immediately drew swords on us. I whacked one of them out cold, so the other one fled to the back to alert the others. Ticaria took out a roomful of them with that swirly spell of hers, and the rest of us rushed up the stairs to face Vancaskerkin and his lieutenant. I barely got to swing at him one when Ticaria asked me, «You're good at willpower, right?» and sent another spell at the remaining bad guys... through me. I felt like a rainbow barfed in my skull, and went down. At least it had worked. When I came to, the others had tied up the subdued bad guys. Or good guys? Well, were going to find out now, weren't we?
With two dozen former slave children, two prisoners, and a small fortune in stolen goods on our hands, I felt the urge to head out into the city and rid ourselves of the incriminating ballast then and there. However, Agnor convinced us to spend the night in the godsawful stench of the fishery and wait for the next day, where things might have calmed down a bit and we were less likely to be mistaken for looters. Things did look somewhat less apocalyptic in the morning, so we dared cross to the North with our child troop in tow, leaving the two prisoners tied up in the fishery. We found my old orphanage boarded up and quiet, but I knocked at the door and loudly made myself known, and eventually Auntie Tullabeth answered the door. She seemed happy to see me, but less so about the prospect of adding twenty hungry mouths to her table. When I handed her the 40 yellowbacks I had in my pocket, though, she brightened up again. Turns out being rich is quite convenient. Speaking of which: We turned down an offer to stay for a bowl of gruel, had some actual breakfast in town, and then started selling Lamm's ill-gotten gains. Most of them, anyway; the Paladin figured that the holy symbol of Shelyn should be returned to her temple instead, and I could hardly disagree, given my own situation with Klava's holy symbol. There was also a ridiculously expensive-looking brooch bearing the royal device of the tower dragon and the imp that Agnor distinctly remembered being worn by the Queen herself in past public appearances, which we planned to deliver to the royal palace. Selling and buying went rather well; it seems the shops and hustlers were making a killing from all the valuables people had «found in their attic» during the troubled night. I spent 340 gleamers on an absolute beauty of a sledgehammer: All darkwood and blackened steel, sleek and deadly, bare of all that spiny nonsense the Shoanti like to stick to their hammers, but with a generous amount of bracing down the sides of the haft. Worth every penny of it, if you ask me. It's going to need a name. Walking through town, we came upon a gang of low-lives closing in on a lone noble, clearly planning to take out their frustration over the political situation on him in the form of violence. We scared them away, and the noble (a certain Amin Jalento, from a rather inconsequential house, apparently) thanked us profusely. We asked him for courtly gossip in return, and he told us of the so-called Curse of the Crimson Throne: The fact that no ruler holding the throne of Korvosa had ever died of a natural cause, and that King Eodred's passing at merely middle age fit right into that pattern. Shelyn's might be the smallest of the major temples in town, but it's clearly the prettiest. We dropped by and showed the holy symbol, made from seashells, to an acolyte, who immediately went to get the high priest himself. Apparently, it was his personal property, and had been stolen from a shrine where it had been displayed a while ago. The high priest himself looked unexpectedly... rugged? I would have pegged him as a Druid at first sight. But he thanked us, offered us payment (which we accepted in the form of a discounted healing wand) and assured us of the goodwill of his church, which is never a bad thing to have. When we approached Zellara's little house, Walks With Wind was seething about how the Varisian had no doubt knowingly deceived us about Lamm's exact nature and exploited us as her unwitting henchmen. Personally, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt; perhaps she and her magical means of investigation had fallen prey to the confusion of the two Lamms just as we had. In any case, we found her house abandoned and ransacked, and what was even more worrying, covered in a thick layer of dust. Nobody had lived here for years. Wind just felt all the more vindicated about having been betrayed by Zellara, when suddenly the her deck of Harrow cards stirred in our pack and brought forth a ghostly apparition of Zellara. I guessed she had already been dead when we first met her, and she confirmed it. She had attempted to rescue her missing son herself, and ended up devoured by Lamm's crocodile. (Alligator, for vrock's sake.) The magic of her Harrow deck had allowed her to resist the lure of Pharasma's realm, contact us, furnish her house with the illusion of hospitality, and appear to us as if alive. She apologized for the deception, and offered to remain at our service for as long as she could muster. Unfortunately, she didn't have any other leads on Gaedren Lamm. We decided to wait for the new morning with our visit to the palace, and spent another night at the fishery in the meantime. The two prisoners had spent a rather squalid day there, hungry and thirsty and soiled. Not very chivalrous of us, admittedly, but hardly on par with enslaving children. First thing next day, we brought them along to the palace and handed them over to the guards, blaming them for the theft of the royal brooch (and skipping over the rest of our... common history). The accountant gladly confirmed that story to the guards, seizing his chance to escape our inhospitable custody. Good riddance. After we showed the brooch to the guard captain, he led us through the extra layers of fortification the palace had grown overnight and brought us to none other than Sabine Merrin, the Queen's own bodyguard. As if that weren't shocking enough, she, in turn, spirited us straight into the throne room for an audience with the Queen Herself. I must admit I remember most of the meeting only through a daze. The Queen was tastefully dressed and veiled for mourning, and played the part convincingly. She was very grateful for the return of the brooch, which had apparently been stolen from a servant when they brought it in for repairs, and took it as a welcome omen of good hope in these trying times. She rewarded each of us with three gold ingots, each worth a hundred coins, as well as a royal recommendation to the city guard. The city was in dire need of heroes like us, and they would have more work for us, she said. And with that, we were left back in the capable hands of Sabine Merrin. Amazing, isn't it? It comes in ingots! Anyway, Sabine personally walked us to the city guard's Citadel Volshyenek, and we made some conversation with her along the way. Wind knew her for one of the city's most accomplished warriors, but when I asked her how she had come to her prestigious post, she wouldn't tell, hinting at a dark past best left buried. Ticaria alluded to a rumor that Sabine favored the «body» part of her bodyguard duties, which Sabine found irritating enough to be true. Interesting... Once at the Citadel, Sabine marched us through its gates and its corridors and right into Field Marshal Cressida Kroft's office, barging into what looked like a heated argument between the Field Marshal and none other than Marcus Thalassinus Endrin, the commander of the Sable Company. (It would seem we were destined to meet all the great leaders of the city in one day...) Neither commander seemed very amused about the interruption, but Sabine seemed to carry enough clout to get away with it. The Field Marshal grudgingly accepted the Queen's decision and officially deputized us into the Korvosan Guard. I insisted on getting badges, too. I wish I could tell this to my teenaged self... I'm a vrocking cop now. Frankly, I can't wait to hear someone yell «It's the fuzz!» when I show up. Or to pound on a door and shout, «Open up! City Guard!» If anything, our official status would help and justify our investigation to find Lamm, so that was good. Cressida was not opposed to our plans to track down Lamm either, but she didn't have any more information about his whereabouts than we did. She did, however, assign us our very first case so we could prove our worth: To track down and retrieve a Sable Company marine who had been shot down over Old Korvosa and hadn't been heard of since. Apparently someone there must have built their own ballista and used it to express their displeasure at the political situation. That sounds like my old home quarter alright... We headed for Old Korvosa and started asking around, and sure enough, we found lost marine half-buried and pinned beneath the carcass of his dead hippogriff, desperately trying to keep two dire rats and a swarm of smaller rats at bay. We brought the dire rats down handily enough, but the swarm proved a challenge for our weapons and spells. In the end, it was a flask of alchemist's fire from Wind's hand that toasted enough rats to disperse the swarm. While had all suffered our share of nasty rat bites, our spells and the wand could take care of them. What worried Agnor more was that Ticaria probably contracted filth fever. She would need treatment. Ticaria insinuated that it wasn't her first brush with the disease, which I found surprising. She then disclosed that she had been one of Lamm's lambs as a child, and he had left her for dead on a pile of trash. That was... unexpectedly dark. I figured she should probably be first in line when we finally get to kill Lamm. We escorted the marine, Marek, back to the Sable Company's giant tower and then reported back to Cressida Kroft, only to find she would have preferred us to deliver him to her first. Now she would have to wait for confirmation from the Company until she could pay us the agreed-upon two hundred ducklings and assign us to a more interesting case. We decided to use the rest of the day to ask around town on the off-chance that we might find a new lead to Lamm. We didn't. But as we walked through the streets, suddenly the ground quaked and split before us, and Ticaria and I fell forward into the opening pit, where a three-legged, three-tentacled monstrosity awaited. Before I could act, it had already savaged me with its threefold maw and wrapped Ticaria in its tentacles. Agnor heroically drew its attention away so I could get to my feet and accept Wind's healing spell, but meanwhile the creature started dragging Ticaria down into the hole it had made, presumably to make a meal of her somewhere underground. We desperately stabbed and hewed at it, and when I finally landed my hammer squarely on its already damaged carapace and Ticaria managed to wheeze the trigger word to squeeze one more magical bolt from her wand, the monster collapsed. Walks With Wind then informed us that this had been an otyugh, an offal-consuming monster deliberately employed throughout the city to relieve the badly thought-through sewage system. This worked rather well unless the otyughs got hungry enough to venture to the surface for food. Usually the city guard patrolled the sewers and fed the otyughs if necessary to prevent such incidents, but evidently they had been preoccupied in recent days. Agnor and Wind felt bad that we had killed the otyugh, given it had not acted in evil intent, but frankly, I reserve the right to smash the face of anyone and anything who attempts to eat me. At least Ticaria would have faced certain death if we hadn't defeated it in the nick of time, so I'm not going to lose sleep over it. Maybe that's an Inquisitor thing.
