I guess I'm in the market for a shield now! Ku'Hania is welcome to keep that +1 darkwood buckler, obviously, but have we found any other shields?
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After smiling at Ankha's praise, Dolgrin nods sagely at her follow-on comments. With a bit more sobriety, he thinks carefully about the weapon he had just taken without much additional consideration. It had been hidden, hadn't it? And there was evidence that people here in the previous colony had turned on each other. Killed each other.
Since so much information about the ancient Azlanti had been lost over time, Dolgrin did not know what sorts of protections they might have woven into their items. And beyond that, not all curses were necessarily placed intentionally. Some things became cursed through entirely natural means. And when an entire civilization was destroyed...well, ample curses might arise as a result. "I hope not, of course," the dwarf adds. "About the curses. I also certainly hope to find other artifacts. Preferably uncursed." Dolgrin joins the young, excited alchemist in her search. Before too long, they'd probably have to confront the ankheg...
Dolgrin lets out a whistle of awe and wonder as he holds the blade. "Ms. Brushbender," he says, "I believe I have found our first item decisively of Azlanti origin." The dwarf gently leans his spear against the wall of the house and gives a test of the longsword, remembering footwork lessons from his youth long ago. He takes the blade in both hands, testing the weight and balance (and finding it distinctly to his liking), and then tries a few quick test slashes at the air. "And it is quite the blade."
As he moves around, Dolgrin gets a hunch and pulls up the creaky board. With a resonant whistle, Dolgrin retrieves the beautiful sword and begins to detect for magic from it.
Dolgrin grimaces, cleaning his blade of the choker's blood. "Aye," he says in response to Ankha. "I don't know what it would call itself in its own tongue, if it had one, but speleologists have given them the crude but effective designation of Chokers. If we had not been so quick to take it down, it likely would have tried to strangle one of us. They're stalkers, unlikely to attack a large group. The very definition of an opportunist: it would prefer to lie in wait for its prey. Trap preparation would likely be beyond its capabilities, if I were to guess from its typical behavior."
Dolgrin isn't sure whether to be more disturbed by the creature or Ankha's preposterous claim. As she lurches forward, Dolgrin sucks in a sharp breath. She hadn't even hesitated. Did she know what it was? Or did she just not care?
But violence was breaking out, and Dolgrin wasn't going to just let Anka go at this alone. He sighs, steps forward, and stabs at the creature.
Something smarter than the goblins was here. But just as angry, if not more. Dolgrin nods as Ku'Hania and Ankha breach the entrance, carefully stepping over the crooked board and looking around for whoever or whatever might have left this disarray.
He could be a reasonably sneaky dwarf when it came down to it.
"Then we'll go into the cottage as well. Weapons ready." Dolgrin shoulders his spear and gets ready for conflict.
Dolgrin's brow furrows yet deeper as more knowledge (and unfortunately more mysteries) emerge. "A full picture is difficult to paint here," he says. "But Rayland was treacherous. He eventually killed Barnabus, and possibly others." Dolgrin points from the plum tree to another house next to what looks--from this distance--like a well. "We may not find answers there, but it's another place to look. Come."
"Would you rather have a nymph or an adult?" Dolgrin asks. He listens to the idea of eating the placenta, wondering whether his usually iron stomach would be able to handle thinking much more about such an unsavory practice. He didn't know any dwarves who had even thought about that.
"After...birth?" Dolgrin says to Braxton after he takes a sip of the potion, making a face. Did he mean aftertaste? Dolgrin hopes so, or else he needs to begin making adjustments to his understanding of certain human customs. "Me?" he says of the shirt, before fixing Ankha with a stare as she fumbles her way through her explanation of why he might want it. After just enough time has passed that Ankha might wonder if she has offended him, Dolgrin begins laughing. It's hearty and boisterous. "Slow but steady," he says. "Yes, I can take the shirt. You never know when such things will become useful." The dwarf takes a moment to change into the shirt, knowing that he won't be able to make much use of its magic until the next day. But then--watch out for a fast dwarf, Golarion! Dolgrin wrinkles his nose at Braxton's suggestion that they blight the farmland just because of a few pests. "There's no need to cast everything aside," he chides. But the plum tree! He nods at Ku'Hania. "Yes, let's follow up on your theory!"
