Well, put it on your calendars, except that we don't know what date, ha ha. Also Extra Ki Power feat seems fine to me. (sorry, forgot about that question.)
Meta Update By now you've likely guessed the overall structure of the campaign. You've explored ~2 full locations where a soul from the wreck of the Venerable Theseus has been on this plane (all of the Swaying Lantern, 1/2 of Chimera Cove, 1/2 of the ocean floor/giant sea creature's belly). There is a 4th location for the 4th individual (wizard tower on Rivenrake Island) that you have not explored yet... as well as a mysterious Final Location. So what I'm saying is that you're about halfway through this campaign. You started at level 6. If you level up to 9 soon (how much XP left?), that will have been about 3 levels every 4 months. I predict this campaign will end in another full year, so around January 2021. If our progress holds steady we will just make it to level 12 for the final fight. As always, I'm having a lot of fun playing this with you guys. Let me know if you have any questions or concerns or helpful criticism.
The central room has the SW pillar loose. A simple nudge would send it falling to the ground in any direction pushed. Knowledge Engineering DC 20:
The ceiling doesn't look like it can handle anymore damage or it will collapse. 2 more pillars (not counting the SW one already loose) and it will fall. In the back room is a stable, complete with a trough filled with celestial hay and holy seeds for the pegasus. There is a saddle strung over a saddle holder, and a space for a large cart or wagon, though the cart and equipment is smashed to splinters. There is a pitchfork for the straw on the floor as well, and instead of the usual horse-smell, there pervades a mixture of horse manure and bird droppings. Pegasuses, despite their majestic nature, seem to have combined the worst parts of the gastrointestinal systems of both equestrians and avians. Arbaro Perception:
You notice the pitchfork is made of magical material, and can be used in combat. It is in fact a Fighter's Fork made of the special material Elysian bronze.
With its teeth clinging to his shoulder, Lem's eyes blaze in cold fury. He checks his shoulder down to the ground, forcing the bat onto its back, its wings awkwardly scrabbling against the stone floor. In the same motion Lem builds momentum with Quaker behind him, swinging his other shoulder around as the halfling stands up. The bat's teeth rip out of Lem's flesh, blood dripping down his chiseled bicep as he raises both arms high at the end of his earthbreaker. And before the bat can blink Lem pulls the hammer down, aided by gravity, hate, and corded muscles. The hammer cracks through skin and bones, brain and stones, shuddering the foundations of the crypt. The columns behind you, holding up the floor of the church, shudder. Dust falls from the roof and one column shifts, barely perceptible. Your eyes hurt, the impact hit so hard.
The minotaur has two Runechill hatchets and a +2 full plate. As Arbaro casually breaks open the case, the golden coil inside springs out at the oread.
You can see now the thin coil was not the golden thread but instead is a magical fine chain that is wrapping around Arbaro's throat. He is unable to speak or breathe, but with your help suffers no long-term effects. When the chain is cast down/destroyed, you see that it is made of pyrite links in a false imitation of the golden thread. The real golden thread is nowhere to be found.
The maze walls are no more than chest high for Arbaro, and he can clearly see the few simple dead ends long before they are an issue. The halflings and dwarves have a slightly harder time due to their height but find there is no punishment for a wrong turn here or there. Throughout the maze are a few props, like a toy axe, plaster molded bones, and even two mannequins with feathers glued to their arms; placards around their necks give them the names Daedalus and Icarus. The maze is nonthreatening, and unlike the rest of the crypt, has not been disturbed by whatever foul presence defaced the statues (and likely replaced the thread as well).
I've updated the map with NPCs. And the calendar on my Profile bar thing. I added some NPC names (nothing else) to the NPC tracker, though it looks like we haven't used it much recently. Who was in charge of what aspects of that? Also, the map on Slides isn't quite accurate. There are a lot more graves and trees surrounding the temple (not just a single, tiny graveyard like on the map), and the temple itself is a little less ruined-looking. But hey, when you make up your own adventures, you work with what you got.
Unless it's been renamed, Realm of the Mammoth Lords is incorrectly labelled Realm of the Mammoth Lands on the map.
