Mayor Doyle's page

"It intends to detonate itself." Mayor Doyle calmly suggests... "Revive the creature... or we all die."

Mayor Doyle butts in.. "-And middle management will be free hurrah.... We should go after the inner circle. The dreamers who are the Matronguard."
Otholear just rolls his eyes.

Mayor Doyle's head rocks back with the shot. Otholear scoots from the rapier's reach before Mayor Doyle can recover... and then further away as Sunny unleashes her tirade.
Migthwet the tentacle-chinned derro rushes to his side. Doyle shrugs off the creature's aid as he sheathes his rapier, tugs his waistcoat straight, and retrains the locks of hair - knocked out of place by the blow.
"Righteous might and do-goodery is useless... not to mention rather dull when not pitted against true evil. I merely set you on a path toward a bit of it... as the hands of fate might do. Should I warn the divine shapers of destiny to expect such a thump, tongue lashing, and.. naked aggression as well?"

"Hmmm.. Oh the details... who knows. This is all second hand from scouts and underlings who never seem to get to the point quickly enough to keep my attention for the details...." He lightly scratches his cheekbone as he steals a glance.
"I've gotten to the point where unless they've dragged themselves in bleeding, or have.. ahem.. brought me something sparkly, I just say Ah.. when they've stopped.. prattling on."
Doyle remains distracted enough for Sunny to come close.
Otholear is too distracted to notice Doyle's rapier and attention veering away from him.
Migthwet appears distracted in general.

go for it AC13 at the moment.

"While you did not in so many words volunteer for this, our interests are aligned. We wish the final death of a great evil, do we not? She would have continued to haunt us if were not to snuff her out."

"Regardless... there are more important things to worry over than my moralities and spotty past. The Third Fold of Leng has come to Golarion as well, and has very likely made the same false assumption as your druid friends since your procurement..." He casually gestures to indicate Arcthyl. "Otholear and his enclave's main operation is to the north... Fort Hook. They've apparently been under assault by your allies, and some of yours... " He looks to Arcthyl, then the others. ".. but now.. Leng has arrived. The Third Fold will be relatively vulnerable until they have attuned. After that, they will be able to pluck minions from time... any thing or anyone who's walked those lands."

Those of you who know him, see Mayor Doyle. He has a rapier to the throat of Otholear near the doorway of the dark stone chamber.
"You see Otholear... by infusing their distant clones with their dreamselves... I uh... don't precisely understand enough to explain. Unfortunately.. things will not likely go well for their clones. The pitting of Leng against the Matron will cost some collateral damage."

"But the extent of the evil - their manipulations of time destroying worlds.. was kept from him." Mayor Doyle descends the stair. "Allow me to take things from here. As I've said, time is short. We will need an army to defeat the sleeping Eoxians, and they will grow in power with each clone they consume. Fortunately, we have allies available within the Barracks and Academy cubes. Unfortunately... they will need help getting here."
"Entering or exiting a cube is a simple cantrip. It can be learned... is known by few, but each key contains the ability. The Academy Cube lies under the fountain in the center of the village. Within it, is a land twelve square miles. In the center is the main structure. It is an impregnable fortress. This is where the cube is controlled, and it has been taken by Horth's minions. With the key you could enter behind enemy lines directly into the control room. Simply defeat what forces are there and open the doors. Corum's acquaintance Errik is already there rallying a rebellion outside the walls of the fortress."

"I hope you don't mind me leaving the room you provided. I accepted capture for my own protection from Horth, and I did not consider those you left behind sufficient."

"You have finally come to see me. Isn't that what I asked on the first day you arrived? This might have been far less complicated if you had simply joined me for breakfast as I'd requested."

As Drulsk the half-orc bodyguard starts to move to escort Mayor Doyle back to his room, Doyle addresses him.

"So Drulsk... tell us who your friend is here. He is certainly making me feel a tad overdressed right now, I do say"

Drulsk stops and looks at Gromsch. "Gromsch was my master.. my tutor many years ago... Though I do not remember, I sent word to him asking to inspect the curious water here."

Mayor Doyle allows Drulsk to conduct introductions with Corum's help, and then hands his glass of water to Gromsch after taking a sip. "Seems fine to me."

