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You wake to a world of pain, splattered in blood, singed by flames, choking on smoke. A terrible cacophony of clanging metal, splintering wood, and a hundred different screams fills the air. A terrible battle rages, and you have woken in the middle of it! Your head pounds, your thoughts are muddled. You cannot recall who you are or how you came to be here. Your uniform is blood-soaked, torn, and burned. Whatever side you fought for is a mystery as well. The bodies of the slain sprawl in all directions. From a limp hand hangs a twisted staff set with a gemstone, from another a gleaming sword engraved with runes. Still attached to a severed arm, a shield bears a shining symbol. A fine bow and full quiver dangle from a headless corpse.
Welcome to the Strange Aeons Campaign! All out of character discussions go here. The Campaign introduction is up, so head over and jump in! Note: we are using expanded Fear rules, which I have posted under a spoiler on the Campaign Info Tab. I might introduce Sanity rules, but I'd like to see how things go first.
~Strange Aeons~
You stand alone in the streets if a strange city. A wall of sickly yellow fog swirls about, tumbling through canyons of buildings made from crumbling, gray brick. A battered bridge arcs overhead, nearly blotting out a bruised twilight sky. From the silent swell of mist, approaching at a steady pace, echoes the sound of shuffling footsteps... Ssh-shuk ssh-shuk ssh-shuk The fog surges forward, cold and menacing, hungry and dangerous. You flee before it through cobblestone streets and narrow alleys. Racing between gaps in the ruins you glimpse a large yellow moon. You run, but the relentless sound of pursuit grows closer... Ssh-shuk ssh-shuk ssh-shuk From deeper within the mists a man cries out in a plea of tortured horror, or perhaps fanatic adulation. "Iä! Iä!" You run onward, but your limbs are clumsy and sluggish. Every step catches on cracks, or is snagged by dead vines stretching across your path. The cries and footsteps hound you relentlessly through the ancient city. Closer and closer, the footsteps come. Ssh-shuk ssh-shuk ssh-shuk Closer and closer, the voice cries out. "Iä! Iä!" You break from the ruins and nearly hurtle into a dark chasm ripped through the earth ahead. As wide as a river, and seemingly bottomless, the chasm yawns like a wound, as though a giant claw had torn across the city. Trapped, you turn helplessly to the billowing mists. The footsteps approach, and a humanoid silhouette begins to form in the mists. The voice cries out again, the sound stabbing painfully at your ears! "Iä! Iä!" *** You wake from the dream with a jarring start and find yourself in an unfamiliar room. Your head swims, your thoughts sluggish. A terrible exhaustion weighs upon you, as if you hadn't slept in days. The face of a middle aged man looms over you. Dressed in fine clothes with a heavy fur coat, his peppered hair and a long well-groomed beard frame eyes concealed behind dark circular spectacles. He speaks with a dark-haired woman in black bearing a detached clinical expression on her face. "You will honor our agreement, Dr. Losandro." He says, not quite asking.
As their voices fade, four sturdy men in off-white leather coats step into view. "Six new patients for the Asylum." Says a bald man with a short brown beard as he examines a stack of papers clipped to a small wooden board. "Hmm... not a single name among them."
*** York and his orderlies muscle you through a process that has you scrubbed clean and fitted into colorless simple clothes. You are then deposited into a large common hall illuminated by large barred windows set high on the walls. You are dimly aware of other figures here, milling about or slumped into battered furniture. Over the next few hours your strength and senses slowly return, but your memories remain a mystery. *** Looking around, you find yourself among other patients overseen by a handful of orderlies and the occasional nurse. The general population here seems crippled by madness or catatonia. Some stand as if paralyzed or sway like willows in a gentle breeze. A few babble at unseen figments of their imagination. An old man crouches near a wall, smashing invisible insects with a sturdy boot. Another old woman sits in a wheelchair staring up at the light streaming through the windows above. A man with a scar-stitched misshapen skull drools in a chair. Yet there are islands of apparent sanity among the patients, and some appear coherent enough to play at simple games and engage in conversation. Two young men, seemingly brothers, sit with a shadow lantern, turning it and watching a story it projects upon a wall. Two men, one young and one ancient, sit playing at cards. Across the hall, perched on a table near a window, a man sings softly in falsetto. Gathered around him is a small crowd - a handsome but painfully thin man, a balding man attempting to sing along but prevented by a powerful stutter, and a young woman sitting protectively close to a wide-eyed boy.
