Apparently, the site ate my post.
Everyone doing alright?
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Owl scoffs and says, "We was not prisoners in th' big sleeper. We just, uh, never had a reason ta leave is all." Albatross waves his fishing pole at the group, "Don't you go rousing the big sleeper! We ain't goin' back!" It's Ow's turn to smack Albatross, "Keep up that shouting and she'll hear us!" Owl picks up a scrap of paper and unfolds it. And unfolds it. And unfolds it. And unfolds it some more. "If yous gonna be dealing with that dumb ol' catdog, then yous gonna need this." Albatross stands up and points at Owl, "Hey! That's our big catch!" "I caught it, Albatross! It's mine to do with what I like!" Owl says. Albatross huffs and turns around to cast his line from the other side.
While investigating the bodies, Nodachi eventually comes to the body under the sheet. Just as she lifts the sheet, the hand grabs the Paladin's wrist and a woman that looks exactly like Latchke groans stirs with a groan. "Please...please help me." Nurse Latchke speaks up from the back of the he room, "Oh? Did we find some unfortunate soul?"
"What're you on about with that 'civil people' comment? Yous tryna say we ain't civilized?" Owl kicks a crude spear into the water. Albatross whacks Owl on the shin, "Didn't ya hear what the big one said? They wanna leave us ta fish. We just need ta offer some info!" Owl rubs his shin before speaking again, "Well, that's all theys had to say, no? So, there we were, deep in th' belly of that big ol' goldfish-" "She's not a goldfish." "Fine, in th' belly of th' big sleeper when our journey began!" Albatross shushes Owl but ends up talking just as loud as he gets more excited, "Not so loud, in case she’s listening—I don’t want to get eaten! We traveled up past the Gilded Gills and found our way here." Owl chimes in, "Yous forgot about that smarty-pants dog-cat. He splashed down into the fishin’ hole, scarin’ away the bestest fish.”
I know things have been slow as of late but I am doing my best to keep things going while still healing and working remotely with a 10 month old learning to walk. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little shocked, until the last week or so, I felt like we were still moving pretty steadily forward. But if that's your decision, I can't hold it against you. No hard feelings. We all have to do what he think is best. Maybe we can meet up in another game some time!
Ruvarra leads the group through small gatherings of citizens and other members of the clergy. Ruvarra pauses to chat with an elderly couple, reassuring them that while the weevils have been particularly bad this season, they are not specifically targeting the couple's garden. The priest rejoins the group, "I'm sorry where were we? Oh right. I've just been so busy as of late and haven't been able to spare any time looking for my daught- for Nolaria. Between the missing kids and the rumors about 'monstrous bugs', people have been coming for advice and prayers more than usual." Ruvarra tugs at his sleeves, takes a breath, and continues on through a nondescript door. "This way." Down a somewhat narrow hall the group passes both an infirmary and room full of cots. The siblings from the bakery sit on side-by-side cots. Both covered in sweat and flour. The girl, Sasha looks up at the group and blushes, shame in her eyes. Ruvarra slips inside and the young man, Ernie, hands the priest a small package wrapped in a cloth. Ruvarra whispers a short prayer over the siblings before returning to the group in the hall. Once out of earshot Ruvarra speaks over his shoulder, "We do our best to help those that cannot afford to house themselves and some prefer to keep this information to themselves. I would say that most of what the Temple brings in goes to that actually.” At the end of the hall, Ruvarra opens another simple door. This one to a rather lackluster office. A plain chair and desk sit in front of a wooden bookshelf that displays more dust than books. ”I think we can afford a few minutes in my office. Please, would you care for something? Water? Bread? Despite what that grouch Gunty says, Ernie makes a really good loaf of sourdough.” The priest gestures to the chair, ”Please, one of you feel free. You were asking about Nolaria. She has never been one to follow others' lead. If that group has a leader, it is her."
Hey team, I've waited a good bit. I'm going to go ahead and update the scene tomorrow morning at roughly 8 am EST.