Ko Decker's backstory: Old Korvosa, 21 years ago The wooden stairs lead up steeply between the tightly huddled buildings to the precariously stacked dwellings on their roofs. Brother Klava is panting and sweating and looks back every few heartbeats; he cannot shake the feeling of being lured into an ambush. But the terror on the boy's face had looked genuine, and Pharasma would never have forgiven him for shirking his duty to aid those in need. Without hesitation, the boy leads him onto a rickety ledge and from there onto another run of stairs. «Don't you at least have a midwife who could help?», Brother Klava asks between heavy breaths. The night is darker here than at home, with most dwellings lacking any lighting. The pale glow from the head of his cane dazzles him more than it helps. «She is the midwife», says the boy. «Oh.» «Here», says the boy. A hut lies in ruin; the rotten wood had given way. The woman is laid out on the floor, heavily pregnant, neighbors crowding around her. They have lifted the beam from her chest and covered her against the cool night air, but one of them shakes his head an says, «Too late. She died.» One of the dead woman's hands is still clutching something, an amulett of dull pewter. A spiral. Rest in peace, sister. «And the child?» he asks. The people look at each other. Brother Klava kneels down beside her and unrolls his bundle of tools. Suddenly he no longer feels tired. ❦ Old Korvosa, 9 years ago «That bauble means something to you, doesn't it?» Gosef turns the amulet between his fingers and grins at the girl. She growls back. The three other orphans are holding her back with some difficulty. They are all older than her, but she's gotten in a few solid hits earlier. With a careless flick of the wrist, Gosef tosses the amulet into the firepit. The girl cracks the back of her head against a face, buries an elbow in a stomach, tears herself free, and throws herself at the fire. The amulet hisses as she grabs it. She screams. ❦ Old Korvosa, 3 years ago It is already dark and has started to drizzle, but the work's not done until it's done. She can't afford to violate the terms of her probation: Penal work or not, it's the best-paid job she's had in a long time. She sets down another pole and raises the sledgehammer. A scream makes her prick up her ears. It came from the foreman's hut. The candlelight in the doorway flickers, and there's a few thumps and crashes. The foreman lies on the floor. One of the men is rifling through his clothes, the other one through the desk. When she steps up, they stare at her, and then at her sledgehammer. Their eyes widen. It's over quickly. As she turns the foreman over, she sees blood trickling from his ear, and his eyes are rolled up. Then she feels the scar on her palm throbbing and glowing even as the air cools off sharply and takes on the scent of fresh earth. The wound on the foreman's brow closes, and he gasps for breath. «What was that?» he asks. She stares at her palm. «Dunno», she says. ❦ The Grey, 3 years ago The cathedral is unfathomably vast and echoes with the footsteps and muffled voices of dozens of people, who have gathered here and there to speak or chant. Others are sitting still and praying. She approaches the nearest person in white and blue and clears her throat. He turns around; an old man with lively eyes. «Excuse me, where do I go to apply as a novice?» The priest drops his book and stares at her, flabbergasted. She freezes. She is used to being unwelcome, but here of all places she has been hoping for more. She starts looking around for an escape route. But Father Klava just smiles and says, «I know you.» ❦ The Grey, two weeks ago She still has a harder time reading than the other novices, but it is getting easier every day. For the first time in her life she feels at home. In certainly helps to have an actual bed and access to a mess hall. She is just turning a page when Sister Panthe comes through the door into the library, trailing two city guards. For a moment, sweat breaks from her skin. Old habits. Nevertheless, something bothers her about the guards. Then she recognizes it: Pity. «Excuse me. I'm afraid we have some bad new, ma'am. It's about Father Klava.» The library grows cold.
Sister Panthe advised me to practice my writing to help me catch up with the other novices. I figure I might as well use the opportunity to chronicle my misadventures rather than just copy the Bones. It all started last night. My investigation into Father Klava's death had run dry a week ago, and I hadn't uncovered any leads other than the name Gaedren Lamm, which had the uncanny property of shutting mouths, doors, and windows whenever I asked anyone about it. The only tangible piece of evidence, Father Klava's holy symbol, was locked behind the daunting price tag of five hundred yellowbacks likely to disappear into some indifferent buyer's pocket in a matter of days. I was about to give up hope when I received the invite. I was walking through the soothingly calm boneyard surrounding the Cathedral (honestly, I've never understood why most people feel uneasy in boneyards... but I suppose they didn't grow up in the constant din and menace of the Shingles) when the wind smacked a card against my cheek. To my surprise, it was part of a Harrow deck (the Juggler, namely) and bore densely packed handwriting on the back. The mysterious sender (who was nowhere to be seen) knew my name and my trouble with Lamm, claimed to have suffered a similar fate, and offered me an opportunity to strike at him along with yet more angry victims. There was an address, too. I couldn't afford to pass up the chance, so I asked around for directions and showed up at the small house near the harbor later that evening. I wasn't alone: Three rather strange fellows arrived roughly at the same time, having received similar invitations. There was a Shoanti woman who looked like she had just robbed an arts and crafts stall, piled as she was with woven goods and animal parts, a sturdy-looking Elfling bearing a war scythe, and another woman whose pale skin and bright red hair clashed with her Varisian-style tattoos and garb. The Shoanti explored the small house with spear and shield at the ready, almost certain of being lured into an ambush, and the others also showed some signs of distrust. Having lived through (and, admittedly, having perpetrated) my fair share of ambushes, I figured this was too elaborate for a mere trap, and started munching on the offering of bread and cheap-but-tolerable wine that had been left on the table for us. Even nowadays, I am not one to say no to a free meal. A note on the table apologized for the absence of its writer. While we waited, we exchanged some cautious introductions. To my surprise,the Elfling (Agnor) recognized me — we'd had an ugly brawl some ten years ago as part of a turf between our street gangs. Apparently he had cleaned up his act in the meantime and sworn a Paladin's oath to Erastil. Good for him, I guess. I was a bit worried about having a law enthusiast on the team while conspiring to murder someone, but I suppose Erastil is the pragmatic type, and ridding the town of Lamm should certainly count as a service to the community. The Shoanti (Runs with Wind) appeared to be some kind of shaman straight out of the wilderness looking to avenge her brother, and the redhead (Ticaria) was a mage of sorts. Our host eventually showed up and turned out to be a Varisian fortune teller by the name of Zellara Esmeranda. She had lost her magical set of Harrow cards, a family heirloom of countless generations, to Gaedren Lamm, and when her son went to steal them back, he was captured. Fearing the worst, she had used her magic to locate Lamm's hiding place, and to recruit like-minded individuals for a counterstrike. She gave us the location of the fisherman's house from which Lamm and his gang were supposedly operating, and performed a Harrowing for us to help us along the way. While she did see opportunity for changes for good, the reading was dominated by the menace of dark machinations and overwhelming change looming in the near future. Ominous words, given the unease that pervaded the city in the face of a dying king with an unpopular queen a third his age. In any case, we found the fishery Zellara had specified, and settled into an abandoned warehouse across the street to observe it for a while. When we saw no sign of use, we went over to investigate. There was a narrow walkway circling around the back of the house, some good four paces above the water of the Jeggare, and a ramp leading into the house from the other side. We climbed the ramp and walked the short corridor to a small side door, and when we didn't hear anything from the other side, we decided to backtrack a bit and open the larger door just beyond the ramp. Agnor and I tried to leverage it open with the handle of my mace, but mostly just got in each other's way until Wind just crashed it open with a mighty kick. We were greeted by three armed thugs and a snarling dog, whom we had apparently gathered with our considerable amount of noise-making, but they were nevertheless surprised at the reckless magnitude of our home invasion. The fight started with the Half-Orc thug clubbing Wind out cold with a lucky strike of her flail, which Agnor avenged by cleanly cleaving that same Half-Orc into two Quarter-Orcs with his scythe. Ticaria flooded the room with whirling colors, which overwhelmed the dog's poor mind and sent it sprawling to the ground. I cornered what appeared to be a human Wizard in the back of the room and tried to knock him out with my mace but made a rather poor show of it, while he splattered painful acid at me from a magical wand and his gnome friend tried to dismember me with his kukri. Agnor took the opportunity to end the helpless dog, which enraged the gnome into trying to disembowel him in return, in which he succeeded well enough to bring the Paladin down. I was standing on my last legs at this point, and things were starting to look grim, when I finally managed to connect with the Wizard's head, and Ticaria, who had been waving a dagger about in the meantime, decided to spend another one of her precious spells to send the gnome to the ground twitching in a seizure. I healed both Agnor and Wind back to consciousness, exhausting my own spellcasting but allowing Wind to use her own more copious spells to undo more damage. We also quaffed some of the potions we found on the two Quarter-Orcs until we could stand upright again. Oof. That had been close. I was rather miffed at my poor performance in this matter . In my defense, I wasn't at ease with the shield and mace I had gotten from the Cathedral's armorer. I'm more of a sledgehammer type, but the armorer just frowned at me when I asked for one. I swear, when this is over, first thing I'll do is to buy myself the biggest gods-damned hammer I can find. We woke first the gnome and then the human by affording them a noseful of the fish offal's stench so we could ask them some questions. The gnome was impervious to our attempts to play good watchman, bad watchman, but the human wet his pants and claimed he had just been the accountant, told us Lamm was on the house's lower floor, and that we should please spare the children. Apparently, he was no Wizard at all, but simply learned how to use a wand. I felt even more embarrassed at taking so long to defeat him. I knocked both of them out again. I'm glad the Paladin let me. He's alright, I guess. We found the children in the next room. There were at least twenty of them, all terrified and in bad health. They had apparently been abducted, forced to commit crimes for Lamm, and beaten by the Half-Orc for discipline. We tried to convince them that we were going to kill Lamm, and I offered to bring them to my old orphanage (it wasn't all that horrible, I suppose). The idea of someone going up against Lamm terrified them even more, and they warned us of his crocodile (alligator, actually, as one kid kept pointing out... trust a kid to know their dinosaurs!) as well as of the spiders in the boat. Aside from the kids' dorm and what was presumably the fishery's public front, we found no other rooms and no traces of a lower floor. We went back out and took the narrow walkway around the house, finding it led to a largish fishing boat. Wind spotted an opening in the side of the house just above the water level, cleverly hidden by the boat. We were wary of trying to find a way down there through the boat, given the spiders (we figured we didn't have anything on us that would work against a swarm), so Wind tried to leap down from the high walkway. It was an almost impossible jump, and she ended up in the Jeggare, where immediately a shark assaulted her. Luckily, we had tied her to a rope, and Agnor was able to lift her back up to safety. We then tossed the dead dog into the water on the other side of the boat to lure away the shark so we could plonk into the water and climb through the passage in relative safety. It worked well enough. The secret lower floor of the fishery had an unpleasantly low ceiling and a large opening in the middle that gave way to the waters of the Jeggare. When we cautiously advanced around the edges of the opening, a crocodile (alligator, actually) leapt out, grabbed me in its maw, pulled me back under the water, and subjected me to its famously murderous Death Roll. Yes, it's every bit as horrible as it sounds. To make things worse, a man (Lamm?) appeared from a room on the opposite side of the room and started firing at us with a hand crossbow. Agnor and Wind battled the crocodile (alligator, dammit!) as well as they could, but it would still have had enough time to kill me thoroughly dead if Wind hadn't healed me in between. The spell just woke me up enough to scream before the monster pulled me under again. Rather than save me from certain death with her fancy spell, Ticaria apparently thought fit to use it on Lamm instead, even though his tiny crossbow appeared to pose very little threat. In any case, I did eventually wake up again when Wind healed me another time, to find the reptile and Lamm dead at Agnor's hand. Not bad, for an Elfling. To our great disappointment, it turned out the man was much too young to be Gaedren Lamm. We had gotten the wrong guy! At least Ticaria seemed convinced the man shared Gaedren's features, and given that the people upstairs had called him Lamm, we deduced he must have been Gaedren's son. Well, shattering his forced criminal child labor ring was certainly a good deed, and if nothing else, we will probably get Gaedren's attention with it. Hopefully it will give us another lead as well. Lamm's room revealed a number of hoarded valuables among a vast amount of trash. We figured it would throw off a good thousand ducks for each of us — an unimaginable wealth for someone like me. It looks like I will be able to buy back Father Klava's holy symbol after all. Unfortunately, the treasures included a severed head bundled with a set of Harrow cards, which according to Ticaria were astoundingly magical. Zellara had suspected her son was dead, but it's still going to hit her hard. Just as we left the fishery, temple bells all over the city started to peal, and smoke rose from various places. Someone shouted, «The King is dead! Long live the Queen!» before the voice was suddenly cut of by a scream. Sable Company marines scoured the air above the roofs and fired weapons into the streets, sometimes receiving return fire. Zellara's fortune telling had been spot-on. Revolution or not, we had a crowd of children to get to safety. At then I'll try to spend some money as long as it's still worth something. Mama needs a hammer.
