Henrik Vlastimil Cordovan's page

5 posts. Alias of Chapel36.

“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.
Normally I request 1 post a day (I don’t expect anything on the weekends) but with the current climate I want everyone to know that there are more pressing priorities right now. I will check as frequently as possible and update as necessary. I will be working remotely soon and have a 9 (almost 10 month old) so I understand if you don't feel like a PbP game of Pathfinder needs to be your number one priority.

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:

Round 2; Zombie Init 4

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.


The storm begins to pick up outside. The wind slam the shutters against the window frames. Raindrops pelt the glass, causing small cracks to spread like a spider’s web. The yellow fog swirls and pushes against doors, bending their frames. Thunder booms overhead, the sound reverberating through the halls. Seconds later the accompanying lightning streaks across the sky, its light diffused in the unnatural, yellow clouds. As the light fades, the grounds return to their normal dimness. But the dim light continues to fade. All around becomes an inky blackness that obscures normal sight.

As the light fades, you hear groaning coming from the chute followed by the sound of someone climbing back up to the shed. Something wet and meaty smacks against the floor near you in the dark bringing back memories or your nightmare. A warm breeze begins to fill the claustrophobic room along with the rancid smell of decay. The strange wind blows. And stops. Blows and stops. Blows. Stops.

Something scaly brushes past you.

A muffled sound comes from the Kellid woman.

The wet, meaty thing slaps against the floor near the chute. The warm breeze subsides. The rancid smell lingers only a few moments after. Light returns.
And you are alone in the shed. Just you and your shadow.


And the corpse of a beaten and bloodied creature in a doctor’s uniform.

You find yourself shackled to the floor of a dark jail cell. Your eyes already adjusted to the lack of light, though you know not how long you have been in this room. Nor when you arrived. The bare, stone walls offer no protection from the chill and your skin begins to form gooseflesh in response to the cold.

A gold coin rolls across the floor to stop in the middle of the room. You reach for the coin but your chains are short and you grasp, inches from the small bit of gold. As you relax against your manacles, the coin stands on its edge and leaps into the air.

The clink of a soft metal breaks the relative silence of the cell and is followed by a soft, high-pitched ringing which hums in the air.


The sounds repeat.


And repeat.




The final, ear-piercing hum crescendos into a cacophony of metal being torn apart.

A disembodied voice screeches inside the room, adding to the chaos of noise.

”There once was a musical lad, who gave up everything he had. To make some quick gold. Now he’ll never grow old. After I kill him…”


Yellow mist begins to creep into the room through the worked stone. A figure in tattered robes steps forth from the haze and grins as you writhe against your shackles. The lipless figure mouths something and you hear the words whispered in your ear.

...once he goes mad.”

A large blade erupts from your chest and you collapse under your own weight.


A dull ache in your wrist wakes you and you find yourself hanging from a pipe-like crossbeam. The chain that binds your wrists looped over the beam. Next to you a man in dingy yellow robes kicks at you as you open your eyes.

“Zandalus sees!” He exclaims, his eyes wide with terror.

On his other side another body thrashes and the reason quickly becomes apparent. A creature with pallid skin stretched across a bony physique is ravenously tearing into the corpse.

Merius, Rogar, and Zhao:
The remaining centipede lunges toward Ironhand just as the darkness overtakes the building. His eyes adjusting to the lack of light, Ironhand is taken aback as the overgrown insect simply bursts mid attack. Its gore spatters the dwarf.

Something large pushes past the trio, shoving Zhao into the others. The touch of the thing stuns the Paladin and she drops her blade to grip the sides of her head.

Merius whirls to brace himself as the woman stumbles into him and, for the briefest of time, finds himself standing atop a crumbling tower in a gothic city. Though he does not recognize the surrounding buildings he knows the city nonetheless. Caliphas. Home.

A shot echoes in the hall followed by cursing from the strange goblin and brings the trio back to the present, ”Get off of me!”

As the darkness fades neither the goblin nor the thing remain.


Sovereign Court

Oh look! Another dumb dumb that deleted the first post and locked their gameplay thread.