Nodachi climbs up a short folding ladder and peers inside the washbasin. Inside, a crippled ghoul lays on its side listlessly scraping a clawed hand along the inside of the basin. Its eyes flick up as the Paladin leans over and though a deep hunger flashes in the ghoul's eyes, it makes no effort to reach her. As the group looks around the room, it becomes clear that of the seven bodies scattered on the tables or in corners, five are human and two belong to deceased doppelgangers. A wrinkled arm slips out from under a sheet on the southernmost most table. Zylah noticing the languid movement followed by jerking of the fingers almost beckoning her closer.
The albatross headed Fey leans back as if fighting a large fish on his line. "Owl. Owl! I gotta big one! Get th' net ready!" The owl headed Fey, apparently named Owl, looks around in distress. He finds no net and resolves to hold out his hands, "Pull 'im up, Albatross, 'n' I'll snatch 'im right off yer line!" Albatross struggles another moment. And then Xavier splashes out of the water and onto a table. Albatross falls backwards, his line whipping up without a catch. "Owl said you was too close! Look at what you did! That was a big one fer sure." Albatross deflates and rests his head on his knees. Owl shakes a fist at the group, "Yous thinks that 'cause you own this cellar that yous has a right to mess with our fishin'. We may not have caused this lake to form but we is sure gonna take advantage of it." The fey points at Hoo, "Whaddya mean 'share a goal'?" Albatross smacks Owl with his fishing rod, "It means it wants t' make some sort o' deal, I bet." Owl looks at his friend, "Ooooh. Ok."
Sense Motive DC 18: Not only was there clearly nothing on Albatross' line, neither of the Fey seem too keen on doing anything other than relaxing. Despite their outward grouchiness.
The owl headed creature shakes a fist at the group of Pathfinders, "Hey! Yous guys are gettin' a tad too close to the best fishin' spot! This is our spot!" Hoo: You recognize the creatures as Gathlains. Though they do appear a little different than what is considered the norm. Since, ya know, one has an owl head and the other has the head of an albatross. Small Fey with quick yet poor flight , Gathlains are known to use a small assortment of spells such as Color Spray and Entangle to disrupt their enemies in combat. Not particularly hardy creatures, Gathlains prefer to cast spells from a distance while flying around their opponent. According to some fey ballads, gathlains were one of the first peoples awakened in the primal world of fey. They were created from the seeds of an enormous magical tree, with the tree's mistletoe grown into their flesh forming their strange wings. Mischievous and capricious, these creatures have discordant temperaments. They act purely to entertain themselves and sate their immense curiosity about the world around them. That very curiosity has caused many to migrate to the Material Plane and adventure there. These gathlains seek out and attempt to mingle with gnomes. However, gnomes often find gathlains too undisciplined, random, and foolish for their tastes.
This spacious library is a damp catastrophe. A lake of dark water clogged with books, scroll cases, and a few overturned shelves obscures the floor. Steps descend into the brine from the western doors, while at the east end of the room a spiral staircase rises from the water to a mezzanine above. The same metal staircase must descend into a basement below as well, for the water there burbles downward in a dark, lazy whirlpool. Two, small creatures have converted a bookcase into a fishing pier and are currently casting lines from their crude poles into the water near the spiral staircase.
Hey Zahd, it's all good. Feel free to ask as many questions as you like!
Shaine leaves through the western doors and Virml head upstairs but Zarta lingers behind. Zarta pulls Stefan, Hoo, and Zahd aside, away from the others. Stefan, Hoo, and Zahd:
“The Dark Archive thrives by the good graces of the Decemvirate and Ambrus Valsin, yet I can tell that some still doubt our ability to handle truly dangerous relics and the rare disaster like this. As a result, there remain many storerooms barred to our comprehensive study, including the Overflow Archives—until today, that is. It is critical that you minimize the damage to these archives and do so in as professional a manner as possible. If I can demonstrate that my agents are capable and trustworthy, we may win permission to study the truly mysterious treasures beneath the Grand Lodge.” She shrugs and smiles before continuing. “That said, I know that there is more than junk beyond those doors. I’ve heard that someone squirreled away a copy of The Darklands Precepts somewhere in there, and it’s far too dangerous a tome to leave
Zarta leads the trio back to the rest of the Pathfinders then follows Shaine. Just before the group opens the eastern doors, Virml bounds back downstairs. "Wait! I felt like you all should have this." Virml produces a waterlogged scrap of parchment that was once part of a scroll. "This is part of the scroll that I read right before everything got all…" he shakes a few drops of water from the parchment. "It's wet and in Sylvan but still legible. It says 'May the winner wear gold while the loser eats crow
Cross! Cross was the owl at the albatross
See? Basically gibberish." Virml hands the scrap to whomever will take it and peeks over his shoulder at the western doors. He sighs in relief and heads back up to the scriptorium.