Welcome to an account of the best Pathfinder campaign ever written, at least according to the GM . Should be fun! We're playing in German, so apologies if I'm re-translating the proper names incorrectly. The plan is to play biweekly, alternating with Kyrademon's War for the Crown game.
Brother Dear— we survived, but by the breadth of a hair. First of all, exiting the tunnels into the senate hall in the wee hours of the new day brought us face to face with an Ulfen guard. I half expected him to assault us to complete last night's carnage, but he politely informed us that they were investigating the scene of the massacre and we were not allowed here. They seemed to be different guards from the ones who protected the Grand Prince last night, and even those had looked confused when he instigated the violence (though they did adhere to their duty of protecting him). All in all, I believe they are not involved with the conspiracy, which is a good thing. After Len unsuccessfully pleaded that we be allowed to recover Kalbio's body, we left the premises as instructed. We found Lady Gloriana before the gates, glad to see us alive. She knew the location of the Dignified Repository: it was, in fact, one of Martella's safehouses. Gloriana had her hands full and couldn't afford to accompany us to rescue Martella, but we agreed to meet at noon at yesterday's café to regroup if we survived. (Yesterday feels incredibly long ago.) We set out for the Dignified Repository with Wilfen and Lady Gael, who wished to aid our cause, and Malphene, who rather wanted to look out for her own survival but whom I managed to lure along with the promise of vengeance. Along the way, Lady Virgilia insisted on stopping at a boarded-up store and buying herself a massively overpriced letter-opener (?) from the reluctant owners. Since she couldn't give me a sensible reason for delaying Martella's rescue, I started walking away, hoping to draw her along. Yet, Lady Virgilia persisted, and Lord Aridai stayed with her. My group walked slowly to allow the stragglers to catch up, while Len ventured ahead alone. And when Aridai eventually rejoined us, he had lost Lady Virgilia! Just a short while into our mission, we had managed to completely fracture the team. I know, I know. It gets worse, though. Luckily, Lady Virgilia did find her way to the Dignified Repository alone. By that time, Len had already extensively scoped out the place and found four guards patrolling the outside of the building in a rather regular fashion. Lady Gael courageously offered to stage a distraction and pretended to faint in the street, drawing two guards away. The rest of us rushed to one of the side doors, and Lord Aridai bypassed the lock (for once, Lady Virgilia's nimble fingers were not up to the task). We spotted a strange creature (some sort of fey?) inside the room and attempted to sneak past it, but were spotted. I told it we were new recruits of Wyssilka's, and apparently did so quite convincingly, since the creature was content to let us pass into the main interior. I felt a bit guilty about that — you know what my Goddess thinks of liars! —, but then again, it was a merciful solution, which I hope she can appreciate. The main part of the building was an extensive warehouse full of crates, with a pair of guards playing cards at the far end and a stairway leading up to a gallery on the near end. We were going to sneak up the stairs surreptitiously, and likely would have succeeded, given the guards' state of distraction, but Lord Aridai decided to walk over to them in plain sight and present himself as a new recruit. Unfortunately, he made quite a bit less convincing an impression than I did earlier. I sometimes think it's the study of song and its privileged access to human nature and emotion that helps me read and play the minds of others, even if I don't pride myself on the fact . In any case, the guards saw right through Lord Aridai, and then put their swords right through him as well. I gave up my stealth and tried to pick up the pieces of Aridai's bluff, but the guards had already decided we were intruders, and attacked me. With the aid of Wilfen and Airdai, who woke up during the fight, I brought the two guards low before they could open a door and call for reinforcements. Meanwhile, Lady Virgilia had somehow disppeared again, and Len and Malphene had continued up the stairs in the gallery, where the met a strange pale man. Len convinced him that the building was under attack and that he should go attack the rest of us, which he promptly did. To make matters worse, Len then proceeded down a spiral staircase to look for Martella alone. (Yes, Len, the least stealthy and utterly defenseless member of our group. I knew Pharasmins had a special relationship with death, but I didn't know they courted it quite this fiercely.) The pale man proved a difficult adversary. I had healed Aridai back to his feet, and Malphene came down the stairs after him to help us, but even trapped between the four of us, he lasted a surprising amount of time, and he spouted bad jokes all the while. When the still-injured Aridai fell to his blade, Lady Virgilia emerged from the shadows and took his place, wielding two daggers at once, and quite expertly so. Eventually, we proved victorious, and proceeded up the stairs and down the spiral staircase to the lower floor. We found Len there — miraculously not dead, even though they had triggered another trap, and had to stitch themselves back together to avoid bleeding out . However, they had drawn the attention of the Halfling backstabbers in the safehouse, who came piling out of the corridors, along with their master Wyssilka. Just then, the two guards and the strange fey came down the stairs with Lady Gael, threatening to kill her. I truly thought this was going to be our end. We engaged Wyssilka in parley, trying to negotiate the release of Martella and avoid bloodshed, but she had been paid far too handsomely to kill Martella for the former, and enjoyed violence too much for the latter. Luckily, when the negotiations failed and hostilities were rejoined, Lady Gael was the first to act, taking the opportunity to flee from her captors and removing herself as a hostage. Lady Virgilia also benefited from her quick reflexes and rushed forward through the corridor past the Halflings and Wyssilka, only to find another human guard, whom she immediately struck down in his surprise. () The Halflings likewise struck several painful blows against us before we could react, and Len released divine energy to undo the damage. Aridai, Malphene, Wilfen and I started assaulting the Halflings who blocked the way to Wyssilka, who in turn cast a spell to paralyze me, which thankfully I shook off. The strange fey tried to hurl a poisonous flask at me... and accidentally dropped it at his feet, enveloping both himself and his two guard friends in noxious smoke. Len, appreciating the dire state of things, overcame their aversion to offensive action and cast a spell on Wyssilka, paralyzing her in turn in what they believed was a non-lethal fashion. Seeing Wyssilka defenseless, Lady Virgilia then cut her throat. Len wailed in horror at the ruthless killing and at their own role in facilitating it, but it turned the tide of the battle. The other Halflings fled, apparently not willing to die for their cause now that their master was dead. We let them flee, even if it meant releasing murder-cultists into the city. We found Martella, alive but bearing the marks of torture, and freed her. The only other creature remaining was a strange human-faced spider creature, who seemed content to play hide-and-seek with Lady Virgilia, who promptly led it into the room where Martella had been held, and locked it in. I fear the poor girl shows all signs of psychopathy. She will need extensive counseling eventually, but for now I'm ashamed to say her ruthlessness and her skill with her blades has proven incredibly useful. Perhaps we can put it to good use while we are still at war. Lady Martella led us out of the safe house into the adjacent sewers and back out into the city. Malphene decided she had had enough vengeance, and that she was going to look after herself for a while... but if we needed a favor, we were welcome to call upon her. She apologized for punching me and I apologized for drawing a knife on her, and that was it. We met with Lady Gloriana at the café, who then brought us up to speed on the situation. In short: - Grand Prince Stavian III died in the night's violence. I cannot say I grieve for him, but this does plunge the realm into a war of succession for his crown.
Lady Gloriana afforded us lavish quarters in a luxurious establishment in the city, where also Princess Eutropia resides for the moment. We were brought to meet her, and had a pleasant chat, given the circumstances. It looks like the four of us will have a lot of work ahead of us, righting wrongs and ensuring realm-wide support of Eutropia's claim on the throne. On the upside, Eutropia's dog Taldogis is an absolute darling. He is a good boy. Yes, he is.