Taking in the tracks, Dolgrin whistles. "Well, they're distinctive and no one was trying to cover their tracks. They likely didn't anticipate anyone else coming along." He concurs with Ku'Hania and Ankha's judgment to leave the tracks until they've looked around the rest of the abandoned colony. Ankha's theories are interesting, and Dolgrin peppers her with clarifying questions and comments from his own broad reading while they examine the footprints...
Footprints, however, are not in Dolgrin's expansive wheelhouse, even with how unique they are. He was not much for tracking. Leave that to the woodsmen and such. But potions? He knew exactly who could identify those. He hands them to Ankha while examining the shirt, humming his magic detection spell to his eyes.
Hey, anything is possible in Golarion.
Dolgrin tries to ignore Ankha's increasingly unsettling moments of discussing bodies as samples so cavalierly. Most physickers had to dissect corpses as part of their training to become well-versed in anatomy. Then again, most of them that he had met did not discuss such training so openly. OoC Sidebar:
"Now there's a question for the ages, Ms. Brushbender. Evolution. Metabolism. Diet. Lifestyle. There are many theories. But I'll admit it's never been a topic of great interest to me. Dwarves and elves don't usually go for things like the Sun Orchid Elixir nearly as often as humans do. And truth be told, Ms. Brushbender, just because we can live for centuries doesn't mean that we do. We dwarves are a hardy, stubborn folk, and that leads us often to dangerous work. If there's little risk of death in a venture, many a dwarf will scoff at the notion."
Dolgrin smiles gently. "I'm nearly a hundred years older than you are," he declades. "If I hadn't come to know so much, I'd be disappointed in myself."
The reduction in chattiness had continued during the investigation of the final ransacked house, with the exception of briefly correcting Ku'Hania about the possibly ownership of the house. He fishes out his crowbar as it looks like Ankha might need it before she ends up popping the chest open. All the while, he is looking around the house as the others discuss their theories, remembering the trials and travails of domesticity with a mixture of fond an bittersweet reminiscence. The other three were young. Almost certainly too young to have been married. No doubt that they had experienced loss, but... "We should check the charter for any other names that are Livvy or could be abbreviated as such," he recommends after Anka brings up her theory. "It could be Eliza Haniver, but I'd suspect Lizzy sooner than Livvy there." Just based on the unusual human customs, such as they were. It's also possible that Silas had come here without Livvy. Livvy might have died, and that could have driven Silas to seek out a new life far away from his memories of her. Dolgrin would understand that.
He also offers a gentle correction...no, it's just information. No reason for her to know these things as an alchemist. "These are spell components, Ms. Brushbender, typically used in divine practices. Powdered silver is typically used in the creation of holy water, but can also be used in more powerful rituals against fiends and undead, which can be performed by both arcane and divine practitioners." He shifts his attention next to the incense as his mind shifts blessedly away from morose reminiscence to helpful academic knowledge. "Incense is also frequently used in divinations such as augury. But there are many other magical uses." Then the diamond dust. He chuckles. "Take it from a dwarf, as well: beautiful as diamonds are, most people prefer cut gems to raw. There is extensive cast-off from even the best lapidarist, and such dust is used in all manner of healing and other useful spells. Why, for my gold, I would rather have diamond dust than diamonds. You might even find some use for some abjurative spells that I hear alchemists have learned to mimic with their chemicals. It's even possible to make certain spells permanent with large enough quantities of the stuff." His chattiness having returned, Dolgrin smiles. "All that to say that this house could have very well been Silas's. Una Hendrake is another possibility, since most of these components could be used in arcane spells as well. Either way, whoever ransacked the house may have been looking for these items. Whether to destroy them or to use them, I do not know."
Just waiting for Ankha to slip from CG to CN to CE, haha...