Any help would be appreciated. Thank you!

1 person marked this as a favorite.

Hey folks, so this will be the discussion for the merged game. I'll get a gameplay post up soon to explain the merging of the merging of the games. Also, I've invited Delmoth to join since he(she? I never know) was following both games anyhow and, honestly, if you have that kind of dedication, you should be allowed to play.

Bear with me while I get things up and running! We should be back sometime this weekend. But don't feel like you HAVE to post this weekend.

Private game.

The plush red carpet and oak furniture upholstered with velvet lend this room an air of comfort, but it’s also clearly a place of official business, with several layers of administrative papers, staff memos, maps, and charts covering the wide surface of the solid desk in the center. From her tall-backed chair behind her desk, Mayor Sandra Trinelli looks up, shaking herself out of a deep concentration. A subtle look of relief flashes across her face as she motions to the oversized chairs in front of her.

“Normally, I’d exchange more pleasantries with my guests, but I fear there is no time,” she says. “The business that brought you here is quite urgent—it may actually be a matter of life and death. “Let me explain. You may have heard that several young apprentices from various establishments in Saringallow have disappeared in the last couple of weeks. Every one of them has failed to show up to work, and nobody seems to know where they’ve gone.

“That’s not all. Rumors are spreading about sightings of enormous insects roaming about town. So far, the townspeople have chalked up such rumors to overactive imaginations, but I fear they might be real, and that they might have something to do with the missing apprentices. I have no proof that the situations are connected, but if folks get that notion into their heads, things are bound to spiral out of control.”

She shifts nervously, as if avoiding an uncomfortable implication, before continuing. “Please, I implore you to look into this matter quietly and thoroughly—find out where our apprentices have gone and discover the cause of our vermin problem. Don’t jump to conclusions until you have investigated every possible angle; we need to be absolutely sure that we know who or what is responsible before we take any necessary law enforcement actions.

“I suggest you start by interviewing the masters of every missing apprentice on this list I’ve compiled. I suspect that, collectively, they might shed some light on the youngsters’ whereabouts. That could in turn illuminate our vermin problem, but until we have more information, I caution you against suggesting to anyone that the two situations are connected. Beyond that, though, you have my full cooperation in this matter. If anyone gives you guff about your line of questioning, show them this letter.”

The mayor pushes a scrap of paper with several names scribbled on it across her desk, as well as a rolled-up, ribbon bound letter written on thick parchment.

“As far as an incentive,” the mayor says, “I’ve pooled together fifty gold pieces as a reward for each apprentice you manage to find and rescue, as well as an additional one hundred gold pieces if you can determine the cause of our vermin problem—and eliminate it. Do we have a deal?”

Discussion open.

Wwhhhhaaaat’s going on there folks?! It’s ya boy Chapel back again. Looks like I’m just a glutton for punishment.

I’m looking to run Gallows of Madness. I can guarantee completion of part one of the three. After that, if the group wants to continue we can move on to part two and then three.

Now the bad news.

I already have three players lined up.

There can only be one.

Because I’m only looking for one, this recruitment is only going to be up until Friday the 23rd. That means four days. Five counting today. I’ve been informed that one is interested in playing a spiritualist, one a skald, and one I’m not sure of yet.

Unlike with my Strange Aeons recruitment, I WILL NOT be running two tables. Just the one. Uno. Een. Jeden.

With all of that out of the way, here’s what I’m looking for in a submission:


-20 Pt Buy (no stat over 18 after racial modifier)
-Race: Most races are fine. Rule of thumb: If you think you have to ask, it’s probably a “no.” Looking at you Svirfneblin.
-Class: No 3rd party. Everything else is fine. If you want to make that Synthesist Summoner you’ve been itching to play, go for it. The only thing I ask is that you don’t ruin the game for everyone else.
-PF Unchained: Chained, unchained, I don’t care. I personally prefer aspects of both the chained and unchained Monk (why unchain him and then continue to release archetypes that don’t work with the new version?!)
-Background skills (2 per level)
-Traits: 2, can’t be same category.
-HP: Max every level.
-Starting Wealth: Max for your class
-VMC is permitted.
-Emerging guns.
-Please Spoiler your submissions so we don’t have large blocks to scroll through.
-I level at milestones not experience.
-Maps will be handled via google slides. Handouts and a loot list will be provided as well.
-I’m pretty lenient on most things (after many years of “No, you can’t do that” got tedious). Please don’t take advantage of that.