Though the doppleganger does not appear to move or notice the group the sound of nails dragging across metal starts to come from behind the hanging sheet. Not wanting to lose track of the shapeshifter, Nodachi slices through the souled sheet to reveal...another table with a corpse and a lantern sitting on the floor against the wall. The scratching pauses then continues, it becoming clear that it is coming from inside the southernmost washbasin.
Sorry about the delay, folks. We had a big storm roll through yesterday and it knocked our power out. Whenever everyone gets a moment, go ahead and decide your marching order.
Virml sheepishly relates, “I…I was simply in the Archives, among the rows of shelves. I merely picked up a wee scroll, read part of it aloud for fun— some kind of riddle about birds and fish? And then it flew to bits in my hand, and I caught the quickest glimpse of a handsome man…and then ker-sploosh! I washed out here!” Shaine interrupts, ”I agree with you all: time really is of the essence here. Any more questions? As far as access after this...we shall discuss the possibility when this is all taken care of.”
All right folks! Here we go! Zahd, I took the liberty of picking an art for your token. Let me know if you want to change it. Also, don't forget to post your information above.
Kreighton holds up a hand ”One at a time. One at a time.” Shaine reports, ”Our delinquent initiate here is vague on the details. But clearly, some unclassified item in there must have borne a well-concealed curse. It does not appear to be some sort of portal to the Elemental Plane of Water...though I admit that could be a possibility. As far as fear of swimming, I don’t think that will be much of an issue. ” Zarta Dralneen turns to the Mwangi Ranger, “Oh, these are no Dark Archives, they are merely an annex of Master Shaine’s vast libraries. Specifically, this is where he stows the oddities he doesn’t know what else to do with.” Kreighton Shaine frowns at the blunt admission and begins to relate that the building was once a temple dedicated to Desna before it collapsed and the Pathfinders built the Grand Lodge, but Dralneen chides him after a sentence or two, claiming this is no time for a long winded history lesson. Kreighton Shaine speaks up again, ”We won’t know the extent of the damage until you all get down there. And stopping it is up to you as well.” He reviews the titles of the salvaged books “Speaking of which. Let’s see…various accounts of the First World and the fey that inhabit it. Nothing here is priceless, but it is worth recopying, thanks to the severe water damage.” Virml feebly volunteers that he rescued a few texts before Shaine interrupts. “Don’t waste your time with the individual pieces. You must arrest the flood at its source—or reverse it, if possible.”
Coming up. If everyone wants to go ahead and give me this info that'd be cool. Player Name:
Thanks for the heads-up. But like is said, this game is not the most important thing right now.
Delayed but not gone. Finally figured out a schedule. SO things should get back on track more on my end.
”Oh, my goodness! You truly have no idea?” Latchke eyes the dwarf as if looking for some sign that he might be joking. When she finds none, the nurse frowns. ”There was a terrible earthquake and then we were attacked. By what, I don’t know. Just...things. Once they got inside they started killing anyone and everyone. Staff, patients, visitors, adults, children, it didn’t matter. Just that they killed!” Latchke’s voice grows more agitated and louder as she speaks. The events having clearly taken a toll on the elderly woman. ”I...I watched as one of those things sliced into a woman, and pulled her entrails out with its hand. It stitched the woman’s wound shut and made her crawl around while it held her intestines like a leash.” Latchke pauses again to take a breath and looks to the Ironhand, ”Survivors of that.” Lathcke waves a hand to the southern door, "That's the laundry-" She cuts her self short as Junior opens the door. Sense Motive DC 16:
Latchke is clearly unwell. And her agitation seems to be hiding something else. Is that, glee?
Several wide tables and gigantic washbasins fill a laundry equipped to service hundreds. The place looks as though it were repurposed as a failed surgery, though, with at least one table heaped with remains while corpses lie discarded in corners. A stained sheet hangs between two of the basins, dividing the room roughly in half. A lantern shines on the far side revealing the silhouette of a doppleganger’s true form against the sheet.