Two years ago a group of brave explorers bearing a Land Charter arrived in the Greenbelt region of Enchanted Feralwood Forest. With courage and determination they fought and defeated the Stag Lord and his bandit henchmen, then claimed his stronghold as their own. Restoring the fort, they established a city and named it Knight's Keep, and from there they founded the Kingdom of Syradel. This campaign thread is meant mainly to assist in kingdom administration, but can also be used for roleplaying or in-game correspondence. First up, I need a Stability roll from someone!
In the online PBP community games might take longer than the playtest period. Does someone playtesting an Occult character need to have finished a game and received a chronicle before the playtest is over in order to continue playing an Occult character, or will they be ok if they begin a game with an Occult character before the playtest ends?
You arrive after a long journey to the Greenforest Inn of Thornkeep, summoned by a terse magical message delivered by Master of Spells Aram Zey. He and Venture Captain Ambrus Valsin await you in a private room of the inn. The Master of Spells sits at the head of the table studying a weathered tome, ignoring those that enter. Ambrus stands nearby with a mug resting comfortably in hand. "Welcome, Pathfinder." Ambrus nods as you enter. "Make yourself at home." He gestures to a tray of food and drink on the table.
Scenario #3-10: The Immortal Conundrum (Levels 5–9). When the Pathfinder Society receives an invitation to a dinner party at the Thuvian Embassy, hosted by the guardian of this year's six doses of the infamous sun orchid elixir, the Decemvirate sends a team of Pathfinders to represent them and uncover the nature of the event. Can the PCs navigate the complex social landscape of Absalom's elite and gain access to the mysterious vault known as the Conundrum, or will they face public ridicule or worse in the face of the steepest competition in the Inner Sea? Roster:
Please check in here and declare purchases and prestige expenditure. I'd prefer to run with 6, but I might just run this with 7 if everyone is still in. Gameplay is also open for dotting.
Scenario #35: Voice in the Void (Levels 1-7). Mystery strikes again at the problem-plagued Blackros Museum in Absalom and its curator, Nigel Aldain, needs your help. When a famed Osirian tomb raider returns to Absalom and disappears in the museum's basement, Aldain fears the worst. When strange sounds echo from below and several of the curator's night watchmen go missing, he panics and begs the Society to investigate the mystery and save his museum from the darkness that infests it. Roster:
Please check in here and declare purchases and prestige expenditure. I'd prefer to run with 6, but I might just run this with 7 if everyone is still in. Gameplay is also open for dotting.
The invitation delivered last night was remarkably simple, especially given the importance of the occasion: “Start where it all began. Meet us at the Pig’s Paunch one hour before dawn.” The next morning... The Pig’s Paunch is a run-down building with a faded sign of a large pig standing on its hind legs, arms folded above a corpulent belly. Inside, the air is thick with the scents of human sweat, stale tobacco, and leftover food. In the center of the room, surrounded by inebriates sleeping off their revelries, a familiar elven man stands high upon top of a large round table. “Welcome! Welcome, my friends! Please, have a seat!” With that, Kreighton Shaine, the Pathfinder Society’s Master of Scrolls, nimbly drops down to sit cross-legged on the table before looking about the tavern with a sense of reverent wonder. “Can you believe it? It all started here years ago—well, over four hundred of them at least. Under this very roof the Pathfinder Society was born." Shaine studies the room wistfully for a moment before continuing. “But today! Today you will begin your Confirmation! Master Farabellus, Master Zey, and I all agree you each have shown your worth and dedication to the Society, so there’s no better time to see if you can handle becoming full field operatives. Allow me to introduce you to Janira Gavix,” he says as he motions for an excitable halfling woman to approach. She wears a large backpack and carries all manner of tools, pouches, and scroll cases around her waist. Shaine continues, saying, “Janira here will be going with you on your Confirmation. She was one of my brightest pupils and will no doubt be an invaluable resource on your journey, for she discovered the caves you are about to explore during her own Confirmation.” Janira speaks up in an enthusiastic and cheerful voice, “Greetings, aspiring Pathfinders! Six months ago, while I was mapping cave entrances in the foothills of the Kortos Mounts, I witnessed a lone gillman entering a concealed cave. I thought little of it at the time, but I saw another one enter the cave again a month later as my Confirmation stretched on. A few days later, after I completed my assigned task, I entered the cave system, but was unable to find the gillmen.” Master Shaine hops to his feet. “Initiates, for your Confirmation, you will travel to these caves to explore and document its many passages. Additionally, and most importantly, you are to learn what the gillmen are up to in there. Oh, and you need to come back alive as well.” With these parting words, the Master of Scrolls jumps off the table and strolls out of the building while humming to himself, as Janira turns her attention to your group, waiting for any questions.