Brother Dear— Lady Martella's life is on the line, so I mustn't tarry. I apologize in advance for neglecting chronological order in favor of efficiency. The immediate neighborhood of our subterranean refuge proved to be various storage rooms replete with paraphernalia and memorabilia from centuries past, which those among us with historical knowledge (Lord Aridai and Lady Gael) found fitting with our hypothesis that House Voratas commissioned this place, along with the magical pins, to safeguard against assassination. Apparently, the court was particularly prone to assassination back in their day. Speaking of which: I advocated that all members of our group arm and armor themselves from the locker we found, and while Malphene and Imistos did, Len and Lady Gael preferred to remain vulnerable and defenseless. Feel free to speculate on the wisdom of this choice before you read on... The most notable find among the collection was the magical crossbow Dignity's Barb, about whose legendary accuracy we had read in the military exposition in the senate building earlier. Surprisingly, it was absolutely tiny. While I still debated whether we were within our rights to borrow it from the collection to aid in our escape, Malphene just punched through the glass case. I can certainly see her use, even if she remains insufferable and boorish. Lady Virgilia took the weapon upon herself, given that it was appropriate to her size, and that her slingshot had taught her the basics of ranged combat. I hoped it might also encourage her to stay back during future outbreaks of violence, rather than plunge herself into the fray. Other items included a set of life-sized wax figures, one of which was defaced for some reason, and a room with three taxidermic animals (two wolves and a hippogriff) who assaulted us upon entry. It turned out they had been enchanted to rear up menacingly — if harmlessly — to enhance their effect as trophies, but the long centuries must have degraded the finer points of that distinction. It took our concerted efforts, and quite a bit of Len's healing powers, to bring them down. Lady Gael even tore legs off the defeated wolves to throw them at the hippogriff — she certainly has a heart to herself! Lady Virgilia noticed her crossbow bolts veered and swerved to find their target even when crowded with friendly combattants; a wondrous effect indeed, even if the tiny bolts did not prove any deadlier than one would have assumed. Many surfaces in this area were covered in a plethora of overlapping chalk circles. Aridai and Gael recognized mathematical genius among the madness and concluded some sort of savant must have drawn them. In fact, one corridor appeared to be magically (or rather mathematically?) folded in upon itself so any person walking off in one direction would find themselves returning from the other side — as if walking in a circle. Only by erasing some of the circles could we banish the effect. One corridor led through overgrown vegetation — which managed to survive without the grace of the Sun by some sacrilegious process — to a chapel of Aroden, where we met a man convincingly dressed as the dead god, claiming to be «Arodeen» and demanding that we tithe to him. When we identified it as an illusion, its creator — a deranged Halfling mage — proceeded to blind me and a few others with some sort of glittering dust. Me, a Stavian! The ignominy! Luckily, the effect proved temporary, and we resolved the situation simply by leaving. Other inhabitants of the underground maze included Mimips, a Kobold shopkeeper; Factor 12, a tiny winged brass sphere (presumably a minor outsider of the unreasonably lawful type) claiming to be in charge of a vast archive of stored items; and a quartet of book creatures hungry for knowledge. Mimips was willing to tell us the way out of this underground complex; for a price. We haggled him down to 275 gp, only to find — too late — that he had expected the denomination to be a lesser metal. The information proved to be sound, even there were only two possible ways left to go. At least it saved us from heading down the wrong passage and losing ourselves in the Darklands. (I suppose the link to the Darklands accounts for the rather eclectic menagerie of creatures down here...) Factor 12 informed us that we were entitled to request one single item from the archive, but given its supposedly near-endless list of contents, we were at a loss as to what to ask for. We briefly considered a map of our current location, which was not available, and a powered excavation device to help us clear a caved-in corridor, which we ended up doing with our bare hands instead (under the wise guidance of Lady Gael's engineering expertise). And Len indulged the animated books with religious knowledge until they were sated. Mimips' directions included the warning that we would have to «survive Dagio». Dagio turned out to be a ratling, and the brilliant mind behind the space-bending circles. He had a nauseating number of actual rats with him, which would indeed have called our survival into question, had we had to fight him. However, Dagio was pleasantly civil and reasonable — his centuries-old obsession with circles notwithstanding — and was willing to grant us safe passage in exchange for new insights about circles. The mathematical knowledge of Lord Aridai and Lady Gael proved insufficient, so I eventually called upon Factor 12 to retrieve a book on the topology of circles from their archive. I had to sign a document and was warned of exorbitant fees in case of a late return, but since the loan period was a century, I considered it an acceptable risk. Dagio found the book to his tastes, and granted us passage. He promised to return the book to Factor 12 well before the deadline, and even threw in a discretionary Light spell after Len's own Light spell on me had expired and we found ourselves in pitch-black darkness. Len, for that matter, had ventured ahead alone while the rest of us procured the book, and had not returned. We found them a few rooms ahead, prone on the ground in a puddle of blood. They had triggered a trap involving falling a number of falling daggers, and might have died from it, had not a group of four Halflings found them in time. The Halflings claimed to be senatorial aides and to have arrived like we did, but on Imistos' signal, they suddenly drew saps and assaulted us! Imistos invoked the nefarious Halfling god Thamir Gixx and instructed the others to subdue us nobles so that we could be brought before Wyssilka the Fantabulous for questioning — yes, the very Wyssilka who performed magic tricks in the senate hall to entertain the children. Shocking! As for Len, Imistos considered them worthless, and proceeded to stab them with a dagger, intending to slay them mercilessly. An ugly mêlée ensued. The Halflings leveraged our surprise ruthlessly and landed a few nasty blows with their saps, but in the face of Imistos' plans, we fought back with lethal force. Lady Gael threw herself bodily at one of the assailants and managed to wrest her to the ground despite suffering harm in the process, while I rushed to protect Lady Virgilia and once again found myself fighting in concert with her. The little girl ducked behind a foe to flank her and stabbed her with disconcerting proficiency, while I struck true with Naur-e-Chae from the other side. Together, we slew one of the Halflings. Meanwhile, Lord Aridae and Malphene attacked Imistos but found themselves unable to prevent him from first stabbing and then grappling the defenseless Cleric. He put his dagger to Len's throat and threatened to kill them if we did not drop our weapons, but Len unleashed enough verbal anger at him to intimidate him into reconsidering his position, and when I, too, laid my blade against Imistos' neck and demanded his surrender, he finally relented. Imistos claimed to know where Martella was, and used this to bargain for his life. We reluctantly agreed to let him flee through Dagio's lair (risking death at the hands of the ratling) in exchange for the note he carried, which indeed proved of value: Team Two,
With our destination set before us and Lady Martella's impending interrogation spurring us to haste, we followed the trail of corridors and stairways to a false wall, which we broke to find ourselves back in the senate building. Along the way, we found a set of tombs including the recently broken and emptied sarcophagus of Prince Carrius II, the dead brother of Princess Eutropia. What could they possibly want with the Prince's corpse? In any case, we are about to face a murder cult to free our friend and employer. I hope I will live to tell the tale.
P.S.: Naur-e-Chae. Fire out of Earth. There is a pleasantly ominous ring to it, and it fits. After all, the scimitars of Sarenites are representations of the pure sacred fire that the Goddess wields into battle, and this one was bequeathed unto me in a moment of darkness in the forsaken bowels of the earth. At least I think that is where we find ourselves. I have yet to see so much as a sliver of daylight in this place, and the fashion in which these rooms are joint by short corridors rather than doors suggests they are carved from solid rock rather than merely partitioned off a common floor. What other structure would require such massive interior walls? Perhaps this safehouse was meant to withstand bombardment rather than mere assassination. I do hope it is located in Oppara, and that there still is an exit to the surface. We must rejoin Martella and Eutropia as expediently as we can, if they still live. In any case: Naur-e-Chae it is. I shall have it engraved on the ricasso. That is, assuming life and trade continues in Oppara despite the mass murder of its ruling class. Do the masses care, or even know, what happened tonight? Are there any survivors to tell the tale, or is the Grand Prince's account already official history? All the more reasons for us to survive, and bear witness to his atrocities.
Brother Dear— I do hope this letter finds you at all. The sky has fallen, and nothing is as it was. But let me start at the beginning. We sought and found Lord Dou, who was duly grateful for our intervention. He agreed to vote in our favor in exchange for protection under Eutropia's regime. We accepted. Next, we conversed with Duke Centimus. He was indeed receptive for admiration for the elaborate design of his wheelchair, but it was a faux-pas on my part to insinuate Gnomish involvement — apparently it was all his own work! Ultimately, though, we found more purchase bonding over the Imperialist's disdain for people that didn't fit their template, such as Len's nonbinarity or the Duke's disability. He proved a pragmatic and sensible person, and said he would have declared for Eutropia even without our intervention. However, he did advise us that the «crying girl» had been a bit overly dramatic, and that we should perhaps tone it down a notch. Lady Virgilia had, in fact, broken out in tears during introductions when the Duke recalled her parents' demise, but she can hardly be blamed for that. Afterwards, Len had the gall to call me heartless for not immediately abandoning our conversation with the Duke to coddle the girl. Is the counseling and comforting of the bereaved not precisely one of the core duties of the Pharasmin clergy? We found Baron Okerra in the archives, as expected. He turned out to be a consummate man of the law, and he was trawling the legal records in search of precedent for a decision as potentially momentuous as the abolishment of primogeniture so as to allay his existential anxiety about the possibly wide-spread ramifications of this vote. Luckily, Lord Aridai's vast encyclopedic knowledge of the law allowed him to pinpoint precisely such precedent among the historic records of the northern tribes, which had temporarily enacted a similar ruling with no ill consequences. This stroke of inspiration thoroughly convinced the Baron to side with Eutropia. Unfortunately, our attempts to convince Countess Abrielle Pace remained futile. In her personal conversation with Lord Aridai, she implied she would abstain so as not to find herself on the losing side afterwards. We asked our other contacts in the senate hall about her, but it seemed she presented the same intangible persona to everyone, and there was no telling what actual desires or motivations she harbored below her countless nested layers of veils and pretense. In the end, we stooped to openly offering her a quid-pro-quo, but we failed to discern what particular kind of quid would sway her. She implies she had «simple tastes», which we took to mean money, but Martella confirmed she didn't have the sort of funds necessary to impress the Countess. Duke Centimus recalled she had abstained in every single vote for the past years, which suggested a chronic risk aversion or even anxiety disorder. Lord Aridai tried to play that angle by lying to her about abstention being disallowed in particularly important votes such as this, but she saw right through it (and threatened to talk to Baron Okerra about it). Len proposed in all seriousness to intimidate her into compliance by threatening to maim her. Luckily, they didn't have the courage to do so themself, and none of us were willing to condone brutal thuggery. It certainly seems like Len is confused about many more things than just their gender. I do hope this won't get out of hand. I must trust Lady Martella's judgement in this matter. Len did certainly prove very capable with healing magic, which is encouraging. The vote itself was a solemn ceremony in the cauldron-like theatre of the senate proper. Dou, Centimus, and Okerra voted in our favor, whereas Pace abstained. In the end, the tally showed 103 yeas to 101 nays — we had won by a hair's breadth! The crowd erupted in clamor, and Lady Martella took us aside to hand us our payment: Fully twice the agreed amount, to celebrate our possibly scale-tipping successes. Then Grand Prince Stavian took the stage, and immediately soured the air with his open jealousy of Eutropia's popularity. He deemed the senate disloyal and the vote a betrayal. It was at this point that we became aware of a veritable mob of henchmen who were surrounding the senate with blades drawn. We cried alarum, but couldn't pierce the roar of agitation in the theatre. We had to watch helplessly as the Grand Prince congratulated Lord Kalbio on being the first to die for their sins, and impaled him with a dagger. The last we heard of the Grand Prince before he retreated among his Ulfen Guard was his pronouncement of death upon all present, and his assertion that «this vote never happened» and that is was «fake news». At this point, the henchmen were pouring into the senate in force and were starting to hew down anyone in their path. I spent my last bit of magic to summon an illusory wall to block two of the entrances to slow down the invasion, but it was a lost cause. Many members of the senate drew overt and hidden weapons, Kathann Zalar (the guard captain who led us through the side entrance) mobilized the Lion Blades with a rallying cry, and Eutropia and a few of her loyal retainers desperately tried to cut a breach through the enemies in order to reach an exit, but we never had the opportunity to see the end of it. One after the other, my associates and I were struck by traitorous swords... and vanished in brief flashes of light. It was the pins. Martella had procured an historic set of senator aide badges to allow us access to the senate hall — while they belonged to a long-dead senator whose line had gone extinct a century ago, they were still legally valid. It turned out those badges were enchanted to whisk their wearers away to safety when struck with lethal force. Thus, we found ourselves in a dark room — Gods know where — with beds, clothes, and supplies ready to receive their proper owners in an emergency. Most of the materiel had falled prey to the tooth of time, but we found a locker with well-preserved weapons and armor, and promptly armed ourselves. Amazingly, a trophy on the wall held a magnificent scimitar captured from fallen Qadiran cavalry in an ancient war. A scimitar, of all things! I silently thanked the Everlight for her foresight and claimed the blade for myself. I must say, it's a blessing to bear proper steel again after being defanged for the senate. We found our habitat comprised four square rooms with no apparent exit. We searched for a concealed door, and Lady Virgilia spotted one beneath a rug.