None of these need to be super long. A few sentences is fine. More is okay too (I’m guilty of this.)
-Appearance (Feel free to include a picture.)
-Give me a brief rundown of your character’s backstory.

Extra Bits:

-Plan on posting once a day during the week. I work 8-5 and check the forums pretty regularly so the game should keep going at a steady pace. Weekends are a bonus, but I’m not very active on the weekends so I don’t expect you to be either.
-Don’t worry about creating an alias until you are selected. Unless, of course, you want to.
-What is your Time Zone
-How many games are you currently in/running? This is a bit of a bias but, I’d like to give some people who aren’t in several games already a shot. That’s not to say that if a submission particularly wows me I’m going to pass it over because the player is already running 2 games and is a PC is another. This is more of a tie-breaker.

Feel free to check out either of the two SA games to get an idea of my style. No sense in submitting if you think we wouldn't get along.

Ok, Princes of the Universe, get crackin’!

Sovereign Court

On page 22 of this player companion the Vigilante archetype states the following:

"...some half-elves form alternate identities to let the suppressed side of their heritage be known. This other identity can be either a force for good, enabling the half-elf to express a part of himself that has been denied to him, or for evil, with the half-elf hurting others to make up for his own pain."

Yet under Dual Heritage it states that "...when a half-elf double scion switches from one identity to another, he is representing different aspects of his heritage rather than personality. As a result, a half-elf double scion has the same alignment in both of his identities."

I was just curious if anyone knew whether or not this was an error as it seems that these paragraphs are contradictory. Granted the first part is the flavor text for the archetype and the second is the actually class ability.

It almost seems as if the flavor text was from a previous version.

Sovereign Court

3 people marked this as a favorite.

Hi folks, just your kindhearted Chapel here. With Age of Ashes coming out and, more importantly, PF2E out now, I know that 2E recruitment threads are going to start popping up.

I whipped up a formatted google doc that I'd like to share with this wonderful community. It's a formatted character stablock for Paizo Forums. I don't think it's perfect ( I literally threw it together this afternoon) but, I think if I save at least one person an extra fifteen minutes then I think it will have been worth it.

I have an open box next to a few key items where you can fill in T, E, M, or L but for the most part I figured it didn't need to be added. Feel free to save this and make whatever changes you want to make it your own.


After posting it, the sheet looks like this obviosuly more stuff will be filled in:

Name Text
Ancestry Text Heritage TExt
Classtext Deitytext
Alignment text Traits text
Perception [ T ] ##
Languages text text
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
AC #,Fort [T] #,Ref [E],Will [T]
Shield + # Hardness Max HP ## BT Current HP ##
Resistances & Immunities text
Class DC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Melee , Damage
Ranged , Damage
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Str ## Dex ## Con ## Int ## Wis ## Cha ##
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Ancestry Feats & Abilities
Skill Feats
General Feats
Class Feats & Abilities
Bonus Feats
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------
Magic Tradition
Spell Attack Roll
Spell DC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------


It is a busy day in the markets. Sweating bodies crowd the streets of Caliphas. Merchants shout prices. Patrons try to haggle. Guards stand by at the ready. Children chase after a dog.

A dense fog creeps into the street.

A woman’s scream is cut short by a gurgle.

You spin, your sword already in hand. As a yellow clad wight stalks toward you, you see the throng of undead things shambling down the main market street. The creatures cut down any and everyone they can

The wight catches you off guard and slashes at you with a rusty blade. The sun reflecting on the blade snaps your attention back and you deflect the wight's sword before it strikes true. The wight plants a rotting foot on your chest and shoves you back hard.

You wince in pain and when you open your eyes you stand on the edge of a snow covered cliff. A woman cries out to you. You raise a hand in solemn greeting and let yourself fall backwards over the ledge.

