That would work great!
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So sorry everyone, I had a major depressive episode last night when I left that last message. Please disregard it as I am committed to seeing this through. The game is not cancelled, recruitment is still happening.
Actually nevermind, no hard feelings, no reason. Bye.
Is this Golarion? This is not Golarion, but rather, the Isle of Lymossus, the setting which contains the City-State of Castorhage (The Blight). This will not be a Blight game however, and I don't want characters from the city. The rest of the island is a series of smaller settlements and hinterland villages loosely organized into seven shires. I didn't want to heap on a bunch of setting detail for a short game, but if anyone wants more info I can provide it. Have you decided how long you are going to leave recruitment open? I'm not entirely sure yet, but the current plan is in a week/week-and-a-half. Dotting for interest, would you be open to Spheres of Might/Power? While I've heard nothing but good things about it, I'm just not familiar enough with it. If there's no alignment, why do Mother Grace and her sects each have alignments? Copy and paste error. Also, could my character save the bonus human feat until level 2 (there aren't a lot of great options at this level)? Is the campaign supposed to go much farther than level 1 at all? Don't bother. If we do get to 2nd level it'll be at the tail end of the adventure.
Those who seek adventure do NOT find themselves in the small and sensible village of Wicken. They do NOT follow the barely used trail which winds through the nearby woods. They do NOT enter the Priory of Saint Alman at the end of such trail. And they especially do NOT ask the eccentric but kindly Father Gromwell to take them on as a disciple. If you were looking for adventure, you obviously made all the wrong choices, because you DID do all of the above. Maybe it wasn't your fault, maybe your parents sent you here to keep you out of trouble, or maybe you're even hiding from something. No matter the reason, your life now consists of an endless cycle of morning prayers, simple breakfasts, afternoon lessons, evening chores, and late dinners. At least the only threat is monotony. Or is it? Recently, the surrounding forest has become suspiciously quiet and strange lights have appeared between the trees at night. What's worse, as the winter picks up a storm seems to be brewing, and a bad one at that. Although scores of worshipers handily managed the priory in years past, the few of you here now can barely keep the place from falling into dilapidation. Father Gromwell refuses to worry as he loses himself in his favorite obsession - creating hauntingly beautiful paintings of angels leading men to paradise... What this is: A brief foray into gothic horror and paranoia. I'm running a modified version of the short adventure Retribution by Creighton Broadhurst. It won't last much longer than a level, but it'll be jam-packed with opportunities for roleplaying. If all goes well, I might even consider continuing the game for those who so desire. Who I am: I love to write for fun but I also hate writing for fun. In real life, I've GM'd one session of Pathfinder, one session of CoC, and one session of Starfinder. I started an online campaign long ago and it crashed and burned, so I'm starting up again with something short, sweet, and psychologically painful. What I want: You will play the other (4-6) members of the faithful (or perhaps even unfaithful) at the Priory of Saint Alman.
Campaign Traits:
Alman Artist: You spent many hours in the Priory of St. Alman, helping Father Gromwell to paint scenes of celestial glory and listening to his stories of the afterlife. You gain a +2 bonus on Craft (painting) and Knowledge (planes) checks, and both are class skills for you.
