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City of Locusts

The Silver Scale emerges from the demiplane on the 5th of Gozran, about a mile from Drezen. Waxberry is there, having appeared moments ago. They return to find Drezen a bustling fortress city, held by fifty thousand crusaders. There is a surge of relief and confidence when the Silver Scale is sighted. It has been almost two months since their departure. They are reunited with Hellin, Tharakstrana, and Cyrus before being summoned by Anevia to a council with Galfrey and their closest allies – Anevia, Aravashinal, Horgus, Irabeth, Waxberry, and a rejuvenated Yaniel. After reporting on the events of the last two months, Galfrey shares that at the moment of the Herald’s death all divine followers of Iomedae felt a surge of inconsolable sadness, resolve, and anticipation. The Silver Scale is updated on the fall of the North, the evacuation of Mendev, and their exceedingly grim circumstances. Gwerm warns there is only enough food for one more day for all the civilians hiding in the caves above Drezen, protected by a small force of Crusaders and a relocated Bell of Mercy.

Outside the field of protection offered by the Sword of Valor the Worldwound has become unpassable, due to the cataclysmic weather and concentrated evil generated by the planner transformation. In fact, every remaining Bothan died to bring them what remaining intelligence the Crusade has. The armies of the Broodlord and Storm King have disbanded and are running amok throughout north central Avistan, causing chaos and preventing the nearby nations from organizing or even forming a clear picture of what is happening. No relief force is coming, and most of Golarion’s cold iron had already made its way north to support the Crusades. The fifty thousand soldiers at Drezen are the only army left on Golarion capable of meeting the demons in the field.

Aponavicius is marching on Drezen with an army three times the size of the Crusade. They are massing at the edge of the Sword of Valor’s protective field and are expected to begin their attack shortly after dawn. Their plan is to destroy Drezen, wipe out the Crusade, and reclaim the Sword of Valor. Galfrey refuses to move it, recalling Iomedae’s words to her “I simply ask that you fight to save your people, as many as you can.” Without the Sword the demons will swarm over the last army of the Crusade and the thirty thousand civilians taking refuge in the hills.

Based on what was learned from the Bothan network, they believe Vorlesh did not have enough power to instantaneously stabilize the gate, and that it will take about seven more days before it is irreversible. During that window it may still be possible to close the Worldwound, and based on the research into the Lexicon, still secure in Lastwall, they may have found a way. It will require a massive surge of energy, but the hope is the combined power of the Silver Scale plus Irabeth, those touched by the wardstones, may be able to provide it. The ritual has been modified so that it will fuse the consciousness of the participants so that that energy can be focused with one singular will.

But to permanently seal the Worldwound the ritual is not enough. A portion of the Worldwound’s energy resides in the deformed and tortured body of Suture, a dretch who was once a powerful derakni and the first demon through the gate when Vorlesh opened it. It was not yet stable, and as he crossed over part of its energy was absorbed into him. It has made him immortal, and if he possesses that piece of the Worldwound within him it cannot be closed. It is believed Suture is being held in the mile wide cloud of vermin circumnavigating the Worldwound at speeds of one hundred and fifty miles per hour.

It is believed that the immortal Suture can be killed by a particular artifact – the Nahyndrian dagger created by Vorlesh. The one the Storm King used to crack and destroy the Kenebras wardstone. But it is protected by Aponavicius. There is an opportunity to kill her and secure it, but only if the cautious demon can be forced to take the field.

The crusaders cannot win. They can merely fight long enough to draw out Aponavicius and give the Silver Scale one shot to take her down. The city has been prepared to maximize the benefit of channeled healing and break up the flight advantage of the demons. The Sword of Valor will weaken the demons and prevent them from teleporting and summoning. Yaniel will defend the Sword of Valor in the courtyard. Irabeth and Galfrey will lead the troops in battle. The Silver Scale will lead surgical strikes against Aponavicius’ leadership to force her into the open. If they win, the Silver Scale will bring Suture, the dagger, and the Sword of Valor to Threshold, where they will confront Vorlesh and try to close the Worldwound. One way or another, Galfrey’s crusade has come to its end.

The demons will be here at dawn, and the Silver Scale are given one last peaceful night. They spend much of it drinking with Yaniel, sharing stories. Yaniel is particularly interested in Arueshalae’s journey and tells her that she will never be able to balance out the evil she has done. Good acts cannot undo the harm or horror of the atrocities that proceeded them. But she can wake up every day and be worthy of the opportunity to be better than she was before.

The Crusade musters at dawn. The Silver Scale addresses the assembled troops. Yaniel’s words are designed to inspire victory. Irabeth’s to foster endurance. But Galfrey speaks last, and she is honest, letting them know that they are here today to die, not to win. But if they honor their gods, they will be rewarded in the life to come, and this message steels the resolve of the Crusades.

It is a long and grueling day of battle, as the Crusade slowly but continuously gives ground in a war of attrition it cannot win despite the incredible valor on display. Fighting alongside their allies, the Silver Scale systematically eliminates Aponavicius’ lieutenants, help Yaniel defend the Sword of Valor, and assist Horgus with the defense of the civilians. They confront Staunton Vhane one final time, only to be betrayed by Hellin, who kills Aravashinal. The Silver Scale would eventually learn that Vorlesh promised to save Hellin’s home if she turned on her allies, and that Hellin lacked faith the Silver Scale would survive to intervene with Nocticula. Her soul, she argued, was a price she was willing to pay if it offered the possibility of saving her world.

Eventually the Crusade is reduced to a small group of defenders in Drezen’s courtyard. Cyrus and Tharakstrana are dead. Anevia brings word that demons have somehow made it into the keep. The Silver Scale rushes to investigate, and in the basement of Drezen they discover the defunct planar gate has reopened. The Silver Scale enters and finds it leads to Aponavicius’ lair, where she waits for them with powerful allies of her own. Strange pillars powered by the consumption of soul lead fuel Aponavicius’ power, and she handily defeats an exhausted Silver Scale.

Aponavicius emerges from her demiplane to claim the Sword of Valor, only to find it defended by Galfrey, Irabeth, and Yaniel. They fight bravely, but cannot defeat Aponavicius, who eviscerates Irabeth and Galfrey and tosses their bodies aside. This leaves only Yaniel, who falls before Aponavicius, her blood coating the Sword of Valor, which she refuses to relinquish even as she dies. But before Aponavicius can claim the Sword, she is distracted by Irabeth, who finds the strength to stand and resist one last time. Aponavicius taunts the paladin, but Irabeth remains at peace with her fate, her calm acceptance infuriating Aponavicius. The marilith moves in for the kill, but Irabeth stands her ground as Galfrey rises behind Aponavicius and smites her with the Sword of Valor. Coated in the blood of a twice martyred paladin and used by a holy champion to smite a nascent demon lord, the Sword of Valor immolates itself, releasing all Iomedae’s power that was contained within. The demon army is consumed, and the marilith’s demiplane destroyed. As the light fades, and the Abyss begins to consume the now unprotected lands surrounding Drezen, Galfrey and Irabeth claim the Nahyndrian dagger. The Silver Scale in turn is revived by the surge of divine power that so closely resembles the wardstone energy within them and can sense this energy will eventually regenerate even the deadliest wounds.

Fewer than one thousand Crusaders survived, most of whom were in the caves above Drezen protecting civilians. While the survivors seek shelter from the abyssal storms ravaging the landscape, the Silver Scale, Galfrey, Irabeth, Anevia, and Waxberry plan to teleport to Lastwall in the morning and determine how to secure the Suture.

The Silver Scale receives visitors that evening. No longer barred by the Sword of Valor, Nocticula visits Drezen and speaks with Wick and Zograthy. She shares she is impressed that Wick, her Battlebliss champion, had the courage to act and do what is necessary in the matter of the Herald. She reveals that while Vorlesh has hidden this very carefully, the Rasping Rifts are not actually absorbing Golarion. Instead, when the process is finished, a new abyssal realm will be created, with Vorlesh as its master. She is impressed with Vorlesh, who managed to use the Silver Scale to eliminate almost all Deskari’s allies, so when the time comes for their confrontation Deskari will be alone. Nocticula confirms their intelligence about the Suture but warns them to think carefully about what they know and how they know it.

Rischa, Arueshalae, and Kiryn wander the ruins of Citadel Drezen and try to clean up the chapel of Iomedae as a gesture of thanks and gratitude. When they restore the altar, Iomedae speaks to them. She reminds them of her own life as a mortal, and that while so many of her victories were canonized as miracles, at the time they were just desperate struggles she stumbled through with no certainty of victory. She encourages them not to lose hope and tells Rischa that one last great choice lies before her. She will know what to do when the time comes, and when it does, she should trust her mortal heart, and the instincts of her Desnan allies, and not try to guess the will of her God.

Queso stressed over how much there was to do, how much only he could do, and how time robbed him of the opportunity to do it. He eventually falls asleep, exhausted. In his dream he is haunted by the memory of the people of Chitterhome he could not save in time. Vorlesh is there and lectures Queso that true power requires sacrifice and suffering. His power was a gift from a God, and one that can be taken away. He has yet to learn what it means to truly seize power for himself. She recognizes his potential but as long he allows himself to be defined by others he will never come into his own, evidenced by his willingness to let himself be guided by the will of allies he knew to be wrong when deciding what to do about the Herald. Vorlesh offers to help him unlock his true promise if he joins her. Queso refuses, arguing that his allies are a source of strength, not weakness. Vorlesh warns that he can either serve her or die in the service of Iomedae. When the time comes, she trusts he will make the right decision.

The Silver Scale decides to take a day to recover and prepare for the next phase of their journey. On the 8th of Gozran, accompanied by Irabeth, who no longer needs to guard the Sword of Valor, they teleport into the heart of the giant cloud of vermin. Within they find an infernal iron engine, powered by souls, churning across the sky. It is guarded by the remnants of the Board of Directors of Swarms. The Silver Scale realizes that the iron beast houses a demiplane within it, one they cannot get access without a key. Wick manages to bypass the locks, and they leave the Directors behind them. Inside they confront a series of demiplanes, each leading into another, and defeat the Broodlord before reaching the engine room.

Inside they find Anemora the drider, Deskari’s High Priestess, guards Suture. But she has allies of her own. Sister Perversion, who traveled from Alushinyrra to take her vengeance, and Lord Stillborn and the Filleted Man - the assassins who killed Rischa and stole Staunton Vhane’s armor from Drezen. During the fight James Bothan appears and stabs Wick before disappearing, revealing himself to be a traitor.

Despite this betrayal, the Silver Scale defeats the Suture’s guardians. He is held within a series of heavily trapped force cages, and as the Silver Scale works out how to free him, they set off one of the traps. Their demiplane drops into the Prime, careening towards the earth, and the unbreakable chains that hold the Suture start to crush him. Time is running out. If the Suture dies, he will rematerialize elsewhere, and he will need to be found and secured again. At the last moment, the Silver Scale uses the acid from the Father of Worms to destroy the chains and teleport to safety, before the demon train crashes into the ground at Iz.

They arrive in Lastwall, only to be followed by the Storm King, who is magically linked to Suture in a way that allows for instant teleportation. The impact of his landing destroys much of the fortress, as does his death throes after the Silver Scale defeat him. Finally, the Silver Scale has the dagger and the Suture. They were counting on the Sword of Valor to help weaken the connection between the Abyss and Golarion, but Zograthy believes he may be able to draw enough power from the Staff of the Riftwarden to accomplish this.

Galfrey convenes a final war council. Devastated by the betrayal of James Bothan, and the revelation that Vorlesh controlled a spy network outside the Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth, she will speak only to the Silver Scale and Irabeth. Not even Arueshalae is allowed to take part. They no longer know what information is trustworthy as so much of what they know came from the Bothans, and Galfrey cannot say for certain which ones supported Vorlesh. Some of the most powerful truth detection magics were extensively used to test their loyalty, and while James Bothan defeated them, Galfrey doubts most Bothans were strong enough to do the same. To make matters worse, an echo of Deskari, imprisoned by Aroden at the heart of the Lake of Mists and Veils hundreds of years ago, seems to have broken free of its bonds.

Galfrey has no armies she can send into the field. Even if she did, the abyssal energies around Threshold are so potent no one can withstand them for long. But the Silver Scale and Irabeth possess the power of the wardstones, and Arueshalae seems to have some divine protections received from Desna. It will have to be them, and only them. If they can gain access to Threshold there should be places where the arcane ley lines emerging from the Worldwound to knit the planes together are clustered. The Staff of the Riftwarden can be used to lay down dimensional locks in those places to weaken the Worldwound.

Once they gain access to the heart of the Worldwound itself, and defeat its guardians, including, they presume, Areelu Vorlesh, they can begin the ritual. They will need to simultaneously disarm incredibly powerful wards, more psychic emanations than traditional traps. At this point they can use the dagger to kill Suture, who will need to be kept subdued throughout the process. This close to the Worldwound’s heart Suture’s energy should be reabsorbed. At that point they can begin the ritual to close it. It will take obscene amounts of power to sever the connection between the Rasping Rifts and Golarion, more than any one individual member of the Silver Scale can manifest. But together, perhaps, they will be strong enough. The ritual was modified to enable them to combine their consciousness and through that wield the energy as a unified whole.

They will be vulnerable while this occurs. Arueshalae can guard them, as she cannot participate in the ritual since her power comes from Desna, not Iomedae. Galfrey reminds them that they are placing the fate of all Golarion in the hands of a risen succubus, and they will be doing so in a place of overpowering abyssal corruption. She asks if they are sure they trust her with that responsibility, and the Silver Scale affirms that they do.

It is the morning of the 9th of Gozran. In four days the Worldwound and Golarion will have been fused into a new plane, ruled by Vorlesh. The fate of Golarion, the security of Rovagug’ s prison, possession of the Starstone, the stability of the planes – everything will depend on the Silver Scale pulling off one final miracle.

The Silver Scale gathers in a small chapel of Iomedae, deep within the fortress of Vigil. There Ren Kinney, Dr. Arcadius, Odayama, and Christian Heavenly perform a ritual that will partially combine the consciousness of the Silver Scale and Irabeth, enabling them to share the mythic strength they receive from Iomedae. When the time comes to perform the final ritual, the hope is their shared power, wielded with one will, will be enough to close the Worldwound. The crusaders make their preparations, and then teleport to Threshold.

They find themselves on a cliff overlooking a vast canyon, the landscape transformed into the same vermin infested abyssal chasms of the Rasping Rifts. At this point, it is not clear where Deskari’s realm ends and Golarion begins. And off in the distance, in the center of a vast lake of fire and larvae, is the tower of Threshold. Through their magic sight Zograthy and Queso can see corrupted energy flowing out of the tower and attaching itself onto the magical ley lines crisscrossing Golarion, pumping the abyssal poison directly into the heart of the planet, corrupting and seemingly transforming it into an extension of Deskari’s realm. A storm of vengeance rends the sky, and the mere proximity of the Worldwound begins to wear down the souls of the Silver Scale. The wizards recognize that the magic emanating from the tower will prevent any teleportation. They will have to approach under their own power. Off in the distance four flying forms circle the Threshold.

The Silver Scale approaches, and quickly dispatches the apocalypse locusts, but before they can enter, two nightmares erupt from the lake of vermin. One is Pyralisia, the Reign of Embers, a mighty phoenix who had fallen protecting the Herald of Iomedae while he created the Wardstones at the start of the Second Crusade. The other is the undead form of Terendelev, the ancient silver dragon whose act of mercy during the Storm King’s assault on Kenebras saved the lives of the heroes who would go on to become the Silver Scale.

The battle was long and difficult, but in the end the Silver Scale not only defeated the guardians of Threshold but also used the divine atonements gifted to them by Iomedae, and intended for her Herald, to restore the phoenix and dragon to their former selves. Terendelev’s soul found its way to Heaven, and Iomedae’s side, while Pyralisia fled south, away from the abyssal corruption that immediately began clawing its way into her redeemed soul.

The Silver Scale landed on the rooftop spire of Threshold, and found a portal leading in. Wick was able to disarm the traps, but the portal was devised in such a way that only demons could enter. But the crusaders were able to fool the trap and force their way through.

They crossed into Threshold, and Zograthy used the Staff of the Riftwardens to seal the way behind them, the dimensional lock reducing the influence of the Worldwound. Inside Threshold they saw Vorlesh had transformed the entire tower into a magical amplifier, enhancing the corrupting power of the Worldwound. They also realize that they are neither in Golarion nor the Rasping Rifts, but someplace new. A hybrid plane of the two. There are no demonic defenders, but a portal beckons them, hundreds of feet below, at the base of the tower.

As the Silver Scale approaches, two defenders emerge from the portal. One is recognized as the Favored of Deskari, a demonic eurypterid that has served for millennia as one of Deskari’s enforcers. The other is an Echo of Deskari, a remnant of the manifestation of Deskari Aroden banished to the Lake of Mists and Veils all those centuries ago. The Silver Scale defeat the guardians, and step through the portal, using the Staff of the Riftwardens to seal the way behind them.

They find themselves in the heart of the Worldwound, staring down the portal itself. The corruption is almost overwhelming. They wonder if they should turn back, to rest and prepare. But they now know the information received from the Bothans can’t be trusted, and there is no longer any way to tell how long Golarion has left. Exhausted, but out of time, they decide to push forward. There is no sign of Vorlesh, but the Silver Scale can sense some source of power feeds the Worldwound from the other side of the portal. With a final prayer to their gods, they step in.

Each member of the Silver Scale finds themselves elsewhere in time, a dissociative moment that distantly reminds them of their experience absorbing the memories of the Wardstone – not only simultaneously living past, present, and future, but recognizing that here, in this moment, lies the power to alter time – to change the past or embrace a different future. Every member of the Silver Scale finds themselves tempted, and all but Queso manages to resist, as he finds his essence drifting towards the darkness of the abyss.

The Silver Scale find themselves in a vast chamber, where they can see the essence of the Rasping Rifts being funneled into the Worldwound. Queso and Zograthy are awed by the magic on display, an entirely new form that appears to be grounded in the soul of the planes. And this magic is fusing Golarion and the Rasping Rifts into an entirely new plane – one that Vorlesh can claim as her own.

