Hey folks, thanks again for your patience and support. Things are stable - or at least stable enough - and it's so good to have the bandwidth to get back into this game. (Also, amazing rolls against that construct folks! Kolgradd said "crit it" and y'all delivered! XD)
Boodiddly's normally-jovial smile shifts to an unusually-serious expression for a moment. "Purpose is not some gift presented to us on a silver platter," he answers calmly, but with the intent and force of a stage-whispered monologue. "It is not some glob of mochi thrown from the skies that hits us on the head and gets stuck in our hair. There's no oracle that wakes us up in the middle of the night and informs us that we're the lucky seventeenth-million person to receive a Purpose(tm). It's something each of us creates for ourselves, something as deep and as personal as each of us wish." ”Are you certain?” The musician's eyes become slightly wet, as if overcome by the passionate and stirring performance - but as the line of questioning continues, they narrow. "Yes, I'm certain, you great jelly-filled doughnut! Did you listen to a word I just said!? You dolt. You utter clod. Go pound sand."
Boodiddly blows a particularly wet raspberry at his assailant and vanishes like passengers on a train wish they could when in the presence of a wet fart of this magnitude and stinkiness.
Nah, I’d forgotten about the proficiency requirements for the ritual and that Boodiddly can’t teach anyone else these rituals (as specified in the Ritualist Dedication feat). He’ll meet the proficiency requirements next level, so I’m fine to put commune on the shelf in preparation for the future for the time being.
This is downtime, correct? Who wants to burn some incense and ask some questions with commune? XD
Boodiddly’s melody is interrupted by a long, low whistle as he watches all the color drain out of the world around Shohreh for a moment.
"Um, I think saying that would make them even angrier," Boodiddly answers thoughtfully. "Or, well, if they could get angry. I'm pretty sure they're aeons, from Axis, so they don't feel things the same way we mortals do. Though I agree with you - there really is a much more logical solution to solving this problem than beating each other up. Shohreh, attacking their spirits directly may be most effective." With his soliloquy done, the bard begins to clap and whistle.
I mean, we’re already amnesiacs. Who’s to say we didn’t forget something else - like a whole person - as well? XD
Quinn becomes as still as a statue himself for a moment before inhaling deeply. As he exhales, translucent echoes of his arms rise above their progenitors and slowly float forward. He deliberately steps closer to the medusa, eyes still on the ground even as he focuses his attention on her movements.
"Say, Quinn, you're from Yanmass, right? I'm not entirely sure but from descriptions, this one looks like the missing Sir Dratavis. Do you recognize him?" Quinn nods solemnly. "It has been many years since I last saw him, but I would agree with your assessment of his identity - and that of the arrangement of these people. It would appear that whoever is creating this tableau is working with whoever they can find rather than an artistic ideal." "The intelligent intent displayed here - and the presence of a tripwire - also strongly suggests that my previous hypothesis were incorrect. But the large number of transmutations present further suggests something for whom petrification comes as naturally as breathing. To the best of my knowledge, the intersection of those two criteria would be a medusa." "There are leads here though. That paint and where it might have been bought or produced is one, the tripwire is another. Perhaps less obvious remnants linger as well." He pauses, closing his eyes in concentration.
"Since our paths do seem to have converged and our goals align, I propose we work together to unravel this mystery--and a few others plaguing Yanmass. Shall we?" Quinn's frown reflects into a soft smile once again. "It is written that two eyes see the path better than one. Let us seek understanding together." "Do you have any relationship with the Lord Yander?" "I do not." The soft smile remains. "Quinn, how much of this area have you searched? Are there any statues other than this one?" "I have done my best to not disturb the ground," he repeats, still smiling gently. "As such, I have limited my explorations to the perimeter of the estate save for a single path to this point for closer examination. I have not noticed any other extraordinary statuary in those explorations."
"Unfortunately, I do not have anything definitive. It seems somewhat unlikely that it was done purposefully by an intelligent being - the elephant looks to have been equipped for riding at the time of petrifaction, which would imply either a rider or at least a handler, but such a statue is missing. As I understand those types of transmutations, a mage must clearly focus and identify the object of their spell, which makes developed magic much less likely and an innate power implicitly more likely - barring some kind of ward or stored spell triggered by proximity. I recognize my lack of practice in tracking a creature by the tracks it leaves, so I have done my best to not disturb the ground and instead focused on trying to detect any lingering magical residues that would have resulted from such a triggered abjuration. So far, I have not identified anything conclusive." His face changes to a soft frown. "I find the position of having to prove a negative unpleasant."