When we followed the secret passage out into a corridor, we found the fresh body of a nobleman lying on the floor. He bore a single sword slash along with many gruesome rents from what appeared to be claws. Lord Aridai recognized him as a member of the senate, just before the riddle of the man's demise solved itself before our eyes. Two undead abominations peeled themselves out of the walls of the corridor and started to grasp for us with their claws. Luckily, we had been alert enough to react without delay, and we engaged them with our newfound armaments. To my horror, Lady Virgilia, rather than seeking cover behind us, swiftly dove behind one of the monstrosities and stabbed skillfully at it with a dagger. There is something decidedly strange about this girl, to say the least. The distraction allowed me to cleave the revenant clean in half before it could retaliate. The other revenant, however, managed to strike both Lord Aridai and Len, surprising them with its exceptional reach. The former fought back — clearly less at ease with a blade than with a book — and landed a lucky blow with Martella's rapier. I swooped in low, whirling to avoid the claws and build momentum, and connected with the foe as well, ending it. What a fine blade. It will need a name. And I'll have to thank Shensen for her dancing lessons again, though from what I've heard she left Kintargo for good. It feels strange to deploy the sacred art to kill, but at least the situation was morally unambiguous. Len said the revenants were Walcofindes, grown from the souls of those who died from being walled in. I do hope this does not imply that our safe house is cut off from the world. I intend to see the Sun again. With the threat banished, four other survivors came out of hiding from the adjacent rooms: Wilfen and Malphene (of all people!), as well as a certain Lady Gael Urbaen and a Halfling servant by name of Imistos Gulbend. All of them came here by the same method as we did. Malphene apparently just witnessed her father's death. Maybe I shouldn't be too hard on her. Maybe this trial will redeem her. The Everlight would certainly want me to give her the chance.
Brother Dear— I hope this letter finds you alive and well in these exciting times! I am taking a few days of leave from the Kith now that Martella's political designs are coming to a point and gaining traction. She teamed me up with two other operatives of hers: A noble bureaucrat by name of Aridai of the Merosetts, and a Pharasmin priest — of indeterminate race and gender, as far as I can tell — who spends their time delivering babies in the Narrows. (What would call a nongendered midwife, anyway? Midspouse?) We met at a quite pleasant, if somewhat loud, café for fig jam (delectable!), angel bobs (don't ask) and champagne (there was an open tab). I absolutely have to take you there on your next visit. What is more, Martella introduced her to a ward of hers, Lady Virgilia Merkondus, whose parents had recently perished in a coach accident. We are to ensure her safety as she take her requisite tour among her peers tonight at the grand gala. Apparently her uncle Yander Merkondus has arranged for several attempts on her life already, if that is to be believed. Our main mission at the gala is to meet three senators in particular believed to be undecided about the vote tonight, and do our best to sway them to the good cause. I paid a quick visit to the Kith to ask if any of my peers or tutors had recently performed for one of the three. It turned out Lord Centimus had hired Angelique to play the lute not too long ago. She was rather proud about that fact until she learned about my recent gig for an Earl... she spent most of our conversation after that lamenting the fact that song is the more popular and inherently superior art form to the lute (which is indisputably true, but it felt like she blamed me for the fact). Lutists! In any case, she did deign to mention that Centimus is wheelchair-bound, and that the intricate and possibly Gnomish design of the device is a point of pride to him. That will come in handy. Getting into the gala proper was easier than expected, by courtesy of Lord Aridai's connections. The officer overseeing the queue at the gates allowed us to slip through a side entrance after a cursory pat-down that thankfully missed my concealed dagger. (I know, I am quite useless as a knife-fighter, but if I'm to hold of an assassin, I'd rather have something at all.) Similarly, Virgilia was able to hold on to her slingshot (she will put an eye out one of these days). The only respectable weapon we had on us was Martella's own rapier, which she had loaned to Lord Aridai for the occasion. The interior was appropriately lavish. In the cloyingly pathos-laden military exhibition, we first chanced upon our arch-enemy, General Maxillar Pythareus. In our brief conversation, he correctly identified us as «Martella's foundlings» after having decided we were too high-born for Lady Gloriana's tastes. After I rather shamelessly praised the military splendor of the exhibition (gods forgive me), the General warmed up enough to let slip a gleeful yet ominous prediction: That the succession would be decided once and for all tonight. I seemed to be the only one appropriately worried that he had just announced his plan for a coup — but what else could it mean? The vote would only clear the succession if it went against his favor. The musical ensemble was utterly abysmal. How they couldn't find better players in the very city of the Kitharodian College is beyond me. Possibly a case of nepotism? When we passed through the gardens that led to the senate floor, we witnessed a short speech by the Princess Eutropia herself. She did reasonably well, and was inundated by a crowd as soon as she stopped speaking. We had a few words with her right hand, the aforementioned Lady Gloriana, and she seemed particularly fond of meeting Len. I suppose she does have a soft spot for commoners. She then asked whether we would like to talk to the Princess, and promptly dragged her from her admirers to introduce us to her. Len nearly fainted from the weight of the occasion. Admittedly, I hadn't been face to face with a Princess before either. I had expected she'd be taller, though. There was something fragile about here mere humanity under all that responsibility and hope she bore with her. I informed the Princess of Maxillar's menacing prediction, hoping the direness of the situation wouldn't be lost on her. To my surprise, she did not laugh it away, but speculated that Maxillar was planning to get her «married away» to him, as he had attempted several times already. I was shocked and dismayed to hear of the distinct possibility that the law would allow such a thing to happen against her will. This realm is overripe for reform. Our group then split up to talk to different people at the same time. Lord Aridai chatted with some noblewoman, Len met the commoner scheduled to be exalted to nobility later tonight (a weaver named Kelbrio), Virgilia joined up with Martella and had a heated argument with Uncle Yander (thankfully without an assassination attempt), and I ran across my former lover Wilfen. He had aged a decade in the mere two years since our tryst. Maybe it was just the beard, though. We exchanged a few pleasantries about the Halfling entertainer, about Wilfen's so-called poetry, and about how school, or indeed any sort of serious occupation, was too stifling for his creativity. Had he already been this pitiful back when we were together? I must doubt it for the sake of my self-worth, but then I wonder whether I contributed to breaking him. In any case, Martella thankfully called me away from him when she noticed a situation in need of immediate intervention. A noble brat by name of Malphene Trant had cornered Lord Dou in one of the side booths of the senate floor along with three of her lackeys, and they appeared to have beaten and bruised the poor Lord rather badly. When Lord Aridai and I called her out, she turned her ire on me and punched me. Me, a Stavian. On the very floor of the Senate. I must say this court still manages to surpise me at every turn. Seeing myself on the rapidly losing side of a vastly lopsided brawl, I drew my dagger and tried to intimidate the four girls into a retreat. While the sycophants scattered, my display of steel spurned Malphene to attack me with redoubled fury. She clearly had considerable skill and experience at fisticuffs, whereas I am utterly useless at it, as you know. I ended up not employing the dagger — I would already look culpable before a tribunal for drawing it on an unarmed assailant, and I figured actually stabbing her would seal the case. Unarmed, I could only delay the inevitable, even calling upon my battle dance and defensive magic . To her credit, Lady Virgilia fired two bullets from her sling, but failed to connect. While Lord Aridai still couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to aid me in combat, at least his continued attempts to dissuade Malphene verbally eventually found traction. The fleeing Lord Dou had clamored for guards, and it turned out Malphene's father disapproved of her tangling with the law. She offered a grudging truce and made an exit. I barely had time to stow my dagger before the Ulfen Guard showed up and demanded I submit to questioning. Luckily, they had the good sense to reconsider when I outed myself as a Stavian. Len was shocked about this fact; I half feared they would encourage the guards to persist. I did inform the guards about Lord Dou and Malphene, though. I do hope they catch her. She is in dire need of consequences. ...
Though the lack of a dedicated melee unit will prove most interesting Kyrademon specifically offered to tone down the challenge level of combat to allow us to play unoptimized characters and focus on the roleplaying side. There definitely will be some combat, but less than in the books and certainly much less than in a typical campaign. (Olwen also used to cut out the filler encounters, very much to the previous campaigns' benefit.) In fact, neither Aridai nor Len are built for combat as far as I know.
Heads up: While this WotR campaign is still on hold indefinitely, we're about to start our War for the Crown game as GMed by Kyrademon (Ice the mermaid, Mrriaál the catwoman, Tanaquil the evil sorceress). Stay tuned for the link!
Eh, I remember Saga being all about superpowered Jedis and underpowered muggles. Not my cup of tea. We had fun with a short game of Edge of the Empire a while ago, even if the advantage/disadvantage system slowed us down and felt like a chore (I guess it gets better once you have a better idea how to use it). I also find the system with the ability trees rather offputting — most of them just feel like unnecessarily convoluted ways to get to Dedication. (A notable exception being the Gadgeteer. Good stuff.) WEG d6 is supposed to be slim and elegant to give us a break from our Pathfinder addiction. I suspect it will do fine in that role.
Ooo, what kind of Star Wars game? Based on WEG d6 1st edition, with some house rules inspired by 2nd edition REUP. Homebrew campaign, I believe. Thane/Bit/Azriel is the GM. But best not to burn out on the game. Yeah, we're in it for the long haul. And I look forward to seeing how Kyrademon does as a GM! :) Me too, and War for the Crown should be particularly well tailored to his storytelling talents.