Vorlesh is here, waiting for the Silver Scale, surrounded by servitors loyal to her. There is an enhanced devastator, and a fallen solar subjected to an earlier version of the rites that would corrupt the Herald of Iomedae. There is a golem made entirely of nahyndrian crystal, and the Storm King reborn as a nightwalker under Vorlesh’s control. The full scope of her plane is laid bare before you. The way she has used you, as promised, from nearly the beginning, to systematically eliminate her rivals. You were her weapon, always her weapon, aimed precisely where she wished. And with the death of the Echo and Favored, all that remain within the heart of the Worldwound were loyal to her. Dimensional barriers have not only locked you in – they have kept Deskari out, and blind to the slow and subtle transformation that will enable Vorlesh to usurp him as the demonic master of a far greater plane.

Vorlesh offers you an opportunity to serve her in her new order. And while she would not expect the faithful of Desna or Iomedae to agree, Zograthy has already opened his soul up to demonic temptation, and the crushing pressure of the abyss had broken through Queso’s resolve. But all refuse and the battle for the soul of Golarion begins.

The Silver Scale manages to grind through Vorlesh’s minions, to her rising frustration. It is clear, initially, that she is holding herself back, in preparation for her final fight against Deskari, but she is forced to invest more and more of her own power. She eventually takes control of Queso’s mind and kills the rest of the Silver Scale. Queso observes a triumphant Vorlesh add a final component to the impossibly complex sequence of runes and sigils adorning the chamber and begin her final transformation into a full-fledged demon lord.

As Vorlesh begins to exult in her power, Wick’s hand, possessed by the spirit of his brother Phineas, reaches for Gravewarden, the Pharasman dagger gifted to Wick by Nocticula. There is a moment of bargaining, and then Phineas destroys the dagger, offers his soul to Nocticula, and summons the Demon Lord to the heart of the Worldwound. This Vorlesh did not expect, and before she can react Nocticula unleashes an unspeakable amount of power, stopping time and resurrecting the Silver Scale. This has left Nocticula vulnerable and weakened. She focuses her remaining power on shielding Queso from Vorlesh’s mind control, as the Silver Scale finally faces Vorlesh on a field not of her own design, and triumph over their hated foe.

Feeling exposed, and not wishing to draw the eye of Deskari, Nocticula departs, and the Silver Scale begin the ritual to close the Worldwound. They confront and overpower the wards protecting it. The Suture is sacrificed, and his death in proximity to the Worldwound restores the piece of its essence he had been carrying. The Wound is whole, exposed, and finally vulnerable.

The time has come to complete the ritual combining their consciousness, truly fusing into one collective mind – an element not found in the Lexicon of Paradox. Zograthy begin the final incantations to close the rift. The river of power rises and flows into one stream as it begins to close the Wound. But the Silver Scale are so focused on the ritual, and resisting the corrupting presence of the Abyss, they fail to notice the Worldwound itself, infused with part of Vorlesh’s soul, burrow into the ritual and seize control from the inside. Vorlesh’s final failsafe, or perhaps her plan all along, the author of the Lexicon of Paradox.

The Worldwound begins to feed off the divine power of Iomedae, expanding its growth on an exponential level as it begins to swallow the rest of Golarion. Vorlesh is restored by her new realm, a Demon Lord in truth. The Silver Scale begins to despair. Desperate to flee, their shared consciousness feels a compulsion to follow the river of power to its source. And there, in the space between and underneath reality, they find themselves before a vast golden wall stretched across an infinite horizon. They see that their power flows through a tiny hole in barrier, and they witness millions of even smaller holes releasing divine energy from the other side of the barrier to flow across the planes. And they know what they must do.

With one final act of supreme will, the Silver Scale assert their own authority, and for a fraction of a moment usurp control over Vorlesh’s plane, driving her out. Before she can reassert her mastery, they throw the full cosmic force of her abyssal realm against the barrier. The barrier shatters, and Iomedae is summoned to Golarion by the Silver Scale, not as an avatar, but as a god in full.

Her power is present for only a few moments, but it completely transforms Golarion, purging its abyssal infection, healing the lands it had corrupted, closing the Worldwound, sealing off the abyss, and strengthening the fabric of reality between the planes. As the Worldwound closes so too does the power that sustained her manifestation, and she vanishes, gravely wounded by the manifestation, but alive.

The Silver Scale are sucked through the imploding Worldwound and find themselves in the Rasping Rifts. A portion of Iomedae’s power had flown into the abyssal realm, killing Deskari. The crusaders watch as the realm resurrects the demon lord, who, blind with rage, moves to take his revenge on the heroes. They assess the situation. Iomedae’s power had restored them, but she had to sever their connection to her so they would not be incinerated by the unveiled power of her manifestation. And the overcharged power they absorbed is rapidly fading. If they wish to free Golarion of Deskari and avenge all the souls who had fallen in the century long struggle to close the Worldwound, this was their moment. The Silver Scale stands their ground and engages their foe.

Deskari is not alone, and a seemingly infinite supply of demons are ready to reinforce him. As the Silver Scale struggles for advantage, they are stunned to see Baphomet teleport into the Rasping Rifts, eager to take his own revenge on both Deskari and the Silver Scale - the chaotic hunger of his demonic essence overriding any sense of caution. Alderpash is with him, along with an honor guard of Ivory Minotaurs. Deskari locks down the plane so that there can be no escape.

The Silver Scale fight bravely as their power drains, but it is only a matter of time before they are overwhelmed. As an endless wave of Deskari’s minions overwhelm them, Desna possesses her servant Arueshalae. Taunting her demonic adversaries, she reminds them that their grand plans were defeated by the mortal champions of Desna and Iomedae. And using her divine power to override Deskari’s dimension lock, the Silver Scale find themselves in an abandoned Clydewell Plaza, in the ruins of Kenebras. Home alive, their incredible journey finally at an end.

Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth

It was a sobering return to Drezen, despite the Silver Scale’s successes in the Midnight Isles. While they discovered that Hellin and Tharakstrana, a possessed gold dragon freed by the Silver Scale during Battlebliss, had made it to Drezen, they learned of the disaster at Raliscrad, the loss of old friends, including Waxberry, and the utter destruction of about half the military strength of the Fifth Crusade. But most devastating of all was the loss of the Herald. Irabeth summons Galfrey, who arrives with James Bothan. Galfrey orders the Herald’s loss to be kept a secret for the time being. Crusader morale is at a breaking point after Raliscrad, and only the achievements of the Silver Scale have held it together. Vorlesh’s ambush is especially disquieting, both for its logistical and strategic sophistication and that it happened at all. The forces of the Abyss could not have organized this quickly, and the Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth were broken on Golarion. Galfrey is tired, and for the first time seems lost. She confesses that with the disaster at Raliscrad there is no longer a hope that the Crusade can match the demons in the field. All their hopes now lie with closing the Worldwound.

The death of Baphomet at Nocticula’s hand may have created a window. Though Demon Lords are regenerated by their realms, the energy involved is so great it takes a year for the realm to recover. During that time Baphomet is vulnerable and will likely spend the next year in hiding. Bothan intelligence reports that many of his forces in the Worldwound have retreated to the Ivory Labyrinth to protect their Lord during this uncertain time. Deskari’s troops, on the other hand, have withdrawn, forming a defensive perimeter around Threshold and Undarin. Something is happening, though the Crusaders are not sure what. And it is confirmed that a great roaring cloud of insects has appeared thousands of feet in the sky above the Worldwound appearing to circle the land. Its purpose is unknown.

Galfrey acknowledges that there is perhaps one last opportunity before them. The team studying the Lexicon has almost reverse engineered a ritual that might be able to close the Worldwound. Galfrey will gather and rally the remaining Crusader strength at Nerosyan. When the time is right, the Crusade will march to Threshold under the Sword of Valor and deliver the Silver Scale to the heart of the Worldwound, where they will use the ritual to close the Worldwound. Drezen will be prepared as a final fallback point should the assault fail. The civilians in Nerosyan and Kenebras are ready to evacuate to the coastal city of Egede, where a fleet of ships will take them across the Lake of Mists and Veils and into Verdant, which promises at least temporary refuge. Zograthy and Queso are to report to Lastwall to support the Lexicon team, while the rest of the Silver Scale is to help prepare the defenses at Drezen.

As the council adjourns, the world turns white, and the chamber fades out of existence. It is a similar sensation to the forced summons of Areelu Vorlesh, but without the same sense of violation. The Silver Scale, plus Irabeth, Galfrey, and Arueshalae, find themselves in a vast cathedral, whose stained-glass windows seem to stretch off into infinity. The images within the glass shift and change, showing the opening of the Worldwound and the history of the Crusades. The group is drawn to the center of the cathedral, and as they travel the images tell the history of the Fifth Crusade before reaching the center knave, where the windows reveal the story of the Herald of Iomedae and his service in her name. There is a blinding pressure, but just as the Silver Scale feels like their heads will burst it fades, and an avatar of Iomedae appears before them.

It is hard to look directly at her, as if this form is doing all it can to shield the mortals from the full force of her power. But the Silver Scale nevertheless feels a sense of peace and certainty they have never experienced before. She greets the crusaders, and as she speaks the windows tell the stories of the eleven Acts of Iomedae. She asks questions that test the character and resolve of the Silver Scale, before revealing they have been brought here for a purpose. But before she tells them, she reveals something of her own hidden history, as if to explain her motivations, sharing the story of how, as a mortal, her actions led to the capture and corruption of Aroden’s Herald Arazni. This story, which she bitterly refers to as the Twelfth Act of Iomedae, was suppressed by the churches of Iomedae and Aroden upon her ascension.

She confirms that the Herald was captured by the forces of the Worldwound during Raliscrad. His location is unknown, but she confirms that he still lives, as she can feel him through their bond. She knows he is enduring a great torture aimed at the corruption of his soul, a battle he is losing. If she severs her connection to him, he will be lost forever, but as long as she maintains it she can preserve part of his soul. But time is of the essence, as something is parasitically feeding off that connection, drawing upon her divine power. She bears the weight of guilt over his capture and condition, knowing that the Herald intervened because Iomedae cannot violate the cosmic strictures that prevent the intercession of Gods in mortal affairs. She cannot even send an avatar, as invading the Abyss would trigger a planar war, as Desna almost did countless millennia ago avenging her own friend and ally.

Instead, she tasks the Silver Scale with infiltrating Baphomet’s labyrinth plane, where they are to find her Herald, and return him. The Silver Scale are given boons to carry out this quest. First, the ability to cast an atonement that might restore the Herald to his true self. Second, the Chalice of Ozem, an Iomedaen artifact that can hold any substance – including potentially the blood of the Father of Worms, a great beast that lairs somewhere in the Ivory Labyrinth whose caustic blood can melt any lock. Finally, she gives them the Stole of the Inheritor, a cloak that will return them to Iomedae’s side once they complete their mission.

But this task is for the Silver Scale. Galfrey and Irabeth, who she names as her mortal sword and shield, are to return to Golarion. Irabeth must protect the Sword of Valor, and Galfrey must prepare not for victory, as Iomedae confirms the Crusade cannot triumph through force of arms, but to fight – for as long as she can, to save who she can – and give spiritual answer to the crimes of the Abyss. You can sense that Iomedae sees within Galfrey a kindred spirit, and Galfrey’s spirit is renewed.

Finally, Iomedae offers Rischa the opportunity to temporarily assume the role of her Herald. Rischa agrees, and Iomedae opens a connection between them. Rischa is struck by a vision of a vast golden wall sitting upon a featureless plane, and a golden tether emerges from that wall, binding Rischa to Iomedae. Rischa begins to swell with power, though she recognizes that it will take years to learn how to safely control it. She also finds her mind opens to Iomedae, granting the God access to her innermost thoughts. But this connection flows both ways, and Rischa can sense how much of her humanity and empathy Iomedae has held onto, so that she might deliver justice in a form comprehensible to mortals. Yet this lack of detachment tortures Iomedae – she feels every injustice deeply and feels caged and unable to act because of the strictures that bind her.

Iomedae returns her champions to Drezen, moments after their departure, and plans change, as the Silver Scale prepares to make their way into the Ivory Labyrinth, where they must find and rescue the Herald before it is too late.

The Ivory Labyrinth is a massive, ever shifting and unmappable maze the size of Avistan and Garund combined. The Silver Scale begins what will become a month-long exploration of the plane, their journey eventually taking them to the capital of Blackburgh. Fortunately, Wick’s notoriety as the champion of Battlebliss smooths their journey in places. In Blackburgh they are met by James Bothan, who helps them secure magical equipment. The Silver Scale is also sent a gift from Nocticula, a black sapphire that can help fund their journey. In Blackburgh they encounter Verbovexxor, a sentient vescavor swarm, who reveals a powerful prisoner has been taken to the Ineluctable Prison, arguably the most secured vault in all the planes.

The Ineluctable Prison is the original maze in which Asmodeus first imprisoned a then mortal Baphomet. In the act of his escape and ascension to Demon Lord Baphomet stole the maze from Hell and brought it with him to the Abyss. The prison, while not the capital, is the heart of his realm. It is found somewhere in the Breathless Mountains, its entrance secured by an unpickable lock requiring five keys.

James Bothan brings word of a powerful nalfeshnee demon named Orengofta, who wishes to meet with the Silver Scale. They agree and learn that Orengofta is concerned about the stability of the Ivory Labyrinth and wants the Herald out before Iomedae gets desperate and sends a force of angels to he brings into the Ineluctable Prison. It is, he argues, the only way past the prison’s impassable gate. The Silver Scale refuses, and violence ensues. Orengofta is defeated and in exchange for his life reveals a secret way to the prison that takes them past the Father of Worms.

As the Silver Scale searches the Ivory Labyrinth, Deskari’s forces launch as massive assault upon Northern Golarion, each of Deskari’s primary generals leading a force of demons who teleport in formation, covering vast distances at incredible speeds and descending upon their enemies with no warning. Diurgez Broodlord effortlessly conquers the major population centers of Numeria, while Ustalav melts before the Storm King. Curiously, the demons seem primarily interested in prisoners, herding vast populations of mortals north towards Undarin, though most die along the journey. It is Aponavicius who descends upon Mendev. Galfrey is ready but does not engage. Instead, she evacuates the country and sends the bulk of her remaining forces north to Drezen, escorting the remaining civilians who were unable to flee. She stays in Nerosyan with ten thousand volunteers, who are there to draw in Aponavicius and buy time for the bulk of the army and civilians to escape. It is a suicide mission, but the lives are given willfully. Galfrey is the last person to leave, teleported out by Aravashinal as the city falls, and with it the nation of Mendev.

Iomedae watches, grieving for her home and doubtful that victory is possible. As she contemplates Golarion’s fate, she senses a great evil stirring at the heart of the Lake of Mists and Veils and feels the infection caused by her link to a corrupted Herald. And she realizes that all her hopes rest with the Silver Scale. Gods cannot pray for miracles, but as long as there is resistance, there is an ember of hope.

The Silver Scale journeys into a deep, dark maze and ultimately finds and destroys the Father of Worms, securing its blood in the Chalice of Ozem. They follow a pinprick of light out into the peaks of the Breathless Mountains, and gaze upon the Ineluctable Prison. It is a massive, spiked sphere over half a mile wide, secured by chains between the mountains. The chains are wide enough to serve as a road to the prison. As they approach the entrance, the prison comes alive, shooting its spikes at the Silver Scale. There is a battle against vrolikai demons and cyclopean guards at the entrance, and then they confront the famed Groaning Gate of the Ineluctable Prison. Investigating the door, Wick discovers that each of the five locks must be opened in sequence, and each is heavily trapped. Should any lock fail to open, the system and traps will reset. They are the most complicated locks Wick has ever seen, some of the most complicated throughout the planes, but Wick manages to bypass them and open the unopenable door.

As the Silver Scale enters the prison demiplane, Rischa feels her connection to Iomedae weaken, her God suddenly a distant, hazy presence rather than something that envelops her. They fight their way across the Prisoner’s Bridge, which hovers above the Pool of Ultimate Endings, guarded by a mythic crystal ooze. Curiously, they do not encounter demons. Instead, Baphomet appears to have looked to demodand’s to secure his prison.

As the Silver Scale explores the constantly shifting prison, whose walls are made of the bones of Baphomet’s enemies, they pass prison cells populated primarily by demons and devils. To their surprise, they encounter an image of a spectral hand, which beckons them to a cellblock, where they discover, to their shock, that Waxberry is being held prisoner. Although skeptical at first, they confirm this is Waxberry, who is gaunt but does not show signs of torture, at least not physically. Waxberry weeps with relief. She tells the story of the Herald’s capture and reveals that she was brought in to watch his torture. He was chained to pillars on a great disc floating above a lake of tar. There was a smoking hole in his chest, where his heart had been ripped out and replaced with something vile and corrupt. But her captors lost interest in her as another angel named Malaika, who single handedly assaulted the Ineluctable Prison, was captured, and brought in. The angel passed Waxberry on his way to be tortured, and surreptitiously passed the former thief a holy symbol, which she smuggled into her cell and used to create the spectral hand. Waxberry is ready to aid the heroes as best she can and recommends the Silver Scale find and rescue the angel Malaika.

Before they leave, an imprisoned immolation Devil named Surrlahetas offers to trade information about the prison in exchange for his release. Holding most of the cards, the Silver Scale agrees to do so if he stays and fights with them until they leave the labyrinth. The devil agrees and shares the names of the wardens of the prison. Plorig-Stagul, the head torturer, Svendack, Inger Magor, and Ylleshka.

The Silver Scale searches for the torture chamber, assuming this is where they might find Malakia. He is there, and while Plorig-Stagul is defeated, they are too late. The angel is dead. Wick uses Grave Warden to speak with the spirit of the Astral Deva. Malakia reveals he assaulted the prison, affecting a mad and mindless grief, with the intent of being captured. Knowing full well that he would be tortured horribly before an inevitable death, his sole purpose was to find and deliver a message to the Silver Scale, from Jingh, one of Iomedae’s chief advisors, and among the most ancient beings in all the planes. It had to be given in the Ineluctable Prison, as it blocks all divination not aspected to Baphomet. In this space, Iomedae is deaf and blind, even to her Herald. Once he shares his message, Malakia warns, they cannot leave until their work is done. Iomedae must not know and will be able to sense Rischa’s thoughts the second she leaves.