"Something powerful indeed." A figure seated behind one of the statue's rear legs slowly rises to his feet, one hand keeping light contact with the stone. "Sadly, the act of petrification doesn't leave many hints after the fact as to who or what might have accomplished it. But I am quite certain Gallindra would not commission a life-sized statue of her elephant in this fine of detail - not on a cavalry officer's salary - so some form of transmutation is the only remaining possibility." He bows to the newcomers. A necklace of coarse chestnut hair falls out from an open jacket of simple white and blue cotton, hanging beneath a clean-shaven and short-shorn head. His empty hands fold into the same figure used in Vudra like a handshake would be used in Taldor. His shirt is simple and rough, his pants grey and dusty like the sandals on his feet. "I am Quinn. What has your path brought you here to find, strangers?"
"Iput love, don’t stray too far!" Gwendellyn restrains herself from making a joke about having to rescue two dinosaurs and instead urges Benji closer to the fray. "Harsk darling, you’re doing great. Ulfhild, be a dear and dispose of this rubbish, hmm?" Benji barks and yips excitedly.
Akkaboo returns the grimoire to the bookstore once the dust settles and everything is back-to-normal enough for the store to be open again. It isn’t long after that that she finds herself in the store again - but this time working as a copyist and illustrator. Her doodles and long, rambling stories - often featuring Mister Legs as the star- are popular with children (she makes sure to send a copy of “Mister Legs and the Grabby Stalagtites” to Wrin and Wu when their child is born), and her How to Not Get Dead - a Primer is reviewed by one of Absalom’s leading literary critics as “very basic, yet also somehow lacking in what most would consider to be ‘common sense’” and “overly dramatic and detailed regarding all the terrible things that can go wrong during a dungeon delve”. Akkaboo couldn’t be more pleased and gives the newspaper clipping to Mister Legs to hold in perpetuity.
Agreed, but what surprised me was how well spoilering the rolls worked to mimic the expectation of "Aid checks roll first, then the primary check" while not forcing the primary roller to wait for everyone else to post.
Spellcraft Checks:
For each spell, Wobblekins rolls to Aid and Lotti rolls the check to learn the spell. No stress. XD
Level 1 spells:
Level 2 spells:
Level 3 spells:
Level 4 spells:
Level 5 spells:
Only four spells not learned - not bad! Lotti's clothes are much more unkempt than usual, with ink staining her sleeves and heavy creases in her wool skirt from sitting still for hours on end in the library, copying down as many spells as possible into the book Rose had been kind enough to find in Oppara and purchase on the older woman's behalf. She holds her teacup in one hand while the other continues stirring well past the point where any sugar added to the beverage would surely have dissolved. Her gaze is directed at Martella, but her eyes don't seem to track the noblewoman's face it moves. "Scrying," she finally says, eyes blinking as if the word had taken much more effort to vocalize than its length would suggest. "City. Agent. Child. Scry. Yes?"
Popcorn deliberates poking Darius to make him make a sound and spook the other leshies into attacking him, but decides it would be too much hassle and she really didn’t feel like arguing with Bottlespeaker and Fluff Fang the whole way home, so she nods, takes the bottle holding Willow Shade, and heads for the fence. Soon, she mouthes to the sprout. Shhh.
Lotti nods graciously as the princess finishes her speech. When the younger woman’s eyes meet hers, she holds them with an unflinching stare. “Your Majesty is too kind. I have done little to deserve such praise and reward. I have endured no hardships here, built no houses here, knelt in no fields torn apart by polished hooves chasing my husband and prayed to no gods that I would not have to choose which of my children would die of starvation so those in a faraway palace might feast and dance and make merry into the wee hours of the morning.” Her voice is as flat and emotionless as her eyes. “If anything, I have merely not gotten in the way of those who have done the work. Surely the barest minimum should elicit a similar reward - as should having given one’s everything. Any portion of this estate that would be given to me will instead be placed in the trust of Abadar’s faithful, to be invested in the community as they see fit. The profits of this investment shall be used by the people of Stachys to continue growing what they have managed, despite overwhelming odds, to plant here.”
“What if we make him make a distraction?” Popcorn suggests, a gleam in her eye reminiscent of Glimmer’s mischievous grin as she gestures towards Darius. “He tries to open the door or something, the guards - why are there leshies here? - anyway, the guards go check that out, Rings sneaks in and gets the sprouts, and we leave.”