Resting on his shovel after filling the hole back up, Dolgrin wipes the accumulated sweat from his brow. "One more building here in this area: the big home between the chapel and the murderous captain's place. Let's look there before we explore the outlying fields." He seems markedly less chatty than when the group first arrived.
With a steady motion, Dolgrin reaches to the massive pack that has been so far hitched to his back and retrieves a shovel. "I'll get digging," he says, trading out his two-handed implements and walking out the door. He doesn't much expect the others to help with the digging, especially as he only has the one shovel. But he'll take as long as it needs to dig a hole six feet down in soil that will hold well enough. When he's done, he invites the others to gather around the grave as they lower Silas Weatherbee's remains into the ground.
Dolgrin had been to enough funerals that, even as a layperson, he knew the sorts of things to say. Even if Weatherbee had been an Erastilian and Dolgrin was most familiar with the dwarven pantheon, he knew enough.
It's not the most inspiring speech, but it does the job enough. "We are none of us guaranteed long lives, nor good ones. The world we live in is often harsh and unforgiving. The gods do not promise us ease, for they know better than to do so in these Lost Days. But they offer their wisdom that we may listen and hear. Erastil teaches his followers to care for their home and their family. To fulfill their duties. To protect their community. Community is sacred, for it is through the bonds we forge together that we stand against the trials of our world." "This was Silas Weatherbee's community. We do not know exactly what happened here, but we know tragedy took Father Weatherbee from his community. In his death, we who come after seek to right the wrongs done. Let not the foundation he laid here be in vain, but rather let us build on his cornerstone, honoring the memory of all those gone too soon."
Dolgrin nods. "Symptom or cause, it's not right. But the Company was rigorous with our screening. I can only imagine they were doubly so with the chosen leadership. So while Arkley could've hidden depravity until he got here, it could be mental tampering." At least he hopes. "Some native denizen, flesh or spirit, who didn't like the colonial efforts here." The names not yet crossed off of the charter had been Eliza Haniver, Rayland Arkley, Silas Weatherbee, Barnabus Braeton, and Edwin Fox. There still wasn't an obvious reason for the crossing in spite of their speculation. And the only body they had found so far had been Silas', poor man. Then there had been the clockwork spy that they had trapped to prevent from going back to its builder. Missing or doctored records. Something potentially buried under a plum tree. An ankheg nest. Goblins. The ankhegs and goblins were probably opportunists, not causes of the disappearance. Of course, as with their earlier postulations, it was all still just educated guesswork. It was difficult to tell, especially if Mr. Weatherbee himself didn't know, exactly what happened or why. "Not to cast aspersions, but I don't usually think goblins are too keen on enchantment magics."
Murdered by a friend. Well, what was already a dark tale--an entire colony disappeared with scant trace--had taken a grimmer turn. "Aye, that we will," he says with an oath. "By Torag's beard and Erastil's bow." Truthfully, Dranngvit was the bitter goddess to which he'd swear this oath, but non-dwarves usually just assumed that dwarves only had one god. "Dranngvit's bile" tended to cause no small consternation, even among dwarves familiar with the Debt Minder.
Most adventures are probably designed around the classic Fighter, Cleric, Wizard, Rogue party. The further afield you go from that, the more interesting will be the challenges you face. I imagine we'll grow into those challenges (or die trying). So far it seems like Paizo (and/or our illustrious GM) has given us a few options to handle the usual deadly encounters without prematurely ending the story. The swarm suit helped us find things without getting completely chewed up by the swarm, and they've been dropping a small handful of splash weapons our way. The poltergeist is willing to talk. We're not completely out of options and have been ready and willing to run if we find ourselves in over our heads. It's feeling pretty well-considered so far!
This Ms. Brushbender was sharper than Dolgrin had initially given her credit for. She might be a bit mad scientist for his tastes, but this trick. Well, unless it backfired and made he ghost angrier.
Breath catching in his throat as he begins to piece together a bit of the knocking pattern, Dolgrin looks nervous. "An who are you?"