He warns that the Herald must die corrupted and be reborn as a servant of the Abyss, his soul damned for all eternity. He must be killed to break the parasitic drain on Iomedae but cannot be redeemed. The small part of his consciousness Iomedae has preserved will remain and sense the eternal violation of his soul. This would consign the Herald to a tortured existence, for eternity. They must violate the express wishes of Iomedae and ensure this happens.

The Silver Scale is horrified, especially Arueshalae, as a similar experience nearly broke her, and that was simply the awakening of the shred of conscience possessed by a soul wicked enough to be reborn in the Abyss. The Silver Scale asks Malakia for proof, and he has none. Just the word of Jingh. But he says that there is an ancient being who resides against his will in the Ineluctable Prison. If they seek out Alderpash, they may learn more. The deva wishes them luck, and hopes they make the right choice before he allows his soul to return to the Heavens to be reborn.

The Silver Scale begins their search for Alderpash, and eventually discover his spacious and well-appointed prison. There they meet the ancient lich, the original Runelord of Wrath, who helped lead the Thassalonian empire in the age before Earthfall. A worshipper of Baphomet, he was imprisoned for a failure to appease the demon lord. Alderpash offers to share what he knows if the Silver Scale helps him escape. The wards that keep him here are unbreakable, but when Nocticula killed Baphomet, they temporarily weakened. If Baphomet is defeated again, he believes they will snap. If the Silver Scale draws Baphomet to prison, Alderpash will help them defeat him. He believes freeing or killing the Herald, depriving Baphomet of his trophy, would enrage the Demon Lord enough to leave the security of his palace in Blackburgh and seek his vengeance here. The Silver Scale agrees.

Alderpash reveals that Queso’s sphere was an alghollthu artifact from before the Earthfall, and that the one in Queso’s possession had been stolen by Xin, the founder of Thassilon. The orbs are repositories of the knowledge of the alghollthu Veiled Masters, architects of the Earthfall. They caused the Earthfall because the Azlanti were close to unlocking time magic, and it is forbidden to disrupt the flow of time. Doing so weakens the fabric of reality, and empowers the Dark Tapestry, the cosmic force of entropy at war with creation.

This why the Gods cannot directly manifest in the world, as doing so also weakens these boundaries. There are exceptions – the Gods entered the prime material plan in the fullness of their power to imprison Rovagug, for instance, and throughout all known and unknown history they have, in a few rare moments, been summoned, into reality – a loophole in the laws of the universe that requires access to power on a scale so cosmically vast as to be functionally impossible.

To ensure that no one is tempted to break these strictures, there are rules deeply embedded in the structure of reality that ensure any entity who does so is annihilated, and their purpose corrupted. Should they escape their punishment the debt is transferred to another. He notes that Aroden repeatedly violated these rules, which led to his eventual destruction.

Alderpash reveals that Vorlesh has replaced the Herald’s heart with a Nahyndrian crystal, and he has been corrupted, transformed into a creature of Lord Baphomet. He tells Queso that if he uses the orb to view the Herald, he will sense arcane colors he had never seen before. It is the stain of time magic, marking him for judgement and punishment. Alderpash does not know what the Herald did, just that he is marked.

He also tells the Silver Scale that Vorlesh has approached him and offered to kill Baphomet in exchange for his knowledge. He agreed, having little to lose, but he is not sure she will keep her bargain. He reveals that he was humbled by her power and ambition.

Finally, Alderpash offers to describe the prison of the Herald, which has no entrance and can only be reached through teleportation circles that litter the prison. But before the Silver Scale tries kill or free him, the lich recommends they destroy Baphomet’s lieutenants, so they do not interfere in the confrontation.

The Silver Scale is torn over how to proceed. Queso and Wick argue that they should heed Alderpash and Jingh and kill the Herald without redeeming him. Kiryn, Zograthy, Arueshalae, and Rischa disagree, and carry the day. The Silver Scale then set off to hunt down the various guardians of the Ivory Sanctum. High Priest Svendack is killed in her temple, where they disrupt the aura of heroism projected throughout the prison, a victory which costs them Surrlahetas. The great tarn linnorm Uffrandir is killed in his lake of acid, which draws out Inger Maggor and the powerful labyrinth minotaurs accompanying him. Among the linnorm’s treasure is a torc of the heavens, a powerful divination artifact that can even pierce the veil of silence locking the Gods’ senses out of the Ineluctable Prison.

Igramalash, the original rune giant and a creation of Alderpash intended to appease Baphomet’s anger, is released from his cell. This summons the warden Ylleshka, the conjoined twelve-armed marilith. As she fights Igramalash the Silver Scale prepares an ambush in her chamber, which enables them to successfully defeat the wounded demon. Finally, they travel to Baphomet’s museum, guarded by Gelderfang, where they secure the Herald’s heart and his sword Valor’s Wrath. The Silver Scale prepares to free and redeem the Herald. As they do, Wick discreetly uses the Torc to commune with Pharasma and learns that Pharasma does not want the Herald freed and redeemed.

Back in Golarion it is the 4th of Gozran, and Deskari has betrayed the weakened Baphomet, taking total control of the Worldwound. In Undarin all Deskari’s prisoners, including what remains of Baphomet’s followers, have been massed in a vast plaza, well over a hundred thousand strong. High above, witnessed by Deskari’s inner circle, Vorlesh is finalizing a great ritual. Orbiting her are over a hundred thousand black gems like the ones that held the soul of Queso’s mother. In her hand was a similar black gem of immense size, glowing with corrupted power Vorlesh had stolen from the Herald. At the completion of her ritual, she crushes the gem, and the souls of all the mortal prisoners below, including mortal followers of Deskari, are drawn into the cloud of gems. At this point the gems shatter, their quintessence annihilated to create the energy needed to supercharge the Worldwound.

The Rasping Rifts begin to fuse with the planet, and Golarion changes. True North shifts to Threshold, and all sentient beings find their gaze unconsciously drifting towards it, seeking this new pole. Across the planet every new child is born infected with abyssal energy, creating a new generation of mongrelfolk. Uncounted billions of insects swarm through the portal and flood the sky of the Worldwound. Only the area surrounding Drezen, protected by the Sword of Valor, resists the transformation.

The Silver Scale confronts the corrupted Herald, who identifies himself as the Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth. As he fights his former allies, there are moments where glimpses of his prior self struggle for control. The Herald taunts the Silver Scale, reveling in descriptions of the horrors the soul of the Herald has been subjected to. With great difficulty, they manage to defeat the Herald and begin to prepare for his redemption. This process would require removing the crystal in his chest and restoring his heart, before utilizing the atonements gifted by Iomedae. But before this can happen Wick stabs the Herald, ending his life. There is a last-ditch effort to try and secure the tiny fragment of his tortured, fearful soul that contains his former essence, but it is absorbed by the Abyss and Iomedae is forced to let go. The Herald is gone, to be reborn as a demon, tortured for eternity and lost forever.

The Ineluctable Prison groans and buckles as Baphomet approaches, his rage overriding his caution. A battle-weary Silver Scale returns to Alderpash’s prison, but when Baphomet arrives, they take Waxberry and flee – abandoning their erstwhile new ally.

They find themselves once again in the central Knave of Iomedae’s cathedral. Waxberry is gone. Iomedae is cold and stern, but Rischa can sense her infinite grief, her guilt, and her crushing disappointment. She immediately senses what happened from Rischa. She says it is one thing to try and fail, but to openly defy her is hubris of the worst kind. It falls to Iomedae to dispense cosmic justice, and the Herald must now pay the price of the Silver Scale’s arrogance. She reveals she was aware of Jingh’s concerns and will deal with him when the time is right.

But the Silver Scale’s work is not done. Despite her misgivings, they remain her best weapon against the Worldwound, and Golarion has entered its final moments. Vorlesh’s planer transformation will be made permanent within a matter of days, and she cannot interfere. She tells them “You are my avatars in the battle for Golarion. Protect the Sword. Secure the knife. Find the Suture. Close the Wound.’ The Silver Scale are transported to a timeless demiplane so they can prepare. Her final words to them are “To close one door, you will have to open another. Go forward in light to combat the darkness.” And they understand that if they open the one closed door within the demiplane they will be transported back to Golarion, and the end of the world.

Midnight Isles

As the Fifth Crusade planned its next steps, the Silver Scale prepared to use the now converted Forge of Purity to redeem Staunton Vhane’s armor. Rischa guarded the armor in an instant fortress, seemingly impregnable. And yet two assassins, a red skinned dwarf, and a pickled punk, were able to break in, kill Rischa, and steal the armor. A minor setback, given recent victories, but disturbing, nonetheless.

The Silver Scale and Drezen leadership were summoned by Queen Galfrey on the 17 of Calistril, 4724. She revealed the Bothan network had discovered, on a secret scouting mission in Iz, the Lexicon of Paradox. This ancient text dates to the time shortly after Earthfall, and it was Vorlesh’s possession of this text that saw her imprisoned within Threshold. Within it, Galfrey believed, are the foundations of the ritual used to open the Worldwound. The text is held securely in Lastwall, where it is studied by some of the top minds of Golarion. The Lexicon reveals the Worldwound is not a gate between planes. Rather, it is an attempt to conjoin planes, whereby Golarion would be swallowed by the Rasping Rifts.

While she opened the Worldwound using the surge of power caused by the death of Aroden, Vorlesh likely lacks the strength to complete her work. At least not yet. It is also believed within its pages there are rituals that could be modified to close the Worldwound.

Time is running out. Despite the success at Drezen, the demons are always rebuilding their armies, and without the Wardstones it is not clear how long the Crusades can match them, especially when faced with Nahyndrian empowered demons.

To that end, Galfrey tasks the Silver Scale with journeying to the Midnight Fane, which the Bothan network had discovered. There they are to destroy the Nahyndrian refinery. And within the Fane is a gate to the Abyss used to transport the freshly mined crystals. The Silver Scale is to test a ritual that might close this lesser gate. If successful, the Crusade will try to adapt it to close the Worldwound, though where the power to accomplish such a feat might come from is unknown.

The Silver Scale must journey into the Abyss and close the gate from that side. Once there they are to track down and eliminate Deskari and Baphomet’s nahyndrian mining and disrupt any attempts at an alliance with Nocticula. But the ritual requires participants on both sides of the gate. While Irabeth volunteers to close the gate on the Golarion side, Galfrey reminds her that her place is at Drezen, protecting the Sword of Valor. Galfrey, eager for a field engagement, and unsure of who she can trust, will go herself. They plan to depart within the week.

There is still the uncomfortable matter of Arueshalae, who is not trusted by Galfrey, and who will not set her free. Kiryn offers to take custody over Arueshalae, but Galfrey observes that even if she can be trusted now, if she accompanies the Silver Scale into the Abyss, she runs the risk of being corrupted. But recognizing the possibility of Desna’s intervention, it is decided that the Gods should determine Arueshalae’s fate.

On the 22nd of Calistril the Silver Scale gathers at the rebuilt Temple of Desna, where the Bell of Mercy has been installed. There Arueshalae will be judged by representatives of all the Gods of the Crusades. Arueshalae’s crimes are presented, too innumerable to mention. She acknowledges her guilt, refusing to defend herself, exhausted from decades of struggle and resigned to her fate. But the Silver Scale, particularly Kiryn, speaks passionately on her behalf. Each of the clerics offers an atonement and a geas aspected to their god, binding her to a life of service as a form of punishment. Throughout this process, the clerics hold out the possibility that her crimes might one day be forgiven. Arueshalae voluntarily submits, though the tenor of the ritual changes at the end, when Sarenrae offers not just forgiveness but redemption, Waxberry, speaking for the church of Iomedae, offers justice, and the Desnan cleric, the possibility she might one day earn dreams of her own. Arueshalae, Kiryn, and the priest offer a prayer to Desna, the Bell of Mercy rung, and Arueshalae falls to her knees in shock, rising as something singular and new - a redeemed demon.

The assault on the Midnight Fane is fierce, and the alchemist Mutasafen, who worked with Vorlesh to create the Nahyndrian elixirs, is slain. They are confronted by the lost paladin Yaniel, who has accepted Baphomet as her lord and encourages the Silver Scale to join the forces of the Worldwound. The Silver Scale defeat Yaniel, who manages to flee to the Abyss. But as they explore further, they discover a husk, the desiccated shell of a victim whose identity a lilitu can then assume. They restore the husk, and discover the true Yaniel, prior wielder of Radiance. She was captured by Minagho decades prior, with Arueshalae’s help. But there is no malice in Yaniel, just exhaustion and relief. She blesses Radiance, and the sword is now entirely bonded to Kiryn.

The ritual to close the gate is successful, though the Silver Scale is ambushed by the nalfeshnee demon Ibahaniel, who guarded the gate between the planes. On Golarion Galfrey returns to Nerosyan with Yaniel, while the Silver Scale find themselves in an abyssal cavern system, which opens into a steaming jungle. They are on the island of Vazglar, a realm forged from the body of the demon lord of jealousy, ruined cities, and loss. They are in the Midnight Isles, realm of Nocticula, where every land mass is composed of the essence of a dead demon lord whose quintessence she prevented from returning to the Abyss – a secret only she possesses. The capital of Alushinyrra is six hundred miles away on the island of Alinythia. The Silver Scale reactivates an old gate complex and steps through, into Alushinyrra.

The city is unusually cosmopolitan and comparatively peaceful for the Abyss, massive in size, roughly ten times larger than Golarion’s greatest cities. Yet its population has swelled further, for in a few short days the MMCDXXXVII Battlebliss tournament will take place, a gladiatorial contest with thirty entrants, fighting for the right to challenge the Nahyndrian League Champion Gelderfang. The ultimate winner receives an audience with Nocticula.

This seems like the quickest way to gain access to the Demon Lord, and Arueshalae arranges a meeting with the cambion Irmangaleth, who runs the tournament to secure entry in the tournament. But the real power behind Irmangaleth is Velexxia, the succubus who owns the league, and a major power broker in Alushinyrra. Her permission would be required to enter. Arueshalae knows Velexxia and warns the Silver Scale that while she can arrange a meeting at the Rapture of Rupture, Velexxia will only treat with people she finds exceptional. That night the Silver Scale is ambushed in their inn, and it appears there is no safety to be had within the city.

They journey to the Rapture of Rupture, though Rischa notes they are being shadowed by a red eyed demon, who they try and fail to ambush. They meet and impress Velexxia with a display of their various talents, and she will let them enter the Battlebliss if they can eliminate one of her rivals, a seraptis demon named Sister Perversion, whose brothel The Yearning House is a competitor to her Silken Embrace.

They journey to The Yearning House, where Velexxia had arranged for them to be on the guest list. In the common room Rischa is accosted by a glabrezu demon, who slips a note into her hand. The note instructs her to make a space safe, listen for the oath, and that he will find her in the morning. They meet Shag Solomon, gentleman quaggoth, here to try his hand at the Battlebliss tournament. Also in the Yearning House, unsurprised to see them, are Areelu Vorlesh and Hepzamirah, daughter of Baphomet, and the yellow eyed assassin who had stalked the Silver Scale throughout the day.

The assassin identifies himself as Nezirrius, a half shadow/half ankou demon hired by Minagho to kill the Silver Scale. He offers to break the contract and help the Silver Scale eliminate Minagho if they can meet his price of fifty thousand
gold. But as all their resources will be needed to buy their way into Battlebliss, the Silver Scale refuses. Nezirrius will not spill blood in the Yearning House and leaves.

They are charmed by Shag Solomon, who educates the aspiring gladiators on the roster of this year’s tournament. Hepzamirah storms out, and seems particularly infuriated by Arueshalae, whose transformation she can sense. She threatens to bring Arueshalae to Plorig-Stagul, her father’s chief torturer, but hints she is not allowed to touch her.

Vorlesh invites the Silver Scale to have a drink with her, where she toasts her ‘reluctant proteges.’ She is still the most powerful being the Silver Scale has ever encountered, despite the increase in their own might and the increasingly impressive roster of their vanquished foes. But Queso and Zograthy can sense that her power is of a different nature than theirs. She masters hers, fully, while the wardstone energy seems to ride them, independently – almost like a separate entity with a symbiotic host. She informs the Silver Scale that they live because they serve her ends, but they cannot hope to challenge her and opines that the key to dominance is not to stay ahead of your opponent but to instead subsume their game within your own. And if the Silver Scale does not know the game she plays they will never be able to stop her. She goads Queso in particular, letting him know that a difficult road lies before him, but there is nothing waiting for him in Chitterhome. She admits to a grudging respect for what Arueshalae has accomplished, and then wishes the Silver Scale luck in the tournament.

The Silver Scale confronts and defeats Sister Perversion, and retreat to Velexxia, who offers them a place in the Battlebliss and lodgings in one of the city’s finest inns, personally guaranteeing their safety. The next morning, they meet a gnome who identifies himself as James Bothan, head of the Bothan network, masquerading as the glabrezu who slipped the note to Rischa the night before. The Silver scale learn from James that the Bothans were a clan of Sarkorian gnomes who pledged themselves to the Crusades after demons destroyed their home.

Bothan is here to deliver intelligence from Galfrey. The crusade is preparing a major assault on Raliscrad as prisoners are being moved there in massive numbers. It will be the largest mobilization of crusader might since the First Crusade. There are rumors of a demonic vessel roaming the skies above the Worldwound carrying something Vorlesh doesn’t want found, and that the Storm King was able to destroy the Wardstone using a nahyndrian dagger of incredible power designed to disrupt powerful magics. Finally, Anemora, high priestess of Deskari has been buying huge amounts of ambrosia to keep something docile and unconscious. They call it the Suture, and its fate is somehow tied to the Worldwound.

And then it is time for Battlebliss. Each member of the Silver Scale pays the ten thousand gold piece entry fee, which guarantees their resurrection. They meet the gibrileth demon JR, who will be calling the tournament and interviewing contestants. They meet Dondarj the Fang, a half orc sorcerer and one of the most hated contestants in the entire contest. He agrees to ally with the Silver Scale against the demonic contestants. They also meet a band of paladins led by Hellin Tallhallow, who seek an audience with Nocticula to secure an artifact in her possession needed to avert the destruction of their home world. The paladins also ally with the Silver Scale, and of course, they agree to cooperate with Shag. With their mortal allies secured, the Silver Scale prepares for battle. They receive a sending from Irabeth before the games begin. “The odds have always been against us, but we are still here. Endure. Resist. Hope. The gods will answer in their own time.”

