Typing my purchase list here as a reminder since it will be a while. That way I don't forget to write it o the chronicle.
Wand of Endure Elements (2PP)
Bracers of Merciful Knight (15,600 gp)
Potion of Barkskin +5 (1200 gp)
Hand of Glory (8000 gp)
Ring of Feather Falling (2200 gp)
Ring of Protection +1 (2000 gp)
Scroll of Breath of Life (1125 gp)
Tremor Boots (10,000 gp)
Alchemist Fire x4 (80 gp)
Holy Weapon Balm x2 (60 gp)
Acid x3 (30 gp)
---
Michael Hopkins
Morrin "The Stout" Heartwell
PFS: #97978-6
Faction: Grand Lodge
Day Job roll (if applicable) Innkeeper: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
In the lobby of the Flaxseed Lodge in the heart of Cassomir, Venture-Captain Karu of the Bold Striders stands during a dinner service. The imposing figure rises and only a few seconds pass before the entire hall is silent.
"I have an announcement of the highest importance!" he bellows. His naturally strong voice echoes around the room. "Five of our own have been requested by Osprey to join his team of Seekers."
The dining hall erupts in a cheer as Karu's face broadens into a large smile. "As their inaugural mission is a secret, I cannot share details, but they are completing a valuable task for the Society!"
"The five chosen are Kalendir, the mighty elf who braved the Silken Caravan and rescued a valuable artifact in Tian Xia."
The crowd cheers for the masked elf as Karu reads off the next name.
"Second, Alie Saechel, who nearly died in the alien ship populated with Xill in Absalom's harbor but has since proven herself to be invaluable to the cause!";-)
"Third, Morrin the Stout, a relative newcomer, but he has risen quickly through the ranks with his adept use of his lightning blade from the shadows."
"Fourth, Lavode De'Morcaine has been selected to provide this group with some of the strongest arcane support that the Society can provide. His innate grasp of magicks has no rival amongst those who have not reached the Seeker level."
"And finally, Wynnreyell Moonsilver, whom I do not know, but I'm sure is quite competent!"Sorry, you don't have any campaigns for the character on PbP so I couldn't come up with anything!
As Karu finishes, the dining hall erupts into even louder cheering, whooping and whistling as a Seeker announcement is not a common occurrence.
"On that note, you five see me in the morning and Ace's bar is open all night, free of charge!" Karu proclaims loudly, knowing how to win over Pathfinders who somehow become louder and more boisterous after finding out about this latest development.
Though, it is to be noted that Ace, who had been tending the bar only a moment prior, seems to have vanished and a sign seems to have appeared in his place, reading 'Self-Serve'.
Trotter surveys the Flaxseed Lodge from above as he holds a parchment in one hand. Perceptive Pathfinders notice that the paper has a red wax seal set with an eye in a triangle. He splits into five versions of himself with a wave of his hand and the four copies move to a few of the elder Pathfinders in the crowds.
The four Pathfinders are told to report to Trotter's study in an hour where they are given instructions to head to a town called Dustspawn on the trade route between Isgar and Druma. "Watch out for... dangers." Trotter remarks. "Your contact will find you."
Most consider Master of Scrolls Kreighton Shaine a peculiar figure within the Pathfinder Society. However, ever since the death of Aram Zey, Shaine’s demeanor and eccentricities have been subdued as he threw himself into a seemingly fruitless investigation of the Aspis Consortium agents that attacked Skyreach and murdered the Society’s Master of Spells. Kreighton has enlisted the help of several Pathfinders to follow up on a handful of leads relating to Zey’s death. To drive home the importance of this investigation, Kreighton has personally escorted you through Absalom from the Grand Lodge to the grim spires of the Blakros Museum. There, Shaine holds out a folded missive before reaching the doors.
“This is a letter of writ indicating that you operate under the direct order of the Decemvirate. It does not compel assistance, but anyone within Absalom will think long and hard before refuse to cooperate. I have reason to believe that an artifact—a magical lantern—played a pivotal role in stealing Aram Zey’s soul after his murder. The curator of the Blakros Museum, Nigel Aldain, informed me that the building once housed such a relic. However, Nigel claims the lantern is now missing from the collection. He has agreed to open the museum’s doors to the Pathfinder Society and cooperate with this investigation.”
Shaine quietly looks over each person assembled with a weary stare and turned-down lips. “Search the museum for clues regarding the lantern. If there is a connection between this relic’s disappearance and Zey’s murder, continue to follow any leads you find until you have exhausted all possible avenues of research, then report back with your findings. All avenues... Precious days have passed since I began my investigation, and every additional day gives the culprit more time to hide; research rarely happens quickly, yet I cannot remind you enough that time is of the essence. The soul of someone I consider a dear friend hangs in the balance.” Kreighton takes in a deep breath then exhales slowly, trying to regain his composure. “I wish you luck, Pathfinders. Do you have any questions before I depart?”
A single, dim lantern sheds uncertain light in the cabin of Venture-Captain Retief VanSchuyver. The deck of his ship, the Maelstrom, sways and rocks with the gentle swells in the predawn darkness off the coast of Rahadoum. The captain scratches his patchy beard as he speaks.
“I’m not sure how much you know about the nation of Rahadoum. Its position on the mouth of the Inner Sea keeps it prosperous enough, I think, but the strangest thing about the nation has nothing to do with trade. You may already know this, but they’re not too keen on the gods. Any of ’em. Not Desna, nor Abadar, nor Gozreh, much less the bleaker crew like Asmodeus or Lamashtu. Them Rahadoumi want nothing to do with them—had a war over ’em, in fact. Even Sarenrae can’t get her foot in the door!”
The captain leans back, turns, and spits tobacco juice into a brass spittoon.
“Despite all that, Rahadoum is a peaceful nation, eh. Education is highly valued, and civic duty held in high esteem. At least it hasn’t had to deal with any religious wars in a long time. But turnin’ your back on the gods has its downside. Famine always looms on their horizon. The desert claims more and more of their farmland every year, it seems. And, worst of all, plagues wreak stark havoc among ’em. Thousands die every year from one ailment or another for want of a decent cleric. They have no power, no divine will, to stem the tide of disease, and they struggle and they starve and they die so dreamlessly, knowin’ that when they enter the Boneyard, there’ll be no deity to meet ’em there with open arms, no paradise waiting on the other side."