Lotti refrains from mentioning the “juicy details” of how many of the area’s inhabitants died of starvation, homelessness, and violence and instead pushes her latest tea trolley (newly requisitioned from the palace’s kitchens) next to the desk. “Oh, the country air does wonders for one’s health,” she answers pleasantly. “Sugar?”
Boodiddly yelps repeatedly and wraps himself in a protective blanket of song. “Why me?” he asks the ceiling rhetorically. “I thought they hated time stuff, not music!”
Boodiddly is ready!
“Fascinating.” Lotti carefully examines the certificates, holding one after another up to the light. An expression of some sort crosses her face - surprise, glee, curiosity, worry in rapid succession. She hands two of the papers to Marius, then another two to Velvet. “Here, look at this. Put the two atop each other and look at the light through them. See how they’re almost perfectly identical?” She pauses for a moment to let the younger folks confirm her observations. “Now, if these were made by a printing press, that would be one thing - but these are clearly handwritten, so they’re likely all written in the same hand. Whose hand? Now that’s the tricky bit. And so is the next question: why would the family - or someone in the family - need these and have locked them up in a safe here?”
Wobblekins reaches up to pat at Barcos's arm, then delicately takes the letter in his mouth from the man's hand and marches across the room towards the nobleman with his tail held high. When he approaches Bartleby, he lets out a long, disapproving yowl through his trophy. Perception DC ?? (I dunno): There are words in the caterwhauling, spoken in an incredibly mocking tone. "nOw PlEaSe, CeAsE mAkInG fOoLs Of YoUrSeLvEs WiTh YoUr BlUnDeRiNg AtTeMpT aT gOvErNaNcE. YoU aRe On ThE lOsInG sIdE hErE, aNd It'S sAd ThAt YoU dOn'T eVeN kNoW iT."
"The poor cried, 'We are starving. There is no more bread, and we have nothing to eat.' The rich man said, 'Not my problem you don’t work for your bread,' as if he did not snatch away the grain by his own greedy hands and create filling bread for his own overflowing mouth." Lotti's voice is nothing like Faenia's - thin and dry, buzzing at the ears like the whine of a gnat's wings, a quiet yet insistent sing-speak sound belonging somewhere between a nursery and a deathbed. "The poor cried, 'We are dying. There is no more medicine, and we’re all ill.' The rich man said, 'Not my problem you don’t take care of yourselves,' as if he did not buy all the medicine and raise prices so high the gods themselves would not be able to reach." The air grows ever so slightly darker around the elderly woman. A faint flicker of sickly yellow-green light from somewhere below casts pallid shadows across her face as she takes a single step forward. One trembling hand slowly rises from her side, and her voice grows in pitch and intensity to match. A wrinkled, gnarled finger points at the count. "The poor people stopped crying, and the rich man was satisfied… Until they came knocking at his door one night; their faces were sunken, their flesh decaying, their eyes sightless. They were monsters of the rich man’s own making. As they devoured his flesh, the rich man cried, 'Please, spare me!' The ravenous zombies said, 'Not our fault you fattened yourself for slaughter.'"
I was like “Oh, I’ve got a welcome blurb for my PbP games with an About Me section, I’ll just copy that here, let me pull it and see what I wrote there-“ and then saw that there actually wasn’t much actually written there about me. XD So hi! I’ll be helping in the PF2 department! I started playing PFS about seven years ago in Utah and then shifted to PbP to keep playing with friends from there when I moved to Finland (where I now help organize Society games). I’ve kept up with PbP though because I enjoy getting little bite-sized pieces of gaming almost every day that fit wherever I need them to in my schedule and because I enjoy getting to immerse myself in and describe my character in more detail than is possible in most real-time games. Outside of games, I spend a lot of time reading about how to persuade computers to talk to each other and I enjoy cuddling my cats. I’ve recently started knitting and have finished one (1) scarf so far. XD
Popcorn silently hopes her friends will think of more questions to ask the brute so she'll have an excuse to threateningly start to tip the cauldron and slosh its scalding contents all over the man. Or at least his feet. Though if they don't and the four of them can leave right away, that's also a win in her book.
Boodiddly’s chuckles slowly turn into a sigh. Suddenly turns his face towards the three-armed woman. “You’d better do as she says,” he croaks in a raspy, thin voice, “or she’ll do exactly what she’s wanted to do ever since she laid eyes on your unfortunate skin.” Just as abruptly, he starts whistling innocently.