Arriving at the Temple of the Shining Star in Absalom, you are immediately directed to Ollysta Zadrian, the leader of the Silver Crusade faction operating within the Pathfinder Society. Ollysta is a paladin of Sarenrae, and though young in her years, she holds herself with the poise of a queen and warrior simultaneously. Once the group is complete, she addresses you in a strong voice. "Greetings and welcome, blessed ones. I am overjoyed to witness such potential organized for this Confirmation. Though the challenge of that will be explained by others, I wished to arrange this meeting first and learn more about you." This is a pre-scenario scene. The actual scenario will begin once everyone has made an introduction here.
Aasimars, amass! Hey everyone, here is the discussion thread for the all-aasimar Confirmation group. You don't necessarily need to be a part of the Silver Crusade faction, though I think it would be fun if you were. Also, because there are two groups going through the Confirmation, I would like to see two very different approaches to this scenario, so I thought it might be interesting for this group to be classic goody-two-shoes hero types, while the tieflings would be roguish anti-heroes. Keep in mind that whatever concept you come up with for this game, you can always rebuild before 2nd level, so I encourage everyone to experiment. Check in and discuss away.
The furniture in Zarta Dralneen's luxurious sitting room is a mix of shiny leather and studded hardwood. An enormously tall gilt frame leans against one wall, occupied by an elaborate woodcutting depicting but a single nymph in a seductive pose, garbed in nothing but a necklace bearing an amulet shaped like the Asmodean star. Dominating the room is a long table topped by a series of cubbies full of papers and curios, and a small, framed portrait of Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin with a lipstick kiss-mark on it. Stalking about the room like a cat is the Paracountess herself, wearing a smile and a barely-there negligee. "Hello, my lovelies. I am so excited that my summons has produced such delicious prospects for this Confirmation. The particulars of that task will be given by another, but I would love to know more about you fist." This is a pre-scenario scene. The actual scenario will begin once everyone has made an introduction here.
Tieflings, assemble! Hey everyone, here is the discussion thread for the all-tiefling Confirmation group. You don't necessarily need to be a part of the Cheliax faction, though I think it would be fun. Also, because there are two groups going through the Confirmation, I would like to see two very different approaches to this scenario, so I thought it might be interesting for this group to be classic anti-hero types, while the aasimars would be goody-two-shoes. Keep in mind that whatever concept you come up with for this game, you can always rebuild before 2nd level, so I encourage everyone to experiment. Check in and discuss away.
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.
Greetings everyone! Let's get organized. Check in here and feel free to dot the Gameplay thread with a character introduction. Go ahead and post a hello with your character alias. Please have your character statblock information copied into the "About" area of your alias as well as basic stats into the "Class/Levels" field in a format something like this: Race Class | HP Max/Current | AC [Flat Touch ] CMD | F+ R+ W+ | Initiative + | Perception + | Sense Motive + We have 4 signed up, and 1 possible addition coming in the next couple days. Once everyone has checked in and checked out we'll get rolling.