“Just lately, things have been much worse. A new plague sprang up several weeks ago in the outlying villages around Manaket—Rahadoum’s center of learning. They call it the Night Plague, and it’s a killer. Very few infected have recovered from it but the handful who made it across the borders or out through the ports have been easily cured by clerical magic. This Night Plague’s a killer, but it doesn’t have to be."
“That brings me to why we’re bobbing here off Rahadoum’s coast in the dead of night. Despite Rahadoum’s current social agenda, it’s an ancient, storied land. There’re a lot of secrets buried in those forgotten sands. As a result, let’s just say that the Pathfinders have ‘assets in place’ in the area not ‘officially’ associated with the Swordmeet Lodge in Manaket and leave it at that. But with plague striking the area, and those assets having no clerical support, they are now in jeopardy. We’ve got to protect our people and their research, and to do that we’ve got to get a handle on this plague before it becomes epidemic, or at least shield our folks before they’re exposed to it.”
He looks up, his eyes dark and fierce. “So we’re going to give Rahadoum a little help… whether they like it or not.”
He gestures behind him to a shadowed figure sitting on a
sea-chest. “This is Agosa Agion, a holy hand of Sarenrae and Pathfinder field operative.”
A human male rises from his seat and bows low. He wears a desert dweller’s robes on his slender frame and a green turban around his angular head. His forked beard is golden-colored and dyed with henna at its tips.
Captain VanSchuyver clears his throat and continues. “Agosa normally serves as a healer in the Sothis Lodge and his expertise should serve him well as a plague doctor. I don’t intend for you folk to play nursemaid to a bunch of plague victims, that’s what we’ve got Agosa here for, but getting him into the country and to the action is where you come in."
“Your job is to sneak him into Rahadoum and get him to the village of Wadi al-Hesr, avoiding the nation’s priest-hunting military forces—they’re called the Pure Legion—and taking care of any ‘entanglements’ that you may run into along the way. For all the gods’ sakes, don’t let them know you’re even in the country! Right now, we’re anchored just off Rahadoum’s northern coast near the Qassabah Heb Amar. As far as the Rahadoumi government knows, it is the home of Bey Sarkris El Makkra, jefe of several of the local villages. The truth is, the good bey uses his stronghold as a secret smugglers’ port. Tonight, you are the smugglers, and Agosa here is your contraband. Get him into the tunnels where you’ll meet one of the bey’s servants; he’ll direct you from there."
“Don’t mess this thing up. Once you get Agosa to Wadi al-Hesr—only a few miles from the bey’s fortress—he’ll know where to go. Questions? If not, then get to the tunnels before the tides change. Someone from the bey’s staff is surely already waiting.”
An autumn chill filled the Pathfinder Society’s chapter house in Almas as Venture-Captain Brackett briefed you. Normally brash and outgoing, the hatchet-faced veteran’s face instead wore an expression of guarded concern. “I need you to venture into the Aspodell Mountains between Cheliax and Andoran; a dwarven prospector there seeks a lost dwarven site and we want in on his expedition. The prospector’s name is Torvic and he’s obsessively searched for years, hoping to find the hidden galleries of his ancestor, the dwarven craftsman Barek Triongger.”
At this point, the chapter’s librarian Wystorn Telfyr stepped forward and from a small wooden case, he produced several tattered scrolls and a gleaming, strangely phosphorescent pearl. “We recently acquired these from a man called Beggar. They describe the Gallery of Wonders built by Barek Triongger during the death throes of the dwarven Empire of Tar Khadurrm.”
Picking up the strangely-glowing pearl, the librarian continued, “These pearls are only found in the deepest of the Darklands’ seas. While not especially valuable, a cache of these would be a rare find. Divinations revealed that Barek apparently used this one as a key. We could claim substantial favors from the dwarves of Emperor’s Peak should we discover what it’s a key for.”
Venture-Captain Brackett took over. “I’m wagering that Beggar stole these items, as the likelihood of a wandering vagabond possessing legally acquired dwarven heirlooms seems small. Looking through these documents and comparing them to Pathfinder Chronicles on the matter, it’s clear that this Torvic is onto something.” Brackett cocked a thumb toward Telfyr.
“Our librarian was able to glean some information from Beggar about where he acquired these items and was also able to divine a likely location where the dwarf might be holed up. Find him and make an alliance with him; hopefully, he’ll want his pearl back and will show you the way to the Gallery of Wonders.”
The stolen pearl matches nothing found in familiar seas. Glowing like a golden candle, the opalescent stone gleams with hints of fiery crimson.
DC 19 Appraise check or DC 21 Knowledge (dungeoneering) check:
The pearl as a type found only in the Vaults of Orv, a Darklands realm far beneath the surface. Due to its extreme rarity in the surface world above the Darklands, its value is priceless.
One of the aged parchments is also intriguing. Written in Dwarven, its runes tell of the dwarven craftsman Barek Triongger and his Gallery of Wonders hidden in a place called the Candlestone Caverns.
DC 30 Knowledge (history) or Knowledge (local) check:
Almost 250 years ago, the dwarven Empire of Tar Khadurrm tore itself apart. In the tragic final chapters of a millennium-long tragedy, internal conflicts destroyed a once-great realm. Thousands f led their empire’s turmoil. Among these exiles, the master craftsman Barek Triongger may have been the most famous. Secretive keeper of techniques known in no other land, Barek refused to bow before any other dwarf. Instead of fleeing to some dwarven hold, the renowned craftsman planned his own hall, a well-hidden workshop and gallery. Deep beneath the Aspodell Mountains, the skillful chisels of his apprentices excavated a hidden Gallery of Wonders filled with masterpieces of dwarven artistry.
Barek’s dream lasted 20 years before the wondrous gallery was abandoned after toxic mold infested the complex’s air vents, triggering violent madness. A handful of survivors returned to dwarven lands, whispering of madness and murder. The amazing gallery was lost, becoming another legend of the dwarves’ fallen empire.