The world shifts and you are surrounded by slobbering demons. A man in shining plate stands with his back to you. He jostles you and an orb of flame dissipates in your hand before it can fully form. The knight shouts for a retreat. A fiery whip lashes out and divorces his head from his torso. You see the yellow flames coming back for you and you clamor over a mound of corpses -
human and demon alike. The pile shudders and you are burried beneath the bodies.

Struggling against the weight of the dead, you climb free and find yourself in the middle of an alleyway.


You are running through a dark cavern. There are screams echoing off of the walls all around you. A goblin races alongside you. His eyes are filled with deranged glee.

A man steps out from a shadow and plunges his sword deep into the chest of the goblin running next to you. Crimson blood splatters the man's yellow tabard. The man kicks the body of the goblin you now recognize as a friend off of his blade turns a crooked smile to you. He speaks to you in a slow voice that reminds you of bones being crushed.

"Goblins run and goblins cry.
All the goblins are gonna die."

The man drags the blade of his sword along the cavern floor as he stomps toward you.

"Goblins are all the same.
Don't matter if they change their name."

The man backs you into a corner and reaches down to grab you with a gauntleted hand. The cold metal bites into your throat as he hoists you from the ground.

"Goblin neck bones are so fine.
When I snap it, your soul is mine."

His grip tightens around your throat as you feel your lungs fighting for air.

A fist sized rock slams into the back of the man's head and he drops you to the ground. You are vaguely aware of cheers and laughter coming from the opposite side of the cavern.

A young woman in scholar's robes hoists you into her arms. She races down a narrow tunnel and slides to a halt at the edge of a steep pit. The bone voice sings from behind.

"There's nowhere goblins can truly hide.
Especially here...on my side."

The scholarly woman smiles at you and tosses you into the pit. A metal rose blooms from her chest and as she slumps over. The armored man bellows in rage.

You hit the frigid water below. The surface breaks and you fall through open air. You land flat on a hard surface. When you stand, find yourself in the middle of an alleyway.

A sheet of clear glass stands before you. It stretches for an indeterminable distance to both sides and the top vanishes into sickly yellow clouds.

On the other side of the glass a woman sits on the ground with her back to the glass. Her legs stretch out beside her. Her head hangs forward. Her shoulders rise and fall in rapid, patternless jolts. Though you are unable to hear any sound coming from the woman you know that she is weeping.

You place an open palm against the glass. Desperate to soothe the woman.

Minutes pass and still she weeps.

You decide that if you can get her attention, maybe, maybe knowing that someone else is here her heart will be calmed.

You tap on the glass. She does not notice you.

You rap a knuckle on the glass. Still she does not notice you.

The woman wraps her arms around her waist and begins rocking. Her hair falls from its intricate bun and spills over her shoulders.

You begin to pound on the glass. Every muscle, every shred of your being, longs to stop this woman's tears.

Her rocking intensifies and as it does, you beat harder against the cursed glass. Why will it not break? You can feel that it is so thin. Paper thin. What magic keeps it from shattering?

Exhausted, you lean against the glass and close your eyes.

"There is one way to break the glass," your own voice whispers in your ear.

You open your eyes and see a distorted reflection of your face smiling from the glass. You step back and see that the reflection is too tall. The proportions too gangly. It needed to bend its spine in order to look you in the eyes. The not-you holds your nodachi in its too-long hand. The reflection offers the sword to you and its arm extends through the glass. You take the hilt in hand. The reflection smiles again and places the tip of its index finger against the glass. Just below the crying woman's left shoulder blade.

"Here," it coos, "Pierce the glass here."

You place the tip of the sword against the glass and ready to force it through.

The woman cranes her neck and peers at you. Bloody tears stream down her agony stricken face. Her face. You know her face.

”You weren’t here!” She sobs.

You lower the blade and step away from the glass.

”Do it! Do it now! Stop her incessant crying!” Not-you shouts. The glass reverberates as the reflection trembles with fury.

The nodachi slips from your hand.

”Weak,” a new voice, harsh, and uncaring, says.