It is a Battlebliss for the ages, full of surprises, betrayal, and a prime vs planes rivalry that will be talked about for generations to come. Both of Hellin’s companions are killed before entering the tournament, a shocking turn given the safeguards in place to ensure the integrity of Battlebliss. One is replaced by Santiago Rodriguez, a ratfolk from Chitterhome and childhood rival of Queso. Santiago is hopelessly outclassed, and Queso cannot save him despite his modest efforts to do so. The other paladin is replaced by Staunton Vhane, who is far more interested in taking his revenge on the Silver Scale than winning the tournament. Vorlesh watches from a luxury box, amused, but does not stay for the entire Battlebliss. There are betrayals by Dondarj, feints by Dondarj, extensive color commentary by Dondarj, but ultimately there can just be three survivors. Queso, as the Bookeyman, whose peerless knowledge of Battlebliss stats proved invaluable, probably. Wick, as Optimus Prime, who led the crowd on an emotional journey unlike any other, and Dondarj, who always finds a way to win. The winners, all representing the prime material plane, will face off in a force cage death match against Gelderfang, champion of the Battlebliss and a favored son of Baphomet.

The tournament concludes the next day. Rischa, Kiryn, and Zograthy enjoy the view from Shag’s luxury box, though they are attacked during the match by Nezirrius, who they manage to defeat. In the main event Dondarj, and his simulacrum are dispatched, and Queso and Wick defeat the four-armed half incubus half minotaur Gelderfang with a mythic baleful polymorph. By agreement, Wick dispatches Queso, and is declared the Battlebliss champion. The belt will make him the subject of much notoriety among denizens of the Abyss.

The Silver Scale are scheduled to meet with Nocticula in two days, though they are told to attend her at the Vault of Graves, her private library, rather than her palace. The Silver Scale agrees to take Hellin with them, and lobby on her behalf for Nocticula’s help. On the morning of their meeting, they are visited by the Herald of Iomedae for the third time. He brings news of the impending assault on Raliscrad, which he will lead, but wanted Queso to know that all the citizens of Chitterhome had been captured by Vorlesh and are held prisoner in Raliscrad. While the Silver Scale offers to help, he asks them to meet with Nocticula and stay with their mission, and to trust him to rescue Queso’s people along with the rest of the prisoners.

Only the Silver Scale and Arueshalae are granted access to Nocticula, and Hellin is forced to wait outside. Nocticula receives them in her library, which contains the biography of everyone she has killed over the countless millennia of her life. Her aura is overpowering, and Queso alone manages to resist. She informs the Silver Scale she has no intention of allying with Deskari or Baphomet, but nor does she wish to openly confront them, hinting that such a conflict might disrupt her own agendas. She reveals that their mining operation is now on the Midnight Isle of Colyphyr, and she will allow them to travel there if Arueshalae spends a night with her. Kiryn refuses, but Arueshalae agrees, promising Kiryn she can endure the temptation. Nocticula reveals a respect for Vorlesh, gives Wick the dagger Grave Warden, which once belonged to a powerful priest of Pharasma, and offers Zograthy the chance to spend a night with her, once she has finished with Arueshalae. He readily agrees.

The Silver Scale steps through a gate and find themselves on Colyphyr. The entrance to the mines lies at the top of a boiling and corrupted waterfall, but to gain entrance they must first defeat its guards, including the Defiled One, an angel hideously tortured and maimed into a corrupted, fallen state by Plorig-Stagul and now a slave to Baphomet. Arueshalae returns, unharmed, and everyone is surprised to learn that they spent the evening talking, Nocticula interrogating her about her transformation and redemption. Zograthy is then summoned away, and returns bearing the profane mark of Nocticula.

At the entrance to the mines they meet the Fulsome Queen, an omox demon they fought during Battlebliss. She is hoping to rid her mines of both the cultists and a powerful shadow dragon who has taken up residence, and she offers the Silver Scale her treasure and her patronage if they vanquish both. They defeat the dragon Melazmera and assault the mines. They fight through its protectors and discover the magic mirror Vorlesh used to partially appear before them at the time of their ascension. Eventually they draw out and defeat both Hepzamirah and Minagho. As Hepzamirah is defeated a furious Baphomet erupts from her corpse, manifesting in the flesh. The Silver Scale are paralyzed by his aura, before the wardstone energy within them rises to the surface, protecting them, and they overcome their fear. Baphomet prepares to destroy the Silver Scale but takes a moment to taunt that he has captured Iomedae’s Herald. It is then Nocticula manifests and destroys Baphomet for trespassing uninvited in her realm. Baphomet is reborn in his abyssal realm, the Ivory Labyrinth. Nocticula in turn creates a portal to return the Silver Scale to Golarion.

While the Silver Scale assault the mines in Colyphyr, the Exalted Army of the Fifth Crusade launches its assault on Raliscrad. Drezen is represented by the Knights of Kenebras plus Aravashinal and Waxberry. The Crusade drives deep into the city, until Baphomet’s forces spring their trap. The Crusade fights an organized retreat, the Knights of Kenebras sacrificing themselves to hold a bottleneck so their allies could retreat from the city. The Herald single handedly draws Baphomet’s generals to him, and fights off Svendack, Baphomet’s High Priestess, Ylleshka, the conjoined marilith, and Inger-Maggor, Baphomet’s Ivory Hunter. But then Deskari’s forces arrive, and the Crusaders are destroyed, a bare handful escaping. This included Aravashinal, but not Waxberry, who was knocked unconscious trying to aid the Herald. The Herald moves to flee when it was clear the Crusade was lost, but Vorlesh took to the field, and captured the Herald. He was taken to Threshold, where Baphomet ripped out his heart and Vorlesh replaced it with a Nahyndrian crystal that began the slow but inevitable process of corrupting the Herald.

Demon’s Heresy

The task of rebuilding the ruined Drezen, and securing the surrounding territory, falls to Irabeth and the Silver Scale. Galfrey sends much-needed troops and craftsmen to help defend and support the region, accompanied by Waxberry. She will serve as Galfrey’s direct representative in Drezen. The top priority is the establishment of an outlying early warning and scouting network, led by Anevia. It requires rooting out nests of demons in strategic locations, and the Silver Scale has its first encounter with the curious Bureaucracy of Swarms, ultimately led by the balor Diurgez Broodlord. The network built by the crusaders proves invaluable, as Drezen is assaulted often, by armies of increasing power (and one colossal dretch) as the forces of the Worldwound slowly regroup and respond. This intelligence gathering is supplemented by the Silver Scale’s own work, and Queso learns that Terendelev has been resurrected as an undead ravener.

Having been deceived by Nurah, Rischa sets about interrogating the command structure of Drezen, but finds no spies. Around this time, Jesker Helton, a priest of Erastil goes missing, his temple desecrated. The Silver Scale tracks him to the ruined tomb of Delamere, a prominent leader of Erastil’s faith before the fall of Sarkoris. In the tomb, Helton is revealed to be possessed by the Eustoyriax, who is finally defeated, though Helton could not be saved.

It is during their search for Helton that the Silver Scale spends a night in the Worldwound for the first time since the recovery of the Sword of Valor. As they make camp, they are forcibly summoned by Areelu Vorlesh to her manor in Undarin. Vorlesh had prepared a feast, its menu featuring the Silver Scale’s favorite dishes, they are served by terrified prisoners, including Queso’s mother. Vorlesh shows no signs of having been wounded by the Wardstones and is interested in taking the measure of the Silver Scale. Throughout their conversation she talks freely, indicating that she serves Deskari for her own ends, and that her need for revenge ended with the death of Sarkoris. She confirms for the Silver Scale that the power within them is drawn directly from Iomedae, now channeled through the Silver Scale instead of the wardstones. While Vorlesh strives towards greater ends she will not reveal, she shares with the Silver Scale that she will not oppose them, as every rival they manage to destroy means one less obstacle she must remove herself. She seems supremely confident that the Silver Scale will never be powerful enough to truly threaten her, noting that the full force of the destruction of the Wardstones could not destroy her. As a parting incitement, she imprisons the soul of Queso’s mother into a soul gem before returning them to their camp.

A surviving tribe of Sarkorian barbarians, the Wintersun clan, began raiding caravans bound for Drezen. The Silver Scale journey to Wintersun Hall, and defeat their chief Marhevok Grunhuld-Wintersun, who, like Queso, had once ingested the blood of Jerribeth, willingly in his case. But the supply lines to Drezen would not ultimately be secure until the Silver Scale tracks the woundwyrm Scorizscar to its lair and vanquish it.

As Aravashinal’ s research uncovers that Zograthy’s parents were the Crusaders who defeated Xanthir Vang, Anevia’s network makes several important discoveries. The ruined town of Sesker’s Gully located to the northeast of Drezen, is identified as a base of operations for kalavakus slaver demons operating in the region. Upon investigating, Cyrus discovers the ruined family crypt that appeared to him in his strange dream. He is confronted by the crotchy ghost of Alrys Harnaste, who tasks Cyrus with cleansing his ancestral crypt and laying him to rest, lest he haunt Cyrus for the rest of his days. The Silver Scale drives out the powerful nabasu demon Skulgrym and discovers Harnaste’s sword Lifegiver’s Edge. As Harnaste learns of the fate of Sarkoris he vows to put off his eternal rest, and instead binds his soul to his sword so that he might guide his descendent Cyrus.

More significantly, a profaned Temple of Iomedae is discovered further east. The Silver Scale drive out the Templars inhabiting it, led by the Baphomite god-caller Zanedra and her eidolon Svennarobeth. Among the intelligence gathered from the temple, they learn that somewhere further east is the Ivory Sanctum, Baphomet’s primary base of operations in the Worldwound, and the source of the Templars’ regional power. They learn that the glabrezu Jerribeth, a loyal Baphomite and his original emissary to the Worldwound, and Xanthir Vang vie for control over the Templars, with Vang serving the nominal leader due to the support of Areelu Vorlesh.

Rischa feels an urge to cleanse the temple, and with the support of consecrate scrolls provided by Waxberry, Rischa leads the ritual to purity and restore it. Upon its conclusion, they are visited by the Herald of Iomedae. He reveals that the armor Rischa wears belonged to him as a mortal Dwarven inquisitor of Ragathiel, and that Rischa is a distant descendent. He awakens the true potential of the armor and shares the story of how he came to serve Iomedae. He speaks with bottomless admiration of her humility, empathy, resolve, and the way she embodied humanity’s capacity for greatness when they set aside their own interests.

He also shared that Iomedae cannot intervene directly in the fight to protect Golarion, revealing that there are two strictures which bind all gods, punishable not only by death, but by the twisting of outcomes. They must not interfere with the flow of time to change the past or alter the future. And they must not voluntarily walk the prime material plane in their full power, as it weakens the fabric of reality. Even manifesting as an avatar is risky, and Aroden often flaunted these strictures. Jingh, the first iophanite angel and an ancient servitor of Heaven, believes that Aroden’s death was a cosmic punishment for violating these strictures. Prior to Aroden, the last time gods voluntarily manifested onto Golarion it was to minimize the destruction of the Earthfall, at the cost of their lives. The Herald also reveals the terrible cost being a bystander has taken on Iomedae, who has preserved a sizable portion of her mortal consciousness to inform her work as a god.

During one assault on Drezen, abyssal retrievers kidnapped Horgus Gwerm. Kiryn was suddenly struck down by a vision of Horgus receiving the same Azverindus Rites that were performed on her as a child. The Silver Scale tracked him down to the Molten Scar and destroyed a Nahyndrian infused vrock named Vorimeraak before she could complete the ritual.

Despite their best efforts to secure the lands around Drezen, the location of the Ivory Sanctum remained a mystery. At least until Kiryn and Wick had an intense dream of the succubus who saved each of them as children, over twenty years ago. After reliving those childhood experiences, they had a vision of the succubus trapped in a ruined temple of Desna. In the dream, the succubus calls to them for help.

The Silver Scale were able to locate the temple, where the hag Jarunnicka and her allies had trapped their prey in the old temple. Some powerful force kept them from entering the temple, and the hunters had settled into a siege. After defeating Jarunnicka, the Silver Scale encountered the succubus Arueshalae for the first time.

Arueshalae shared her story – how she had been active in the Worldwound since shortly after it opened. Her loyalty was to Nocticula, the demon lord of succubi, and Arueshalae was in the Worldwound to scout and play, owing no allegiance to Deskari. In 4795, about twenty years ago, she deceived and killed a worshiper of Desna. She had many victims over the years, including several high- profile crusaders, like the paladin Yaniel, had corrupted many of the inquisitors that led the witch hunts of the Third Crusade and built a reputation as one of the most insidious succubi operating in the Worldwound. As the Desnan lay dying, Arueshalae experimented by entering his dreams. She set about altering his memories during those final moments, looking to make her violation of his life absolute before he died. But Desna visited her in that dream, trapping Arueshalae, who barely made it out before the crusader breathed his last. When she escaped, she found that Desna had awakened some previously dormant and hidden part of her pre-demonic soul, which began to reject her demonic nature.

She struggled to suppress this alien part of herself, until she received a new sign from Desna moments before a young Kiryn was to be sacrificed to the Azverindus rites. Arueshalae betrayed her demonic allies, interrupting the rites, and fled into the Worldwound. For twenty years she struggled with this irreconcilable internal tension, wracked by constant pain and existential nausea as her abyssal essence sought to quash this reawakened soul.

Over time, she began actively opposing Deskari and Baphomet, leading a resistance of one, using her skills to gather intelligence she fed to the Crusade, approaching via intermediaries given her well-founded fear that no one would listen to a demon. She was eventually captured by Jerribeth, and imprisoned in Drezen, where she was tortured while a more permanent prison was constructed. While in that prison, she pleaded to Desna for salvation, and Desna suppressed the wards of her cell, enabling her to escape. She also gifted Arueshalae with a vision of this ruined temple, where Arueshalae fled to hide.

She hoped the Silver Scale would believe her, though it was clear Arueshalae was resigned to their suspicion. But the presence of the Bell of Mercy, a powerful Desnan artifact lost to the opening of the Worldwound, convinced Kiryn, Zograthy, and Wick that perhaps Arueshalae could be trusted. The Bell created a protective field that would have been deadly to any demons trying to enter it.

Arueshalae shares the location of the Ivory Sanctum and reveals it as the site where Nahyndrian elixirs are distributed throughout the Worldwound. She offers to help the Silver Scale assault the Ivory Sanctum, in exchange for passage outside of the Worldwound where she can focus on her own pathway to redemption.

The Silver Scale returns to Drezen, though Arueshalae disguises herself as a human and spends much of her time at the Desnan temple on the road between Drezen and Mendev. While they make their preparations to assault the Ivory Sanctum, there a massive assault on Drezen led by Exorius and Kiranda, full of powerful demons the Drezen crusaders lacked the weapons to harm. During the fighting, when all seemed lost, Irabeth further awakens the Sword of Valor, enchanting the weapons of Drezen’s defenders and summoning Iomedae’s Herald to fight alongside them. And though the cost is high, Exorius and his armies are defeated.

With Arueshalae at their side, the Silver Scale assaults the Ivory Sanctum, gradually whittling down its defenses. They are first met by Jerribeth’s All-Stars, a company of powerful adventurers corrupted by Jerribeth. They encounter a coloxus demon named Grillixbee, who offers to ally with the Silver Scale if they destroy Jerribeth. Unsurprisingly, combat ensues, and most of the Templars of Baphomet serving Jerribeth and Blackfire Adepts serving Vang are killed, along with many of the remaining demons.

Eventually Jerribeth is defeated, along with her bodyguard Staunton Vhane, who had risen as a graveknight. The Silver Scale takes his armor, with the eventual intent of utilizing the redeemed forge of purity in the dungeons of Drezen to purge and cleanse it.

Within a hidden treasure vault a thanadaemon guards the Staff of the Riftwarden, which Zograthy claims as his birthright. The staff had been corrupted by the decades it spent in possession of the demons, but once purified it becomes a powerful weapon in the arcanist’s capable hands.

Finally, Xanthir Vang is vanquished, and among the information recovered are detailed records of all the Templars embedded within the Crusades. There is a great purge, and for the first time in decades the Crusades are free of hidden corruption. With the fall of the Ivory Sanctum, the distribution mechanisms for the crystals have been disrupted, slowing the creation of empowered demons.

There is a wealth of additional information recovered among Vang’s journals. Regular references are made to the Midnight Fane, where the elixirs enter Golarion from the Abyss. The crystals in turn are mined in the Midnight Isles of Nocticula, under the watchful eye of Hepzamirah, a daughter of Baphomet. The crystals are the blood of dead demon lords, which exist only in the Midnight Isles as Nocticula alone has learned how to prevent a demon lord’s quintessence from being reabsorbed into the Abyss. A cambion alchemist named Mutasafen, along with Hepzamirah, and Vorlesh, created the distillation process that purified the elixirs. Minagho, a powerful lieutenant of Baphomet and the architect of the Red Morning massacre that trigged the disastrous Third Crusade, had fallen out of favor with Baphomet due to her failure to guard the wardstone fragment in Kenebras, a duty she passed over to her minion Jeslyn so that she could join with the demon hordes gathering at the wardstones. The Silver Scale learns that Vang worked with Vorlesh to create the poison and nahyndrian dagger used to weaken and eventually shatter the Kenebras wardstone. There are early notes for the development of a Nahyndrian golem of incredible power, as well as obscure references to a powerful demonic engine Vang was constructing alongside his mentor Vorlesh. There is also intelligence about an attempt to bring Nocticula into formal alliance with Baphomet and Deskari. Finally, Queso discovers an ancient text that he can use to unlock the power of the Orb of the Alghollthu, which had been in his possession since before he set out for Mendev.

Drezen is secure, the forces of the Abyss have suffered another major defeat, and intelligence brought to light by the Bothan Brothers network of spies offers a longshot opportunity to close the Worldwound. After so many poisoned years of stalemate and decline, momentum was decisively back with the crusades

Sword of Valor

Queen Galfrey marches on Kenebras with a crusader army to secure the ruins of the city, begin the process of rebuilding, and meet the people responsible for both the destruction of the wardstones and the temporary salvation of the Crusade. The party, now calling themselves the Silver Scale in honor of Terendelev, are honored by Galfrey along with Irabeth at an investiture ceremony where they finally complete their oaths, pledge to “go forward in light to combat the darkness,” and formally join the crusades.