An autumn chill filled the Pathfinder Society’s chapter house in Almas as Venture-Captain Brackett briefed you. Normally brash and outgoing, the hatchet-faced veteran’s face instead wore an expression of guarded concern. “I need you to venture into the Aspodell Mountains between Cheliax and Andoran; a dwarven prospector there seeks a lost dwarven site and we want in on his expedition. The prospector’s name is Torvic and he’s obsessively searched for years, hoping to find the hidden galleries of his ancestor, the dwarven craftsman Barek Triongger.”
At this point, the chapter’s librarian Wystorn Telfyr stepped forward and from a small wooden case, he produced several tattered scrolls and a gleaming, strangely phosphorescent pearl. “We recently acquired these from a man called Beggar. They describe the Gallery of Wonders built by Barek Triongger during the death throes of the dwarven Empire of Tar Khadurrm.”
Picking up the strangely-glowing pearl, the librarian continued, “These pearls are only found in the deepest of the Darklands’ seas. While not especially valuable, a cache of these would be a rare find. Divinations revealed that Barek apparently used this one as a key. We could claim substantial favors from the dwarves of Emperor’s Peak should we discover what it’s a key for.”
Venture-Captain Brackett took over. “I’m wagering that Beggar stole these items, as the likelihood of a wandering vagabond possessing legally acquired dwarven heirlooms seems small. Looking through these documents and comparing them to Pathfinder Chronicles on the matter, it’s clear that this Torvic is onto something.” Brackett cocked a thumb toward Telfyr.
“Our librarian was able to glean some information from Beggar about where he acquired these items and was also able to divine a likely location where the dwarf might be holed up. Find him and make an alliance with him; hopefully, he’ll want his pearl back and will show you the way to the Gallery of Wonders.”
You are either taking part in a card game in the backroom of a tavern in Absalom known as the Grog Pit or just happen to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Suddenly the backroom door shuts and the game’s mysterious host appears—the enigmatic Osprey, an agent of the Pathfinder Society with unclear objectives likely known only to the Decemvirate. Two strangers accompany the lean-featured Chelaxian—a tall man wearing dark robes and a black mask that conceals his face, and a grizzled, prune-skinned gnome, with a slight facial palsy. With his typically cordial but informal manner, Osprey requests everyone be seated, and offers all a mug of Absalom’s worst grog.
“My fellow Pathfinders, I appreciate you making yourselves available on such short notice. I trust the accommodations here are sour enough to keep others from our business. As usual, I prefer to get right to the point.”
Osprey slams a large sack down on the table, a high-pitched yelp bursting from within the bundle as he does so. He quickly reaches into the sack and drags out a tiny pestilent-looking creature by the throat. He beats its head against the table a few more times, and yells, “Settle down before I get careless and snap your damn neck!” Then he pins it down against the table, where it flounders weakly, a bony clump of glinting scales, hollow-eyes, and leathery wings. With his hands still locked on the creature’s throat, he raises his eyes, looks across the table and says, “So, what do you know about demons?”
Called to Skyreach at the Grand Lodge in Absalom in the early hours of the morning, you sit before Venture-Captain Shevala Iorae, a tall, dark-haired Varisian sorceress known for helping to found the Pathfinder Lodge in Magnimar. She paces her small, scroll-packed office and recounts a story. “More than a decade ago, a falchion known as Passion’s Edge cut down warrior after warrior, changing hands whenever its owner was bested. A Pathfinder Chronicle from several years ago recently came to my attention with details of the sword and I became more and more curious about it. Last told, a harpy named Tylaca wielded Passion’s Edge and swore an oath to a coven of green hags in the River Kingdoms, declaring herself their champion and swearing to protect them."
“One of the hags, it is said, enjoyed the company of the harpy but the other two hated her presence in their coven. In secret, they plotted to rid the coven of her. Their taunts and tricks did not drive her away, but instead, beguiled by jealousy and incited to rage, Tylaca struck down one of the hags and triggered the sword’s powerful curse. The harpy fell into a deep coma and was only rescued from death at the hands of the other hags by her loyal harpy minions. The remaining hags then shattered the sword into three pieces, tossing the hilt in the river and taking one piece with them as they separated, their coven forever broken."
“This account comes from a Pathfinder in Daggermark who found the first fragment in the protection of one of the hag sisters, whom he slew to acquire it. He then tracked Aelzeldra, the other hag holding the last fragment, to the Wilewood in the River Kingdoms, but was unable to confront her and take the final fragment before being called away for other duties in Varisia. Go to the hag in the Wilewood and get her fragment. Hags are tricky, though, so be careful—she will likely disguise herself as a young beautiful maiden or a swarthy, handsome man, anything to trick you. Pretend to be fooled by her disguise and try to get her to tell you where the other fragment is—she likely knows more about the history of the sword and I’d prefer if you didn’t kill her.” She pauses and hands one of you her fragment of the broken sword.
“Bring this fragment and the hag’s fragment together in Sevenarches. The hilt, retrieved from the Sellen River, rests in Sevenarches with another Pathfinder, a sword sage named Parke Rangston. I’ve asked him to study the fragments, and he will provide lodging for all of you. Give Rangston a day to examine the pieces and then return to Absalom with them. But beware: the fragments likely still hold an old curse, and whoever holds them may be weakened. You leave this afternoon—any questions?”
Hamshanks ignored all pretense of pleasantries as he pounded into the meeting room in the Grand Lodge in Absalom. “Never time to do it right, is there? Gorum see us through this, then.”
He grunted loudly and leveled his glare at the entire room. “Ever been to Qadira? Religion is almost a fad down there, with new cults springing up like weeds and getting crushed just as quickly. It has been that way for centuries."
“But some make a mark—on Qadira or in the Chronicles. Three centuries ago, the archdevil Moloch, preaching surrender to the desert heat, suddenly became the rage. Qadirans walked into the desert just to die just as if the heat was their paradise. The most devout sought out the hidden Citadel of Flame, where a fearsome bull-headed idol of Moloch judged them and sent the worthy to Malebolge, the sixth layer of Hell. No surprise that Sarenrae’s priests launched a mighty crusade to demolish the citadel. After two weeks, a great sandstorm swallowed the expedition—and, it seemed, the citadel and its idol. Nothing more was heard from either."