Bony fingers that end with razor-sharp claws settle on your shoulders. The hands give you a forceful shove and you crash through the glass. You search for the woman on the other side but she is nowhere to be found. On the other side find yourself in the middle of an alleyway.


You are aboard a mighty ship. Sailors scramble and call out commands all around you. A powerful storm rages beneath a moonless night. The deck of the ship is slick with seawater. Thunder crashes and moments later lightning fills the night sky.

You cling to a rope. The hemp fibers yearning to be free of your calloused hands. You plant your feet and lean backwards. A patchy-faced man joins you and the two of you begin taking calculated steps backward.

A meaty fist connects with your jaw sending you tumbling to the side. Without your strength, the patchy-faced man is dragged forward by the rope. His body slams into the taffrail and, for an instant he steadies himself. A gargantuan, yellow tentacle rises from the sea to pluck the unfortunate soul from the ship. His screams are lost among the crashing of the waves.

You regain your footing and stand to face your attacker. The man wears little more than rags but wields a brutal cudgel in one hand. Most striking is his face. Instead of eyes, a nose, or a mouth, he has only slits and whorls where his face should be.

Without you and Patch Face to raise the storm jib the sales begin to tear and the ship starts to groan. You see your captain fending off more creatures like the one before you. He has placed himself between the creatures and the mother who bought passage. She clutches her infant son.

The monster lunges at you and you feel the bones in your arm shatter as the cudgel connects. You plant two strong blows in it's grotesque face with your still functioning arm.

The captain parries an attack but takes a curved blade across his throat. The captain sputters and slips over the taffrail into the sea.

The mother meets your gaze.

You race to save her and the babe.

The ocean splits and a second yellow tentacle crashes on the bow of the ship. You are tossed high into the stormy sky.

You continue to rise.

The world spins and you pull your face from a murky puddle. You stand and find yourself in the middle of an alleyway.


All around is a wall of sickly yellow fog, tumbling through the alley’s canyon of crumbling, gray brick walls like some jaundiced flash flood. Ahead, the unfamiliar alley splits,curving to the left and right. Behind,from the silent swell of mist, emanates the sound of footsteps—slow, but somehow keeping pace with the careening, hungry wave.


Merius: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Maria: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Zhao: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
Rogar: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Only one action for this round.

You are standing in the middle of someone’s bedroom. At first, the room appears to be fairly well kept. The floor is swept. There is an inviting fire in the small hearth. And the bed itself looks soft and comfortable. But as you look around the room the scene begins to change. The paint on the walls yellows and flakes off where it congeals into a writhing mass of mold on the floor. The sickly mold spreads across the floor, separating you from the only door and as you back away from it you press against the bed. Your hands instinctively gripped the sheets but instead of the soft cotton, a putrescent slime slips between your fingers. In horror you make your way to the window. Your only chance of escape. As you struggle against the warped window frame the mold creeps ever closer. It seems to drain the color from everything it touches. The mold gurgles and pops as it crawls. You wrench the window open and stare out into the night sky. A woman's face peers down at you from the stars and she begins to weep. The mold makes a hideous sound behind you.


The mold splits and rows of rotting teeth protrude from the newly formed maw. A clawed hand erupts from the expanded mouth, searching for you.

You grip the window sill and pull yourself out of the room not caring to check the height of the window. But to your amazement you do not fall. No, instead you find that you are pulling yourself up. Up and out of a hole in the middle of an alleyway.

It is the summer solstice and as the son sets in the east the entire town has turned out for the festivities. You struggle to recall the entirety of the day. The only thing you know is that the day has been one filled with celebration and exultation. The energy of the evening permeates your very being.

The town butcher, the inn's hostler, and many more all walk the same path as you as you make your way through the town’s main thoroughfare.

Children giggle from under oversized robes, the faces of their parents lost amongst the hundreds of other cloaked figures. The elderly lean on the youthful for support. No one dares miss whatever it is you are heading toward.

As you near the bottom of a steep hill, the day’s length begins to weigh upon you. The trek drains the muscles in your legs. Exhaustion settles on your shoulders. Still you press on.