As Varian starts to fill the glass from his waterskin "Thank you... really, but that is quite alright."
He then responds to Sunny "If you believe that ending the Crone is not in your best interest, then I suppose that is a valid question. To be quite honest, I believe it would be. One not insignificant reason is the fact the Crone will not rest until this poor child is returned to her... Raised by a witch... terrible thing. Just be careful hmm... she's a real charmer ahem heh." He smiles smugly looking down as he checks his progress on pushing back his cuticles.

He then looks back up at Sunny "If your question is really why protect this village, the ruins underneath us hold great power and arcane knowledge. The varied forces I once controlled now wait to see if the village is truly unprotected."
He gestures with his finger to "hold the floor" a while longer "If it helps, I will try my hand at an analogy. I found myself with the leashes in hand of mad dogs. My fall let loose those dogs, and they will do a good deal more than tear up the furniture. I understand I bear some guilt, and consider it my responsibility to do what I can to help. I think it unwise to go after the biggest dog with the runts nipping at your heels before you even reach the big bruiser."

"Before you leave, I could use a glass of water... I don't suppose any of you are able to conjure some?... I have a glass here." He kicks back the last of his drink, and slides the glass forward. As he does he glances at his cane in Corum's possession, and opens his mouth as if to speak but doesn't. He then gives his glass another little nudge on the table.

Mayor Doyle is suddenly troubled looking at the state of his fingernails... regardless he must have caught some of Corum's "leaning" by his response.
"If you care for me to continue, that is fine. Although some memories are lost with each transfer and splitting of my consciousness, I do remember enough of my ten thousand years to fill a morning with a tale or two."
"However if you find my demeanor too subdued, and wish to remind me of my role as prisoner... we can do that instead. Your house, your rules." He then gives Corum his full attention for about three seconds.

"Oh... one thing. I could be out of your reach with the utterance of seven syllables. But... this is not what I want. I want the Crone dealt with. Raid the boarding house within which her coven of clones and thralls reside. Find out where Gilvorgionne the Crone lays her weary head at night, and end her."

Next to him, Tilda the witch child sits quietly, and quite visibly emotionally conflicted with his plan against the Crone.

Mayor Doyle takes a moment. "Hmm. Perhaps you know not enough to even form a question? I will break it down into manageable chunks. First. We go after... the Crone."

Tilda sits up and protests "What?!"

Mayor Doyle responds "What... did you think I would suggest this rabble going after Magnus himself? You think my judgement is that clouded? No. Buck up chippy... you will be free from her." Somehow his maintained eye contact soothes her protestation.

He turns his attention back to the group. "The Crone has the easiest access to the village, and a portion of her coven even takes up residence here. What you take from the dead hands of her sisters will help you against the other factions. Do this and I will provide more assistance to you. I must be certain we are on the same page after all."

"And you would be right.. it is."

"Before the apocalyptic event on our world here, a group came here from another world... a dying world in which new births came soulless. The others of this world found a solution in eternal undeath. For this group, that was unacceptable."
He accepts the glass, and takes a sip.

"They had been contacted by a group which consisted of essentially their counterparts of this world... and when I mean here, I mean the underground complex beneath us which is now mostly in ruins. The peers of this world were arcane theorists and researchers... a secretive organization known as the Silver Sun. With the knowledge of these otherworlders, huge advancements were made... but there was a price. They were not easily appeased, and the task of doing exactly that was given to a new - even more secretive, subsect... the Black Sun."

"After three prototypes which would later be integrated - the Academy, the Barracks, and the Library, they created an entire world - similar to a demiplane, but connected through portals to the planes of fire, earth, air, and water. Light and Dark, Good and Evil... those come on their own."

"In this world they contorted time.... in the center their bodies were to sit in relative stasis, on the surface time would flow much faster, but still at a tiny fraction of our time. They would have clones created for them who would live their lives among the humans who knew nothing of this or even the peculiar nature of their world. And when they passed on, a ritual was enforced by the empowered rulers which masked the true nature of their afterlife... a return to the center of the world where their memories would be consumed. And then their corpse would be recycled as ingredients for the Ugothol ritual."
"Since then... various secrets have been lost and found, absconded and retrieved, hidden and recovered over the past hundred centuries. We had been working on a few choice bits, and kept any knowledge from peoples' minds for quite some time. Not the most pleasant experience to inflict on assumedly innocent people, but I'm sure most would agree - if they had an inkling, that it is well worth the cost."