“Until ten days ago, that is. Sandstorms regularly scour the Qadiran highlands, and this time they emptied an entire valley of dunes. Poking out of that valley, visible only to those soaring above—such as a flying Pathfinder wizard—was the lofty spire of a fortress: the Citadel of Flame, presumably."
“Hopefully we are the first to learn about its reappearance and we need to act fast. The Decemvirate doesn’t expect any trouble, so they’re sending you. But I do expect trouble—who knows what’s infesting that citadel? Get in there fast and find that idol—it would be the key to the entire cult. It’s likely statue-sized, maybe as big as me, and should have a bull’s head on it. And for Gorum’s sake be careful.”
Now, after a swift voyage to Sedeq and a tiring trek through the endless Qadiran dunes, the sun beats down on a maze of red slickstone, with delicate arches and towering columns called hoodoos dotting the landscape. Somewhere within this expanse lies the Citadel of Flame and within, the idol of Moloch.
You have a chance to purchase any equipment or items you may need before arriving at the Citadel of Flame. You’ll leave Absalom and pass through Sedeq, the slave and spice-capital of Qadira, before arriving at the Moloch cult’s fortress, so any needs they have should be met in either location.
Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus strides up to the large crowd and claps his hands together for attention. “Welcome Pathfinders, one and all! And welcome to our traveling venture-captains stationed abroad as well our honored guests! I am Marcos Farabellus, and on behalf of the Decemvirate, I welcome you to the Pathfinder Society’s annual Grand Convocation! I shall address all of the attendees later this afternoon to announce some of the Society’s greatest accomplishments over the past year and our plans for the future. In the meantime, I invite you to stroll about the campus, meet with your peers, and enjoy all the sites of the Grand Lodge. We have set up numerous challenges and contests so that you can show off your skills or sharpen them if need be. I’ll send around ushers when it’s time to assemble for the speeches on the north lawn. Enjoy!"
The city of Padiskar near the northern tip of the Isle of Jalmeray is not so much a city as a ring of small villages surrounding a massive, howling ruin, from which terrifying screams of whatever the Vudrani Maharaja Khiben-Sald left there in ancient times can still be heard. The new Venture-Captain Vasuman Mihir maintains a small safe house for the Pathfinder Society here, taking over from Padiskar’s longtime Venture-Captain Aamina Shahrazad, who was recently murdered by men loyal to Zamir, a bandit lord and rumored Aspis Consortium agent who operates out of the nearby jungles.
Venture-Captain Mihir’s briefing was short and serious.
“This is a fake scepter of the arclords,” he said, hefting a bejeweled staff in his hands bearing glowing runes across its surface. “You will lead a caravan toward Niswan carrying this false relic and several crates of minor magical items. My porter, a young boy named Waman, will give you a detailed travel itinerary, which you must follow with care. Except that it is almost certain that you will be ambushed before you reach your destination, since young Waman is a spy for the Aspis Consortium and has sold out and murdered a dozen or more of our brethren and associates, including our former Venture-Captain. I’m sure of it. The scepter is bait in a trap, and you are the teeth. Do not let on to Waman that you know of his transgressions—we need him to lead us to his master, the bandit lord Zamir. We’ll either make Zamir our man or disrupt his business permanently. I’ll deal with Waman myself once this affair is resolved.”
Venture-Captain Mihir held up a second item, a plain-looking but easily recognizable wayfinder. “This wayfinder is also a fake, although unlike the scepter, it does have real power. The dial always points to the scepter.” Mihir demonstrated, moving the wayfinder in a circle around the scepter, the needle pointing unerringly at it.
“Waman gave Zamir information that enabled the bandit fool to steal artifacts from dozens of our caravans and even from safe houses such as this one. Zamir has a method of disassembling the artifacts so that he can smuggle them off the island with ease, bound for ports of call in Cheliax. What we do not know is where Zamir is, since he never attacks with his men.”
“I gave Waman the information about your journey, so at some point along the route, Zamir’s bandits will ambush you. Previous experience indicates that his bandits will not kill if they don’t have to. Let them steal the scepter. You must put up a small struggle, maybe even kill or injure several of his men, but most importantly you must let them escape and they must escape with the scepter."
“Give them a few hours after the ambush to escape and then use the wayfinder to track Zamir to his hideout. Zamir is an arrogant man whose loyalties lie with whoever can make him famous to the people of Jalmeray. Right now he believes the Aspis Consortium is the answer. You will either convince him that the Society is the answer—as he could be a very powerful ally in the region—or you’ll end his operations for good. How you handle it, I leave to you. Good luck on your journey and may the gods guide your hand.”
“There’s trouble at the Blakros Museum again,” Venture-Captain Adril Hestram growled when you first entered the meeting room in the Grand Lodge earlier this afternoon. “The museum’s curator, Nigel Aldain, came to me this morning asking for help. Apparently, a wayward daughter of his illustrious patrons, the powerful Blakros family, has disappeared, along with a few of the museum’s watchmen who went looking for her. The Society has helped him in the past, and he wants us to find her, before he loses his job, or worse. Now Nigel’s an old friend, and a former Pathfinder, but this kind of missing person case isn’t really our bailiwick. Normally I’d tell him to find the district guard and leave the Society out of it."
“But then he made me an offer that was too good to pass up. Not only will he allow the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s extensive and very private library, but apparently this same missing daughter just returned to Absalom with a pack full of ancient relics collected throughout Osirion and northern Garund. And Nigel promised the Society first pick of any of those pieces that catch our fancy. I don’t need to tell you what those kinds of things might be worth, so it looks like you’re heading to the Blakros Museum tonight."
“The missing daughter is named Imrizade Blakros—half-Osirian herself and a pretty successful adventurer and fortune-hunter by all accounts. She just arrived in Absalom out of the blue a few days ago, after a couple of years’ worth of tomb-raiding in the Osirian deserts, and carrying an odd metal cylinder covered in hieroglyphs, like nothing Nigel has ever seen before. Nigel says she went straight to the basement of the museum to do some research in the family’s library, muttering something about ‘whispers in the dark’ and ‘old tapestries,’ or something. He didn’t hear from her for a couple of days, which isn’t unusual when someone is deep into their research in the archives, but he got worried when strange noises started coming from the basement. He sent a watchman down there to investigate, and when he didn’t return, Nigel sent a few more. That was last night, and they haven’t come back up either."