Dolgrin likewise lowers his spear to be less threatening. Taking a cue from Ku'Hania's translation (quite the impressive elf, she was), he tries to puzzle out the message. "Who is he?" It's more a question to Ku'Hania than the spirit, as he recognizes that the chance to parley may be broken if they ask too many questions.
Dolgrin can tell that the spirit is trying to communicate, but he can't make out the code, if there is one. Maybe one of the others would be able to figure it out.
Dolgrin was a dwarf stout of heart who had seen dreadful things in his years. His stomach might not have been able to handle the rot, but he expects the spectral horror that appears and steels himself against it. As Ankha runs, Braxton throws, and Ku'Hania casts, Dolgrin hefts his spear, runs down the stairs, and attacks!
He knows he had hit it before. But this time, he wasn't so sure. Despite the incorporeality, there was a slight drag on the haft of his spear-blade indicating that he had encountered the insubstantial ectoplasmic residue that typified these sorts of creatures. "We dwarves learn to fight things we can't see!" he cries. "I don't know if we can negotiate with it, but if keep at it I can bring it down!" "Spirit, speak to us! What tethers you here so?"
Thankfully, this PC actually has something he can do against it!
Dolgrin heaves at the smell assaults his nose. "Might be a poltergeist," he ekes out, trying to block his nose from his throat so that he doesn't taste the horror as well. "Telekinetic buggers, I think. Watch ou--urrrgh."
Dolgrin chuckles at Ankha's excitement at terrible smells, wishing that she had some camphor or some other chemical to dull their noses to whatever they were about to find.
The chuckle turns to retching as horror takes over the dwarf's senses.
Dolgrin tries to puzzle out what's going on, connecting the dead body to the flying objects, looking around for a culprit and getting ready to swing his spear at anything that shows up.
Characters with this trait deal 50% weapon damage to incorporeal creatures when using nonmagical weapons (including natural and unarmed attacks), as if using magic weapons.
"Pardon, ahem: Talmandor," Dolgrin says, correcting his pronunciation. Well that was embarassing. Pray that the others did not judge a slip of the tongue too harshly. As Ku'Hania points out the trail of blood, Dolgrin nods grimly. "Good eyes," he praises. "I know there are spells to investigate this sort of thing, but I'm afraid they're beyond my ken. A little old-fashioned investigation seems prudent, then. Let's step carefully." The dwarf moves up slowly, sure to avoid scuttling over any pieces of potential evidence.
Glad that they had been able to convince Ku'Hania to take some measure of protection, Dolgrin seems satisfied. Furthermore, the new darkwood acquisition doesn't seem to hurt the half-elf's tracking skills, which put Dolgrin's sense of navigation to utter shame. He stands back and marvels as she gets to work looking through the detritus of the chapel. "It would, if I recall, be more respectful for the item to be used than to collect dust. Erastil's is not a martial faith, but for them hunting would be an act of worship." The dwarf adjusts the goggles on his head, which have begun to collect a bit more sweat than he's comfortable with. "I'm afraid the longbow would be a bit too much for me, though." Then Dolgrin points out the broken statue of Talmondor. "While the wing is not meant to be broken, I do believe that is supposed to be a representation of our--and by our, I mean Anodran's--celestial patron: Talmondor. You all know of the avoral who patronizes the Steel Falcons, yes? What am I saying, of course you do."
Erastil was a cinch to notice, even as a non-adherent. Torag had good sufficiently feelings towards Old Deadeye to be held in decent respect even among dwarves.
And well, you didn't spend most of your life outside the Mountain in Andoran and not recognize...
"Perhaps the shield, though," Dolgrin muses. "It is made of wood, no? Darkwood, even. I wonder if it's from Darkmoon Vale or one of the other forests."
The work of the forge is immediately impressive to Dolgrin, who admires the craftsmanship with a dwarf's eye. He wasn't a particularly capable hand at the forge. That had been Riordi... The dwarf gets a bit quiet as they move from the forge to the chapel, his mind wandering to reminiscence. But even if he's a bit distracted, it's impossible to miss the signs of a struggle. It was the first obvious dynamic, temporal sign (i.e., other than records and buildings) that there had been people there. He moves carefully forward, wary of facing another ambush like the goblins, but wanting to discover clues in the ash.