Through the help of the whole party, the storm seed is disabled. The howling wind dies down. The crackle of lightning fades off through the corridors. Your ears hear something new that you have not heard since you first descended into the Storm Engine... silence. All that remains is the final confrontation in the center of the engine with Daruthek and whatever cultists remain. Mud clears his throat. "Fellow Muddy Mariners, it has been many weeks since I was rescued by your hands from these lizardfolk invaders," he says, casting an eye at Achahut. "Though not all of the reptiles are evil, I am proud to have joined your crew to fight against this new threat to the Korir River Delta. I remember when we protected Pridon's Hearth from the onslaught of a supernatural storm, how we ratted out the roots of this evil from a heretical cult of Gozreh, and faced the same lizardfolk that were threatened by the madlizard Daruthek." He lowers his voice and scans each of you in turn. "But more than our victories, I remember our defeats. Crouching, alone, going mad in a hole in Fort Breakthrough, wondering if starvation or the knife in my hand would be what kills me first. The fear of wandering with four strangers through a town I had never seen, surrounded by foreigners I could not understand. I remember the drowning humidity of marching through the jungle, the stench of fire and sting of smoke from the burning lumbermill, the jittery paranoia of the trap-filled quarry." "I remember the sight of my fellow Chashil halflings slain before me. The sounds of fear from townsfolk locked in their homes against the coming storm at Pridon's Hearth. I remember when Stonewall's shield melted before the betrayal of the treasurer Hamsa Gadd. When Ood slipped on the wet precipices below the ruined temple of Erastil. When Alset missed, again, and again, and again." "But most of all, Mariners, I remember Odiferous Rossco." Mud wipes a tear from his eye. "I remember Odie's bravery. Odie's raw physical power. Odie's acute and frankly baffling affection for pigs. But greatest of all of Odie's strengths was his straightforwardness. His willingness to rush in, head first, to whatever terrors or evils were before us, rejecting all thoughts of consequences." Mud raises his flag. "Let us go and do likewise. We shall bear his memory as I bear this flag. Bravely, and without hesitation!"
Ood watches the surrounding jungles, and nothing threatening comes out. Stonewall easily finds some good earth. The cairn is simple but touching, and you all feel a little lighter now that the dead Storm Kindlers are buried properly. You get a sense that their spirits have risen to Pharasma's judgment, soon to be in their final resting place.
The contents of Harrell the barrel smell sterile but feral. The liquid is beryl colored, and hums a quiet carol (that causes no peril) when poured out. Achahut:
Alset:
Ood:
Stonewall:
You hear a crash and shatter from within. The chimes that hung from tatters straps have all crashed to the floor, now rusty and old, the spirits that bound to them finally at peace. A single chime, however, still hangs from a silken red cord, illuminated by spiritual light. The departed spirits have left you a gift: a Chime of Storm Calling.
Odie lives! He is no longer entranced. But he does have the intelligence of an animal.
The lumberjack's axe clangs against Stonewall's massive shield. Seeing that Odie is bleeding out, he pours a potion into his mouth.
The lumberjack and Skelettin take their attacks against Stonewall, fruitlessly clanging against his armor, except the axe which wedges between a moving plate to find a bit of flesh.
Stonewall takes some minor damage. Odie stands up, unprovoked, and swings at the lumberjack, cutting him in half at the waist.
"Why are we running?" he asks groggily. "I can totally take this thing on by myself..." He wavers unsteadily on his feet, barely conscious.
Prince Magniventris rummages around in his bag. "Of course, I am never ill-prepared. I have here some parchment." he says, pulling out a few pieces. "And... surely I did not forget... let me see..." Sheepishly he says, "Would charcoal or chalk be of any use?"
"The title of Prince is not one to be taken lightly, I assure you," Prince Magniventris says, hearing the Guardian's words on Prince Stavian III. "I, Prince Magniventris, was bestowed that same moniker by my father, though with seven older siblings and a slew of aunts and uncles in line before myself I fear that may be the highest title I can ever hope to hold..." He stops talking for a moment, realizing the zone of truth is making him more brutally honest than he prefers. "Anyway, what books on the Dark Fey were these 'seasoned professors' carrying, and where are they located? Also, would you happen to have another copy of this tome, particularly the damaged pages?" Prince Magniventris says, finding the ale-stained book he discovered earlier.
"Goodness gracious, you're an elf?" George asks, clearly flustered. All these longshanks look... no no, prince, do not be speciesist. You spent half a year learning the differences between dwarves and gnomes. Now's as good a time as any to learn what elves look like. "Is it the nose? The teeth? I thought elves kept in their cloistered towers high in the forests, dressing only in clothes made of vines and leaves." Prince Magniventris steals a quick glance at Stenne, double checking to make sure she really is a dwarf and not simply a short human with a love of alcohol.
Organized by musical scales? Prince Magniventris thinks. Perhaps my training under Grand Flautist Galway shall provide a little insight in recognizing their organizational methods.
"Grand idea, madam Silverfrond. I shall scour the section on magical arts. Perhaps an ancient wizard transcribed his experiences with the dark fey? Or a sorcerer found her bloodline tainted by their corrupting touch?" Prince Magniventris heads to the magical studies section and searches for anything related to the Dark Fey. He drags a stepstool or loose chair to assist his search on the higher shelves, not afraid to place a booted claw on the shelf for an extra inch or two.