“Go to the museum and find out what happened to Imrizade Blakros and the watchmen. Nigel would prefer them alive, of course, especially the Blakros woman, but the Society is more interested in what she brought back with her. I’ve got a hunch it wasn’t just grave goods and pretty jewelry. Whatever she found, the Society wants it, or at the very least some information about it.”
It’s been nearly a month since Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng, a decrepit yet well-respected Pathfinder, instructed you to meet him dockside in Absalom. On arrival, Dreng herded you on to a Korvosa-bound merchant vessel and gave you a series of quick, stern instructions.
“One of my good friends, a merchant in the Varisian outcast’s haven known as Kaer Maga, sent me a very strange letter, which I need you to investigate. The merchant—his name is Horis Collgardie—tells me that the residents of Kaer Maga are very upset about the Society’s plan to build a lodge in their city and even further upset that the agents we sent are making trouble, stirring up the delicate balance of power that exists in the so-called City of Strangers. The trouble is, not the Decemvirate or any venture-captain I can find gave the okay to build a lodge there. We know it would be folly to do so—at least right now—and so this idea that Collgardie has that the Society is there and doing just that is worrisome."
Dreng takes a deep breath and continues. "In a few weeks time, you’ll be in Korvosa. From there, book passage on a river ship for Harse, then travel overland to the road’s end at the cliffs below Kaer Maga—the so-called Twisted Door. There you must pay the Duskwardens to escort you through the Halflight Path to reach Kaer Maga. Once inside the city, find Collgardie and find out what he’s talking about. If there are Pathfinders in the city founding a lodge, tell them I order them to stop at once. If this is some kind of ruse, get to the bottom of it and do what you can to keep our Society’s good name in Kaer Maga—we may not be completely welcome there, but neither are we unwelcome. Let’s keep it that way. Any questions?”
After being woken up by Ace stumbling into the dormitory at 3 am. You figure you ought to head to the docks to be there by dawn. You see the Rusty Clipper and the captain nods as you board.
Over the next few days, you drink rum, sing songs and swab decks. No one tells you where you are going.
As you disembark from the ship, you realize that you have reached Absalom. The towering metropolis looms in the background of the docks and as you move into the hustle and bustle of the city, a gnarled beggar passes you in the street, begging for coppers. His grimy fist clutches a crinkled piece of paper, which he deftly slips into your palm before disappearing back into the throng of longshoreman, merchants, stevedores, and other pedestrians.
Join me for a few pints of the devilfish-head grog at the Saucy Wench. Sundown. Be ready to travel.
The Saucy Wench is one of the few permanent structures in the Grand Bazaar in the Coins District of Absalom. It is a four-story mead hall of ill repute and one of Osprey’s favorite places to disseminate secretive orders from the Society to its member Pathfinders.
To learn more about the Saucy Wench, read page 20 in the Pathfinder Chronicles product, Guide to Absalom.
You have part of a day to do what they can to prepare for travel before they meet with Osprey.
Adril Hestram, a venture-captain with a severe face and an even more severe disposition, stands with his eyes locked in a gaze of professional appraisal, his hairy arms folded tightly over his powerful chest. Finally, after a long moment, he heaves a weary sigh, allowing his shoulders to slump as if defeated, and says, “All right, fine. I don’t have time to be picky. I need you to go to the Lusty Mermaid in the Docks. One of our Pathfinders, an aging man by the name of Airk Jarigan, hasn’t reported in for two weeks. He’s supposedly close to finding a priceless Andoren artifact called The Sniper, lost right here in Absalom, or so he’s been claiming. As the sun isn’t even up yet, he’s probably still asleep. I need you to go down to the Mermaid, drag Airk out of bed, and find out why he hasn’t been reporting in. More importantly, I need you to get that artifact. You’ll recognize Airk by a gold amulet he always wears around his neck. It’s of an owlbear clutching an amethyst. He should also be with his protégé, a whelp by the name of Dargo Mar. That’s all. What are you waiting for?”
Venture-Captain Hestia Themis, a small, unassuming woman of Taldan heritage with dark hair and eyes, holds a large sheaf of papers in her small hands and clears her throat. Her booming voice, the antithesis of her stature, fills the main hall of the small Pathfinder Lodge in the Taldan city of Cassomir.
“One of our own has been kidnapped. Pathfinder Cestis was taken just days ago from a relics auction in the Imperial Naval Shipyards, and we believe his dissapearance to be related to the six dozen or so kidnappings of the last several months. Now that one of our own is missing, this has become a Society matter—something we’ll get to the bottom of.”
Themis gestures to a teenage boy standing beside her, who nervously regards his surroundings and sweats profusely, his thick brown hair matted and wet against his head. “This is Nefti, the assistant to the biggest thorn in my side in Cassomir—an agent of the Aspis Consortium named Kafar. Kafar is also missing, taken from the same relics auction along with Pathfinder Cestis and a dozen other citizens of Cassomir. Nefti was at the auction, saw where a small group of the kidnapped victims were taken, and his handlers in Cassomir have give us access to him so that he might guide us to our missing Pathfinder. If you happen to find Kafar...” Themis grinds her teeth. “Let him go, per the agreement I’ve just made with his superiors. Your priority is Cestis, and I think Nefti can lead you to him. Any questions?”
The adventure starts with you mucking through the mire outside of Railford. You know Railford is a common stop over for soldiers, vagabonds, and others passing through these lands that seek a little debauchery and Railford’s infamous hooch.
---
The rain lets up for a little, yet its cold sourness remains and the overcast sky shows no effort towards cheering the mood. When Osprey assigned you this venture to Taldor’s wine country, he said the region was pleasant. As usual, his words were misleading. The coast was pleasant, the mires surrounding the Railford Distillery are not.
“This mission is easy,” he said, “All you need to do is travel to Railford, find the son of Iodon Railford and convince him to let the Pathfinders use part of his distillery as a lodge. We have finances, we can protect him, and if nothing else, we can help him honor the work of his father, who after all, was one of us.”