Alman Preacher: You spent many hours in the Priory of St. Alman, absorbing Father Gromwell’s religious stories that filled your head and heart with dreams of Heaven and Paradise. You gain a +2 bonus on Knowledge (religion) and Perform (oratory) checks, and both are class skills for you. Ciderwright: Wicken’s copious crop of apples always appeared in late summer or early autumn, and you became an expert at climbing the orchards to retrieve the choicest fruit. Working under the guidance of the local brewer, Tully Redmane, you also mastered the art of cider-making. You gain a +2 bonus on Climb and Profession (brewer) checks, and both are class skills for you. Grog’s Snarer: You spent many hours with Wild Grog, Wicken’s local poacher, learning how to set snares and trap game. Game was plentiful in Wicken, the foul air of the city unable to grasp at its forest and meadows. You gain a +2 bonus on Craft (traps) and Stealth checks and both are class skills for you. Grog’s Spotter: Your keen eyes aided Wild Grog, Wicken’s local poacher, especially at night when hunting rabbits. Grog was a great story teller, and you spent happy hours listening to his stories of heroism and dragons. You gain a +2 bonus on Perception and Perform (oratory) checks, and both are class skills for you. Grog’s Trapper: You spent a lot of time with Wild Grog, Wicken’s local poacher, who tracked with dogs and his pet pig, Olive. You have happy memories of the wild-haired giant of a man, laughing as he bagged rabbits and told wild stories of adventure at the campfire. You gain a +2 bonus on Survival and Profession (trapper) checks, and both are class skills for you. Wicken Farmer: You grew up and worked on a farm in Wicken. The land was fertile, the water clean, and the harvests were invariably good. Your farm thrived and, in time, became yours. You gain a +2 bonus on Handle Animal and Profession (farmer) checks, and both are class skills for you. Wicken Shepherd: Your family farmed sheep on the hills above Wicken. Life could be tough, especially in the winters, but it was rewarding. You gain a +2 bonus on Handle Animal and Survival checks, and both of these skills are class skills for you. Mother Grace: The Holy Mother; Mother of All; Goddess of Family, Order, and Tradition
Alignment: Lawful Good Domains: Community, Law, Nobility, Repose Symbol: A mother holding a child and a distaff Garb: Black robes trimmed in silver with red collar and accents, silver and red mitre and ceremonial distaff Favored Weapon: Light mace Form of Worship and Holidays: Minor services in the form of multiple times for prayer or meditation are daily in cathedrals and churches throughout the city with longer, formal services held every Sunday (all-day affairs) and Wodesday (evening services). The High Holy Days are all considered sacred to Mother Grace and hold services accordingly, and seemingly every other day in the calendar is designated as a feast day for one or more of her saints. Note: Mother Grace's faithful can be divided into three, hugely different sects. Father Gromwell currently follows and teaches the Beatific Quest. Although you find it hard to believe, you've heard he was once a member of the Rule of Order and an especially unforgiving disciplinarian at that. The Beatific Quest: This aspect of the worship of Mother Grace is lawful good in alignment. It follows her teaching that knowledge is all, that mistakes of history cannot be repeated with proper study and prudent thought, and that only through awakening the desire to know will the world be pure and advance. The Rule of Order: Lawful neutral in alignment, the Rule of Order focuses on the words of the Mother of All when teaching infants and the ignorant — that fairness is only good when firmness is behind it, a clenched fist in a velvet glove. Order and discipline are paramount. This aspect of the Mother’s worship is the most rigid; it follows set laws and ranks and patterns of worship established centuries ago and still clung to with dogged attention to detail. It is as inclined to use the weapons of the wicked to destroy them and preaches that the only thing that truly matters in a chaotic world is the preservation of the status quo. The Fair Fist: Of lawful evil, this sect preaches that only order can bring the world out of the darkness of anarchy, and only those who worship the Mother Grace are the truly enlightened capable of bringing about this order. This aspect of the goddess focuses entirely upon scare mongering of the teachings of the Holy Mother — that unless properly educated as to the dangers of the present age, the world will fall into absolute chaos. Missionaries, bigots, and fear-mongers, the Fair Fist (one of this sect’s many names) believes in worshiping Mother Grace and nothing else (all other religions being blasphemous) and historically is the group behind most of the Mother’s crusading activities. They wish only to extend order in the Mother’s name (whether the world wishes it or not).
Aubrin manages to bring Oreld back to consciousness, "Hah! Who'd have thought I'd be doctoring the town's doctor?" Oreld responds to this comment with a steely glare, "For the last time, I am NOT a damned doctor." Of course, you know that Oreld is not only the closest thing Phaendar has to a doctor, but far too much of a perfectionist to let anyone else fill the role. --- Once the heart of Phaendar, the Trading Company is now a scene of disarray. A handful of bodies, merchant and townsfolk alike, litter the yard, while two slaughtered goats and a dead horse fill the adjacent animal pen. Many fresh scratches and dents mar the trading post’s heavy wooden door, and a chair leg juts through one broken window. The double doors to the smithy stand open, revealing a large, still-glowing forge within. During your approach, three hobgoblins, wounded and disoriented, stumble out of the smithy. One of them immediately throws a hot iron onto the roof of the trading post, where small flames begin to lick at the thatch rooftop.