"I can read Draconic, Dwarven, Gnome, and of course Common. Is anyone here literate in Sylvan, or perhaps Elven?" he says as he holds up an intricately calligraphied but (for him) indecipherable tome. "I can't make heads nor tails of these flowery scripts."
"Ah yes, Grand Prince Stavian III. He was quite... grand, I assume? Not as grand as myself of course, but who can be, ha ha?" Prince Magniventris says to Tessara. "In all honesty I do not recognize the man. I am afraid I am of no help here." Seeing the instruments Magniventris rushes to them. "Aha, we may make a concert of our own to enjoy this evening! Do they have a flute here..." If he finds one, he picks it up, but stops himself before he attempts to play a single note. "Ah! Be not distracted!" He puts back any wind instrument he finds and moves to the baskets on the wall. I am not here for myself. Prince Magniventris looks through the loose sheaves of paper, searching through them for anything relating to the Dark Fey.
The cat is as described: heavy and floppy, ginger with stripes, and with a look on her face more sour than a lemon and lime mix. She claws at Odie until he puts her under his poncho. The rain is so strong you have trouble thinking of new adjectives to describe it. Under the cart is nothing but rotted fish; everything else in the street has been washed away by the flood. Maso lights up with joy upon seeing his cat. "Oh there you are precious, your majesty, yes yes I love you too." he says as Pharaoh Mafdet brushes against him, purring. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done if she'd gotten lost." He takes off his boots and hands them to whoever is closest. "Here, take these as my thanks. I won't really be needing them, ha ha. They're Boots of the Cat." Maso Wangoma stands up, with the help of his crutches, wobbling uneasily with the added weight of the cat. With your help he makes way through the storm to the Countinghouse of Abadar, where a dozen other cats and half the town sit huddled in the temple.
Lightning seems to be flashing very close on your way, the thunder booming the same instant as the lightning strikes. Sheriff Adaela awaits at the Stone Hall.
Ood should have edit privilege now. Odie and Stonewall simply deleted their level 1 sheets, nullifying the need for an additional folder. ;)
folder. ;)
Odie slices into her back, revealing the backs of her ribs in their green-boned gore. AoO on Alset
Alset dodges and weaves in the pouring rain, the troll's club smashing into the mud but missing the paladin. He thrusts his sword deep into her belly, more green fluid spilling out as he slices open her belly. Link to thrown splash weapons rules.
Seeing the troll is close to death, Ood lobs a flask of acid. Just as he reels back, lightning strikes a tent nearby, throwing off his aim. Thankfully he overshot the troll, and the flasks crashes on the far side away from Odie or any other ally.
Troll HP X-56 Stonewall is up.
"Prince Magniventris, it is an honor to meet you, your majesty. Vors Aman at your service." "And an honor to meet you, good sir." Prince Magniventris bows in return. Oh-ho-Ho! An alchemist,too?! Looks like we be in competition,then. Me brews an' beers versus whatever you got in them bottles an' vials. You're gonna teach me sumthin,eh? Tough talk coming from a bipedal skink. He turns to Stenne and says, "And honor prevents me from weathering insults. I draw my lineage from dragons, good madam, not some belly-dragging reptile! Perhaps the first thing I should teach you is decency. Even a drunken dwarf who favors quantity over quality can surely learn that." ** spoiler omitted ** "You are too kind, your majesty." He sighs and says to Tessara, "Personal experience tells me there can never be enough kindness in the world." I am honored to make your respective acquaintences, but should we not dispense with pleasantries and head to the meat of the matter? Lives are on the line. It is best not to dawdle." "Decisive action! Grand idea, Cassandra," he says, genuinely affected. He stands up to his full, towering height of 2'11". Prince Magniventris looks around at the group and says to them, "And as for this need for secrecy, perhaps you shall refer to yours truly by one of your, what do you call them... nom de guerre? Pseudonym? I have none prepared for myself, of course."
Tessara, Nobility Check:
Magniventris is of the house of Alkindus, a kobold family that worships a LG dragon deity (Apsu) and has only came to prominence not a decade ago with the help of local dwarven and gnomish nobility. The house Alkindus has no clout nor influence, though not from lack of trying; old prejudices die hard.
Magniventris bows cordially to Tessara and Cavasan, and any others that attempt to pray him proper respects. "Ah yes, the Silverfronds. A wonderful family. Their gardens' flora sparkle like diamonds in the moonlight, do they not? Ha, ha." He turns to Stenne with a patronizing look and speaks to her in Dwarven.
Dwarven:
"But how else can a boorish lowlife like yourself learn proper decency if I never grace you with my presence? I may even teach you a thing or two about the alchemical arts in addition to basic civility." He pulls back his cloak to reveal a bandolier glittering with glass vials and flasks. Ah, how we fall into our old animosities so easily. Apsu forgive me for indulging in my baser instincts.