The path to Railford is hardly an easy one to follow, especially after the spring thaw waters turn the thick clay soil to slough. Only a few crudely scarred trees denote the secluded route as it winds through the syrupy mire of flooded vineyards and vague remnants of rotten trellis with grapevines choked out by pervasive briars and heavy blankets of peat.
Researchers for the Pathfinder Society have been making good progress unlocking the secrets of an Osiriani site called the Tilted Pyramid, a palace-tomb nearly 6,000 years old.
Unfortunately, someone has been ambushing the treasure laden caravans they send back for cataloging, making off with three batches of rare artifacts and ancient papyrus scrolls valued by Osiriontologists. The excavation team is trained for dealing with traps and puzzles, not armed conflict, and their porters and guards have so far been no match for the skilled blades of these mysterious attackers—raiders who may have ties to the Darklands. The lodge in Sothis has sent you to deal with the problem, courtesy of Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir.
The last information that you receive before traveling to Osirion is that the lead researcher at the Tilted Pyramid has just deciphered a carving that indicates the Tilted Pyramed has a counterpart buried underground, tied to an unknown energy source that, if properly activated, channels power to the Tilted Pyramid, allowing it to fly. The researcher, a man named Semru, believes its builder, a long-dead Osiriani wizard named Aram Hul, convinced the local inhabitants long ago to swear fealty to him and offer him tribute in exchange for protecting them from rival tribes. Semru believes that whoever has been stealing artifacts from the Pathfinder caravans knows where this second pyramid is—quite possibly within the upper Darklands—and emphasizes that the Pathfinders want it for themselves.
Fortunately, the dig team has managed to follow a faint trail leading from the last caravan attack two nights ago to a cave in a nearby outcropping of rock east of the Tilted Pyramid. The cave is at least sixty feet deep—as far as the team’s lanterns shine. The researchers aren't willing to go any deeper until they know the raiders have been dealt with.
In Absalom, the Venture-Captains claimed it would be a nice walk in the woods, a pleasant change of pace from the bustle of the city. Obviously they forgot about the brambles, boulders, and biting insects of the Verduran Forest, which turned the jouney into an arduous three-day scramble of detours, torn clothes, and near falls.
Fortunately, Venture-Captain Dennel Hamshanks (the greatest of Venture-Captains) made a firm impression before the expedition left
Absalom.
The air grew still as Hamshanks rolled into a meeting room deep inside the Pathfinder Lodge in Absalom, his jowls flowing and his enormous axe clanking against his thigh. The man’s black eyes scanned the room. “You lot?” Hamshanks spat. “Well, maybe you’ll surprise me."
“Your boat leaves in an hour, so I’ll be brief. One of the Society’s contacts in Andoran sent us an interesting little nugget this morning. A druid named Hemzel swept into Augustana’s Civic Library last week, demanding his right of research. Our contact learned that Hemzel acquired a lorestone from somewhere in the Verduran Forest. Heard of such a thing?” Hamshanks paused expectantly and spat again.
“Of course not. Heard of druids, at least? And their crazy stone circles? Well thank Gorum for that. Lorestones are somehow connected to them—supposedly they can bestow you with all of the knowledge of the druids. We’d like to know how, so we want that stone and you’re going to get it for us."
“Unfortunately, the Society is not a friend to Hemzel. He’s the self-declared protector of the Verduran Forest inside Andoran’s borders and some of our more eager explorers have angered him and his little band of gnomes. He’s sworn a blood feud with the Pathfinders."
“Break out your skills of persuasion and get me that lorestone. Do what you need to—sweep the floors or plant some trees for the old man. Something nice—let him know we’re there to study and not to slash and burn.”
As the sun sets on the third day of travel in the Verduran Forest, the welcome sight of a puffing chimney—Hemzel’s home, according to the map—reveals itself atop a hill.
“Rachikan has been discovered!” exclaims Venture-Captain Adril Hestram as he peers up from a collection of ragged maps, dusty tomes, and tarnished coins from behind a massive desk within the Grand Lodge in the heart of Absalom. His excitement quickly fades and Adril gestures toward an elderly man sitting by the hearth. “May I introduce a former Pathfinder and respected friend, Benton Grone. This gentleman has suffered a great loss to bring a grand discovery to us and he has agreed to trade all rights to his claim of locating lost Rachikan in return for locating his missing nephew. Go with him and make haste; he has agreed to guide you to the Pillars of Anferita in Cheliax.”
Seven days at sea end at a view of the Pillars of Anferita bursting from the Chelaxian coastline, waves crashing against their rocky flanks. The central pillar’s curves, flora, and shape are perfectly represented on the discolored Jistka coins Adril sent along with the expedition. As sailors from the hired vessel row toward the central column, a second rowboat in tow, Benton Grone breaks his silence.
“It’s got to be here; the coin says so. Look at the picture on the back: A temple-foundry high atop this pillar awaits to be discovered. If old Rachikan of the Jistka Imperium is inside, then my nephew must reside there as well. Please hurry—find my poor Eldis.”
As the sailors row away from the pillars, taking Benton Grone with them but leaving behind a rowboat to return to the waiting ship, the waves slowly begin to push higher up the rocky harbor, signaling the beginnings of high tide. An unguarded, well-maintained rope stretches up the cliff, beckoning to the plateau high above.
Jistka Imperium
Knowledge (History) DC 15:
Historians suggest a stern society called the Jistka Imperium helped advance Golarion during the Age of Anguish. At their height, they spanned parts of Cheliax, Rahadoum, and Thuvia. Remnants from this once great empire include a numbering system still used today.
Knowledge (History) DC 20:
Jistka was known for their golemworks artificers who created many mathematical wonders.
Knowledge (History) DC 25:
Occult whispers hint at the forged pacts between the Jistka artificers and fiends from the lower planes to grant unsurpassed skill at the forge.
Knowledge (History) DC 30:
Evidence indicates the Jistka Imperium was filled with secret, diabolist societies and that these societies worked hand-in-hand with the golemworks artificers to create frightening fiendish constructs.
Rumours (Not the Fleetwood Mac album)
Gather Information DC 15:
A member of the Pathfinder society spent several ancient coins from the Jistka Imperium recently in a town called Macini in southwestern Cheliax along the Inner Sea coast. He claimed to have found lost treasure and has since disappeared.