The Greenforest Inn has become almost like a second home to you in the time you've spent around Thornkeep, and you were ushered to your private room with smiles and greetings instantly upon your arrival. Waiting inside this time are three Venture Captains of the Pathfinder Society. Adril Hestram is one of the most prominent venture-captains operating out of the Pathfinder Society Grand Lodge in Absalom. A confident fighter and veteran Pathfinder, he has more dungeon delves under his belt than most can count. Rumors claim Adril hails from somewhere in the north, which would explain his light hair and beard, but he has never confirmed the identify his homeland. He is a bear of a man, standing well over six feet tall. While his large girth might be deceiving, his bulk is mostly muscle, and he can frequently be found sparring and arm-wrestling with other members of the Society to further develop his strength. Istivil Bosk, the Venture-Captain of the imposing Dryblade House in Daggermark, manages Pathfinders in the region of the River Kingdoms. Bosk has a pinched, weathered face, and graying hair, but he still bears the energy of a man half his age and has a reputation of being more forgiving than some venture-captains. As you enter he shakes your hand and greets you by name, displaying respect and a certain knowledge of your previous adventures. Master of Spells Aram Zey sits at the far side of the table, ignoring all else in the room while he quietly examines a wayfinder. A fourth man sits near Aram Zey. Slumped in a chair and disheveled like a beggar just in from the streets, he glances around the room with an nervous smile. Once you all present, Adril Hestram addresses the room. "Some years ago, a band of adventurers aligned with the Pathfinder Society found their way into the Sanctum of a Lost Age while exploring Thornkeep’s dungeons. It took some time, but Venture Captain Bosk was able to track down this man." Hestram gestures to the disheveled man. "His name is Rozimus of Tymon and he is the only survivor from that band to make it back out." Rozimus clears his throat and tells a short, tragic story. "We all passed easily from the Enigma Vaults through a misty corridor and into the Sanctum, but only I returned. I can only recall small moments, but everyone else was killed. Saw their deaths - burned by fire, frozen in ice, torn to pieces by tooth and claw, crushed by traps, poisoned by fang. Not completely sure how I got out, but I think that had something to do with it." Rozimus points to the wayfinder in Aram Zey's hands and the Master of Scrolls places it on the table for all to see - though the wayfinder itself seems not unusual, it is set with a valuable item - a clear spindle ioun stone. "Take it and the stone. My passion for adventure's gone, and I won’t have any further need of them." Aram Zey points to the ioun stone set within the wayfinder. "I have have found nothing special about the wayfinder, but I believe the stone is another key to the Sanctum, similar to the one you recovered on your last expedition. Perhaps it is a copy made by a wizard some time in the ancient past, or perhaps a duplicate crafted by Nhur Athemon himself. Whatever the case may be, with two stones you should be able to arrange entrance and exit for more then one person. I would suggest not losing them." "So, Pathfinders." Adril says with a grin. "Are you ready for another expedition under Thornkeep?"
About Orvos Quinn Race:
Archtype:
Oracle Class Features:
1st - Life Mystery, Curse of Tongues (Terran), Orisons, 2nd - Life Mystery Spell = Detect Undead
Skills:
Skill Points Earned [56 = (4 Oracle, 1 Int, 1 Racial per level)7 + 14 background] Craft [Glass](INT): 11 = 7 ranks, 3 class skill, 1 ability
Feats:
Campaign - Leadership
Traits:
Pioneer (Campaign: Kingmaker) You have long lived in the shadow of wilderness. Life has been hard, but through hunting, trapping, trading, and coaxing crops from the freezing earth, you’ve learned how to survive on the rugged frontier. With the wilderness ever at your door, you’ve also learned much about its denizens and the wild creatures that lurk in that unwholesome land. Your family might even claim holdings, with elders telling stories of being driven from or robbed of a lost ancestral homestead, fertile farmlands, bountiful orchards, or a hidden mining claim. Whether because of your personal expertise and familiarity with the borderlands or in order to reclaim your family’s land, you’ve joined the expedition. Benefit You begin play with a horse. Also, choose one of the following skills: Climb, Handle Animal, Knowledge (nature), Perception, Ride, Survival, or Swim—you gain a +1 trait bonus on this skill. Devotee of the Green (Faith) Your faith in the natural world or one of the gods of nature makes it easy for you to pick up on related concepts. Benefits: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (geography) and Knowledge (nature) checks, and one of these skills (your choice) is always a class skill for you. HP, BAB, Saves:
HP: 7d8+4 (+2 con, +1 feat, +1 favored class) hit dice, 12 + 9(6) = 66/66