Hey Ragathiel — here we are again, treading the path of war. Unlike our little skirmish in the underground, the stakes are now infinitely much higher. The cost of failure is the instant death of tens of thousand crusaders all around the Worldwound, followed by no less than the extinction of mankind as the demon host takes the world by storm. The only thing that makes the pressure bearable is the sheer unimaginable scale of it — in contrast, our task is mercifully limited and straightforward. A small building, two and a half floors, roughly three rooms per floor; or so our sources claimed. Unlike the rival tribes of Descendants underground, our enemies here are beyond any moral ambiguity, and thus to be terminated with extreme prejudice. I try not to exercise my imagination too much about what we will encounter within these walls. I have no doubt that their numbers are stacked against us, and given the key importance of the wardstone in the enemy's grand design, I expect it is guarded by a choicer breed of demons and cultists than the ones we've barely prevailed against in the past two days. But there are no questions to mull over, no decisions to make. It's us or them, and the clock is ticking. Out there in the city, Irabeth's company is paying in blood, limbs, and lives for each minute we spend. I am become a blade. Wield me, Ragathiel. PS: I delivered a baby last night. Can you believe it? I was utterly unprepared, the birth was going traumatically awry, blood everywhere, no healer in sight. I spent the last of my own curative magic on Julli, as well as some of my scant consumables, and Tanaquil wrought some arcane magic on her to heighten her body's endurance. Even so, she remained unconscious and at death's door throughout, and just barely pulled through. I've never felt so helpless and out of my depth in my life. And yet it ended well. I grinned like a gingerbread horse when I held the tiny baby in my blood-soaked hands. If I could get through this, how bad can the Gray Garrison really be in comparison? PPS: I sent Thane to get us one of the company's actual healers before Tanaquil and I set off to find Julli. He did eventually arrive with a healer in tow — after it was all over. Just before Julli's husband fainted, he revealed the boy's name... I'm sure you guessed it. Thane. (Men...) I just hope when this opera of ours is finished, the critics will tear it apart. Thane is clearly a Mary Sue. PPPS: I later claimed Jadhanakṛti would have worked for a boy, but I suppose the male version would have to be Jadhanakṛta? I really know shamefully little about the Old Country's tongue. I'll have to study it someday, preferably when I've saved the world and retired and have more time on my hands than I can use.
Evil according to set, objective rules rather than some eternally arguable subjective ethos.
why Bestow Curse is less evil than Fleshworm Infestation
Hey Ragathiel — so perhaps I was exaggerating a bit when I likened the Defender's Heart to a metropolis. There's certainly a heartening number of survivors here, but they are as organized as a bag of cats. We were hoping to replenish some of our strained resources, but since there was no such thing as a warehouse or armory, we were pretty much down to walking through the crowded corridors and talking to people haphazardly until we met someone willing to barter. Thane got lucky and scored a solid set of half plate, whereas I spent all my time just looking for a healer to tend to my wound fever. I did eventually find a priest who cured me with a powerful incantation, far above what I can muster, for what seemed like a pittance of a price. He and his colleagues in vocation were so overworked that I half considered buying them some of their own medicine. In any case, I gave up on finding myself a cold iron bastard sword, as I had hoped. They're rare enough weapons to begin with, and even if there had been one up for bartering, I could have spent the whole night looking for it. My trusty morningstar will have to do for now. I do admit I'm starting to appreciate the solid report of a bludgeon connecting with its intended target. Sword wounds can be deceptive, but if you've hit someone with a mace, you know you've hit them. I hope you don't mind me going off-brand for a bit! But you're a soldier yourself, I'm sure you understand. Speaking of understanding: Irabeth openly distrusted Tanaquil, and not just because of the horns. Turns out she radiates an evil aura! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself, and even so, it's blatantly at odds with her behavior and my assessment of her character. Anyway, none of our group seemed too fazed, and we convinced Irabeth to take our word for it. I had a very interesting chat with Tanaquil about the matter afterwards. According to her, her alignment is entirely due to her habitual use of evil spells, rather than to any heinous acts. If I understand her correctly, she deliberately does this to cultivate an evil alignment, so as to follow in the proud family tradition of her evil forebears. She seems hell-bent on living up to her parents' and grandparents' expectations, even though they most definitely earned their evil alignment the old-fashioned way. Talk about daddy issues! And would her ancestors really approve of her idealistic crusade on the basis of such a mere technicality? Well, I suppose exploiting legal loopholes is a traditional Chelaxian thing, so they'd have to respect that, at least. Tanaquil made a very good point on how the magic concept of Good and Evil is broken, on the basis of the extremely arbitrary way in which some spells are Evil-aligned whereas others are not. She takes this as proof that Good and Evil are not actually a matter of laudable and objectionable morals, but rather just different cultural tradition... like tea and coffee, I suppose. (Where coffee would correspond to Evil, obviously.) She agrees that most Evil Chelaxians behave in reprehensible ways («giving Evil a bad name»), but she blames that on the corrupting influence of Chaos, rather than Evil itself. I did point out that the same rules of magic that she invokes to defend Evil also insist that most of those Chelaxians are, in fact, Lawful rather than Chaotic. She had no answer to that. Maybe I'm actually getting through to her? And if Chaos were the problem, wouldn't the faithful of Desna be a scourge upon the land...? Tanaquil is a good person, no doubt about that. I do think her fixation on Evil is unhealthy, and she would be more at peace with herself and her convictions if she embraced her goodness rather than masking it with an artificial stigma of Evil. I'm not going to risk our rapport pushing the issue, but I hope being part of our group and fighting demons among the forces of Good might naturally soften her stance and bring her to reconsider. The mundane concepts of Good and Evil might not be as objective and testable as the magical ones, and the two concepts might be at odds with each other, but that doesn't render the former moot. Thane and Tanaquil think me naïve to believe in the former, but things like morality, altruism and kindness are older, more universal and more relevant concepts than the technicalities of arcane theory. If magic evil fails to match moral evil, it is the former that should be discredited.
Hey Ragathiel — is it just me or are things looking up a bit? Irabeth's improvised stronghold feels like a metropolis after the desolation we've wandered through. We've managed to vanquish all the demons we met, we saved a pregnant woman, we reunited Anevia with her wife, and best of all, we got rid of Horgus. Things could be worse. It's not that I don't see the other sides of those coins. The survivors are a mere sliver of a shadow of the city's original population. For that one pregnant woman we saved, countless others were slaughtered. The demons we faced were the least of their kinds, and yet it cost us our utmost to prevail against them. Meanwhile, the paths of destruction through the buildings and the verbal accounts of the survivors speak of demons of unimaginable power. We might just have been exceedingly lucky in our choice of path so far, and the next encounter might spell our certain doom. But be that as it may, the fates have tossed us a bone, and I'll be damned if I don't gnaw the hells out of it. Who knows, maybe they even have tea at the Defender's Heart.
Hey Ragathiel — I'm not sure what I expected from Kenabres, but it caught me unprepared. I should be glad the streets weren't swarming with demons anymore, but the emptiness is difficult to stomach. Only a fraction of the buildings lie in rubble, with the rest just... given up for lost. Perhaps a giant crater would be easier to deal with. The worst part is that when we finally met someone in the streets, it was a band of desperation-crazed survivors about to slaughter an innocent girl on the off-chance that it might grant their swords magical powers against demons. With that sort of crusader, who even needs demons? If you gods were trying to prove a point here, yes, we get it. The bad guys won. The crusade is crushed both in body and in spirit. At least they had the good sense to give up the girl and leave. The proverbial withering glare of the inquisition at work? I just hope they won't just find another orphan to sacrifice to their superstitions once they're out of our sight.
Also, what kind of crusader needs a demonic invasion to figure out that regular weapons barely so much as scratch demons? The pamphlets with Yaniel's sound advice are everywhere (sponsored by the weapon shops, sure, but sound advice nonetheless). Even I read one, and you know how much I loathe reading. It's not like cold iron costs the world, either; everyone can afford at least a cold iron dagger. Back in that maze, I was certainly glad to have that cold iron morningstar at hand, uncultured as it may be compared to my blade. I had to crush the three demons more or less by myself after they took out Thane and Zsoltan with that cloud of miasma. Tanaquil did surprise me once by planting a cold iron bolt solidly into the second of the demons, and then again by rushing the last one of them with her spear when I threatened to succumb to it. She's full of surprises, that one! Zsoltan may have fists of steel and the temper to go with them, but he didn't get past the demons' tough hide. We'll have to get him a cold iron weapon as soon as we can. I just hope he didn't take an oath never to bear arms or somesuch. I suspect it might be spectacularly difficult to change his mind on anything, even for dwarven standards. At least Thane got a cold iron sword handed to him on a silver platter, and it's no less than Yaniel's own legendary blade. To be fair, he probably could have hewn his way through any demon with that old greatsword of his... And he seems to be having trouble adjusting to the shorter blade. From the way he's swearing at it, one might think Iomedae sent it to him personally as a convoluted form of punishment. But I admit I was amazed to see a magical weapon up close, and a legendary one at that. Thane seemed to share some sort of religious bonding moment with it when he picked it up. Good for him, I guess.
You know, come to think of it, the strange coincidences that brought our group together, spirited us away from the midst of mayhem to relative safety, led us to a forgotten army of reinforcements just waiting to rejoin the fight, and thrust a sword of legend onto Thane would make a curious amount of sense if we were living through the origin story of a hero. Are we all supporting characters in Thane's gods-ordained path to glory? He did start on a low point, turned away from his faith, but already things are starting to look up for him with the discovery that demon cults might be responsible for the horrors he witnessed. And the rest of us are a suitably diverse cast of characters: The blinded sage, the hobbled ranger, the grim dwarf, the insufferable rich imbecile, the exotic warrior princess, even the requisite token devil... And then there's the unlikely relations, too: Two cousins, polar opposites in many ways, grown up in distant countries and estranged by a decade, suddenly reunited? At least three people with independent ties to the mysterious Irabeth? It's a bit much, even for an opera. I can only hope it's not the kind of story where the supporting characters die horribly one by one to heighten the hero's drama.
Oh, is *that* the tea you're missing? And here Tanaquil was thinking you were longing for a nice orange pekoe.