Later that day, they are called into an audience with Galfrey. The destruction of the demonic armies, and the disruption of their command hierarchies, have created a singular opportunity. A small force could make its way through the Worldwound relatively undetected, and retake Drezen. This would not only give the Fifth Crusade a needed base of operations in the Worldwound, and a powerful symbolic victory to reframe the destruction of the wardstones, but it could also restore the Sword of Valor, the Crusade’s most powerful weapon now that the wardstones are no more. Under Irabeth’s leadership, supported by the Silver Scale, the cleric Sosiel, Nurah Dendiwhar, Aravashinal, Anevia, and newly recruited quartermaster Horgus Gwerm, the Knights of Kenebras begin their march towards Drezen.

The journey takes a week, and the army is tested at Vilareth Ford and Keeper’s Canyon, where they drive off the incubus commander Exorius, who vows revenge. Exploring the vescavor infested canyon, the Silver Scale discovers, for the first time, one of the countless satellite abyssal gates fed by the Worldwound. Inspired by Irabeth’s example, Kiryn begins to adopt a paladin code for herself, one aligned with Desna’s values. And as she does, Radiance begins to awaken, gradually reattuning itself to its new wielder. A lost temple of Desna is liberated less than a day's march from Drezen, and then the city itself is assaulted, its defenses led by the fallen paladin Staunton Vhane. There are several days of fierce fighting, including an attempt by the tiefling sorcerer Barrid Isen to destroy the Ahari bridge and bar access to the citadel. But perhaps the most significant encounter is with Soltengrebbe, the chimera who defeated them in the Silver Scale’s vision of alternate futures during their mythic ascension. The beast was infused with some kind of new abyssal power, rendering it invulnerable to the attacks of the paladins. Only the Silver Scale were able to defeat it, as the wardstone energy they had begun to channel was able to match this new abyssal strength. Ultimately the Knights of Kenebras drive Drezen’s defenders back to the keep itself and invest a siege.

That evening, the Silver Scale is beset by strange dreams, real and vivid. They reawaken repressed memories for some, and for others feel like reforged links in a broken historical chain. Kiryn recalls a traumatic incident from her childhood, where she was captured by demons and was to be sacrificed in a ritual known as the Azverindus Rites. Presided over by Minagho, the rites would force an involuntary transformation of a person’s soul into a demon, their new power a direct inversion of their soul’s purity. But before the ritual could be completed, Kiryn receives a sign from Desna, as a butterfly lands on her forearm and melds into her skin. And then, just as she was about to be sacrificed, the succubus wielding the blade turned it on her incubus companion, teleports them both away, and a detachment of crusaders arrives to save Kiryn.

Cyrus witnesses the final moments of one of his ancestors, a courageous last stand during the First Crusade. And Zograthy dreams of the Riftwardens who hunted down and killed the traitor Xanthir Vang with the aid of the staff of the Riftwarden, a powerful artifact. That victory would be short lived, as a defeated Vang would arise as a Worm that Walks and take his revenge. Somehow, those Riftwardens were distantly familiar to Zograthy.

Wick relives his capture by demons who raided his home in Numeria. As he was marched towards the Worldwound, and a dire fate, the slavers are attacked by a party of crusaders. Yet it was not the Crusaders who rescued Wick, but instead a sad, distant woman who slew his captor and set him free. This was years ago, but only now did Wick understand that it was a succubus, at war with her own kind, and seemingly herself.

And Queso recalls the capture of his brother and himself by the glabrezu Jerribeth. He is being held as bait, and sure enough, their trap is sprung. Arrows pierce Jerribeth, and Queso accidentally swallows blood from her wound, which upon reflection he identifies as the source of his uncanny durability. He has a distant vision of an archer, who Jerribeth names as Arueshalae, before he blacks out. When Queso comes to, he and his brother are alone, and a strange barbarian calls to him, hinting at a shared lineage.

While the Knights of Kenebras lay siege to Drezen, they are plagued by small but significant acts of sabotage, the culprit unknown. And Sosiel’s partner, the recovering demon blood addict Aaron Kir, has gone missing. Knowing it is only a matter of time before Staunton Vhane calls for help, the Silver Scale fights its way into Citadel Drezen. They discover a fake Sword of Valor, and a succubus named Kiranda masquerading as a crusader of some renown - Maranse, who was lost to the Worldwound some years ago. Her treachery is not revealed until she is taken back to camp, where she murders Sosiel and escapes. Within the fortress Rischa claims a powerful suit of armor. Eventually they confront and defeat Staunton Vhane and his brother Joran, but it is a costly victory, made bitter by the revelation that Nurah Dendiwhar was an agent of the Worldwound. They capture Staunton Vhane’s journal and learn a great many things: the true story behind the fall of Drezen and his corruption at the hands of Jerribeth; his many years of deep cover sabotage, including the thwarted attempt to poison the wardstones with a powerful corrupting agent created by Vorlesh; and his subsequent obsession with taking his revenge on Irabeth.

But perhaps the most intriguing information is the revelation of a demonic heretic named Arueshalae, captured by Jerribeth and held at Drezen until a more suitable prison could be prepared. Her presence is kept secret from the other demons, as the idea of a demon abandoning its nature would be deeply disquieting. Somehow, she escaped, and Vhane contracted with Jarunnicka, a hag worshiper of Sifkesh to find and return Arueshalae. But there is also the revelation that a powerful shadow demon named Eustoyriax arrived bearing elixirs made from something called a Nahyndrian crystal. To imbibe the elixir brings with it the possibility of death, but those who survived find their power greatly enhanced, elevating them above their peers. Vhane himself took one and survived.

The Silver Scale discovers an entrance into the dungeons of Drezen and are afflicted by the concentrated evil of the place. They do battle with Theruk Nul, Arueshalae’s captor and torturer, and the tiefling cleric Chorussina, who led a ritual that, if completed, would destroy Drezen rather than see it fall back into the hands of the crusade. The real Maranse is found, only to be revealed once again to be Kiranda, who once again escapes. They discover, curiously, that one of the prison cells had been sanctified to Desna, with a prayer for redemption carved into the walls. They uncover an inactive planar gate and the forge of corruption referenced by Vhane in his journals. And deep in the dungeons of Drezen, the shadow demon Eustoyriax, who had possessed Aaron Kir, is driven off, and the Sword of Valor reclaimed, though Kir does not survive.

On the 22nd of Rova, 4723, Irabeth addresses the surviving Knights of Kenebras, and for the first time in eighty-five years the Sword of Valor is unfurled over Drezen. The unveiling of the banner creates a ten-mile zone of purity around Drezen, driving out the Abyss. The Crusade has its victory, its base of operations, and most importantly, a definitive symbol of its renewal. Throughout Golarion new volunteers make their way north to Mendev, and the crusade swells in size and power.

The Worldwound Incursion

But this is prologue. The story truly begins in 4723 on the 16th of Arodus, in Kenebras – the festival of Armasse. The wizard Queso Blanco, arcanist Zograthy, Bastion Wick the rogue, Kiryn the Desnan ranger, and Rischa the Iomedaen inquisitor each make their separate way to Kenebras to join the crusades. The ceremony is interrupted by a devastating surprise assault by the Storm King, who finally destroys the wardstone and slays Terendelev. As the Storm King’s forces overrun Kenebras, the earth cracks from the strain and swallows our heroes. They would have fallen to their deaths if not for the last dying act of Terendelev, whose magic slowed their descent into the lightless caverns below.

But they are not alone in the darkness. There are three survivors – the elven Riftwarden Aravashinal, blinded by the Storm King during his attack, a human woman named Anevia, whose leg was shattered in her fall, and Horgus Gwerm, a wealthy aristocrat who clearly should not be here and needs everyone to know it.

They discover five silver scales, remnants of the great dragon, which they claim both as powerful magical artifacts and symbols of what was lost. The group makes its way through the caverns below Kenabres, where they make a startling discovery. The children of those original crusaders, now mongrel hybrids of man and beast, have built a community in the underground. But they had not forsaken their noble history and wait for a sign it was time to rejoin the surface and take up the ancient war of their ancestors. Their chief, Sul, believed these surface refugees were that sign, and pledged the support of the mongrels he could rally. However, he warned some of his people had forsaken their past and allied themselves with their ancestral abyssal enemies.

Guided by the mongrel druid Cyrus, the group left the subterranean village of Neatholm behind and fought their way through an outpost of demonic cultists. Within the outpost, they discovered the famed sword Radiance, which had been on display in Kenebras’ museum fortress the Gray Garrison since the sword was found floating down the Sarkora River, without its wielder Yaniel. Though once a powerful artifact, the sword appeared inert. They also uncovered evidence of the depth of the Templar of the Ivory Labyrinth’s infiltration of the crusader elements operating out of Kenebras, and how they helped lay the groundwork for the Storm King’s surprise assault. The party made their way to the surface to find Kenebras in ruins. They learned from scattered survivors that a small resistance remained, operating from the inn Defender’s Heart, under the leadership of Irabeth Tirabade, and a priest of Shelyn named Sosiel.

As the party fought its way out of the subterranean ruins, the combined forces of Deskari and Baphomet massed along the border of the wardstones under their generals, preparing for a full-scale invasion of the free nations bordering the Worldwound. And in the Mendevian capital of Nerosyan, Queen Galfrey learns that with the destruction of the key wardstone at Kenebras, the entire wardstone field is beginning to fail. After receiving the council of Waxberry, a priest of Iomedae and one of her closest friends, and that of Nurah Dendiwhar, a gnomish scholar of the Worldwound who had survived and escaped demonic captivity, Galfrey mobilizes the might of the Crusade to meet the demons in open combat, before the Wardstones collapses completely.

From Defender’s Heart, they engaged in guerrilla acts of resistance against the demons. They discovered rumors of something called a Nahyndrian Crystal, which Vorlesh was harvesting from the Abyss, and that she planned to use their power to fully corrupt the wardstones, turning them towards a dire purpose. She would be ready soon.

Realizing time was running out, the surviving crusaders led a series of raids on targets throughout Kenebras, drawing the demons’ focus towards Defenders Heart, away from the remaining wardstone fragment secured in the Gray Garrison. And on the 26th or Arodus, in the year 4723, as the demons moved to crush the city’s final surviving defenders, the party joined Irabeth in a daring raid on the Gray Garrison. They fought their way to the wardstone fragment, where they were nearly defeated by the Deskarite oracle Jeslyn. But as all seemed lost, Queso activated the crusaders secret weapon, a rod of cancellation, and used it to destroy the wardstone fragment.

Time stops, and Iomedae’s Herald emerges through a rent in reality, acting outside the frozen stream of time. Before it can dissipate, the Herald channels the wardstone’s energy into the party before he violently implodes, and as they party are swept away by a river of eldritch energy, they witness scenes from Wardstone’s past, and futures that do not yet exist. They witness their deaths at the hands of a seemingly indestructible manticore in an assault on Drezen, and see the wardstones corrupted, their energy weaponized, transforming the massed armies of the crusades into demons. And then the party returns to the present, somehow transformed. They are confronted by a physical projection of Vorlesh, who moves to destroy the mortal interlopers. But the wardstone’s power repels her magic. She summons demons to rip the party to pieces, but as she opens the gate the wardstone’s energy rises within the heroes. They surrender to it, and the power erupts, destroying Vorlesh’s projection, the backlash nearly killing her. The surge of power cleanses the city of its demons before burning out. And all along the border of the Worldwound, the wardstones destroy themselves, wiping out the massive demonic army preparing to invade, and gravely wounding Deskari and Baphomet’s most powerful demons and chief lieutenants.

While sin persists, the armies of the abyss are infinite. They will return, hungry for vengeance. And there are no more wardstones to keep them at bay. But they will need time to regroup, and in that time, perhaps there is space for a miracle. On the 26th of Arodus, in the year 4723, amidst the destruction of Kenebras and the greater ruin of the wardstones, the Fifth and final Crusade begins.

The History of the Fifth Crusade Against the Worldwound

What Came Before

It began at the ending, as Iomedae looked on in powerless despair while Areelu Vorlesh threw open the Worldwound and the abyssal armies of Baphomet and Deskari devoured Golarion. It was then that the Hand of the Inheritor, Herald of Iomedae, made the choice to travel back in time and alter a pivotal moment, creating the slimmest of chances that history might take a different path. In doing so he broke one of the two iron laws underpinning the cosmos and condemned his immortal soul. But so great was his love and loyalty for his God that he willingly paid this price.

Or perhaps it began hundreds of years ago, in 4406, when Deskari first noticed the thinness of the planer boundary between northern Golarion and his abyssal realm, the Rasping Rifts. His followers posed as Sarkorian God Callers, spreading his faith, and further weakening the boundary between the planes. In 4433, Deskari launched his invasion, and it required an avatar of Aroden, God of Humanity, to stop him. Aroden forced Deskari back to his realm, but an echo of the demon lord lay imprisoned at the bottom of the Lake of Mists and Veils.

Yet it was not Deskari who created the Worldwound, the reality consuming gateway between the planes, but the Sarkorian witch Areelu Vorlesh, who had made a study of the hidden secrets of the universe. Persecuted as a practitioner of the arcane arts, in 4598 Vorlesh was imprisoned in the Tower of Threshold, an inescapable holding cell for all manner of wizards, sorcerers, arcanists, and witches. It was in Threshold that she accelerated her study of souls, and the power that can be channeled through their annihilation. It was in Threshold that she pledged herself to Deskari in exchange for knowledge and power. And it was in Threshold that Vorlesh finally tore asunder the barrier between their worlds, transforming herself into a demon and paving the way for the conquest of Golarion.

Vorlesh led a quiet revolution within Threshold, eliminating enemies and cultivating allies, until she commanded the loyalty of all who dwelled within. And while her work spawned a dozen small rifts throughout the Sarkorian countryside, her final goal eluded her. That is until Aroden voluntarily manifested upon Golarion one time too many. Actions have consequences, and some rules bind even the gods.

And so, it could be argued that it began with the death of Aroden, which provided Vorlesh the generative power needed to create the Worldwound, a scar upon the face of Golarion, a planer violation that, if left unchecked, would see Deskari’s Rasping Rifts consume Vorlesh’s mortal home. The wound was stable, and massive enough to power a permanent series of abyssal portals that vomited forth an endless stream of Deskari’s demons — enough to overrun Sarkoris and infect Golarion with an abyssal rot. But while Vorlesh anticipated the death of Aroden upon his prophesized return, and prepared her ritual accordingly, she did not yet possess the power and knowledge needed to fully harness the divine quintessence that flooded Golarion. The opening was incomplete, and so Vorlesh began the long, grueling process of expanding the Worldwound, of finding a way to throw open the gate so wide it could never be closed — inflicting a wound capable of transforming the soul of a planet. And Vorlesh, with her infinite ambition, began searching for new ways to expand her power, so that if the opportunity should present itself, she could usurp the place of her master. Over time, drawing upon her implacable will, expansive mind, singular focus, and the vast wealth of a fallen nation, she unlocked the hidden secrets of quintessence, the life force of the planes, and became the most powerful spellcaster in the known history of Golarion, rivaled only by a mortal Aroden.

The death of Aroden and the opening of the Worldwound changed all Golarion, but perhaps nowhere more than the lands of Sarkoris, overrun by demons, and the sleepy provincial nation of Mendev, ruled by a young, unproven paladin of Aroden named Galfrey. She converted to Iomedae and transformed her home into a mighty military dictatorship built with one end in mind – to lead a holy crusade that would drive the demons back to the abyss. For as long as it takes.

The First Crusade was called in 4622, and saw the remnants of the church of Aroden, the ascendent church of Iomedae, and representatives of all the goodly gods join forces with the people of Mendev and survivors of Sarkoris to contain Deskari’s advance. They were joined by powerful allies, such as the great silver dragon Terendelev, the great phoenix Pyralisia, and even Iomedae’s Herald. They fought the demons for eight years, driving them from Mendev and the Sarkorian lowlands and into the Wounded Lands that were once the heart of Sarkoris. The indomitable crusader fortress of Drezen was constructed within these contested lands, a symbol of the crusade’s might, purpose, audacity, and ambition. But these victories came at the cost of countless lives, and its scars cut across generations as the children of crusaders were born infected with an abyssal taint. Twisted and deformed, these offspring were persecuted by the frightened, demon scarred populace of Mendev and Sarkoris. To keep them safe, their parents fled underground with their children, disappearing and into the safety of half remembered legend.

But Deskari was not defeated – he simply was biding his time, allowing his enemies to think of his forces as mindless and disorganized, the threat contained. He would wait to feast, knowing the flavor of despair would be all the sweeter seasoned with the false hope he fostered. While he waited, he gathered powerful new allies, like the legendary marilith Aponavicius. And under her banner the demons rallied and drove the crusaders back.

But Aponavicius did not just rely on brute force. Through crafty lieutenants like the glabrezu Jerribeth, Deskari’s forces found ways to exploit the anger, frustration, impatience, and jealousy that even paladins cannot suppress forever. And in 4638, when the dwarven paladin Staunton Vhane is deceived by Jerribeth, the great crusader fortress of Drezen falls to the Abyss. Iomedae’s banner, The Sword of Valor, is lost with the citadel, and a Second Crusade is called to resist the resurgent demons.

This time the crusaders could not match the organized might of the demons and are driven from Sarkoris. But before the demons could advance into Mendev, the Herald of Iomedae completed a mighty ritual that created the great Wardstones – a field of obelisks that channeled Iomedae’s power into Golarion, penning the demons in. Many crusaders, and the great phoenix Pyralisia, died to give the Herald time to complete his ritual. The phoenix’s rebirth was corrupted by abyssal magics, and Pyralisia retreated into the Worldwound where he became the Rain of Embers. Sarkoris was lost, but Mendev survived, and in 4645 the Second Crusade came to an end.