Special Save Notes: Orvos get's a +2 to saves against ongoing effects such as poison, disease, or enchantments from her Aegis of Recovery. Spells:
Spells Known: * Denotes bonus spells known form life mystery or being good aligned. 0 (7)- Create Water, Light, Detect Magic, Detect Poison, Mending, Enhanced Diplomacy, Guidance
Equipment, Movement, Encumbrance:
Equipment: Head - Headband of Alluring Charisma 4000 GP
Sling (1d4/x2/Bludgeoning)
Carrying Weight: Light- 43(50*)lbs or less
*Denotes Carry weight when using masterwork backpack. Backstory:
"Orvos sounds more like a man's name." Looking up from under her thin eyebrows and long bangs the woman favored the speaker with a slight smirk. Growing up among brash and particular Rostlanders had made the statement a common occurance. She finished tying the dressing around the merchant's ankle and sat up straight again to face him. There was no doubt of her gender. Her hair was long, smooth, and fine. Dark bangs spilling across her features and swept back to her ears, with the main wealth of her hair tied into a braid that rested across her shoulder. Her frame was slender, healthy, and the dress and smock she wore betrayed a maiden's curves. Her garb was simple and unassuming, her dress a quiet tan of cotton weave and her smock a thick linen fabric that bore a few oddly colored dots from poulstice spills that had never come out. In her home she was free to sport the luxary of linen socks, which made her footsteps across the floor soft as she returns linin bandages and her ointment bottle to her desk. The bottle itself was a squat and wide piece of red glass, looking much like an oblong shaped heart. It bore the mark of a meadowlark, similar to the wooden sign over her door. "My father chose it before I was born." she explained. Her voice was soft and her tone bemused. As she went on it was clear she had said these exact words many times, "He had wanted a boy, but the name is actually of another tongue. It means doctor." The merchants expression was hard to read, as the man sported a beard so bushy and full it partially hid his lips and cheeks. This was likely intentional, but his eyes were bright and she could imagine he was smiling as he spoke. "So it's Doctor Quinn?" he asked with amusement. For all her reputation as a herbalist and village healer the woman certainly seemed the pysician in her own home. Her furniture was artisan wood with cushioned seats, her office sported a desk and a bookshelf rife with custom blown glass medicines, a collection of medical booklets, memos, and thick tomes of subject matters. "Only when not in my garden." she answered, very pleased with herself. She turned to the window, looking out across the trimmed grass of her yard to the treeline beyond. There was the soft chirps of birds about her house, as her feeders and garden attracted many of the nearby woodland avians attention. Turning her attention back to the merchant she strode over and offered the man her hand. While he wasn't aged, he was a thick barrel chested man of many years, and he had cut his leg deeply when trying to fix the axle of his wagon. He accepted, and let the woman help him to his feet. "Try to stay off your feet..." she began with practiced patience as he was unlikely to follow all or any of her advice, "...or at the very least make sure you sit when doing any bartering." He let out a huff of a laugh, betraying himself to her suspicions and she rested her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was soft, affectionate, and he met her gaze before she spoke again. "Please, at least do that much?" she asked. The man nodded, conceeding that he would at least do that much. He asked and she stated her payment before he handed her a few coppers and went on his way. This was a common occurance in her daily life. Nearby Fort Serenko promised her village no end of foot traffic. As she had said though, Orvos spent most of her time in her garden. When the village was quiet and merchants were not as common she would take her stored reagents and herbs and work in her lab to brew potions and poulstices. Very rarely in the warmer months of the year she would work her bellows, doing her glassworks in the winter months. Still, the heart shaped bottle on her desk was her newest work, having only been blown and detailed earlier in the week. She smiled. Glassblowing and shaping was a talent she had developed herself after coming to the frontier. It had been out of neccesity when she began, but she had truly grown to love the glow of molten glass and the intricate shapes it could be coaxed into with only delicate direction. Her other talents had been developed in her youth at her parents insistance. Her father Garny had been a cleric of Abadar, rigid in teaching her theology and other subjects he found more priestly. Not so much for her enjoyment she had to admit. The man had wanted a son he could meld into a proper successor, and had gotten a daughter with an Oracle's spark. Had he resented his daughter she likely would have grown to hate him, but in