The basement door doesn't seem to be trapped, but it is blocked. After a knock and a few words, the survivors underneath unblock it. "What's happened? Oreld locked us down here to protect us, is he alright?" All in all, six people make it out of the basement, along with a decent amount of provisions from Oreld's stores.
33 pages, 9 cups of coffee, and 2 sock puppets later, and I am a college graduate! I'm going to go sleep for the next 24 hours and then its back to making horrible things happen to the people of Phaendar.
Okay, change of plans - I'm far busier that I realized, so I'm just going to put posting on hold until Tuesday, when I've taken care of everything. Sorry for the delays.
Of interest on the worktable is a set of notes detailing Oreld's experiments with “stump remover,” a potent explosive mixed from alchemically refined lamp oil and animal dung.
It's go time! For this whole next week I'm going to have an absolutely brutal workload, so posting may be slow but I'll try to get at least a post a day in. After that I can pick up the pace again.
The hobgoblin grenadier was surprisingly well-equipped, and carried an alchemy kit containing the following:
Aside from his weapons and armor he also carried a modest set of rations , and 16 gp. Oreld, although badly wounded and unconscious, is thankfully stable. In moving to the next room, you open the door just a little too quickly - and too late to notice the string which was tied around the doorknob on the other side.
Once the stream has abated, you manage to get a better look into the back rooms. No hobgoblins, no villagers. Aside from the rudimentary acid trap, the only other things of note in these back rooms are a large cabinet sporting a hefty lock, Oreld's worktable (covered in notes), and a trapdoor leading into the cellar.
Super bus, will post soon.
This time however, he consumes its contents through a long bendy straw which is already in his mouth and does not provoke an AoO to use, and his entire body begins to swell, growing bulkier and stronger before your very eyes.
As the hobgoblin tilts the contents of the vial back into his mouth, you take advantage of the opportunity and cut him down. His body twitches as the few drops of mutagen that made it down his throat take effect. You are now alone in the main room of what was once a neatly organized alchemist's shop with Vane Oreld still unconscious on the floor.
Inside is a single hobgoblin in a bandolier rifling through the shelves for anything valuable. He holds a chain which leads to the neck of Vane Oreld, who currently lies just inside the doorway with a javelin protruding from his stomach. Although the wound looks grisly, you surmise he must be alive based on the hobgoblin's use of the chain. Although you spot the hobgoblin first, he's reacts more quickly, drawing a vial from his bandolier and hurling it at you. The vial shatters on you, creating a fiery explosion. Interestingly enough, the bomb seems to have been precisely crafted not to explode in certain directions - Oreld remains completely unharmed by the blast.
Grimly nodding in agreement, your band of survivors follows you into the streets. Outside you get a better look at the black tower which has seemingly sprung up in the market square. You can't tell what it's made of or how it got there, but it definitely wasn't there yesterday. Anyhow, in the chaos of the battle, especially at so early a stage, you find it easy to reach your destination. Oreld’s Fine Shop — labeled with a small shingle hanging out front — is one of the few buildings in town made entirely of stone, currently owned by a third-generation Oreld, Vane. Mortared white blocks form the walls of this odd-shaped cottage. Scorch marks that shift in color from black to dark blue to glimmering violet mar one wall. The door to the shop stands open and bloody footprints lead inside. Aubrin stops you before you approach. "I wish I could accompany you inside but between my injuries and my poor eyes I'm afraid I'd do more help than good - if what you encounter inside is too powerful retreat back out and I can bolster you with what magic I have." With this she weaves a quick protective cantrip over you.
The second trader remains unconvinced, but you did coax the first out. Back downstairs, you hold council with Aubrin. "Those who are still alive are most likely to be at Oreld's Fine Shop, the Phaendar Trading Company, and the Riverwood Shrine. If we can make it to all of those places we should be able to save a sizeable chunk of the population. After that I believe our best chance of survival would be in the Fangwood across the river. Should probably figure out how to take down the bridge while we’re at it, else they’ll just march themselves across before we have the chance to hide." Jett also comes forward. "I don't have much to offer on the tactical side of things, but I can give you this. A roaming bard tried to pay a rather large tab by leaving this here and I've never quite been able to use it." She offers you a strongbox containing two different wands (one of which you identify as a wand of prestidigitation (31 charges)), two identical potions, and a set of juggling balls .