Mayor Doyle sits shelling and popping peanuts... He gives Zed -what looks like a genuine smile. "Well that is ten-thousand years of a tale there, my friend. I believe I will require a larger glass of refreshment. Perhaps... something a little stronger. Oh... and a more specific line of questions. Do you wish to know of the forces you face? Or the power available - both now wielded and yet untapped? How about what happens if Magnus Horth the Returned takes me alive and drinks the memories within my blood? Do you wish to know what will become of this little part of the world if certain parties take command of all the artifacts involved? So much.. and it all seems rather tiring to me. I say... until the noisy scrum outside this morning, it has been rather relaxing here... bunking up as it were."

Inside...

When Sunny opens the door, the Zed clone is sitting on his bedroll with his back against the wall. He raises an eyebrow.
Mayor Doyle has arranged crates and a couple dry goods sacks to make himself a suitable cushioned place to sit while held captive. He appears to be crafting a primitive burlap doll from the scraps lying about.

Mayor Doyle smiles, and sets down his half-made doll to provide his full attention."Ahh. How might you be this morning, my dear? You doo carry a hint of lavender and lime, but I can see you are the original, are you not? Tell me... how are things outside. I am terribly piqued, I must admit. Are we having difficulties in town?"

Mayor Doyle replies while adjusting his cuffs under his morning jacket so the right amount of linen shows at the wrist.
"Pfft. I do say... Against you rabble - in spite of the betrayals which have just come to pass, triumphing today will rank amongst my opus of accomplishments a hair above ridding my garden of locusts."

"Save your meager cantrips boy... a painless death awaits those who submit! After fixing his combover Mayor Doyle touches his thumb to his index finger... then to his ring finger. A scroll appears in his hand which he begins to read while gesturing emphatically toward Varian with his cane.

The two humans nearest to you appear to notice you. The older gentleman in scorched fine attire casually glances over toward you as you approach. He then looks again; leaning forward as if straining to see. You can now see the blond human next to him is encased in something that looks like a big soap bubble.

The older gentlemen waves his arms with a cane in one hand... which he brings down to steady himself after a few flaps of his arms.
"Please help! I am Doyle the mayor of the village here! My estate is under attack! Some evil wizard and bomb throwing brute are..." He turns and looks over the battle dropping his sentence... they have..." he sighs, and begins to mutter.

(bluff failed against all)

(anyone able to see the map? I'll try to figure out problem, and repost somehow.)

A hairy chunk flies off the side of the worker's head from Braxton's blow. His slick black true skin balloons out from the wound. He starts to grow and his human skin dries, cracks, and is sucked into the black skin like dead leaves sinking in oil.

Mayor Doyle turns, and looks over the battle... You now see Errik has been encased in a transparent bubble.

About a hundred feet to the southwest, you see two blond young women wrestling with each other near a large mound of felled trees. They look identical from here, though the one in the cloak appears to be badly injured.

"You could surrender... or things could turn real ugly..."

Errik save: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

end of Round 4
Corum
Braxton - posted
Errik

Braxton's bomb explodes on impact. After the flash and debris clear, the ugothol drops... it's arm is destroyed, and a black oily substance gloops out.

Mayor takes Errik's hesitation as a chance to regain his authoritative presence... it turns to tantrum levels... "I?! Should give a gaunt fruit for what slithers off your treacherous tongue? You you hag!" He pushes up his remaining sleeve.
"I will embrace death as you wish Crone! After I turn these impudent interlopers into shreds of flesh... I will hunt you down Crone!" the spittle starts to fly "I will hunt you down... and your bones will be a white picket fence for your foul remains!!"

The trueform Ugothols lope over to the many Corums. They scramble to either side.. as if trying to herd all of the Corum's in.

One of the still-human looking workers charges Braxton with a hatchet, the one near him armed with a club cautiously strafes to flank. Though a nasty swing, Braxton deflects enough to only receive a imminent welt from the shaft.