It was at this time that Deskari made his pact with Baphomet, offering him rule over portions of Golarion in exchange for his servants, the cunning Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth. Baphomet’s agents infiltrated and undermined not only the integrity of the crusades, but the people of Mendev. Terrible events, such as lilitu demon Minagho’s Red Morning Massacre, led to the calling of the Third Crusade in 4665, where overzealous and paranoid inquisitors like Hulrun of Kenebras burn the innocent alongside the guilty. The discovery of traitors like the wizard Xanthir Vang, a disciple of Vorlesh, helped fan the flames. And while Vang was driven into the wastes of the Worldwound by a group of Riftwardens who gave their lives in the attempt, it would be three long years until the fires of the Third Crusade burn out.

Deskari is not idle in this time, and he recruits the mighty Balor Lord Khorramzadeh, the Storm King. In 4692 he attacks Kenabres and manages to crack the obelisk housed there, the first wardstone and heart of the network. Terendelev barely drives him off, and the Fourth Crusade is called. The resurgent demon threat inspires a scale of recruitment not seen since the First Crusade, but mercenaries, opportunists and other ‘low’ templars outweigh the true believers, and many feel the character of the crusaders change.

The crusade is a long, grueling stalemate, but it is not without its share of heroes, like the paladin Yaniel, though she and her sword Radiance, will not survive. After fifteen years, the crusade exhausts itself, and Mendev settles into an uneasy stalemate with the Worldwound. In 4722, a young half-orc paladin named Irabeth Tirabade, member of the crusader order Eagle’s Watch, uncovers the treachery of Staunton Vhane, and prevents him from poisoning the wardstone and further undermining its defenses . There is an uneasy quiet, and a weary and demoralized Crusade is barely held together by the ageless, tireless, indefatigable leadership of Galfrey, whose exhaustion and doubt is her darkest secret.

The battlebliss rules won't format properly so I'm trying to embed a link to a googledoc.

i hope this works

[b]Mass Combat[b]

I used the mass combat rules (pulled from the SRD). PCs and NPCs could be assigned to units during the combats and this gave those units buffs or abilities, reflecting the likely battlefield impact their presence would have

Common Buffs
Sword of Valor: +4 OM and DV to any army defending the greater Drezen area

Citadel Drezen: Currently grants +2 to any army stationed in the citadel (up to 500 troops can garrison the citadel while participating in combat)

NPC Bonuses (unless otherwise noted, bonus applies to assigned army):
Anevia Tirabade: (scouting increases OM and DV by 2)
Aravashinal: (Grants spell breaker tactic - +4 DV vs army with spellcating)
Irabeth: grants Blooded but Unbroken boon to all armies (+1 to offense when at half hit points, +2 with leadership of 10 or higher)

PC Bonuses (bonus applies to assigned army):
Cyrus: can increase OM or DV by +1 when casting
Rischa: +2 to morale
Kiryin: +1 to OM against demons
Zograthy: can increase OM or DV by +1 when casting
Queso: can increase OM or DV by +1 when casting
Wick: +1 to OM when using expert flanker

Posting some of the alternate rules we used here:

Rebuilding Drezen

There are 6 Drezen priorities that you can choose to invest in. All will have a game impact, and the precise nature of these investments (what they are in terms of story and, to a lesser extent, game impact, is largely up to you)

1. Economic growth. This includes agriculture/farming sustainability, and is a precondition for unlocking later military and defense options

2. Magical development. Attracts scholars and casters, and is a precondition for unlocking certain types of military units and speeding up crafting

3. Scouting and outposts. The forward defenses and early warning systems you support outside of Drezen. This decreases the likelihood of random encounters, (will not impact treasure or experience), unlock adventure hooks for you (so you can stay in Drezen and focus on development) reduce the probability that Drezen can be ambushed, and that convoys to Drezen can be attacked

4. Military buildup. This will increase the size of your army, and the types of troops you have

5. Drezen defenses. This will increase the types of bonuses your troops will have while defending Drezen, as well as potential troop upgrades

6. Morale. How motivated are your soldiers and civilians. This will increase the recovery of troops/improve their morale, and ultimately unlock faster development elsewhere.

Every three weeks you can advance a phase in one priority (there are 18 total options so uninterrupted with no further support would take a little over a year). PCs dedicating themselves to a specific priority for 8 hours a day can advance it half a phase (so 1 phase over 6 weeks or two PCs in a three week period). This is RP, so you'll need to explain how and what you are doing, which will impact the flavor, and in some cases outcomes. You can push for 12 hours a day to make up for time spent adventuring - basically you need to invest 168 hours of leadership, and 168 hours is an individual PC cap per 3 week period

No priority can advance more than one phase in a 3 week period

You are building a fortified town in the middle of the worldwound. You will be dependent on support and resupply from Mendev, and the demons won't make that easy. There will be attacks on supply lines, and likely the city. These attacks can delay priority development unless addressed.

Time spent crafting comes at the exclusion of development if you craft for more than 4 hours.

Horgus's management also grants a bonus half phase investment every 3 weeks. Other surviving NPCs provide different bonuses you'll learn about later

Priority phase investment:

Note that phase 1 in any area provides no bonuses. You are phase zero in all areas at start

1. Economic growth
Phase 1: Rebuilding surrounding town, establish trade routes, etc -> faster population Growth
Phase 2: Ease of buying and selling – increasing gold limit of items that can be purchased in town
Phase 3: Required for phase 3 Magic development and Morale, or to choose Phase 3 military/defense multiple times

2. Magical development
Phase 1: Research labs/libraries
Phase 2: attract scholars -bonuses to long term research checks
Phase 3: Increase speed of item crafting , unlocks spellcasting military and defense options
3. Scouting and outposts
Phase 1: Increase scouting/establish forward outposts
Phase 2: Decrease likelihood of random encounters events that can delay phase progression (attacked convoys, etc), identify hexes
Phase 3: Drezen cannot be ambushed, provides some bonuses to defense, faster hex exploration
4. Military Buildup
Phase 1: Rebuilding army infrastructure
Phase 2: Army build up-increase of troops
Phase 3: Increase troops-quality or quantity (can be selected multiple times)
5. Drezen defenses
Phase 1: Repair defenses (+4 DV, +2 OV)
Phase 2: Stat bonuses related to defense (+2 Offense/Defense in surrounding area)
Phase 3: Improved Stat bonuses (can be selected multiple times) when defending the city. Unit upgrades falls under defense (improving the units you have, rather than newer, better units)
6. Morale
Phase 1: Quality of life improvements , ½ recovery of health
Phase 2: Increase recovery of troops/morale bonuses, full health recovery
Phase 3: Can make two phase selections going forward (selected once - ongoing bonus)

Now that we've completed my Wrath of the Righteous campaign I can say this is by far my favorite campaign I've ever run or been a part of, but it took some work. I'll post the campaign summary in this thread, along with some observations:

I would:

1. Make Vorlesh the key antagonist of the campaign. More relatable than a demon lord, and you can weave her in and out of the plot. I don't like what they did with her in the WOTR video game, but they did a good job making her an important part of the story.

2. Make the Herald a major character early on so his rescue in book V is purposeful

3. Have the crusade lose heroically so that the closing of the WW is more of a last stand. Adds poignancy

4. Make galfrey, Irabeth, and even Iomeade major characters to give the crusade character

5.Kill off extra NPCs in book II. There are more than you need. Either collapse Waxberry and Sosiel into one character or kill Sosiel and elevate waxberry (again, makes book V better)\

6. Use the enhanced statblocks found elsewhere in this forum. This is essential! Even with reduced mythic rules (see below) I regularly had to maximize and sometimes double or triple hit points (though I had a very talented and experienced group of PCs)

7. Save the mythic rules for the enemies. It makes them terrifying and the campaign feel truly epic. I only gave the players the base mythic rules, one mythic spell per level, and reduced mythic power (1 per level and 3 at level one). No feats, no paths. I did let them use most of the expanded 1.0 ruleset, which has some system bloat

8. Don't allow particulate form. It makes the enemies far less scary

9. Use mass combat in book 3 a few times to let the players defend drezen. I found 3-4 was enough. After that there was no need. I had some slightly modified rules

10. I created some alternate rules for building up Drezen I'll post in this thread 9 and 10 gave the first part of Book III more focus

11. I really played up the battlebliss. I turned it into a 30 man royal rumble event for the right for the top 3 survivors to fight champion Gelderfang (who I made a son of Baphomet and reused in Book V - he wanted revenge). This took us two days to complete and was amazing. I had separate rules for this I'll post.

12. At the start of book VI I made the battle for Drezen a narrative event. But to challenge the PCs there were ten separate encounters/waves (some of which themselves had as many as ten parts) that lasted the course of several in world hours (so buff management became a challenge) culminating in aponovicus. I set up the aponovicus fight for them to lose (narrative reasons) but you don't need to do this. It took us 4 12 hour play sessions to complete from start to finish, and was an incredible send off to the crusade (see the narrative cut scene thread) a unique endurance challenge, and maybe the most memorable sequence we've had as players playing together for twenty years. It certainly was for me as a DM

13. Make Staunton Vhane a recurring villain. The PCs fought him 4 times - in Drezen, as a grave knight in the Ivory Sanctum, during the Battlebliss, and leading the assault on Drezen in Book VI - this was the real final encounter in the design since Apon was a story encounter.

I had a lot of lore variations that the players loved and helped us tell a really tight and compelling story together, but mileage may vary and I have all that laid out in the narrative thread on this forum.

thread with some alternate rules I used
thread with extensive cutscenes, prologues, and other extended box text

If you read even a fraction of this stuff thank you - PLEASE steal, adapt, or use in any way that's helpful

And finally, I had written an alternate epilogue. If the PCS had SAVED the Hearald Iomedae would have died during her manifestation. This epilogue deals with the aftermath - only including material that is different from the above

Alternate Epilogue: The Last Act of Iomedae

4724 and beyond – Golarion

9 Gozran, 4724 was forever known as Iomedae’s Sacrifice, or The Last Act of Iomedae. Her intervention closed the Worldwound, and saved Golarion. It strengthened the fabric of reality between northern Golarion and the Abyss, and a dimensional lock the size of a nation now blankets the lands of old Sarkoris – laid down by the hand of a god. She had channeled a destructive force at least ten thousand times greater than that unleashed by the Sword of Valor. Iomedae contained the devastation to the lands of the Worldwound. The resulting release of energy flattened what was left of the ruined cities of Sarkoris, and the collapse of the massive system of chasms and canyons that had come to define the landscape meant the geography of the former Worldwound was now almost unrecognizable. But all this came at the cost of her life, the manifestation sundering her divine essence. The second God to fall in just over a century, bookending the history of the Worldwound.

The death of a god always comes with profound consequences. All Iomedae’s clerics, paladins, and inquisitors found their prayers unanswered, their divine power gone. The faithful waited for her return, to recover from her intervention, but their loyalty was rewarded with empty silence. And when it was clear she was gone, the churches of Torag, Sarenrae, and Abadar absorbed most of Iomedae’s followers. Arueshalae, who understood the nature of the deep and abiding hole left when the core of your identity is stripped away, spent many long hours helping Waxberry process her grief. The halfling eventually claimed Desna as her own – a God for lost souls and new beginnings.

It was agreed that the Silver Scale would keep their role in Iomedae’s death quiet. It was known that they stopped Areelu Vorlesh’s planer conjunction, but the official story was that Iomedae chose to intervene to close the Worldwound – that she willingly sacrificed herself to save her former home. It was a fitting end to her story and brought closure to Aroden’s as well. And it was not far from the truth. Rischa could sense Iomedae in those final moments, and while the Goddess was not seeking death, there was an eagerness within her. She could have resisted the summons or manifested an avatar but embraced the opportunity to act with her whole being, knowing the cost. This was her choice, her last choice, the last act of Iomedae.

Iomedae’s fall emboldened the nation of Cheliax, which began to swallow its now weakened neighbors, beginning with Andoran. Without her divine patronage, the nation of Lastwall began a slow disintegration, and there were rumors that the Whispering Tyrant stirred, now that the forces of his ancient enemy no longer watched for his return…

***

Queso Blanco stayed with Irabeth and had no plans to leave. He had no home to return to, and decided to serve, along with Aravashinal, as her arcane advisor and champion, dealing with the threats no one else could manage. He found satisfaction in the work, and in building a community within Valor’s Reach other ratfolk could call home. But he brooded over the death of his family and the ratfolk of Chitterhome. Even the death of Iomedae – deaths he should have been able to prevent, if only he had found the power to oppose Vorlesh before it was too late.

And so Queso spent almost every free moment in research, assisted by
Aravashinal, unlocking the secrets of the Orb of the Alghollthu, exploring the time magic he now knew existed. The magic was forbidden, but he was certain he could find a way to use it responsibly and safely. Just to stop Vorlesh and bring his family back and restore Iomedae to her rightful place in the pantheon. If that witch was smart enough to create a planar conjunction surely he could manage this. All he needed was time…

Rischa struggled. Like Irabeth she tried to throw herself into the work of building a new nation, and quickly became one of her chief advisors. Even with her diminished power she was a formidable threat and keen judge of people’s motives. And like Irabeth, she refused to abandon her faith, even though she knew that Iomedae would not return. What Iomedae stood for had to endure, and both she and Irabeth felt a need to honor the memory of their fallen God, even if that God could no longer reward them for their service.

It doubled as a form of penance, for Rischa. She was a faithful herald, during her brief tenure, and honored the wishes of Iomedae, despite the terrible cost of her loyalty. In the end Jingh and Alderpash were right. There are laws that not even the Gods can break, and actions have consequences.

The Hand of the Inheritor was saved, and his soul restored, but it was lost and broken. His intervention triggered a chain of events that resulted in the salvation of Iomedae’s mortal home, but in the end, it was she, not he, that paid the ultimate price. This was not a burden he could bear, and he threw himself into the wars with Cheliax – looking to blunt their rising influence. Looking for a way to serve. Looking for an ending.

Despite the success of Valor’s Reach, Golarion suffered without Iomedae. Cheliax’s dark star had ascended, the Whispering Tyrant stirred, and everywhere the church of Iomedae had taken a stand against the evils of the world those evils were resurgent. The arc of the universe had swung away from justice, as Iomedae no longer reigned in heaven.

***

On 9 Gozran, 4727, exactly three years after the sacrifice of Iomedae, a small, unassuming ship pulled into a large white harbor. Its three passengers disembarked, without fanfare, and made their way through the city’s winding streets. A cool sea breeze wafted through the air, and a clear sun warmed the white buildings. The scenery was beautiful, but their mood was quiet and melancholy. Anevia and Irabeth held each other’s hands, refusing to let go.

They walked until they reached their destination. They stood there a long time, unwilling to take the next step. Unwilling to say goodbye. Eventually Rischa said, in a soft, sympathetic voice. “It’s time.”

Anevia let go of Irabeth’s hand and embraced Rischa. “Thank you for not abandoning a crippled woman in the caverns below Kenabres,” Anevia said, smiling, tears welling in her eyes.

Rischa returned her smile, and embrace, with tears of her own. “Thank you for finding the Herald’s temple. And everything else. It has been a journey. Not the one I thought I would have, but I am grateful for it all the same.”

“Anytime.” But Anevia’s voice cracked with her last words for Rischa. “Please take care of Irabeth for me, Keep her out of trouble. As best you can. Promise me.”

“I will” Rischa replied. “Always.” And with that, Rischa ended the embrace and started making her way up the hill towards her destination. She stopped after a short distance, waiting for Irabeth but wanting to give her privacy for her goodbye.

Irabeth took Anevia’s hands in hers, and the two stared at each other for a long time, absorbing each other’s look, feel, smell. Committing every detail to memory. Silently reliving treasured moments from their shared life. Tears ran down Anevia’s face, and neither could find the strength to speak. Eventually Irabeth broke the silence.

“Nevee, I will stay if you ask me to.”

“I know you would. I don’t even think you would resent me for it. And I want that, more than anything in the world. But I would spend the rest of my life hating myself if you stayed, knowing that you stayed for me.”

“Anevia, I…”

“This is who you are, ‘Beth, and I would never change that. There is a need, and you will meet it, even though you know it will break your heart. It’s why I love you. You are the person I wish I could be. The best parts of myself given life outside my body. The missing pieces of my soul. I cannot cage that. I know my time with you has always been borrowed. And this is where I have to give it back.”

“I love you more than anything, Anevia, and I will return to you.”

“You can’t, no matter how desperately we both want that. One way or another, with these next steps you are lost to me. But please come back to all of us.”

There was one last passionate kiss, a long embrace, a final look, and then Irabeth turned and joined Rischa, leaving Anevia behind. As they continued up the hill Anevia called out one last time “Rischa – don’t forget your promise.”

Irabeth did not turn around. She couldn’t. If she saw Anevia again she knew she would not go on. She froze at the sound of her voice, silent tears streaming down her face. It was, Rischa realized, the only time she had ever seen Irabeth cry. After everything she had been through, everything she had suffered and survived and lost, this was where Irabeth finally broke.

Rischa reached out for her hand and squeezed it. Irabeth shuddered, and offered her a sad, grateful smile. And then, hand in hand, Rischa Cadesh and Irabeth Tirabade made their way up the great white steps, over Iomedae’s causeway, and into the ending of one story, and the beginning of another.

The gods embody our unmet need and unfulfilled desire. And Golarion still cries out for justice. Anevia watches as the doors of the Starstone Cathedral swing open for Rischa and Irabeth. And as the doors close and they disappear from her sight, Anevia could swear she sees a soft golden light rise within them.

One more time.

And here is the campaign epilogue - wrapping up the geopolitics of Golarian post Worldwound and Iomedae's intervention, Nocticula, Irabeth, Galfrey, Arueshalae, and player stories.

Epilogue: Iomedae’s Answer

4724 and beyond – Golarion

The Worldwound is gone. When all hope was lost, the Silver Scale accomplished the impossible. seizing control over Vorlesh’s plane and using its power to summon a God. Iomedae’s intervention purged the planet’s abyssal infection, destroyed the gateway, and strengthened the fabric of reality between northern Golarion and the Abyss. A dimensional lock the size of a nation now blankets the lands of old Sarkoris – laid down by the hand of a god. Pure rain pours down from the sky, filling the dry Ahari riverbed and cleansing the Sarkora. On the 9th of Gozran, 4724, a healthy untainted child was born in the caves overlooking Drezen, while a clean sun shone over the lands that once held the Worldwound. And that evening, for the first time in over a century, the light illuminating the night sky belonged to familiar stars.