Your eye also catches on a bag of loot one of the hobgoblins must've dropped earlier behind a table Inside the masterwork backpack is a heavy crossbow (with 20 bolts and 10 masterwork bolts); 8 clearly labeled potions of guidance, a wand of magic missile (11 charges), a divine scroll containing the spells calm animals, cure light wounds, and magic stone; along with an assortment of meat, cheese, and sheep's milk.
The potion is enough to get Aubrin sputtering to life and she immediately uses here channeled energy to heal herself further. She stoically listens as you explain the situation. "Damn! And you recognize this insignia don't you? If I'm correct, these patches were worn by the dreaded Ironfang Legion before they disappeared. If that is the case we definitely need to flee - after we've gathered who we can of course. Oreld's, the Trading Company, and the Shrine are where we should hit. And I see Kegtapper has found itself into your possession as well... hang on to it for now, you seem in much better condition to use it after all." --- Upstairs you seem to have one of the trader's convinced, who announces that he wants to come out of the room. The other is still unswayed. "You can leave if you want to, but I'm staying put until I can safely sneak out on my own. If you stick together you'll just draw unwanted attention!"
Aubrin, although at death's door, is still alive. Although, no longer bleeding she'll likely need healing if she's to recover. It appears as if she's brought the days shopping with her, and has a cache of scrolls and potions, in addition to her usual equipment, including a few cure light wounds potions. One of the fallen tavern goers wears a humble tin ring adorned with rabbits, which you recognize and successfully detect as a ring of jumping. In your careful search of the upstairs, you find no apparent threats, in fact you and Jett manage to coax three travelers out of their rooms. However, two foreign traders, whom Jett identifies as Farrow and Clidon, refuse to come out. "Fools! We'll all die if we so much as think about stepping outside!"
Death. Death has come to the hobgoblin who dared loot Kegtapper, which clatters to the floor. In spite of Aubrin's many claims of the sword's often outlandish abilities, it does not detect as magical. In the room beyond, the corpses of several patrons who couldn't escape lie slumped on the floor. In the corner by the fireplace are the bodies of Aubrin the Green and another hobgoblin. Jett appears behind you, still shaking from fear. "This... we... no..." The horror of what has happened almost overtakes her, but she manages to compose herself. “It... it sounds like there’s an army outside the door. How did they fall on us without being seen? These plains are so flat you can see an elk from two days off, let alone an army!” She winces and presses her hands against a minor cut on her temple. "I have to admit I found myself cursing whoever barred the cellar door, but I owe you more thanks than I can give after you saved my life. I suppose we run, but to where I don't know. With the supplies from the stores here we could survive the wilderness, but we'd need some extra hands to carry everything. Perhaps some are locked in their rooms upstairs..."
You carve a line across the flesh of your assailant's chest, prompting a roar and a wild retaliatory strike which flies into a wide miss.
Hmmm. All the posts in the gameplay and discussion threads have turned invisible on me for some reason. Hopefully the issue will resolve itself.
The force of your scimitar alone sends the hobgoblin reeling backwards through the doorway, where he collapses, body still twitching as the electricity courses through it. Instead of a welcome bit of respite after the battle however, you are greeted by the sight of another hobgoblin entering the kitchen. This one breathes a little heavier - it's been wounded - and fresh blood stains the beautifully crafted and oddly familiar longsword it carries. The hobgoblin, wearing the same insignia as the one you've just slain, points the sword at you in challenge. Suddenly it dawns on you - the sword is Kegtapper, one of Aubrin the Green's most prized possessions.
The hobgoblin parries both blows with all the discipline of a well trained soldier. Indeed, as he raises his weapon across his body before attacking, you notice an insignia patch attached to the shoulder of his armor. While you're momentarily distracted, he catches you with his blade!