The third still-human worker limps scorched over to Doyle's side... eyeing Errik. (5' step, readied action to mollywop Errik if he moves)

Errik - rd 3 action available

Round 4
Mayor Doyle - full-rd action tirade
Workers/Ugothols
Corum
Braxton
Errik

Round 3

Mayor Doyle yells... a genuine growing rage "Crone! I will no longer tolerate his insolence! Wipe that insolent boy's mind as my other ungrateful sons... warden or barkeep is too good for him! Convince him he is a bloody ratcatcher!"
He then sweeps his gaze over the workers/Ugothols and points to Corum. "You wait for a wizard to charge?! Get him!!"
He clubs the snarling wolverine at his heel.

1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
1d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Round 2

Mayor Doyle waves an acknowledgement to one of the cloaked figures gesturing from the door of the saw mill. He then turns to see Braxton and Corum... he stands "Errik my boy, I'm afraid today's events are progressing less than smoothly. I had hoped we could discuss more as well as allow you to witness the proof of concept of my Ugothol Infiltrators. Alas... Now is the time for you to accept your fate." Mayor taps the tip of his cane on the ground.

Errik - Will save DC18

"Pardon the behavior of my progeny, he does not approve of handing the Barracks over to the Duergar... nor does the fact that he will not inherit the Academy from me sit well with him..."
Mayor Doyle stops and turns; now hearing the call of the Crone...
"Ah... I take this to mean you did not in fact come alone, Mr Cadley?" He asks nonchalantly.

As Errik, the mayor and his entourage reach the edge of the lumberyard, the attendant motions to one of the workers... who promptly fetches a bench for Errik and Mayor Doyle.
"Ah! Splendid.. thank you." Mayor Doyle sits and motions for Errik to do so as well, before resting both hands on his on his cane. "Should be arriving momentarily. The "copies" have assured us the "originals" have all they require to free themselves, and avoid the duergar enjoying their well-deserved celebratory feast."

Mayor Doyle stares off in this distance for a few moments before speaking again."While we wait I suppose I should tell you what I am expecting from you" He now looks Errik in the eye with a new intensity, and unaffected speech "While for their assistance, I will be giving one artifact to the duergar of the Cruel Citadel... as well as those frozen in time from your world by the Black Sun. I will keep the Academy for myself. Madam Gilvorgione has become far too old, and her vitality and her abilities are nearly milked dry. After we leech the knowledge of that accursed code from your skull... the key to the Quadrivium, you will take her place in the Academy. You are a young man for your level of intellect, ability, and experience... we will get decades of use out of you."

Mayor Doyle turns to the attendant, and his eccentric old man demeanor returns Sirius? Go fetch little Tilda for us, would you?"

The attendant sets his teeth on edge with this request, and replies thick with scorn. "Yes... original" He mutters a spell, and jumps into the air... flying toward the village.

Mayor Doyle nods "I understand, my boy." The well-dressed bushy-haired attendant brings Mayor Doyle his cane, and follows. The workers follow as well... though they hang back twenty feet or so. The old woman remains eating alone at the table, and intercepts Errik's gaze back to the manor with a simmering accusing look.

"I am pleased to hear you are willing to bear witness... The ones who will be joining us from their slumber do have one advantage. These constructed ugothols who have assumed their identities.. 'drunk their memories' as they are found of saying.." He chuckles a bit. "They have had only, as I said, a week of our time to hone their singular abilities... those which could be replicated that is... " He stops to ruminate for second "I suppose the inability to replicate certain abilities would be an another advantage for.. shall we refer to them as the 'originals'?" He shrugs and continues walking "Regardless, the advantage the ugothols... or 'copies' in this particular sense, the advantage they have are the trappings of the originals!"
"So you see.. So you see, don't you Mr Cadley? We will see if the clothes indeed make the man, and if the less of a man the more need for clothes, eh? Right... don't you say?"
He mutters over his other shoulder to his attendant "I don't believe that at all, do you hmm?"
"no sir" The attendant gives Errik a smug look as Mayor Doyle turns away to continue shuffling along toward the lumberyard.