9 Gozran, 4724 became known as Iomedae’s Answer. By Queso’s estimate, Iomedae’s manifestation channeled a force at least ten thousand times greater than that unleashed by the Sword of Valor, but at great cost to herself. It took more than a year for her to recover, her faithful denied access to her magic while she healed. Iomedae managed to confine the destructive force of her presence to the lands of the Worldwound. The resulting release of energy flattened what was left of the ruined cities of Sarkoris and collapsed the massive system of chasms and canyons that defined the landscape. The geography of the former Worldwound was now virtually unrecognizable.

The impact on Iomedae’s faith was seismic. All of Golarion witnessed her manifestation, and there was an incredible surge in her worship, not only in the areas where her faith was strong, but also in places where it had not yet put down roots. A great evangelical movement grew within the church, led by Waxberry, the highest-ranking cleric of Iomedae associated with the chain of miraculous events leading to Iomedae’s summoning. And with the Crusade against the Worldwound at an end, the resurgent church of Iomedae turned its attention to the diabolists of Cheliax, preparing for a new struggle against the most powerful nation on Avistan.

Rischa knew that Iomedae’s feelings about the intervention were more complex. Despite her own interference in the events surrounding the closure of the Worldwound, Iomedae did not technically violate the cosmic prohibition against direct manifestations. She was called to Golarion by the Silver Scale, rather than choosing to intervene herself. But it was a near thing, and Iomedae was never comfortable with loopholes, even ones she set out to exploit. And she would never stop grieving the loss of the Herald, who sacrificed himself in her name, forever. But her home world was saved. Aroden’s home world was saved. An important part of his legacy was now complete, and with it, her debt to his memory finally paid. The two demon lords that had fallen in the war to close the Worldwound gave her confidence that no external power would interfere with Golarion for a long time. Its future belonged to its people, to craft as they saw fit.

The old north was no more. The lands of Sarkoris were utterly destroyed, and the major cities of Mendev, Ustalav, and Numeria had been razed, the nations irrevocably shattered. Something new would rise in their place.

Galfrey summoned the Silver Scale and surviving leadership of the crusades a few days after the closing of the Worldwound. Her face was its usual mask of comforting stoicism, and her voice inspirational as always, but you now easily recognize the weight carried in her eyes.

“My friends, we have achieved our impossible victory, though we paid a terrible price. The nation of Mendev is gone. I was her last Queen. And though I will always mourn the lives we lost, we managed to save the greater part of its people.

History tells us that nations are part of a cycle of life, death and rebirth, no less than mortal souls. Mendev played the part the Gods required of it, and now its role has ended. A bright future lay ahead for the region, and the people who would call it home. A new nation must be forged, not only in Mendev, but in the lands of Sarkoris. There is a chance to build better institutions, create better laws, to live as Iomedae would want us to live, in the lands she sanctified with her presence.”

Irabeth drew her sword, drove it point first into the stone, and kneeled before Galfrey. “My Queen, let me pledge my sword and service to you as you build this new nation. It would be my honor to be a part of this sacred work.”

Anevia sighed, disappointed but in no way surprised. As long as you had known her, Anevia had talked of settling down with Irabeth if the crusades ever reached an end – to live a small, quiet, private life with the woman she loved. A selfish gesture, she knew. She wanted Irabeth for herself, and while she loved Anevia deeply, Irabeth was the sort of person who would always belong to the world.

Galfrey shook her head no, a solemn smile on her face. “Irabeth Tirabade, paladin of Iomedae, hero of the Fifth Crusade, and Godcaller in deed. Any ruler would be honored to have you in their service, but I do not accept your pledge. I cannot.”

Irabeth raised her head to voice an objection, but Galfrey held up a hand, commanding silence. Irabeth held her tongue and Galfrey gestured for her to rise. She did, and Galfrey continued.

“Since 4601 I have led Mendev, and these Crusades. Over one hundred and twenty years. Through the destruction of Sarkoris and the absorption of its survivors, through the death of Aroden and the creation of the Wardstones, through stalemated Crusades, ineffectual Crusades, toxic Crusades, and finally, finally, a successful one. I was sixteen when the crown was placed upon my head. Nineteen when the Worldwound opened. I have buried hundreds of friends and sent tens of thousands to their deaths. All I have ever known is battle, but my war is finally over. New leadership will be needed to shape a path forward for the North. Someone who not only knows the value of peace but feels it in their heart.”

And then Galfrey knelt before Irabeth. “Irabeth Tirabade. A new nation will rise from the ashes of the old. And in my final act as the Queen of Mendev, witnessed by the members of the Silver Scale, I hereby dissolve the nation of Mendev and cede its lands, its people, and its future to you, Queen Irabeth.”

Silence filled the room, stunning the witnesses, broken by Anenvia’s resigned ‘Gods damn it.” Irabeth searched the assembled faces, not sure how to respond.

(PCs reactions)

Irabeth absorbed their council, and then she and Anevia shared a long silent look, and a deep and complex conversation without words. Eventually Anevia smiled and said “Oh just accept it, ‘Beth. Otherwise, I’ll spend our retirement complaining about how you would have done a better job than Galfrey’s second choice.”

Irabeth smiled and turned her attention back to Galfrey. Irabeth always sounded calm and reassuring. But this time, when she spoke, she allowed subtle notes of command to enter. The voice of a queen.

“Galfrey, you held the nation of Mendev, and the Crusades, together for over a century. It is easy to rule in times of victory and triumph, or over peace and prosperity. But you held firm and steady as the world collapsed around you. And never once did you fail to give voice to an impossible dream. We believed for as long as we had to because we never stopped believing in you. No empire bears your name, but Golarion has a future, and it owes that future to you. And if the time has come for someone else to carry your burdens, I would be honored to lift the weight from your shoulders.

Galfrey, lay down your sword. You have earned your rest. And I, Irabeth Tirabade of Mendev and Iomedae, swear on the blade of the Inheritor to accept the obligation and privilege of rulership, and shall strive to lead with justice, wisdom, vigilance, and mercy.”

And on that day the nation of Valor’s Reach was born and took as its crest the Sword of Valor mounted on a splintered spear. Irabeth turned to the gathered assembly. “I will need advisors to help me create and rule this new nation, and I can think of none better than the people before me.” Anevia and Horgus pledged their loyalty and would serve Irabeth with distinction for the rest of their days. The Silver Scale’s power was essential during the nation's fledgling beginning. Its cities were in ruins, its people scattered, its army destroyed, its patron deity diminished. But there was help. Andoran, Absalom, Lastwall, Verdant, and Ravounel immediately recognized the new nation, which claimed the lands of Mendev and much of old Sarkoris - the territories known as the Stonewilds, Wounded Lands, and Riftshadow during the Worldwound’s ascendency.

Valor’s Reach was further aided by the collapse of Numeria and Ustalav, as the more expansionist and imperial powers fought over their ruins, while the Hold of Belkzen and the Mammoth Lords contested the Sarkorian Steppe and Frostmire, the remaining unclaimed pieces of Sarkoris. Verdant kept Brevoy in check. And by the time these nations were ready to turn their attention to the lands claimed by Valor’s Reach, the nation was stable, and could call upon its powerful protectors, including a resurrected ancient silver dragon.

From its capital at Drezen, Valor’s Reach became a beacon of justice, equality, and acceptance. All peoples and races were welcome, as long as they were willing to follow its laws and respect the right of their fellow citizens to live in peace alongside them. The population was bolstered by a great migration of families whose children were born during the Worldwound expansion and changed by its abyssal energies. These mongrels settled in the new nation, and while Chief Sul originally requested an isolated stretch of land for these families to inhabit, Irabeth refused. Instead, she named Sul to her cabinet and welcomed these immigrants as full members of the nation, free to live anywhere.

Valor’s Reach rapidly transformed itself into the economic powerhouse of northern Avistan, in no small part thanks to the incredible resource management of its finance minister, Horgus Gwerm, one of the heroes of the final battle of Drezen. Tens of thousands of refugees huddled in the caves above the city. Far more than there were supplies to support. There was enough food to last one day, but thanks to Horgus’s mastery of logistics and distribution, the supplies stretched for eight days, until relief arrived. And no one starved, thanks to what became known as the miracle of Horgus Gwerm. The new holiday of Gwermtide was declared – celebrated every year by a great feast at which everyone graciously listens to friends and family tell them how they could better manage their affairs.

***

Not long after the closing of the Worldwound an invitation arrived for the Silver Scale, requesting a discrete visitation at the Vault of Graves. The time had come to discharge their debt to Nocticula. The Silver Scale returned to Alushinyrra, and this time the unquiet spirits surrounding the Vault did not contest their entrance. Nocticula greeted them in her library, eager to hear the story of the closing of the Worldwound from the mouths of the Silver Scale. If you didn’t know better, you would swear she looked almost relieved.

“There was always another way forward with Vorlesh. Another angle, another plan, and the will to carry it out, whatever it takes. But I do believe she is dead, her quintessence given over to the Abyss. I had a great admiration for her ambition. Truthfully, I saw much of my old self in her. But her success would have compromised my own plans. And with her death, I release you from any further obligations to me.” She looks at Wick and smiles. “Though I am sure I will see some of you again, when the time is right. Zograthy, work has been piling up and I just don't have time for a relationship right now. It’s been fun, but I am severing our bond.” Nocticula pauses, thoughtfully. “Though perhaps that part can wait until morning…”.

Shortly after the Silver Scale’s departure, Nocticula retreated into her palace, and was silent for a year. No one knows exactly how she did it. Perhaps it was what she learned from Arueshalae. Perhaps it was her time bonded with Zograthy, a man himself tied to Iomedae. Maybe it was her own singular power and will, and her mastery of demonic quintessence. But Nocticula re-emerged as both a risen demon and full-fledged divinity - patron Goddess of artists, midnight, and exiles. The Gods of the Crusades, recognizing a debt, were quick to formally, if somewhat reluctantly, welcome her into the pantheon, and the dark cosmopolitan spirit of Alushinyrra spread across the Midnight Isles.

The closing of the Worldwound disrupted the pantheon in other ways. Iomedae’s intervention drew the ire of her fellow Gods - both for the surge in Iomedae’s faith and the increasingly strident nature of their own followers’ demands. But through her bond with Iomedae, Rischa knew the Gods were also relieved. Vorlesh would not only have dragged Golarion into the Abyss but would have made herself lord of a new realm comprised of both. And as its ruler she would have had control over Rovagug’s prison and the Starstone, both tools she could deploy to force her own ascension - the aspiring Goddess of ambition, strategy, and ruthlessness. The Gods did not want that – nor the planar civil war that would have erupted in the wake of her success.

***

Though no longer possessed of the wardstone’s power (a particularly sore subject for Queso, who had many plans), the Silver Scale remained a towering collection of heroes, and worked hard to help Irabeth establish her new nation. But after the first year they gradually went their separate ways, and rarely gathered together in full. Some searched for meaning, a way to process their central role in these miraculous events. Others struggled with the loss of their incredible power and the return to something approximating a normal life.

Galfrey served Irabeth faithfully and quietly for a time, until she requested a private meeting with Zograthy in her chambers. Though no longer a queen, she remained captivating, commanding, and beautiful, as well one of the mightiest warriors in all Golarion. Zograthy was more than happy to oblige her. He has a type.

“Zograthy, I have a gift for you, and a request. The gift first. Today is my birthday. I am one hundred and forty-one years old. I have been granted youth, at great expense, so that I might fulfill my life’s purpose. And I spent all but sixteen of those years in the service of Mendev, and the cause of the Crusades. For all that time I have been alive, I have never really had the chance to live.” She handed Zograthy a small, wrapped box. He took it and looked at her curiously. She gestured for him to unwrap it and continued.

“In many ways, Zograthy, your story has been the mirror of my own. You experienced much in your long life, but only found your purpose at its end.”

Within the box was a small vial. Galfrey smiled as Zograthy picked it up.

“This is a Sun Orchid elixir. Only a small number are created every year. The elixir restores the youth and vitality of those who drink it. The church of Iomedae had purchased several of these, at a staggering cost, to keep me young so that I might lead the Crusades.

But the crusades are finally over. The world no longer needs me. Irabeth is ready to lead on her own. I am ready to start over. And you have earned the right to do the same. Take this final elixir, and the opportunity it offers, with the boundless thanks of myself and the people of Golarion. It is a gift, freely given. A new life, the second chance you earned.”

(Zograthy responds)

“And now my request.” Galfrey pauses, gathering her thoughts. For a rare moment, she appears to be at a loss for words. “I am an old woman, Zograthy, and spent all those years at war. And finally, my time belongs only to me. I want to create new memories and grow old with them. I want to see some s!+* and make mistakes and have different regrets. I want to experience the world. And to be honest, I don’t know many people my own age. I could use a guide – someone who can keep up with me and understands everything wrong with kids today. Someone who has seen some s*$!, and made their mistakes, and learned how to live with their regrets.”

And Galfrey smiles in a disarmingly shy way before she adds “and I have heard a thing or two about Zograthy’s magic hands.”

(Zograthy responds)

The two of them quietly disappeared, and while Galfrey was never heard from again, there were stories of two young, dashing adventurers traveling Golarion and then the planes. Doing what good they could. Getting into what trouble they could find. Together. At least for a while. Long enough for Zograthy to teach her some of what he knows.

***

Although Iomedae’s manifestation destroyed all the demons in the Worldwound, Deskari’s minions had been rampaging throughout much of northern Avistan and spread all over the world in those final days. Kiryn and Arueshalae scoured Golarion, hunting the survivors. On rare occasions they carried out missions for Nocticula – capturing and bringing to her demons she thought might be capable of redemption. But none have yet succeeded. Arueshalae and Nocticula remain the only two in all known history.

This was the work of many years, and the two of them ranged across Golarion chasing rumors of every demon who may have once served Deskari or Baphomet. Eventually those rumors became scarce, the hunts less frequent. Until, finally, the last demon to come through the Worldwound was killed – all save one.

The next morning Arueshalae woke Kiryn, bursting with excitement, to tell her about a vision she had while she slept. It was about the two of them, having breakfast in a small cabin, alone together in some unnamed wood, the smell of fresh baked bread and the sound of birdsong filling the air. Arueshalae breathlessly shared every mundane detail of this treasured experience. Her first dream.

With her debt paid, Arueshalae and Kiryn departed from Golarion. And a new legend emerged across the planes - of two warrior women traversing moonlit paths between worlds, hunting the enemies of Desna wherever they could be found, carried to their quarry on butterfly wings.

***

Wick struggled greatly, in the aftermath of the Worldwound’s closing. He remained scarred by his betrayal of the Silver Scale and murder of the Herald of Iomedae. And there was one morning, not long after Galfrey’s abdication, where he left his medals, his equipment, his Battlebliss belt, and a note for his companions. All he carried with him was an old dagger, gifted to him by Phineas. And then he left, to travel to the secret place where he buried his brother. Searching for an ending. The one he knew he deserved.

It was a journey of many days, and Wick walked his path alone. Arueshalae found his note, and searched for him, but if Wick did not wish to be seen he could not be found. And yet one night, awaiting him in the road ahead, was a glowing wheel of fire. It cycled through strange colors, in tones and shades Wick did not recognize. He sensed it was trying to communicate, but Wick could not understand.

Intrigued, and with nothing to lose, Wick approached. The strange being waited for him, and as Wick got closer, he was able to identify the creature. It was an iophanite angel, the servitors of Iomedae. He recognized the form, as these were the angels who purified the lost temple of Iomedae Anevia discovered deep in the heart of the Worldwound. Where the Silver Scale first encountered the Herald. But this one seemed larger. Older. More powerful.

Wick stopped, overwhelmed. He began to weep. Tears of sorrow and exhaustion. All that was left within him. He cried for a long time, the angel waiting patiently, until there was nothing within Wick. He was empty, a cracked and hollow vessel. And then he heard the angel’s voice in his head.

“Greetings, Bastion Valenwick. I have come to pay my respects and offer my eternal gratitude. I am Jingh, until recently Iomedae’s court. I was cast aside by my goddess for defying her. Perhaps I underestimated her. Perhaps I just knew her mind too well.

By the time of the Herald’s capture and imprisonment, I had discerned what his future self had done. I had shared my suspicions with Iomedae, which she rejected. But I think now that she knew. Perhaps even before me. She was just prepared to sacrifice herself to spare the Herald. And when you made your choice, you robbed her of her own. As did I, when I sent the angel Malakia into the Ineluctable Prison to deliver my message to you.

It is the loss of her agency, and the resultant need to sacrifice others where, as a mortal, she would have gone in their stead, that daily tortures Iomedae. Here, finally, she could act, and we stole that from her, you and I. There is no more intimate betrayal we could have committed. And even if the Herald knew what he was doing when he violated the laws of time, our actions still condemned the soul of my ancient friend to an eternity of suffering.

You and I will have to live with the consequences of our actions, for the rest of our lives. And Iomedae is not Sarenrae. I do not think she will find it in her heart to forgive us. Not with the sure and certain knowledge of the Herald’s forever torment.

You have paid a terrible price for your bravery, Wick. As have I. Iomedae has removed me from her court, a position I have held for eons, long before her ascension. Since the earliest moments of this iteration of reality, I have advised the rulers of Heaven, but no more. And yet, I pay this price willingly and would gladly do so again.

Iomedae is powerful. And she is just. But somehow, despite her cosmic awareness, she has retained her mortal mind. And with it her empathy and her conscience. And this, more than anything, is what makes her great. What makes her unique among the gods. This is why she is the true inheritor of Aroden. The universe needs Iomedae. And thanks to your courage, and your sacrifice - thanks to you, Bastion Wick - it has her. And though Iomedae may never forgive you, I hope that someday you can forgive yourself.”

And then the angel disappeared, and Wick was alone. And he did not weep, for he was too empty for tears. But some of his cracks felt smaller and perhaps, in time, something might come to fill the empty space they contained. Wick turned, and began the long, lonely walk back to Drezen.