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Popcorn also pursues the fleeing human, pinning him between her and Rings and swinging her flail at his kneecaps (or where she thinks his kneecaps might be - she's not 100% certain on human anatomy, and she doesn't care to be). "HOW MANY CANDLES DID YOU MAKE WITH THEM!? THAT'S HOW MANY CANDLES WE'RE GOING TO MAKE OUT OF YOU!!"
“Sorry, what was that?” Boodiddly quips right back, letting his ghostly hand vanish. “‘You’ve been to lunch, bye?’ Is… Is it a joke?” He chuckles politely just in case it was.
Popcorn shifts restlessly from one foot to the other. She draws her seedpod flail, then begrudgingly puts it away, then slowly moves her hand closer and closer to its hilt as if expecting demonic deer to charge through the door because Reaching Rings is taking foreeeeeeever.
Lotti gently swirls her wineglass rather than sipping from it - or commenting on afflictions specific to the ruling class. “The teleportation circle has me the most worried,” she says at last with a gentle sigh. “The threat of a powerful spellcaster on call at a moment’s notice is likely part of the reason why the people living here have put their heads down and endured as best they can. Bartleby knows this, and knows how it adds to his own illusion of power. Take it away, and he may become much more open to the idea of negotiations.” “How to neutralize the circle though? Easier said than done, I’m afraid. I’ll continue reviewing the available literature so we can be as prepared as possible, and thankfully we have folks who are resourceful and full of surprises.” She nods to Velvet and Faenia. “But I would still suggest prioritizing that circle before pressing Bartleby to acquiesce to good sense.”
Serraleth's black eyes flicker from one Pathfinder to another, and the stream of abyssal syllables from her mouth slows until it is barely a trickle. With a growl of frustration, the demon stops, takes a deep breath, and starts again. Filentsa and Jaware, while unaware of the finer details of her ritual, suspect that she has had to backtrack and start over from an earlier spot in her ritual.
The tension in the cathedral's air rises, like the whole structure is holding its breath in anticipation for what's just over the horizon.
Jaware and Val embody the motto of the Society as they cooperate to ask as many people as possible if they've seen Nathatel (or another bloodied elf matching his description) moving through the town. While they don't find any leads, they do help narrow down the search by ruling out each part of town they hurriedly visit.
Popcorn continues actively not looking at Glimmer, instead opting to thoroughly scour the ground for any footprints or tracks. "He probably looked better than you," she mutters just loud enough to be heard by the fairy in the tree.
GM Screen:
In the heat of the moment, Filentsa doesn't remember anything useful about the fiends attacking her. Given the distance to the once she can see, she opts for a ray of chilling frost to test its defenses.
But the cold sputters out before it can close the distance. The creature points and cackles, but its mirth is cut short as Val's arrow impacts its tiny body. It wriggles and writhes in response, slowly pushing the missile partially out of its body!
It then takes to the air, slowly gaining altitude as it moves closer.
Of course! Life happens and the lovely thing about PbP is that you can read at your own pace to catch back up. Welcome back!
Popcorn crosses her arms and refuses to even look at Glimmer - at least directly. "This better not be one of your stupid fairy tricks!" she yells.
The Grandfrogger waits to summon a wall of howling wind, knowing it will hamper the Pathfinder archers as much as their attacker. Instead he begins to chant in the Grippli tongue. Above him, a swirl of cloud and sunlight manifests into a sandal that flies at the archer as if hurled by an unseen hand.
In the Kitchen:
"Easy there dear - take a seat before you stumble." Lotti guides the young woman back to her stool before handing her her water glass. "Deep breaths, keep calm for the baby. Good, good. Now, your cousin..." She waits gently for Polina to provide the name before continuing. "...yes, now she's living in Sotto with a hunter. His name is...and do they live in the town proper or on the outskirts? Good, good."
She pulls a cookie from the previous night from an unassuming basket and puts it in Polina's hand. "Eat that. You've been up a while now, yes? So stay a little longer and eat something more before you head home. I'll let the noblefolk know there's trouble in Sotto and we'll see what's happening." She doesn't know for certain that the others will agree to that course of action, of course, but she's seen which way the wind blows a few times now and can make some predictions. "And I'm going to need you to rest and eat something more before you head home. You can do that for me, can't you?" She makes a mental note to ask Dzhorty to slip a few of the breakfast rolls and some sausages into the young woman's pockets before she departs. In the main hall, Lotti finishes unloading her trolley by putting the basket of sweet bread rolls with raisins and cinnamon on the table and dusting her hands. "There's a situation in Sotto," she announces plainly as everyone passes around clotted cream and raspberry jam to decorate their lacy pancakes. "Letters and news haven't travelled for at least a month, maybe two. I'm surprised the baroness didn't say anything when she was here for the festival, but perhaps the troubles arrived all at once."