Gather Information DC 20:
Recently, large purchases of mining equipment have been shipped from several cities in Cheliax to the Pillars of Anferita.
Gather Information DC 25:
A beautiful woman made a large purchase of slaves from a desert slaver near the Arch of Aroden—she indicated they were heading to a dig site in the Pillars of Anferita.
Gather Information DC 30:
A feared and respected man named Haliduris Karn is the man behind the recent slave and mining equipment purchases and it’s rumored that the Aspis Consortium funds his every move.
Six weeks ago, you were roused from your quarters in the Sothis Pathfinder Lodge in Osirion and ordered to travel far to the north into the decidedly unfriendly Hold of Belkzen.
Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir gave you two missions: first, to uncover the whereabouts of a Pathfinder delver named Heralt who was last seen working out of a hidden Chelish fort called Skull Hill, and second, to investigate claims in a long-ago published volume of the Pathfinder Chronicles that a lost tomb rests beneath the fort’s timber tower—a tomb that holds the body of Akila, a legendary Osirian sorceress and her magic ring that was said to have brought death to Skull Hill the day Akila was laid to rest.
After weeks aboard a smelly Katapeshi galley crossing the Inner Sea, winding up the Sellen River, bravely traversing stormy Lake Encarthan, slipping up The Path, and finally docking in Vigil, you and your companions then crossed the Belkzen frontier into a region the orcs call the Skittering Mounds, carefully avoiding orcish patrols. Now you stand atop a ridge overlooking a low river valley and stare down at the fort called Skull Hill.
Since you have traveled for weeks to Skull Hill, making many stops in large populated cities along the way (including Absalom, Cassomir, and Vigil), you have every opportunity to acquire any supplies you might need at any of those stops. You can also use those stops as opportunities to ask about Skull Hill, Heralt, or the famed Osiriani sorceress Akila.
Heralt - The Pathfinder
Gather Information DC 10:
Heralt is a Pathfinder delver, known for his many explorations of regions that don’t look favorably on Pathfinders—regions such as the Hold of Belkzen, Druma, and the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. He was last seen in Vigil, preparing to travel to the incredibly dangerous region of Belkzen called the Skittering Mounds.
Gather Information DC 15:
Heralt was traveling to the Skittering Mounds to seek out a hidden Chelish fort called Skull Hill. He was said to be posing as an explorer from a minor noble house of Cheliax, and was there seeking a lost tomb for the Pathfinder Society.
Gather Information DC 25:
Heralt’s last report from Skull Hill was that he’d confirmed the existence of the tomb of the famed Osirian sorceress Akila, but that access to it was blocked and it was going to take some time to get inside. He promised to report again in a week and it’s been months since he was last heard from.
Skull Hill
Gather Information DC 10:
Skull Hill was a strategic Chelish fort in modern day Belkzen that the nation of Cheliax used for mercenary recruitment and weapons trading during the Everwar. It was destroyed when Cheliax ceded those lands to Belkzen.
Gather Information DC 15:
Skull Hill still exists. The Chelish government has kept it secret for centuries and they use the hidden fort to keep tabs on the Belkzen orc tribes.
Gather Information DC 25:
Skull Hill is part of a complex spy network that Cheliax uses to keep tabs on Belkzen, Lastwall, Varisia, Nidal, and Nirmathas. No one has heard anything from Skull Hill in months.
Akila - Legendary Sorceress
Knowledge (History) DC 10:
Akila was an Osirian sorceress who died somewhere in the Chelish frontier during the Everwar.
Knowledge (History) DC 15:
Akila was the mistress of Skull Hill during the Everwar and used the fort to build a mercenary army that she sold to whoever paid the most—she was not loyal to Cheliax and spoke often of her patron in Sothis. One day she dropped dead of seemingly nothing and as she was laid to rest, the magic ring she always wore on her left hand emitted a horrifying necromantic energy that nearly killed everyone in the fort.
Knowledge (History) DC 25:
Akila was buried in caverns deep beneath Skull Hill’s timber tower lest someone find her ring and figure out how to activate its power. A Pathfinder once resided in Skull Hill a hundred or so years ago and reported Akila’s cavern as a rumor in one of his reports back to Absalom.
“I have a mission for you,” says Istivil Bosk, the Venture-Captain of Daggermark in the River Kingdoms. After receiving the assignment from Venture-Captain Adril Hestram in Absalom, traveling for weeks across the Inner Sea and up the lengthy Sellen River, and with barely an hour to adjust to Daggermark’s sights and sounds, the Venture-Captain of Daggermark now paces back and forth across cramped quarters crammed full of maps, books, and adventuring gear.
“Your timing is perfect, friends,” explains Bosk, an elderly man with graying hair and a pinched, weathered face. He waves a parchment in his hand. “I received another letter just yesterday.” He holds up another stack of letters. “It’s from the Black Marquis—I believe his real name is Bazzak—the leader of a band of brigands surreptiously known as the Pirate Pact. In all of these letters, he claims to need our help and offers us The Memoirs of the Silver Brotherhood, a rare text—maybe the rarest—in exchange. The Society tried for years to track it down and now Bazzaks claims to be ready to give it to us. I’m sending you north to Deadbridge near the Echo Wood to meet this Black Marquis and offer him your help with whatever it is he needs. I want this book, and you’ll get it for me.”
And so the mission travels north along the Sellen River, to the aptly named village of Deadbridge, a rundown hamlet partially built on wharves. It is there, in a rundown antiquemanor house where stands Urdul Bazzak, the Black Marquis.