Mayor Doyle nods as Errik names Argot and smiles when Errik mentions his land.
The old woman glares at Errik when he asks about Tilda... Mayor Doyle takes her hand and pets it to calm her.
He then responds before speaking quickly to the old woman... "Yes. My dear Gilvorgione is rather concerned about Tilda. Don't you worry, Mr Cadley here is a teacher... he would never bring harm to your poor child."
Mayor Doyle's attendant anticipates the old man's desire to stand, and is there to assist him. "Come with me, boy. Something I would like you to see which I believe will change your perspective... show you how insignificant your concerns are. No offense please... I don't mean to trivialize what you currently consider worth fretting over.. Fawni and her brother.. that was unfortunate. As was the loss of the little fellow underground who made life bearable for the villagers. Such a terrible thing to not be able to forget your problems, or the alien nature of your hard-working husband or father as he learns how to function as a convincing human.... Ah!" He looks off toward the lumbermill and calmly waves to a wildly gesturing dark-skinned dwarf - several hundred feet to the southwest - running over from the lumberyard.

Mayor Doyle turns to the col-eyed humans not dressed as workers (none of whom you recognize), and swings a point to the lumberyard. "Time for our demonstration."
The group takes off; dashing toward the lumberyard... the squinting sweating dark dwarf throws an excited fist in the air as they run past him.

Mayor Doyle continues; raising his voice as the wind picks up and steps away from the gazebo tent. "Mr Cadley... What you are about to see... well it is simply remarkable. One week - of our time - in the Academy has turned lumps of harvested organic material into... well you will see." He turns and takes a book from the table, and hands it to Errik. "These ugothols are merely vessels... those good folk you see are no less real than those from which they acquired their identity. And now... we will pit them against each other."

Mayor Doyle nods, and responds with his affected speech... drawing out certain words dramatically "Mmhmm. Yes I have heard.. as I've said. Does seem to be upsetting people though, does it not? The forays into the sewers and such." He pauses and breathes deeply while gazing off into the distance, and wiping his hands.
"Errik, my good man, this is a quiet... somewhat isolationist community. After a long day of work, my men here would like a nice peaceful place to lay their heads at night. You can certainly understand that can't you?"

You start to recognize some of the workers now among those who are around the Mayor's breakfast gazebo tent... a few have taken lessons from you. They all stand serious and stern.
The old woman chases and spears small sausages in bowl of gravy with her long nailed fingers... slurps them up, then rinses; clinking in a clear fingerbowl.

"I do have a proposition for you. Since, as you say, you wish to be of help. I would like for you to teach this fascinating language - of which you have somehow taken command despite its resistance to arcane assisted comprehension - to a few select pupils. If things go well, and I am quite sure they will..." He pauses to smile warmly "Perhaps we can accept you into the fold... become... part of the family."

His attention turns to the books in front of him. "This place has a long history... it took me years before coming to appreciate my ancestors efforts here." He leans in and speaks with a intimate near-whisper as he takes up his knife and fork again... he gestures with the knife emphasizing his words with some enthusiasm "There is a great potential here. Artifacts passed down from my father's father which hold great power - secreted away below a simple riverside village were mere prototypes... the real power lies in the swamp. This language is the key to open the door..." He then starts cutting into his food. "And you have it, my boy." He makes eye contact while placing a forkful of eggy food in his mouth.

Some of the lumbermill workers move toward Errik in an imposing manner, but Mayor Doyle waves them off, and starts to stand "No no don't be ridiculous... please... join me." Gesturing to the empty chair at the table across from him as he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

In addition to the fruit, breakfast meats, and breads,... there are two books of similar style as those found in connection with D'Argent Sol.

"Quite looking forward to a little chat... I found it unfortunate we could not meet earlier. It was my desire to meet you in person, and believe me, that is a rare thing... my time is very precious to me."

"Mister Horne has told me of your exploits in my little village... you and your friends.." He looks around "I see they chose not to join you this morning? No matter... You are the one with whom I wished to speak."

Mayor Doyle looks to be in at least his 80's... there is some virility from his elven heritage, but his age is apparent in his very human wrinkled eyes. He is in fine, but dated clothing, and a cane with a glossy metal head which looks like some octopus-like sea creature lies next to him on the table.

The woman next to him looks older, and more weathered. Fragile like an abandoned shack on the verge of toppling upon itself. She fights to keep her focus upon you through her tremors.