Faenia: "And you did not make him listen anyway?" The cat finishes off the offering of dried fish and wipes behind his ears, then meticulously cleans his paw. "If I gave in every time I did not get my due immediately, I would surely have starved to death a hundred times over."
"But, what do I know." He finally rises to his feet and saunters off the pack to the window. "It's not as though I had to listen to that woman's overly loud and nonsensical declarations the whole ride back here. Goodness knows that might have made me a bit short-tempered, especially if I then had to figure out if someone else was a friend or an enemy with friendly fur. Thankfully..." He pauses to hop up onto the sill, "...I am blessed with an innate sense for those who are worthy of my trust. I can smell it." He pauses again expectantly. And waits. And waits. Finally he yawns - definitely not to conceal a scowl, should a cat's face be able to perform such contortions - and whips his tail back and forth. "Fine. Have it your way. You're misjudging him." And with that, he drops down to a tree branch outside the window and disappears into the night.
Faenia: The cat nods approvingly. "Your Grace will do just fine," he states regally before bending his magnificent head down to clean one paw. This continues for several seconds before he gives the owner of the bag he is perched upon his attention again.
"Now then, who might you be? And why might have you travelled here? You're not with that dreadful bore, are you?"
Faenia: The first thing one might notice upon entering Faenia's room is a large spotted cat curled up on top of her pack. He flicks an ear when the room's temporary occupant enters, but does not deign to look up at Faenia for several seconds. Sloooooooowly he yawns. Sloooooooooly he stretches. Sloooooooowly he turns to look at her. Slooooooowly he blinks. Sloooooooowly he speaks.
"I say, would you mind closing the door behind you? There's a terrible draft."
Tonny opens his mouth to speak when a deafening clap of thunder cuts him off. "Oof! That'll wake you right up, huh? Professor Cqipth used something similar that one time I dozed off in Advanced Agrarian Symbology and boy let me tell you it was effective - I don't think I slept for a week afterwards! Oh, but that's not important right now, not when we've got a school of kerakinsi. Or is it a flock? Swarm? Anyway, don't try to shock them or we'll get more sound bursts like that. They're kinda lightweight, so they don't have a lot of momentum to deal with, but that means you can counteract it by moving into their attack rather than away. Yes, it's counterintuitive, it's a physics thing, I'd be happy to show you the diagrams and equations later." One long arm whips an equally-long whip past Tewa towards the fish-person in the lead.
Popcornsays nothing in response to Reaching Rings's display of their lack of taste in food, but she nods approvingly to Sunbright and bends down to give the tiny leshy a stirring stick that is much to large for them. "You do that - and if any bunnies show up here, you take that and stick 'em somewhere painful! Got it?" With that taken care of, Popcorn proudly leads the way to the bridge.
“Sparrows also have a habit of getting into places they’re not invited to.” Lotti’s voice is pleasantly neutral, but her eyes are serious. “I would be most interested in hearing how you invited yourself into the Stachys manorhouse, as well as what might have happened to those… trinkets, shall we say, that you liberated from the noblesse sale.” The Galtan slang flows smoothly, hangs in the air as if pinned in place by the same stern gaze that focuses on the young noblewoman.
Lotti notes the irregular syllabic stress patterns and vowel placements in the vigilante's words. An un-practiced accent. We all start from somewhere. But she keeps her face expressionless and her body motionless as Marius removes the stranger's mask, conscious of another stranger's body behind hers in the saddle. A trace of a smile flashes across her face though as the young noblewoman's identity is revealed. We'll have to let Rose know her suspicions were correct, she muses to herself. But of course it's another young noble playing around, playing around with other people's lives without any risk to themselves that their influence or money can't get them out of. Weathered hands hold themselves more stiffly for a moment, as if being from clenching into fists by force of will, before relaxing again. But. She's young, and she may be influenceable. Perhaps Velvet would be interested in another student? She glances at the woman in question, gauging her impressions of the Swan.
Lotti puts the bottle to Bab’s lips and gently tilts it upward so its contents flow out in a trickle before sparing a glance at the darkness enveloping the not-duchess. She raises an invisible eyebrow at the sound of another explosion, but keeps her attention focused on the carriage and its occupants for the time being. “If you’re feeling up to it, drop down behind the carriage or get inside,” she whispers to the poor driver. “Keep yourself as safe as possible.”
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