Latchke clutches at non-existent pearls, ”I did not steal anything! What’s in this bag is just what I’ve managed to find.” She waves to the sack and smiles, ”By all means, if anything in there is yours - which it appears the instrument is - help yourself.” The nursed sighs and lets the sword clang to the ground, ”I don’t think I want this anymore either. I suppose it really is fortunate that we found each other” The elderly woman pats a wrinkle out of her skirt and makes to move to the southern door. ”Perhaps we should look for other survivors? Would anyone care to help an old nurse through the rubble? My knees are beginning to announce their displeasure.”
Nothing special. What you have is perfect. Something I meant to say above, if you have a specific image you would like to use for your token go ahead and share the link.
Would the following players go ahead and check in at the discussion thread found here? Xavier Elington Hoo Hullo Vozzik Astrana Lin Ki Chin Boomer Forgehammer Zahd Mullman
“I have no love of puns,” announces a peeved Kreighton Shaine, the Master of Scrolls in the Grand Lodge, “Yet it cannot go unremarked that the Overflow Archives have begun living up to their name.” The pale elf gestures across the library’s stone lobby toward a pair of shut double doors from beneath which water steadily seeps. He is only one of the midnight visitors bearing witness to this disaster. Next to Shaine, Paracountess Zarta Dralneen stands with folded arms, glaring at an initiate whose hair and clothes are utterly drenched. All three speak at once, but Shaine’s shrill voice rises above the din. “Magical shenanigans in the archives are prohibited, especially this soon before the Grand Convocation!” “Let us prioritize,” Dralneen suggests. “Are the artifacts within the vaults in danger?” “How should I know?” Shaine barks back. “This delinquent initiate—what was the name? Wormell?” “Virml, sir,” replies the sodden Pathfinder. “Virml says he sneaked into the archives on a dare,” summarizes Shaine, painfully emphasizing the initiate’s name with scolding disdain. “Presumably, he thought the holdings would be harmless. Instead, in his naivete, Virml triggered some dormant curse or other. So, yes, thanks to Virml here, the archives and the vaults below continue to flood, threatening all the books therein.” Miserably, Virml holds up an armload of soggy manuscripts. “I salvaged a few, sir.” Sighing, Shaine leads Virml towards the stairs. “Take them up to the scriptorium. Start making dry copies.” Then, turning to survey the rest of the room, he continues issuing orders. “The remainder of you should wade in there and plumb the origins of this deluge. Stop it, if you can. I must report this debacle to my colleagues and begin organizing the cleanup.” Abruptly, he seems to notice the paracountess for the first time. “What are you doing here, Dralneen?” Zarta smirks and shrugs. “Unlike you, Shaine, I love a good pun.”
Hey folks, I just wanted to get everyone checked in since we have a full table.
Take care. Be safe. Eyes up, Guardian. Liek most PbP GM’s I will roll your initiative, saves, and secret checks. This isn’t to take agency away from the players, it’s just to facilitate faster gameplay and to allow you to properly respond in your next post. That being said, if you feel like you need to roll a Sense Motive or something similar, go ahead and do so. I’ll include the response in a spoiler tag in the next update. During encounters that require initiative I will put OOC text at the top of each post that says the round # and any current enemy's initiative count. Example:
I ask that you all do the same, I found that it helps us keep track of the rounds and helps me to summarize the round in the next GM post. I keep a link to the map at the top of the page along with a loot sheet and any pertinent handouts/character art and a loot sheet. I can keep track of the sheet if the table wishes or if someone wants that responsibility that’s fine too. Go ahead and dot in the gameplay thread but remember that we’re waiting for the 30th.