Around you some of the children have stopped to cry alongside the road. They wail about their bodies aching. The elderly have begun to collapse from exhaustion. Their bodies crumple to the cobblestone street. No one stops to help. You press on with the masses.

At the bottom of the hill, the townspeople crowd around a massive depression in the ground. Dying coals litter the indentation. Four townspeople push through the crowd carrying two large violet and gold silk sheets. The edges of the sheets singe as the figures lowe the silk over the coals.

A woman grips your hand with her own. She smiles at you the way a mother would a child that had taken its first steps. She leads you to the edge of the, now roaring, bonfire and onto the burning sheets. The people begin to chant in a language unknown to you yet one you still understand. Yellow flames kiss your flesh. The fire rises higher and higher until the yellow flames tower over you. The flames choke you as they burn.

The silk sheets flutter before coiling around you. Your skin cools. The chanting fades. When the silk unfurls you find yourself standing in the middle of an alleyway.


Inky blackness fills your vision. You tell your hand to reach for something, anything, and though you feel your muscles tense, your tendons tighten, you eyes refuse to see anything.

Blind, you stumble through the dark. Your feet slap against cold stone. You call out to the darkness and silence responds.

Hours, days, or weeks later, the stone gives way to something soft. Soft and wet. With each step, your feet sink ever more into the warm muk. The slime forces its way between your toes and under your toenails. It wriggles across your feet and slides over your ankles.

Somewhere distant to your left, a hissing sound crescendos with a thundering ”POP!”

Moments later you hear a squish in the murky floor. Then another. And another. Each closer than the last.

Your breath quickens and you struggle to heft your feet from the slime.

Behind you, a second hiss followed by a second pop. Now more squishing follows.

Panting you jerk your feet free after each step.

More hissing. More popping. More squishing.

In your haste you lose your footing and land face down in the writhing floor. Sludge oozes into your nostrils. Your ears. Your eyes.

You know what is happening. You can feel the darkness taking you. In your last moments you consign yourself to your fate and scream a curse at the darkness.

A luminescent, white figure rides your scream out of your mouth. It wrenches itself free of your lungs and your throat. The figure alights on the ground beside you. The sludge shrieks and pulls itself from you permitting you to see for the time.

The ground rolls and boils with a pale yellow slime. Teeth and hair protrude from any place where eyes have not formed. Every so often, one of the eyes will meet your gaze before it swells and bursts, leaving a miniature version of yourself to trek across the floor toward you. Dozens of these yous climb over each other to get to you.

The glowing figure raises a hand and the twisted version of you shrink in terror. The figure turns to face you and you see that it has no face. No features whatsoever. It appears to be little more than a silhouette given life. The figure grasps your legs and drags you across the ground. The figure finds two large limestone blocks and slips between where mortar once had been. It pulls harder when your feet resist the stone. You watch in horror as your body flattens and grinds between the blocks.

On the other side, the figure is gone but you find yourself standing in the middle of an alleyway.


The desert sun beats down on the bareskin of your back. Food is just a fantasy. Civilization a dream. And water...your canteen has been empty for an eternity. You lift the container to your lips regardless. Hoping that the gods might, for once, take pity on you.

Your feeble prayers are rewarded with grains of yellow sand filling your mouth.

You curse and toss the canteen aside.

You jump as the metal container clinks against something hard and metallic in the sand. What could it be? A cask of ale? Some explorer’s forgotten treasure? A cache of stored water? You allow the fervor to take you and begin digging in the sand. With each handfull you pull away, another fills the hole.

Frustrated with your lack of progress, you lay down in the sand and let exhaustion take you.

You awake to see the waxing gibbous moon overhead and confirm that you are still lost among this damnable sand. You reach for the empty canteen again and nearly fall backwards. Where you had been digging during the day now exists a crater in the sand. You estimate that it must be nearly a mile to the bottom. At its center stands an impossible structure. Black and reflective, the structure is no more than a handspan think at its widest. It winds and twists around and in on itself creating illogical patterns. Never seeming to repeat itself.