Knowledge(local or history): You recognize the insignia as that of the Ironfang Legion, the mercenary army responsible for the Ramgate Massacre 2 years ago, but absent from the battlefield ever since.
Your first attack catches the hobgoblin by surprise, but the adrenaline which still runs through his veins allows him to dodge the next two. Stepping into the room, he launches a counterattack of his own, although his blade is shunted aside by the invisible shield of force surrounding you.
Your sudden opening of the trapdoor provokes a barely stifled scream from someone within the storeroom. Jett crouches in the corner, having pushed a large barrel in front of the door. She quickly quiets when she recognizes you, then holds her finger up to her lips to show she understands. Not a moment later however, the door is violently shoved open, knocking over a barrel and covering the floor in what used to be fresh water. You briefly hear the heavy breath of another hobgoblin just through the doorway before Jett starts screaming again.
Alone in the dark, you become Ulmah. At one point during the transformation, someone tries to get in, banging on the door and shouting. "Please, please, please, let us in, they're coming!" The voice sounds like Jett's. This abates by the time your transformation is finished however. You hear nothing in the immediate area as you listen.
Separated just barely from the chaos, you find yourself in the kitchen and pantry area of the Root. Ahead of you is the back door and a quick means of escape into the town. However, you also recall the inn's previous owner having a cellar built underneath, accessible via a trapdoor in the storeroom to your right. It'd likely be relatively easy to barricade yourself inside for a minute instead of risking a venture into the streets. Of course, doing so would deprive Jett and the others of a potential hiding spot as well. As you consider the decision, you feel a sharp tingling as a wave of positive energy washes over you - it would appear that Aubrin isn't completely out of the fight. Thankfully, the channeled energy is targeted at living creatures, leaving you unharmed.
I'm central time - I'll generally try to post around the middle of the day/evenings. There's been a ton of repairs going on in my apartment and I've been having to move all of my stuff around, so I've been just a bit busy. You can expect me to be a bit more active in the coming days.
"Well, well," Aubrin turns to you as one of the other patrons hands her another beer, "Cayden strike me down if—" The front door explodes into splinters. A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her. Two hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. Behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of hobgoblin soldiers march the street. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying. Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone. The two troops barrel into the room, one of them cackling at the sight of carnage, while the other roars menacingly. The other patrons seem either too surprised or too afraid to move.
Another matter: combat maps. Are you good with Roll20?
The Taproot — oft referred to simply as “the Root” — is the only two-story building in town, serving a wide variety of meals and alcohol gathered from travelers crossing the bridge. It’s also the largest indoor gathering place in town after the temple, and most of locals spend far more time in the Root during any given week than the temple. The current owner (for ownership of the Root changes often as proprietors struggle or grow bored), Jet, happens to be a recent transplant to Phaendar of mixed Shoanti and Varisian descent. As usual, she wears her hair in twin braids and an iconic teal scarf around her waist. Tonight she naturally has her hands nearly full as fresh faces continue to trickle into the inn, but is quick to serve your ale once she sees you. While Phaendar’s Market Festival draws a crowd from all over Nirmathas, and many come solely to hear Aubrin the Green — the retired Chernasardo Ranger-turned-Caydenite cleric — recount bawdy tales of adventure from her youth. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air. Warmed by the firelight after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of this riverside trade town. “So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, ‘All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!’” The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard. “But it’s fine now. All’s good. She named a cub after me. Someday I’m going to have to check in on little Ow Oh Gods That’s Too Many Bees.”
Perfect, I have a very busy weekend ahead of me so I won't be able to post tonight, but once I have the time I'll get the ball rolling.