Dolgrin nods at Ku'Hania's assessment. "Aye, we would likely have seen more signs of struggle if there had been a battle between the goblins and the colonists." He was pleasantly surprised by Ankha's ferocity. That was a nasty weapon, it was. Dolgrin had spent too long of late in labs, allowing some of his combat prowess to diminish. He hadn't much hoped to need it here, but he'd focus on the fundamentals and get back up to snuff soon. "There is an easy way to find out, of course, and that's looking for their tracks and following them back. But we still have some ground to cover here." Buildings Explored:
A9: Arkley House
A10: Government House A11: Lodging A3: The Provisions House A4: The Tool House A5: The Forge "Perhaps we'll find more in the shrine."
I agree with the way that Ankha described it. It doesn't do away with Initiative entirely: it just consolidates it. The worst situation for PbP is when every PC is separated by an enemy. Even if the player who is up and the GM each post within 24 hours of each other, it might be a full week between when players can act in combat. And if it's longer than 24 hours (as it often is), then it gets hard to keep track of who's up, what's happened, etc. So yeah, there can still be a benefit of having a high initiative if you beat the enemy. And there may be situations where breaking up party actions with an enemy makes sense/makes things more interesting. But I prefer whatever keeps things moving. Edit: Ninja'd. Y'all already clarified what I spent too long typing.
Dolgrin looks up at the offending goblins up above him, stowing his spear and beginning to climb up the side of the building while he reaches within himself and begins to cause the ground and structures near him to tremble with incredibly low vibrations.
As part of another bardic performance, a stonesinger can cause the ground within 30 feet to tremble, throwing enemies off balance and causing them to take a –1 circumstance penalty to AC as long as the stonesinger continues performing. This penalty increases by 1 at 5th level and every 6 levels thereafter. Creatures levitating or flying above the ground are unaffected by this ability. This replaces countersong.
"Fraid not, lass," Dolgrin says, maintaining his breath as best as possible as he hustles along. "Never saw the need."
Dolgrin uses the momentum from his spear to spur him along and run outside after the goblin. Tricky thing that it could get away. The old, salty dwarf wasn't as hateful of goblinoids as some of his kin, but there was a latent tendency there from having grown up hearing stories that spurs him along. He doubted he'd be able to keep up, but he was at least willing to try.
Dolgrin moves into the room and looks askance at the goblins. At least he thinks they're goblins. But what kind? Did that awful smell have something to do with it? In either case, he hefts his much larger spear and stabs it into the one nearest him.
Pinging Braxton. You out there?
"Smiths are hearty folk," Dolgrin responds with a wistful smile.
"Hmmm," Dolgrin says, observing the recentness of the forge's activity. "Well now this is curious." He drags his finger through some of the black and gray residue, rubbing it between his fingers and smelling it. "Yes, no doubt, this has been used recently. A week ago, I think." Dolgrin had not done nearly as much metalworking as some in his clan. And Riordi had done the bulk of the forging in their experiments, gods rest his soul. But a dwarf was no true dwarf who could not recognize the signs of smithing, or so his papa had said many years ago. "So someone is still here, still alive, and still using at least this. Who and why--unknown. Not to complete those--" the dwarf points to the unfinished and broken tools, "--but for some other cause. Shall we look inside?" The dwarf shoulders his weapon and nods ahead, expecting to carry on with their usual marching order.
As far as I'm concerned (as a former healthcare worker), recovery always takes precedence.
Dolgrin gives a weary thumbs-up to Ku'Hania. Some dwarves would probably feel embarrassed to receive such aid from someone with elven heritage. But Dolgrin had courted an elf, Seldalphon, for a few years back in Almas. That sort of experience tended to banish any remaining cultural taboos held by the old-world fools in the Five Kings Mountains.
Dolgrin laughs lightly at Ankha's ministrations. Was this how he sounded to other people? He nods when asked if he's all right. No need to worry the girl.
Good to see you back!
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