Ruvarra places a hand to his forehead, ”Oh my goodness! How rude of me. I’m the head priest here in Erastil’s temple. Ildris Ruvarra but apparently you knew that already.” The priest nods as Ibulki explains the situation. ”Ah, so Nolaria and her friends have been using the graveyard for their little schemes, eh?” He says. ”As much as I would love to say that myself or one of the other priests here have noticed anything amiss, I’m afraid that we only visit once a month with the local guard to check for any...visitors. Unless, of course, there is an unfortunate passing of one of the townspeople. And we've been fortunate enough not to lose anyone in, at least, 3 months or so. ” Ruvarra gestures to Eisith, ”Perhaps we all can take a walk? I still have some rounds to make. Would you be interested in joining me? We can discuss Nolaria along the way?” Brumdell:
Ildris appears to be just as he presents himself, a servant of Erastil. Eisith: Other than people seeking prayers/comfort, there doesn’t appear to be much to see in the simple, main hall.
”My, you are a blunt one, aren’t you?” Latchke snaps at Junior. She steps by the skald into the room. Her feet finding just the right places between some of the looser debris to keep from falling. ”Well, if you have no memory of who you are, it would make sense that you wouldn’t be able to remember coming to Briarstone, no?” The nurse once again gives Zylah an affectionate smile. ”This place has been a home for the, hmm...unwell for a long time. Perhaps you all are simply lost patients? There may not be any shame in being unwell but I doubt few would ask for such an affliction.” Latchke turns to Preacher, ”A lack of illness in one’s family does not mean one will never be sick. Take this young man, for instance,” she takes a step and places a wrinkled hand on the man in yellow’s shoulder, ”Juglan came from a good family. But after he almost drowned he began suffering a condition that causes him to repeat the first word of whatever sentences he is trying to say.” Juglan flinches at Latchke’s touch and she smiles again, ”Such a sweet young man. Such a shame that the creatures here won’t ever let him or any of us leave.”
With everything that's going on I understand if not everyone is able to post regularly. There are more pressing priorities right now. I'll continue to check periodically and update as necessary but don't feel like a PbP game of Pathfinder needs to be your number one priority. Take care. Be safe. Eyes up, Guardian.
With everything that's going on I understand if not everyone is able to post regularly. There are more pressing priorities right now. I'll continue to check periodically and update as necessary but don't feel like a PbP game of Pathfinder needs to be your number one priority. Take care. Be safe. Eyes up, Guardian.
I will compose a PM later today. Gotcha.
Post is up. Junior, can you send me a sample of what Fred sounds like?
Latchke wipes her eyes on a dirty sleeve, ”I..I suppose I don’t seem like a typical nurse. Most don’t care about their patients. Most just want to do their job and go home. Unfortunately, no one is going home now.” The woman steps aside to let Nodachi grab her bag, ”Thank you. Such a sweet girl. Such beautiful, healthy looking skin too!” Latchke reaches to caress Nodachi’s face but stops herself short. ”No, deary, I don’t know who you are. Perhaps former patients here at Briarstone Asylum? I’ve seen poor souls here before that have no memory of their lives. Such a sad state to be in, no? As far as ‘why’, well, the world is a big place.” Latchke shrugs as if her response is answer enough. As Junior steps up to her, Latchke’s smile droops just a little, ”Thank you, deary, but don’t you think someone of your, um, pedigree would be better suited to helping move some of this rubble out of the way?” She turns to put her body between the half-orc and the scimitar and looks to the others, ”Forgive an old woman, but perhaps handing over the only thing I have to defend oneself when surrounded by strangers is a tad unwise. Oh! Look at me! Now I’m the paranoid one.” Junior: A muffled voice calls from the sack yet no one else seems to notice. It points out to you that the old woman is clearly racist against orcs and half-orcs.
GM Rolls:
With their bellies full, the band of investigators ( now joined by the dwarf Brumdell) head northwest in town in search of the temple and the graveyard. The group only makes it a short distance when a voice calls out from behind them. "Sir! Sir!" one of the baker's apprentices skids to a halt. Sweat pours off of the young man and he struggles to catch his breath. "I found - I found some b-berries!" He holds out a clenched fist and shoves a bundle of freshly picked, albeit moist, berries into Eisith's hand. "I have to get back to work! Good luck finding !" and with that, the boy takes off down the street. Once again the group passes the orchard and the Temple of Erastil quickly comes into view. The temple is one of the oldest and largest structures in town, making it the easiest destination to locate so far. Much of the stone structure has been covered in moss and vines. High, paneless windows on the east and west sides allow the sunlight into the building during the day. Townspeople wander in and out through the large, double doors and other than a polite smile or nod of the head, they pay little mind to the adventurers. Inside, a few priests in practical robes of fur are offering prayers to the townspeople. One of the priests, a middle-aged man with the hint of gray at his temples, excuses himself from a conversation to meet the group. The priest offers a warm smile and extends a hand in greeting, shaking the hand of any who returns the gesture, ”Good afternoon. I suppose you are the ones our good mayor has hired to locate the missing youths of our town? How can I be of service today?”