Again, letting the excitement take you, you wedge one foot into the sand and begin to climb down. You are nearly halfway when the sand shifts, sending you tumbling foot over face toward the bottom. You come to a rest at the base of the structure and peer up at the monument. From below, you gawk at the towering figure. Its patterns making sense from below. The twist and turns fit together to form the shape of a looming humanoid with gangly limbs and a gaping mouthful of fangs.

A sense of dread washes over you and you turn to flee that which you should not have seen. As you scramble to the top of the crater, a voice calls after you in an alien language. You look back at the monument and watch as the structure reaches toward you with an unnaturally proportioned arm. The hand scraped at the sand sending you tumbling once more. This time away from the crater.

You land hard on your back, knocking the wind from your lungs. You climb to your feet and you find yourself standing in the middle of an alleyway

All around is a wall of sickly yellow fog, tumbling through the alley’s canyon of crumbling, gray brick walls like some
jaundiced flash flood. Ahead, the unfamiliar
alley splits,curving to the left and right. Behind,from the silent swell of mist, emanates the sound of footsteps—slow, but somehow
keeping pace with the careening, hungry wave


Kayalenta: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (14) + 0 = 14
Sebastian: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19
Zylah: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Eldako: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

One action only this round.

Discussion thread open so we can start hammering out some minor details before we get going. Go ahead and discuss your characters a bit in case anyone happened to miss your submission.


Discussion thread open so we can start hammering out some minor details before we get going. Go ahead and discuss your characters a bit in case anyone happened to miss your submission.

Hiya folks! Chapel here with a brand new recruitment for a PbP game. Some of you may recognize me from submissions past. Well, I’m here today to invite you (well, four of you) to my very first shot at running PbP game.

“First.” That can be a scary word. So let me give a little background about myself. I started with D&D 3.0/3.5 almost 15 years ago and made the move to PF around 10 years ago. I’ve dipped my toes into a few other systems over the years including Savage Worlds, Dark Heresy, and CoC. The thing that has remained consistent is that I have almost always been in the GM seat. A handful of times I have managed to weasel my way into a PC role but, either the game fizzled out, it was PFS, or the GM had a panic attack because he couldn’t handle the stress of preparing for our game. No joke. That happened. I have been a player in a handful of PbP games. Those ether fizzled or (due to a family emergency) I had to drop out.

Anyhow, like most of you here, PbP tends to be much easier on my schedule to play. If you are still interested, feel free to scroll on down and check out my guidelines for creating a submission. I promise, it’s nothing ridiculous like “Roll 3d6-1d4 drop the lowest odd number.”

Character Creation:

-20 Pt Buy
-Race: Most races are fine. Rule of thumb: If you think you have to ask, it’s probably a “no.” Looking at you Svirfneblin.
-Class: No 3rd party. Everything else is fine. If you want to make that Synthesist Summoner you’ve been itching to play, go for it. The only thing I ask is that you don’t ruin the game for everyone else.
-Background skills +1. So, 3 points per level.
-Traits: 3 One must be a campaign trait. Can’t be same category yadaya.
-HP: Max every level.
-Starting Wealth: Max for your class
-Please Spoiler your submissions so we don’t have large blocks to scroll through.


None of these need to be super long. A few sentences.
-Appearance (Feel free to include a picture.)
-Give me a brief rundown of who your character was before the campaign. Nothing crazy. You are an amnesiac after all. But that doesn't mean that as a player you have no idea who your character was.

Extra Bits:

-Please read the Player’s Guide. They’re free.
-Plan on posting once a day, minimum. I work 8-5 and check the forums pretty regularly so the game should keep going at a steady pace.
-Don’t worry about creating an alias until you are selected. Unless, of course, you want to.
-What is your Time Zone
-How many games are you currently in/running? This is a bit of a bias but, I’d like to give some people who aren’t in several games already a shot. That’s not to say that if a submission particularly wows me I’m going to pass it over because the player is already running 2 games and is a PC is another. This is more of a tie-breaker.

I want to keep this recruitment open until 7/14/2019.

There have been a number of things going on and I had actually believed I had cancelled my subscription a while ago.

Kind regards.