“I rule the Pirate Pact and with it the stretch of the Sellen River between here and Numeria,” proudly states the portly little man. “The waterways are the lifeblood of the River Kingdoms, so you must understand that any menace to the river is a menace to the balance of power.” The Black Marquis stops and quickly looks to his left and right before leaning in and continuing in hushed tones. “Unless someone deals with this threat soon, I could lose everything. Normally I would rely on my most trusted lieutenants, but …” Bazzak sits up, regains some composure, and resumes. “The book I’m willing to trade for your service—The Memoirs of the Silver Brotherhood—contains information about an Azlanti treasure vault deep within the Echo Wood. That’s where I sent my most trusted lieutenants. Only, on their way they were waylaid by spiders and abominations and only one returned alive. Lady Riverbane sent out another ship upon her return, the Hanspur’s Luck, to search for my men. The Luck hasn’t returned either.” Bazzak points to the only other person in the room, a raven-haired beauty standing in a corner. “Lady Riverbane is my most trusted second, and she will take one of my best ships and guide you back to the Azlanti vault. Rid the river of these monstrous spiders and their abominations, find the Hanspur’s Luck, and uncover the whereabouts of my men, and the book is yours. Do it quickly, do it quietly, and do it before the rest of the Pact realize I’ve sent my best men on fools’ errands that may have killed them all.”
You have been called to the Grand Lodge of Absalom for a briefing. Seated in a small chamber around a darkwood table, various trophies gathered from across the face of Golarion hang from the walls. A monkey-shaped mask with a serpent’s tongue glares out from the center of one wall, a strange halberd with gold rings piercing its thick blade and dragons carved along its haft hangs opposite the monkey mask. You are alone save your fellow Pathfinders, who apparently have been called here for the same purpose.
You all wait, engaging in idle chitchat or sitting quietly.
Finally, a huge man wearing creaking leathers marches into the room. He looks at each of you, as if he were appraising a handful of gemstones freshly pulled from the earth, and nods curtly. Some of you know him as Adril Hestram, a longtime Pathfinder and rumored to be the unwitting architect of the famed Katapesh slave riot of 4702. Adril’s physique puts most half-orcs to shame.
“Welcome, friends. We have a serious problem. Skelg the Ripper came to Absalom one month ago. Like many Ulfen warriors he joined the Longaxes, the Taldan Emperor’s personal guard whose duty it is to protect the embassy and Taldan visitors. Skelg also dropped a hefty sum of gold to purchase a manor in the Ivy district, something a Longaxe isn’t paid well enough to do. It is widely assumed that he brought most of his wealth with him from the north—a rumor I know to be true."
“It seems that Skelg also brought a curse with him. In his letter to me, he speaks of lying abed in this miserable summer dying from the cold. Neither physician nor priest has been able to cure his ailment, and there are no signs of disease or poison. Of course, for such a man, there is no greater dishonor than to die in bed instead of in battle."
“Normally, the Pathfinder Society would monitor these events and let the authorities deal with them. However, there are three factors that have drawn our interest. First, Skelg is himself a member of our Society and has asked for our help. Second, he is a personal friend of mine, and finding a sparring partner as worthy as Skelg to replace him would be a trying task. Last, he claims that artifacts of great power are involved, and that we may be able to recover them for the vaults of the Grand Lodge."
“We view this situation as having enough importance to assign you to investigate it. Go to the home of Skelg the Ripper, learn what you can, and do your best to help him. If you find an item that is somehow connected to the curse, either retrieve it or glean as much information as you can about it."
It has been nearly 5 days since late evening messengers pulled you awake from your tasks and ordered you to appear before Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng by midnight. Dreng, ever presenting the appearance of the doddering, decrepit old man, met you in his personal quarters in Cassomir. Dressed only in tattered night clothes complete with a faded yellow sleeping cap, the youthful excitement in Dreng’s eyes belied his elderly appearance.
“We’ve found them!” he declared, the moment you arrived in the Great Hall. “Those pitiful bastards who murdered Pathfinder Bodriggan Wuthers in Oppara those few days ago—you know, the Zyphus-worshipping fools who tried to turn Oppara into a zombie-filled nightmare? After all this time, we finally tracked their remnants to a burned-out temple in the vagabond camp across the river from the capital. You will set out for there at once—there is a ship waiting—and meet a man named Sebastus Hustavan outside the burned-out temple. You should remember him. You saved his life. Once a man of great importance, he seems to have fallen on hard times—fallen so far as to join those Zyphus fiends. But he’s redeemed himself by telling us their location! Find Hustavan—it can’t be hard, there’s only one burned-out temple to Sarenrae in the vagabond camp—learn all you can about the cult’s hideout, and then cleanse it of their presence. Cultists across Golarion must know they may not use the Society to fulfill their horrid glories—so too will they know that the Society will not stand by and watch its members murdered!”
Dreng cleared his throat then, his posture losing the sudden youthful fire and passion and looking more like Mu at this moment, his shoulders hunching once more, his face pinched and tired. “Of course, while you are there,” he rasped, “do your duty as Pathfinders and seek anything they may have that the Society would need in the vaults.”
So, after a hurried early morning rush to gather supplies in Cassomir, several days in the blustery open plains, and another trying to locate this abandoned shrine, you find yourself walking through a chilly, early morning rain storm and approaching what the vagabond locals say is the location of the burned-out temple to Sarenrae.
Any questions or purchases can be asked/made at this time.
Question: Why is the worship of the Old Great Ones or Outer Gods disallowed?
There are many gods that are legal for play under the current rules that champion ideas such as deformation, forced pregnancy, murder, torture, disease, etc. I believe that Urgathoa and Lamashtu are two of the main gods that are the best examples of this. Their portfolios, history, worship requirements and cults are especially evil and grotesque. I encourage the idea that these be legal choices for worship as the Society operates in a way that may necessitate someone of their inclinations.
To my mind, Hastur/Cthulu/Azathoth/etc. are all deities that are much more reserved. They are not nearly as strict in their requirements for their followers and certainly have groups of followers that aren't Evil. In fact, some followers of GOOs or OGs can even be Good (e.g. Azathoth can have CG followers, same as Mhar or Bokrug).
To me, it doesn't seem that the exclusion of these deities from the legal choices is based on the fact that these deities condone evil actions (I don't think they do. They couldn't care less about the machinations of Golarion's inhabitants according to the mythos). It can't be because the deities have evil cults as nearly every evil or neutral deity has at least one evil cult or following. I honestly cannot think of a reason why these two groups of deities are excluded when deities such as Urgathoa/Lamashtu/Zon Kuthon/etc. are allowed to be worshipped.
TL;DR: I want to play a Ecclesitheurge Cleric of Hastur, but I can't because the deity choice isn't legal and I'm not sure why that is the case.