Yeah, yeah. I didn't forget about your berry run. What a subtle way of making sure I didn't forget lol. Be a real shame if the GM suddenly remembered the rules for being intoxicated....
GM Rolls:
The old woman smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling up, and waves to the Zylah. “Well, how did you end up in here with us, little one?” She reaches into a pocket and produces the sad remnants of a moldy cookie, “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you right now, deary.” The grandmotherly woman tugs at the sack behind her and sighs when it does not budge. With great reluctance, she lets it go but not before pulling free a shining scimitar. The weapon appears to heavy for the woman though and the blade clamors to the floor while she holds the grip in both hands. “Now now,” she puffs and lets go with one hand to wag a finger at Junior, “Manners are the mark of a good upbringing. We wouldn’t want people to think that we were raised among ferocious savages, would we?” She gives the half-orc the same smile. “My name is Nurse Latchke. And I've been collecting what I can in hopes that I can help those poor souls trapped in the chapel. They're awfully paranoid too and won't even let me see little Brenton." Latchke begins to sob. Sense Motive DC 14: When was the last time you heard of an elderly nurse being so kindly? Probably never considering your memory is shot. But still. This lady is definitely not a nurse. Though she does seem earnest about finding a way into the barricaded area.
Well, Duke, I was hoping we might get a chance to be PC's together but I kinda dumped all over that.
S'all good!
"Hm?" Alcie looks up from filling a few tankards for a group of men at the bar, "Near the orchard? No, well, about as close as everything else in this town. Orachrd's in the middle. The graveyard is in northwest end of town. I've heard 'em mention the orchard before but I didn't think the hung out there." She passes the drinks to the thirsty patrons and starts wiping at the bar top. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check there too."
My first assumption is always that players didn't see the update. Or, like me sometimes, you saw it, clicked it, didn't have the time to post like you thought you did, closed it, checked back later and thought "Man, still nothing new, eh?"
We will make note of it going forward. But in this case, we'll let it ride.
The man pauses and considers the group for a moment before shaking his head. He kneels and rummages through the rubble, producing a broken table leg. He twirls the leg in a sad display of skill and puffs out his chest. ”Zandalus sees,” he proclaims and waves farewell to the strange half-orc. The man rests the makeshift weapon on one shoulder and politely steps around Nodachi. The door behind the halfling opens and an elderly woman stands there looking quite stunned to see a group of people in this room. She is dragging a sack behind her. “Well, hullo dearies.” she stammers out. ”Are you the ones that have been getting rid of these awful beasties?” Sense Motive DC 18:
Something is definitely not right about this old woman. Alone. Dragging a sack of goods. In a creepy asylum. With monsters. Junior: You spot a strangely familiar set of armor and scimitar sticking out of the bag the woman is dragging.
Roll call?
Inside the handkerchief is a disembodied, coin-sized eye with an X-shaped pupil. A membrane within the eye blinks every few moments and the pupil moves to make eye contact with you. It stops blinking and maintains it gaze upon you.
I did not know that was possible. I set the title side image a background and had considered doing the same but was hesitant to make changes and end up skewing things. Def something I will use going forward. Thank you! For a transparent box, you mean literally drawing a transparent box so that it expands the "slide" size? I didn't do a FoW for the map because it's so large.
The man in the dingy yellow robes rolls his shoulders then bends at the waist to touch his toes. He groans with each movement and finishes his routine by rubbing at blotting his injured wrists on his clothing. Content with the shape his injuries are in, the man reaches up and begins to rifle through the pockets of his half-eaten corpse. He produces a small object that is wrapped in an old handkerchief, hands it to the half-orc and nods. ”Praise,” he says and starts to make his way through the rubble and toward the same door the group entered through.
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