Hey Ragathiel — We went to war. I hope to gods it's the right side we're fighting for. It's one thing to cut down the demons invading our land, whose evil is woven into their very being... but here, we're eradicating one tribe of deformed humanoids merely on behalf of another tribe of deformed humanoids, on nothing but Chief Suul's word. We're the invaders here. If we had met the tribes in the reverse order, would we have fought for the other side instead? Probably not, to be fair. The human cultists among the other tribe wear their demonic allegiance in plain sight and clearly fill some dominant role in their society, whereas Chief Suul makes a convincing argument for his people's century-long perseverance in the service of the crusades. If he is to be believed, there is a veritable army of their kind living in this network of caves, and he is rallying them to join the fourth crusade, what little there may be left of it. In cleaving them a path through the cultists to the surface, we might end up aiding the crusade much more than if we'd simply joined the fray on the surface. It's the right thing to do. Also: Ouch. Warfare hurts. That last fight almost took us all out. Without Chief Suul's curative potions or Aravashnial's powerful scrolls that Tanaquil expertly employed to shape the battlefield, we would be lizard food now. Aravashnial also worked some advanced magic on me to enhance my heroism, and I did get to put it to good use a few times. I hope you were watching! At least I now know the meaning of fighting to exhaustion. I'll have to learn that spell for myself one day, it feels good. I suppose we've cleared at best half the enemy forces so far, so we've still got a lot of fighting ahead of us — without the benefit of magic scrolls. At least we found a wand on the dead inquisitor, which she had used to summon a spiritual weapon to attack me during our confrontation (again: ouch), and there are a few charges left on it. Apart from the regular tribespeople, who don't worry me that much as long as they don't get to crowd us, there's at least one more cultist at large. The archer also got away, but I'm hoping she abandoned the lair entirely. I suspect she threw her lot in with the cultists for practical rather than zealous reasons. She certainly knows how to make an arrow count, just ask Thane... Tanaquil seemed positively smitted by the archer's appearance. I can't say I see what she sees — several eyes stacked one above the other, and spider legs sticking out of the back? If anything, one of the first locals we met, Lann, is rather cute. Part of him looks like it belongs to a lizardfolk or nagaji, but it meshes rather well with his human part. It's really more like well-done theater make-up than a deformation. In other circumstances, he could pass as a half-dragon. I was rather dismayed by the revelation that the locals have greatly reduced life spans, with thirty years counting as venerable age. Given Lann's well-behaved morph, I can only hope he's one of the longer-lived ones, and that life on the surface will do him good. But I shouldn't divert myself with such frivolity in the middle of an act of war. Especially given that I lost my entire stash of night-tea in the fall.
Hey Ragathiel — If I had to guess, I'd say the theme of today's lesson is prejudice. Horgus and Aravashnial are certainly trying to outdo each other in overt racism, ranting against Chelaxians, «mole people», and even Dwarves in plain earshot of such representatives. Had I not shed my mother's accent among my Taldan peers, no doubt they would have added Vudrans to the list. Aravanshial is claiming academic interest as the reason for his behavior, whereas I suppose Horgus is comfortable just being an arse. As for religious prejudice, Thane appears convinced that we Ragathielites are fanatics who readily slay innocents if it serves our path to glory, whereas Tanaquil gave me the strangest of looks — almost panicked? — when I mentioned that the technical term for my vocation was Inquisitor, as if I were just looking for the nearest pyre to strap her to. Does she really doubt my judgment that much? Or does she just extrapolate from the Chelaxian brand of religious persecution? Then again, Thane does appear to have a dark history with his fellow Iomedaeans, and if these Baphomet cultists are any indication, the problem might be wide-spread and systemic.
As for my own prejudices? Well, for one thing, I am not particularly proud of having treated Horgus with nothing but impatience and contempt since the very beginning. Sure, his behavior is indisputably imbecilic and disruptive, but the confrontational way in which Thane and I have been reacting to him no doubt reinforced it. Meanwhile, Tanaquil seems to be making headway with Horgus. She is the only one in the group who can muster the patience to speak to him without losing her temper, and she appears to be getting through to him. Who knows, she might even get him to shut up and pull his weight. She puts us to shame, honestly. I do wonder, though, whether Tanquil adopted a considerate and de-escalating air as a self-preservation tactic, so as not to give the more fanatic elements of the crusade a reason to persecute her. Maybe that's also how you survive as a reasonable person under the merciless pressure of Chelaxian culture while avoiding forced re-education. Hmm. Add that to my list of prejudices.
O Lord RAGATHIEL, blessèd be Thy name upon the World: Hear my plight, for I Hey, it's me, Jadni. Remember me? I wouldn't blame if you didn't; I don't do this nearly often enough. Truth be told, I've always wondered why you accepted me into your service to begin with. You must know about the selfish motives that brought me into your fold. But I reckon you're the pragmatic kind of god — you're a general, after all —, and I do mean to bear the sword into battle for you. If you have a plan for me, please show me. I do hope you have a plan. Forgive my candor, but what the vrock were you gods thinking? Ten thousand faithful souls in that city, generations of paladins toiling their life away for you, jumping through all your hoops to please you, and you let this happen? What does it take to get a reaction out of you? Do mortal lives mean anything to you at all? We could have used a miracle, or even just a bit of warning. I suppose I should be grateful to be alive. Terendelev used her last breath to spare us. I'm not sure if I was imagining things, but it felt like she beseeched (beseech! that was the word! well, too late) us to take on her mantle as protectors of Kenabres. It's not like she had many options left, but even so, we're a pitiful investment. I mean, it could be worse. My cousin Tanaquil is here, of all people. Last time I saw her, a highly improbable demon-related freak incident almost killed the both of us. And now this? It has to be more than just bad luck. What if we were meant to end up here? But whatever purpose we're supposed to serve, I doubt we'll do any good like this, hobbling through the deep bowels of the Earth, half of us wounded, half of us mad, barely managing not to get nibbled to death by the vermin of the depths. We lost most of our belongings, too. We're counting every crossbow bolt and candle stump. Even my tea stash is gone. Mother's chai mixture, straight from the old country, half a hundred cups' worth. If this is your punishment, Ragathiel, I will endure it, but I'm worried it might not even be that. Do you not care for our fates? Or do you, but are powerless to interfere? Do you even see us down here? Please don't leave us alone. I beseech Thee.
1 | Lo! In the land of Taldor, there lived a noble house by the name of Vārima, and though they had served as a pillar of the royal court of Taldor for centuries, they kept in mind the customs of the land of Vudra, whence had come their forebears.
A few thoughts from the player perspective. I hate the horror genre in general, and even though I loathe Lovecraftian cosmic horror less than, say, slasher horror, it's still not my cup of tea by a long shot. As such, I had vetoed Strange Æons as a possible campaign for our table for years. I had a change of mind when I realized it was going to be a campaign about a much more personal struggle than is usual for Pathfinder, with personal rather than global stakes, and with deeply troubled and flawed main characters. That paid off very nicely, and I greatly enjoyed how it turned out, especially in the first three books, which are just brilliant. In the later books, the scope turns from personal back to global, and the Lovecraftian themes push through harder than before, which was apparently great for the players familiar with the Cthulhu epos but completely lost on me. Still, by then I'd come to enjoy the characters and their story enough to tide me through to the satisfying ending. It’s not my favorite AP of those I GM’d (that would probably be Kingmaker and Return of the Runelords) but it’s still an excellent AP and of the very high Paizo standard. Agreed on both accounts. It was a very intense and memorable game.
All of these were awesome aspects of the campaign. Looking back, I'm amazed we survived the first book with our minds and bodies even halfways intact — it was a tour de force in every way. I also have the third book in vivid memory, with all those great set pieces in the Dreamworld, feeling your character's mind deteriorate more and more and wondering how it could all possibly end well. It was no doubt the best first book of the Paizo adventures I've played so far. The second book wasn't bad either, with the PCs being faced with hatred at every turn by the town folk and dreading each new revelation on the PCs' forgotten misdeeds, but its challenges were overall much more mundane compared to the mind-bending weirdness of the other two. Reclaiming our memories and souls at the middle of the campaign was a very rewarding closure — perhaps too much so, since the game's focus reverted from the unique and riveting «save your soul before it comes undone at the seams» driver to the much more conventional «save the world». Even though the stakes are objectively speaking infinitely higher in the second case, my sense of urgency relaxed once the ticking time-bomb in my head was defused, and it never got back to the same level of existential dread that dominated the first three books. In the fourth book, I didn't understand why we had to follow in Lowls' footsteps and clean up his messes when we knew exactly what his itinerary was, and could have traveled ahead and intercepted him. The book clearly wanted to railroad us through these encounters and always stay one step behind Lowls, but there was no in-game rationale to do so. It could easily have been fixed if the itinerary we found in the manor was incomplete and we had to piece together Lowls' next step from clues we found along the way. I did rather enjoy the three set pieces (more than Olwen and Mrriaál did at any rate), but no doubt Olwen's editing did a lot of good there. Pity the archon couldn't be swayed or saved. Killing Biting Lash, Mrriaál's former owner, was a very rewarding plot point. Neruzavin was appropriately weird, and very deadly indeed, if at times a bit desolate and thus contributing to a certain sense of detachment (Why do we have to go down that shaft where the millions of deadly polyps live again? Why do we have to attune these stelae to bring Carcosa and Golarion together; isn't that exactly what we're trying to avoid? Why is this our job, of all people?). At this point, I also started to get tired of NPCs spouting relentless propaganda of hopelessness and doom. I personally found this book the weakest link in the campaign, even if Olwen did an admirable job at fleshing out the empty canvas of the city with colorful details. The fight with the husk of Xhamen-Dor in the end was appropriately terrifying. Carcosa was a mixed bag. I found the arrival jarring: After so much foreshadowing and nightmarish visions of that supposedly madness-inducing world, we finally arrived there and... it was a giant suburb? With depressed and gloomy people just... living there in resignation? And we're supposed to attend the third ball in this campaign? Very anticlimactic after the utter weirdness of Neruzavin. It got better, though. The chapter in the city of the Elder things was appropriately alien, terrifying and atmospheric, and delivered in spades what I had expected of Carcosa. I found it rather annoying that the third chapter played in a ruined version of real-world Paris (nothing breaks immersion for me like mixing the real world into a fantasy world), and the whole Lovecraft references (it sounds more like wholesale copying) were lost on me. The three chapters felt accordingly disjointed from each other. The third chapter was mercifully short, though, and the encounter with the tower-sized worm was appropriately terrifying and Cthulhuesque when it swallowed one of our PCs and instantly digested it into slime. Overall, I greatly appreciated Olwen's philosophy of reducing unnecessary encounters in the final chapter and replacing them with more atmospheric exploration and roleplaying. Combat is tedious, unpredictable, and deadly at these high levels, and that doesn't lend itself to grinding through dungeons. As it was, we often only had a single fight in a session, but that one felt monumentous, thrilling and crucial to the story. A very fitting way of resolving the end-game for such a campaign in my opinion. I appreciated that the heroes were shunted back into Golarion after they killed Xhamen-Lowls. It would have been in tune with Lovecraftian horror to leave them to die in Carcosa for their trouble, but I for one appreciated a happy ending after all we'd been through. It made sense for Lowls to be kept for the final encounter (well, second-to-last, since we had a run-in with the betrayed archons after that...), but given his transformed state, we never got to face him as a person and talk to him. I'm surprised to read that the Briarstone Witch was going to show up in the final encounter — I think she makes more sense as the boogieman of the superstitious town folk than as a real player in this game. It was a brilliant choice by Olwen to replace her by the Pallid Mask, whom we'd already learned to hate and fear! - As usual with Paizo APs, the encounters and role-play with interesting, lively, and lovely NPCs: Winter, Skywin Freeling, Upianshe, Queen Cassilda. There are fewer than in most APs but at least these four are very memorable. One more thing on that note: I did notice how most of the NPCs in responsible leadership roles were women (Lowls obviously not counting as responsible), in particular in the early half of the game. I thought that was a nice statement about Golarion's take on gender roles as opposed to our contemporary literature and movie world's fixation on male characters...