My main problem with having scrolls and minions already is that there are hardly any sources for such unsavory goods around. I'm going to say no to the minions (having them might actually make early parts of the adventure more difficult if you wish to keep your identities separate), but I will allow you to keep the scrolls, which we can say you purchased from a lone treasure seeker who passed through town not too long ago. Half-crazed, he spoke of a crumbling, ancient fortress somewhere to the south filled with "miles of tombs, miles of treasure, miles of tombs, miles of treasure..." Also scrolls have their components "built into" them, so to speak, so you don't need to decide how onyx gems were used to create each scroll instead of having them loose in your inventory. On favored enemies, I believe you've already got a backstory reason via the Ironfang Survivor trait - "Whether you were serving in the military or simply beset by a surprise attack, you barely survived an encounter with the Ironfang Legion, one of Molthune’s infamous monster regiments. Maybe you even survived the horrors of the Ramgate Massacre." The Ramgate Massacre, just for reference, was a brutal rout of the Nirmathi-controlled Fort Ramsgate by the Ironfang Legion, and the last time anyone remembers hearing of the Legion. Good thought on the three aliases as well.
A few things: A Brief Bit About Phaendar: Being bordered by light forest, rolling farms, and the rumbling Marideth River, Phaendar is vanishingly small by the standards of outsiders, but also one of the largest settlements in southern Nirmathas. The town grew around the tumbledown ruins of an abandoned Chelish bastion, which itself was built atop an older trading post established by veterans of the Shining Crusade. A citizenry of fewer than 400—spread between the town and outlying farms—makes up its permanent population. On any given day, citizens spend a few hours each morning and evening tending their small holdings, and then retire during the afternoon to pursue various handicrafts. Nearly every resident is a talented woodcarver, weaver, or leatherworker, and Nirmathi homes from Tamran to Skelt eventually gather a few sturdy furnishings born in Phaendar workshops.
Most of the town consists of wood and thatch structures, and even a few canvas-walled pavilions; monsters, bandits, and the occasional Molthuni raid destroy property too regularly for most Phaendari to feel the expense of longstanding stone buildings is worth the investment. Despite its simple construction, the town sees light trade in spring and fall as farmers, ranchers, and prospectors from the Nesmian Plains and the Hollow Hills gather to swap produce, ore, lumber, and livestock and to stock up on worked goods from the community’s many artisans. Like many similar communities across the nation, Phaendar has little oversight. An informal town council oversees the community—largely to organize festivals and collect funds for repairs—but the people of Phaendar generally resent anyone claiming real authority over the community and steadfastly refuse to elect anyone to positions like sheriff or mayor. What little law enforcement exists—what little is needed in such a small, tight-knight community—is handled by a makeshift posse or enforced by the nearby Chernasardo Rangers, who frequently resupply and recruit new members during the seasonal trading markets.
Many great concepts have been submitted and if I were running this with a full party there are plenty of characters that I would've taken in a heartbeat. However, only one slot exists and that slot goes to a character that grabbed my attention from the get go: Ulmah Corpsil. Thank you to everyone else who applied, I really didn't expect this kind of turn out for a weirder idea.
Tomorrow morning.
Recruitment closes Friday morning. Fully built characters are not necessary. How do you feel about RGG's Talented Monk class? Allowed.
Don't bother with wealth at the moment, I'll work that out with whoever I end up choosing. Blashimov, there's no need for a full statblock and backstory, just enough of a blurb for me to get a feel for the character.
For all those asking: anything from Path of War is on the table.
Tristalt was option that I offered to those who felt inclined, but it's all completely optional. I purposely didn't set any hard and fast rules to character creation to allow for more freedom on the sole adventurer. Edit: Wisdom for animal companion skills I'd allow at the cost of a feat from the character - call it the "Skilled Companion" feat on your sheet (or something else if you can think of a more creative name)
Spheres of power: yes. Lycanthrope: yes. Wealth is TBD at the moment. In other news, with all of these characters rolling in, I guess this thread has officially moved from interest check to recruitment.
Yes to all the homebrew so far. I checked out a review of the Battlefield Defiler and that looks decent as well.
Ah yes, let's roll with these feat tax adjustments. I'm also open to third party, but will review anything before I allow it. Edit: I did more googling and found these feat changes as well. A lot more bonus feats, but a bit more bookkeeping. Once again, feel free to pitch your preferred rules.
Normalcy just ain't in vogue, at least in my book. Also, like I said I'd like to really load the story onto a single character. For character creation, I had in mind something like:
I'd simply love to run this back in reality but haven't the time or the manpower. I came here to look for a single player (to keep matters as manageable as possible) who relishes |