reality her father was simply stubborn. Not wanting to let go of his dreams he had passed on much to his daughter, and while she had chafed at instruction she still loved him deeply. Her mother had taught her much simply because her daughter had grown side by side with the plants and weeds in her garden! The woman often joked she was merely a transplant, having plucked her from the woods as a babe and put in a basket while she tended her herbs. As a toddler she wandered the green, learning dangers and benefits to plants long before she learned their names or how to write them. Huan herself was also a bit of a healer. Not a proper temple healer as her father, and bearing no divine magic. She had her poulstices though, her herbal remedies, her pills and her powders. Oh, what the woman could treat with her poweders and teas! Her mother was as soft spoken as a bird herself, always chirping and cooing at her daughter and offering gentle instruction and love. Even her rigid father could only soften in her precense. Of course, there were rare moments when her daughter would drop a carefully crafted cannister of poulstice or come home with bruises from fighting with a boy, and oh her mother would very much squack like a startled heron then! Orvos herself had made the racket herself whenever she had fought, cursing in a language foreign to most until she could calm herself. What had been pegged as a babbling child's gibberish early on was soon dicovered to be Terran. The girl thankfully found herself able to read and write it as well, lest her father have to requsition aid to teach it! For some reason, she still slipped into the tongue when engaged in confrontation. All the more reason to excercise proper tact, according to her parents. Orvos could still remember leaving home. Coming west with her seedlings and transplants. Many jars and ceramic pots of her mother's concoctions in the little wagon. Her father had bought her the horse. A young colt barely broke in, and whom his daughter had very little hope of commanding properly. She had named him Tern, spitefully giving the animal a bird's name after many hours on the road with the ingrate. He had been only the first of her newfound hardships. Digging a proper garden out of the small gnarled spit of land she had bought, settling into her cottage and clearing out almost ten years of cobwebs and rot, breaking a dozen different attempts at potion bottles before making a wholy mishapen and unsealable mess, dealing with pigheaded men deadset on festering with ailments rather than see a young waif who calls herself a healer! It was all worth it though. Years later her garden was immaculate, sporting herbs and vegetables both wild and domestic. The bredth of golarion could be found in her soil... well... what was temperate enough to grow here. Her small cottage was warm, filled with polished earthy wood, stained glass art and lamps, and a neat but charming design that well suited her work. Not only did the local villagers come to her for treatment, but they directed others her way. As did others in the fort. To top it all off, she was a member of the village council. A sign of her status and her easy way of helping the other coucilmen get along. Of course, it hadn't all been a result of her diligent day to day dealings. No, at first most everyone had ignored her. Her funds had dwindled as she paid out for what her garden could not provide. That was when the blacksmith's son had been abducted by goblins, whisked away to serve as a sacrifice for a new cheiftain and his god. A group of adventurer's had been recruited, and Orvos had gone along to keep them stitched together. At the end of the day the boy had been rescued, and he and several of the party owed the healer their lives. This ended up being the first of many small "misadventures" for the young woman. Something she had thought behind her for a while. In theory, she should have been content now. What she believed to be her ambition in life had been fullfilled. Yet she was very young, aspirations had room to grow anew, and one night an elven man had come to her door seeking aid. An adventuring wizard, among other things, and an aspiring headmaster to an acadamy! On more than one occasion he had returned, seeking regeants at first. Conversations over tea turned friendly, and soon she was receiving commisions for oils, potions, and stained glass. This friendship started some gossip amongst the villagers, but she stamped that out in time. Her latest commission for Selann was actually a glass pendant of a starling he had wanted, to serve as a memento as he left to settle in the stolen lands. Well, she was still young, and what better garden could one find than in a noble's keep? If the swordlords needed someone to settle wilderness and setup meaningful trade, she was just the person for the job. She could afford to have some of the local girls who assisted her manage her garden, and while some of her crops couldn't be managed by then she still had plenty of her seeds. It was time to put some of her divine spark to use! |