Well, what do you know, she did turn out to be a flesh-eating monstrosity. At least we got to spend a decent amount of private quality time in the baths before she started hurting me. That means she, too, must have enjoyed it. That still counts, right? Good thing I keep Freedom of Movement on myself these days, or she would most certainly have paralyzed and drained me there. When I tried to flee the baths, her brother (?) blocked my path and attempted to force me back inside. I was already half-dead from her bout of biting and claw-stabbing, so my only chance was to reach polite company before they got another chance. Good thing I had included myself in my Mass Fly spell back when I cast it on Mrriaál, and could invoke Grace to escape from the predators' reach unscathed. That allowed me to fling myself across the hall and straight through a window, stark naked as I was. I must have scandalized more than a few guests with that, but clearly I had less face to lose than my pursuers, who didn't care to be seen chasing a bleeding naked lad through their own party. We later found the coffins of those two in the mansion's basement, right next to Lord Avarik's own. I suppose they were the Lord's offspring. I feel a bit bad about leaving them behind to continue their predations on other guests, but we have a world to save, and there's only so much we can do.
another woman took Tam off for sexytimes I found the daughter for us and tried convincing her, presumably while everyone else was chilling and/or doing drugs. I DESERVE THIS. But do come save me if she turns out to be a flesh-eating monstrosity, I guess. I didn‘t sense any duplicity from her, but don‘t trust my judgment just now. Also call me if you need help with a fight I guess, but STRICTLY ONLY IN DIRE EMERGENCIES.
In a way, it's good to have closure on the Winter story. I barely know her, after all, and she just proved I knew her even less than I thought. I suppose I was in a vulnerable place when I woke up in Briarstone and desperately clung to the rock that Winter's cool-headed competence offered. It's time to admit that my crush was for the idealized mental image I had been cultivating of her, rather than for the real Winter. Mrriaál had been right all along — what I had been interpreting as no-nonsense pragmatism is probably just rudeness. After all, when we parted ways in Thrushmoor, she explicitly encouraged me to contact her, be it in writing or by magic. I don't blame her for changing her mind — I might have overdone the contacting a tad there — but she could have let me down gently. Giving me the cold shoulder for a week and then suddenly snapping at me is just mean. Mrriaál also says I deserve better. She likes to call herself a monster, but she's clearly the party's kindest soul. I'm certainly glad this happened after we reclaimed our memories. I suppose I would have taken it harder before that. Knowing that I once won Nekepti's heart certainly helps me keep up the hope, although I probably got inordinately lucky there (would she ever have noticed me if we hadn't been stuck in an expedition of two dozen people for weeks?) and did end up ruining it for us. Huh, I guess I'm back at ending my notes on a downer.
From: ash-sharratum@arch.sothis-uni.edu
I think I can answer the Kitsune question myself. The Disguise skill says: If you don’t draw any attention to yourself, others do not get to make Perception checks. If you come to the attention of people who are suspicious (such as a guard who is watching commoners walking through a city gate), it can be assumed that such observers are taking 10 on their Perception checks. I guess I can work with that.
A boy is sixteen years old. The desert breeze is surprisingly chilly this early in the morning, but it already carries a myriad of exotic smells and the sounds of the awakening city from the walls behind him. The Sun has just risen above the horizon and is basking the dunes in red brilliance. The boy has never seen anything so beautiful. His previous life in Ustalav seems pale in comparison, like a palimpsest on cheap paper. «Heartening, isn't it?» The expedition's priest, Akhton, is expertly guiding his camel past, while the boy's own beast appears to care little for his intentions. «At night, we mourn the Sun's absence, and at noon, we cower from its terrible might. But in the morning it grants us vigor, and in the evening it soothes us. Horus is both of these things, the rising Sun and the setting Sun, the horizon behind us and the one before us.» The boy reaches for the clasp on his cloak. It feels warm, as if it were drinking more than its fair share of the sunrise's light. «It's going to be a long ride. Would you mind telling me about Him along the way?» — A boy is seventeen years old. The mewling is not very loud, but it strikes a chord in the boy's heart. «We have to help him.» The expedition lead tracker, Yepsut, shakes her head while nocking an arrow. «Vicious beasts they are, second only to dragons. They know no masters. More trouble than they're worth. Best to get it over with.» «No.» The boy steps forth. «He's just a baby. Let me try something.» Yepsut fumes at the boy, but he is oblivious to her. He raises his hands, palms out, and approaches the trapped tyrant lizard, half speaking and half whispering the ancient words, like Akhton had taught him. The mewling stops abruptly. The creature's amber eyes fix him as he steps closer, slowly reaching for its bulky snout until he can feel its hot breath on the back of his hand. It flinches only a little as he rests his palm on its scaly skin. Then a tentative purr rises from its throat. Yepsut lowers the bow and says, «It's a mistake.» Akhton says, «One does not refuse a divine gift.» Professor Gorolyushina says to the boy, «Either way, it's your responsibility now, Tamuil.» The boy says, «I'm going to call him Mister Fluffy.» Yepsut growls. «You will not. First of all, it's a female. And second, it's bad luck to mock a proud beast like that. You will give her a proper name, or by the gods, she will have your head.» «Abkhadnezar», says Professor Gorolyushina. «It was the name of Epshet-Hasuf's cat.» «Abkhadnezar it is, then», says the boy. — A boy is eighteen years old. After two years of gathering clues and following leads in the desert, Professor Gorolyushina is certain to have pinpointed the location of Epshet-Hasuf's final resting place. She has invited a famed local scholar, Dr. Nekepti aš-Šarratum, to join in the discovery. In the bustle of the two expeditions merging, a girl drops a scroll from a bundle she is carrying. The boy hands it back to her and is rewarded with a radiant smile that puts the desert sun to shame. «Are you with Dr. aš-Šarratum's group?» He asks her. «I am», she replies with another smile. «What's she like?"», the boy asks. The girl drops into a conspirational whisper. «Oh, she's a dragon, that one. Short temper, long memory. You mustn't offend her, or she won't let you forget it. I addressed her improperly on our first meeting, and she stuck me on latrine duty for a week. Even now—» Then her eyes grow wide. «There she comes! Don't ruin it!» She ducks away, leaving the boy alone as a tall older woman in well-used riding armor strides straight toward him. He swallows hard, then bows deeply and addresses the approaching woman in his best Ancient Osirian: «Dr. aš-Šarratum, it is an honor to meet you.» «What?!», snaps the woman. The boy freezes and stammers until, finally, he hears the girl erupt in gales of laughter behind the nearest tent. The woman scowls at her and grunts, «You don't pay me nearly enough to take part in your childish games, doctor.» The boy stares at the girl. She can't be more than a few years older than him. «Doctor?» She grins. «Call me Nekepti.» He does. By the third week, they share a tent. — A man is nineteen years old. The glyphs above the stone door are time-worn, yet he can read them effortlessly now. Here lies Epshet-Hasuf, Scribe to the Pharao; he lived in Light; he died in Darkness. The expedition cheers. The crypt is too ancient to smell of decay. Some walls are covered in writing, others hold a honeycomb of scrolls preserved through the ages by magic. The scholars gape in silent amazement. Then, a strangled scream. A shape of pure darkness claws its way forth from the sarcophagus, passing right through the solid stone lid. Its face is too terrible to behold, and as the expedition freezes still with terror, it takes hold of Nekepti's arm. In its other hand, an orb of unholy power blossoms, darker than even the creature and shot through with flickering red flame, a mind-rending flaw in reality. As the creature reaches to touch Nekepti's heart with it, Tamuil lifts his own hand and grasps the orb. The world turns dark. — A being is ageless. It is blind, deaf, disembodied. The void envelops it completely. It is so empty that its emptiness takes form, vast entities of cold absence that move in the dark without regard or purpose. The being has no agency, no voice, no meaning. It exists only to experience terror. — When Tamuil finally wakes, even the light of a candle is too much to bear. It takes hours until he tolerates the presence of others in the tent. They tell him that the curse is broken, the evil spirit exorcized and vanquished, that the light prevailed. But he knows better now. «The light is finite, but the darkness is infinite. We are all powerless and meaningless before the darkness. The darkness will swallow us all.» «No», says Akhton. He lifts the clasp from Tamuil's collarbone. It has crumpled like discarded papyrus, its proud brass wings folded in on themselves. It now looks almost like a featureless mask, perhaps a funeral shroud. «The clasp sacrificed itself to save you», Akhton says. «Horus protected you. Horus brought you back.» A dry laugh erupts from Tamuil. «As the cook lifts the fried fish from the boiling oil. Should the fish be thankful?» «Your soul will heal», says Nekepti. «It may take time, but you will recover.» «He cannot be healed who is not sick», says Tamuil. «There is no recovery from the truth. Nothing you say or do will change what I have seen.» He rolls to the side. «Leave me now.» — Later that night, Yepsut appears in his tent. «I, too, have seen a glimpse of the truth», she says. «There are more like us.» She opens her hand to reveal a small talisman in the shape of a featureless mask. «We cannot offer hope, for there is none. But there is work to do, and solace to be found in sharing the burden of knowledge.» Tamuil rises from his bed. «When do we leave?»
|