The kobold tries to maintain proper composure as he walks through the stink of bait and river muck. Once inside, he sprays a few puffs of cologne on himself before he straightens his cloak and sits down, straight-backed. There had best be a rear door through a more aromatic exit. I don't my humors could survive that stench a second time. "I second the bespectacled, muscle-bound lady there. Better for us to know more specifics now, rather than return in two hours with the wrong information. My time is not to be wasted, as is yours I'm sure. Additionally I might ask what kind of guards they employ? A manned patrol? Constructed guardians? Perhaps more arcane protections?" Magniventris turns to the other five in the room and speaks to no one in particular, "I know my reputation precedes me, but I am indeed the Prince Magniventris, Eighth of His Name, Loyal to the Exiled Wyrm. You may call me Your Majesty. What shall I call you?"
The townsfolk are greatly helped by the party's actions (well, some of them.) The masons and builders give Stonewall a side-eye, muttering to themselves that this new dwarf had better stick to adventuring and that not all stereotypes are true, you know. Secretly they are relieved they are not going to be run out of a job once the storm blows over. Odie's bellowing and thug-like attitude frightens quite a few townsfolk into action. They see the badge and the big gruff half-orc and wonder if perhaps Sheriff Adaela has been strong-armed by some new protection racket or gang in town. From the shadows in the bad part of town Odie thinks he sees a few shady figures eyeing him with studied interest, but he may have been imagining it. Alset makes quite a few friends among the townsfolk, particularly the few women and children here in town; most citizens are men looking for work and don't mind the hard life of a colonist. Alset rescues the daughter of Chagga and Cabala Rainrush from drowning, a family of halfling fisherfolk. Their youngest daughter Carstara had not yet learned how to swim, but wanted to help her siblings. Ood's enlightening discourse followed by silly antics (Not to mention Stonewall's poor knowledge of jungle construction practices) has all but shattered the locals' preconceptions about dwarves. A few parents ask if Ood can teach their children when he's not off adventuring, or at the very least come to their birthday parties as entertainment. In private a few of the adults ask him if they could be his students as well, at least with letters and numbers and the like. Sheriff Adaela is glad to see everyone back in the Stone Hall just as the sun is setting. The rain has been a constant nuisance, and the winds have howled all evening. The four of you meet back in the Stone Hall, are offered to dry off and eat some more warm food. But not long after you feel accomplished and begin to relax, two soldiers burst into the room, bleeding and out of breath. "Troll!" one says, his head wrapped in a white bandage. "In the dungeon!" Sheriff Adaela tilts her head to the side and says, "We don't have a dungeon, Farad." The second guard shakes his head and says, "He means there's a troll in the Watched Row. Smashing houses with a club. Kicking over the breakwater barricades we just got done building. Broke my arm, she did." He holds up his obviously limp and bleeding arm. "Then she smacked Farad's head around for a bit. Rattled him good. He thought he was in a magic castle not a minute ago." Adaela turns to the party and says. "Take care of this before that troll causes more damage than the storm." "Shouldn't be hard to find. She's getting her grubby hands all over the bakery last we saw her," the guard says. "Shouting about how the bread was burning her tongue and then stuffing her face with more of it."
Need a light?
"Oh, did I not mention we're all cannibals? We're all cannibals."
Getting ready to run this over the weekend. I've moved the roleplaying between rival adventuring groups to the wait before the lottery. Not only does that allow for more than one period of interaction with the Scorched Hand, but it will allow me to sow some seeds for the potentially deadly encounters (two of my players are new to Pathfinder). The other groups will talk about needing holy water for undead, scrolls of restoration for curses, two-handed weapons for constructs, fire/acid for swarms, good eye for traps, and so on. Conveniently there will be street vendors selling last-minute goods to the adventuring masses right before the lottery for only slightly jacked up prices. I'll post more once we run it.
Swashbuckler archetypes:
The investigator had better have some combination of a monocle, mustaches, and sword cane. Any thoughts on the hunter's animal companion or the warpriest's deity? I have no idea about the animal, but as for warpriest, I'm expecting them to showcase a deity that can't get paladins. Gorum seems a bit too obvious, though it would go well with a half-orc. Cayden Cailean would use a rapier, which is what I assume the swashbuckler will also have, so that's probably out. Possibly Desna? A male, dual starknife-wielding warrior decked out in full plate with a purple butterfly on his chest is all kinds of awesome.
If that's how it actually works, that would be pretty awesome. When I read that, I went through the list of one-handed piercing weapons to see what ridiculousness you could do.
Your site is great, thanks! And I had completely forgotten about the Cartographer's Guild. I knew there was some resource for finding maps I had forgotten. |