Wick served Irabeth faithfully from that point forward, but while his spirit slowly recovered, he remained bound by a promise he had yet to keep, made to the person who mattered most. His brother’s soul was imprisoned beyond the reach of Pharasma, leverage to ensure loyal service to a God that was not his own. But Wick was resourceful, and when he set his mind to something no barrier could keep him from his desire. And so, when the time came for the MMCDXXXVIII Battlebliss tournament, Optimus Prime and his tag team partner, The Bookeyman, returned to the Midnight Isles to defend his title and try to win a new prize from the now divine Nocticula.

***

Rischa wanted to be a part of building Irabeth’s new nation and explore the now accessible ruins of Jormurdun. But Iomedae needed her elsewhere, and Rischa was eager to obey. She had failed to carry out the will of her patron deity. On her watch The Hand of the Inheritor’s soul was lost to the Abyss. And though Iomedae forgave her, Rischa would carry that guilt throughout her centuries of service as Herald, a pain perhaps only Iomedae herself could understand. There are some things the soul can never set aside, only endure.

***

Queso stayed with Irabeth the longest. He had no home to return to and decided to serve as her arcane advisor and champion, dealing with the threats no one else could manage. He found satisfaction in the work, and in building a community within Valor’s Reach other ratfolk could call home. But he brooded over the death of his family and the ratfolk of Chitterhome – deaths he should have been able to prevent, if only he had found the power to oppose Vorlesh before it was too late. Power he had since lost calling Iomedae to Golarion.

And so Queso spent almost every free moment in research, unlocking the secrets of the Orb of the Alghollthu, exploring the edges of the time magic he now knew existed. The magic was forbidden, of course, but he was certain he could find a way to use it responsibly and safely. Just to stop Vorlesh sooner and bring his family back. If that witch was smart enough to create a planar conjunction surely he could manage this. All he needed was time…

***

It was on the two-year anniversary of the closing of the Worldwound that the Silver Scale gathered in its entirety for the final time. Horgus Gwerm had commissioned a monument to be erected on the former site of the tower of Threshold – at what had been the heart of the Worldwound. There was tremendous debate about the nature of the monument. Horgus wanted to honor Irabeth and the Silver Scale – the mythic saviors of Golarion. Irabeth wanted it dedicated to Galfrey and the rank-and-file soldiers of the crusades.

Kiryn insisted that Arueshalae be represented, but Arueshalae refused. “Mortals still need to fear my kind. As long as there is sin, demons will be born of it, and they will exploit my story. I will not be the cause of lapsed vigilance that leads good people into ruin. My experience is singular and should not be immortalized. Let me be a dream, not a promise.”

In the end there was a design everyone agreed on. All the nations of Avistan contributed to the cost of its construction, and the church of Shelyn gifted their finest craftsmen to make the vision reality. The monument, based on the design of the wardstones, stood one hundred and two feet high, a foot for each year of the Crusades, made of ancient Sarkorian stone plated in adamantine and coated with a silver-mithril alloy, infused with protective magics to ensure it would endure forever.

Wrapped around its base was the silver dragon Terendelev, crafted in such exquisite detail it seemed like she could burst into flight at any moment. The render was her perfect likeness, save for the absence of five silver scales.

Carved into the center of the obelisk was Queen Irabeth Tirabade, standing at watchful attention, serene and certain. The Sword of Valor was mounted behind her, rippling in the wind. On her left was Rischa, Valor’s Wrath in one hand, symbol of Iomedae in the other, and while Irabeth’s eyes were calm and focused, Rischa’s burned with a righteous anger, daring her enemies to approach. The Herald’s armor refracted the sunlight that shone upon it into all the prismatic colors of the rainbow. Next to Rischa was Zograthy, a wry, worldly smile on his wizened features. He held the staff of the Riftwardens above his head, in the midst of a casting, a dimensional gate opening behind him.

To Irabeth’s right was Kiryn, Radiance flaring to life in one hand, shield punching out in the other. She stood above the prone body of a glabrezu. Wick emerged from the shadows behind her, a dagger in each hand, his carving blending into the larger sculpture so that he was almost invisible unless you knew where to look. To the right of Kiryn Queso began a transformation, rendered in such a way that any final form seemed possible.

The monument was illuminated from within by a golden light, so that it would always be seen, no matter how deep the surrounding darkness. The ground was hallowed, and all who stood upon it felt a sense of security and walked away with a renewed sense of purpose. No guard was set. The crusades had ended, and though these lands were claimed by Valor’s Reach, this space was for all peoples, a place the world could come and pay a debt of remembrance universally owed.

There was an inscription along the base of the obelisk. It read:

The Crusade Against the Worldwound: 4622 - 4724

This monument is dedicated to Queen Galfrey, the nation of Mendev, and all who shielded Golarion from the Abyss. They stood together and barred the way.

Framing the inscription, written in every language ever spoken by a crusader, was its battle cry – ‘Go forward in light to combat the darkness.’

And rising above them all, his wings enfolding the Silver Scale and sheltering all of Golarion within the safety of their embrace, was the golden form of the Hand of the Inheritor, Herald of Iomedae. His sacrifice unnamed, his deed unspoken, but never forgotten.

The final battle is the PCs fighting Deskari (who was killed by Iomeade's intervention and resurrected by the Rasping Rifts, and therefore vulnerable. Halfway through Baphomet shows up to take his revenge on the PCs and Desarki. Deskari locks the plane down so no one can escape. I had the PCs no longer mythic (but healed up and mythic power restored) - Iomedae severed their connection so they would not burn up during her manfiestation. As a fight mechanic they lost one mythic power a round, giving this a clock. There are two endings - one if they hadn't killed the demons yet (Desna intervenes) and another if they did (closing out a PC storyline)

Cutscene XXIII: The Wrath of the Righteous

9 Gozran, 4724 – The Rasping Rifts, The Abyss.

You find yourself in a blasted abyssal landscape, on a large rocky outcropping. You are in the middle of a deep, dark chasm, the walls pockmarked with caves, their surface coated in a cold wet substance that almost looks like velvet, but you recognize as molted husks and particulate bug feces. The walls seem to move of their own accord.

The distant sky is dark and full of angry storm clouds, and a cold, blasted wind howls through the canyon. A sticky, noxious rain pours from the sky, and everywhere the air is thick with vermin, in numbers so vast they must be infinite. It looks like the landscape surrounding Threshold, stretching out into forever. You are in the Rasping Rifts, the realm of the demon lord Deskari. The ground around you trembles and shudders, and a great flash of lightning fills the sky, momentarily blinding you, before everything stabilizes. It was as if the realm itself was having a seizure.

You feel your gaze drawn to the northwest and feel a great malevolence barreling towards you. And then a massive swarm, the largest you have ever seen, fills the sky, accelerating in your direction. The vermin scream in outrage in an insectile language you cannot understand. But the message is clear. Deskari is coming, and he will have his revenge.

You reach for your weapons and notice your companions for the first time. You are all present, and illuminated from within by an inner golden light, almost painfully bright. It is just like those first moments after your mythic ascension in Kenebras, your body overcharged with Iomedae’s essence.

But something is different. As you reach within yourself to draw upon your power, the river does not rise to your call. You are cut off. And you realize that to keep you alive during her manifestation, Iomedae had to sever the connection between you, to prevent you from burning out. While you are practically incandescent with power, even now you can sense it rapidly fading. Within minutes it will be gone.

Rischa reaches out to Iomedae, and practically sobs in relief when she can still sense her connection. She remains her Herald. But the bond is faint and distant. Iomedae was gravely wounded by her manifestation, and who knows when she will recover?

There is no time to figure out what it all means. Deskari will be here any moment. You realize you will never be this powerful again. And Deskari is vulnerable. Justice is within your grasp. But the Worldwound is closed. He can never directly threaten Golarion again. And the Abyss is infinite, and evil eternal. Should Deskari fall, something else will fill his void.

What do you do?

The cloud envelops you, and standing before you, surrounded by four apocalypse locusts, is the real Deskari, a half man half insect larger than the greatest mastodon. Its wings are swarms of biting flies, and its inhuman eyes glitter with cruel intelligence. It wields the gigantic scythe Riftcarver, a weapon capable of carving gashes into the very fabric of the planes

“Mortal gnats come to snap their jaws at the Lord of Locusts. Your goddess has no power here. Riftcarver will forge new pathways to your world, and she will not be able to pull the same trick twice. This is a minor setback, measured against infinite time. But I will enjoy my vengeance. My swarms will eat you from the inside. Your husks will adorn my carapace. I will defile your body, defame your memory, and devour your souls.

***

There is a low, rumbling sound, getting louder and louder. It almost sounds like a stampede. The air vibrates with a dark, familiar signature, one you recognize just as a gate opens behind Deskari, and Baphomet roars.

BETRAYERS ALL. I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE AGAINST ALL WHO HAVE WRONGED ME. I WILL CLAIM YOUR REALM AS MY OWN, AND WIPE YOUR MEMORY FROM EXISTENCE, DESARKI. AND THEN I SHALL TURN MY ENDLESS WRATH TOWARDS GOLARIAN AND ITS SORRY CHAMPIONS. YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE ME AGAIN!

As Baphomet charges out of the planer gate, he is followed by an honor guard of Ivory Minotaurs, and a very familiar, very chastened lich.

***

(Deskari still alive)

Arueshalae stands and faces the carnage before her. The bloodlust. The madness. The endless cycle she has tried so desperately to leave behind. She screams, as her eyes roll into the back of her head and are replaced by infinite pools of stars. She thrusts her hands forward and releases a torrent of butterflies that envelop the Silver Scale, cocooning them within a silken thread that channels life back into their bodies. The threads melt away, and the Silver Scale rises, encased in armor of swarming butterflies. The surrounding vermin attack, but every butterfly that falls is replaced from the seemingly endless supply pouring from Arueshalae. She speaks, and while it sounds like her, there is a different voice beneath it. One impossibly ancient and incomprehensibly vast, as dark and rich as pure moonlight.

“Eons Ago, I Promised Not To Return To The Abyss. And In The Interest of Preserving What Remains Of Our Fragile Peace, I Will Not Break That Vow. But You Will Not Claim My Servants. Nor Iomedae’s Vessels. You Are Welcome to Stew In Your Impotence, Warmed By The Knowledge That You Were Bested By Our Mortals. But These Heroes Do Not Belong To You, And I Will Guide Them Home.”

There is a flash, like ethereal heat lighting on a warm summer night. And you find yourself in a ruined market square. A great gash runs through it, cleaving through the stone and revealing the shadowed mysteries of the caverns hidden below. The air is silent and still as the sun shines down on an empty Clydewell Plaza, in the heart of Kenabres. And you are home.

***
(Deskari defeated)

You summon your magic to open a planer pathway home. A gateway opens, and you step through, only to find yourself back in the Rasping Rifts. Deskari’s realm is not done with you yet. You try again, and still find your pathway loops back to where you began. You see the Rasping Rifts infinite chasms collapsing around you as new ones arise from the abyssal depths.

This layer of the Abyss convulses as new demonic powers assert their will, warring with each other for control even as the realm unravels, exposing the primordial chaos at its core. You set your will against this insanity, but you are severed from Iomedae’s well, your power drained. As Zograthy reaches more deeply into himself, searching for any untapped reservoir of energy, he feels a presence reaching out. A lingering warmth, distantly familiar. Zograthy grasps ahold of it, and the Staff of the Riftwardens begins to glow brighter and brighter. Power floods into Zograthy, and as the staff explodes Zograthy wraps his will around this portion of the Rasping Rifts – boring a hole between the planes and carrying the Silver Scale through. As the power fades, Zograthy is enveloped by sensations of pride and love that dissipate into the space between the planes.

There is a flash, like ethereal heat lighting on a warm summer night. And then you find yourself in a ruined market square. A great gash runs through it, cleaving through the stone and revealing the black secrets of the caverns hidden below. The air is silent and still as the sun shines down on Clydewell Plaza in Kenabres. And you have found your way home.

This scene is the closing of the Worldwound - if you've been following along I have some plot/lore changes. The Lexicon was actually written by and planted by Vorlesh as a failsafe. If the PCs get this far and close the WW part of her soul is hidden in the WW. She will take over the ritual and use the players connection to Iomedae to accelerate her takeover of the new/combined Golarian/Rasping Rifts plane and become a demon lord in full - so the plane ressurects her. But there was a ritual PC allies added to the lexicon that enabled them to combine their power - the intention was to have enough strength to close the WW. Instead, they had to make a combined (including Irabeth but not Arueshalae as her mythic power came from Desna) DC 250 will save - this enabled them to temporarily take control of Vorlesh's plane and use its power to summon Iomedae, who closes the WW and heals Golarion.

Cutscene XXII: Here at the End of the World

9 Gozran, 4724, The Roots of the Worldwound

The last ward has fallen and the beating heart of the Worldwound lies open before you, here at the end of the world. Reality convulses as the Abyss devours a screaming Golarion. The inflamed shrieking and punishing corruption tear at your soul, pounding you into submission, driving you mad. Yet you resist and begin the final incantation to permanently seal the rift.

As the ritual progresses, your minds slowly dissolve into one collective consciousness as the Wardstone energy you have carried within you since Kenebras rises to the surface one last time. Behind your sight it manifests once again as a mighty eldritch river of unnamed and unknowable colors fused into a golden light, its source emerging from the space beneath reality.

More and more energy courses into you, vessels shaped for this moment. Golden streams of power become concentrated strands you weave around the edges of the Worldwound, stitching it shut. You sense the energy is eager to fulfill its purpose, and it takes all your focus to ensure a measured and controlled release, to avoid being consumed by the river’s rising tide.

An unknown amount of time passes, your focus divided between completing the invocation and resisting the suffocating pressure of the abyssal gateway. But there is a creeping, parasitic change, so subtle you fail to notice until it is far too late. With a sickening pull, a malevolent presence reaches within you and wrests control of the Wardstone’s energy, corrupting the flow of the river, feeding upon its power.
The Worldwound devours your strength for its own dire purpose. Horrified, you try to sever the connection, but you are too deep into the throes of Vorlesh’s ritual. The Wardstone’s energy is ripped from you, pouring into the abyssal gateway. The planar boundary melts away as the Wound doubles in size, again, and again, and again, and again.

Waves of iridescent energy flow from the Worldwound into Vorlesh, restoring her body. The demon lord opens her eyes, and as she smiles your mind is overwhelmed by images of your worst fears, and a paralyzing guilt over having come so far only to fail. You can hear Deskari’s outraged scream as he awakens to the depths of her betrayal, and you begin to despair.

Desperate to flee, your mind dives into the river, and is pulled towards its source. You emerge upon an empty plain under a blank sky, the sole feature a vast golden wall encompassing an endless horizon – and you see your power emerge through a tiny puncture in the barrier.

As you struggle to comprehend its immensity, you gaze upon countless millions of nearly invisible streams of power flowing through microscopic gaps in the wall, an intricate web of energy pouring through the golden barrier to traverse the planes.

You are not strong enough to seal the Worldwound, but you can play a different game. If you cannot close one door, perhaps you can open another.

With a final, wrenching effort you release all the energy remaining within you and for a single moment seize control of the river and hurl it towards the barrier. It strikes with the crushing force of a tidal wave, your power enhanced beyond all possible measure as your connection to the Worldwound draws upon the infinite energy of the Abyss itself, given shape and focus by your will. And as spidery cracks spread across the barrier’s golden surface, a blinding light rises from the other side.

There is a colossal explosion, deafening beyond sound, as you shatter the barrier, and summon Iomedae in the fullness of her power to the prime material plane. Her divine blood a cleansing fire pouring directly into the heart of the Worldwound, the wrath of the righteous giving answer to centuries of justice denied.

A globe of light encircles you, preventing your obliteration as you stand exposed before the impossible might of the God you called to Golarion. You sense Iomedae grasp hold of the rift and there is a soul rending scream from the other side, as the corruption is purged and the portal wrenched shut, her power cauterizing the wound, healing the frayed reality surrounding it, sealing off the Abyss.

Not since the Earthfall, over ten thousand years ago, has a God been unveiled upon Golarion. At the edge of your consciousness a familiar voice whispers, “It was enough” and fades away.

There is an indescribable surge of cosmic power, and Threshold is incinerated as an endless golden light swallows the sky across all Golarion. The chasms surrounding Threshold collapse as the lands of the Worldwound shatter, and all the demons built is cast down. Great tendrils of purifying fire flow from the heavens and scour the ruined face of old Sarkoris, following its corrupted ley lines, closing every rift, as the Abyss is driven back, the passages shut forever.

The Worldwound grows smaller and smaller until nothing is left but its beating heart. There is a great compression, and you are sucked through the dying gate, seconds before it implodes. Connection broken, the golden light vanishes, and a soft, quiet stillness blankets the empty space where the tower of Threshold once stood.

Okay, so I had built in a Nocticula intervention either during the Vorlesh fight or the Deskari fight at the end. The players needed it during Vorlesh. For context, one of my players had a hand posesssed by the spirit of his brother (backstory and feats). In the midnight isles I had nocticula gift this player a dagger that she claimed was once held by a powerful cleric of pharasma (his god). Instead it held a portion of her power, and when powerful near demon lords were killed by this player it created new midnight isles. SHe was hoping to ultimatley have them use it on Deskari or Baphomet. But instead it summons her here.

***

And just like that, it’s over. Vorlesh eyes her handiwork, almost disappointed. “Such an expected waste” she murmurs to herself. And then she returns to one of the chamber walls and adds several more glyphs. The roots of the chamber begin to glow from the inside, channeling ever greater amounts of power into the Worldwound. Vorlesh finishes her work and looks up at the portal. And then she adds a final glyph. Every arcane sigil flares to renewed life. She smiles in satisfaction as energy begins to not only flow up from the Abyss into Golarion, but back into the chamber. A reciprocating loop of infinite power. The generative heart of a new plane. Vorlesh shudders in pleasure, and begins to concentrate, focusing on opening herself up to this new power. Slowly. Carefully. So as not to reveal what exactly is happening here until it is too late for Deskari to stop it.

Wick lies in a shattered heap upon the ground, his blood slowly pooling around him, the vermin descending to feed. And then his left-hand twitches. The one possessed by the soul of his brother Phineas. First one finger, then a second. And then they start to move, dragging their hand towards Gravewarden, which lay two feet away on the stone floor. Curiously, the insects swarming throughout the chamber are giving it a wide berth, and the bugs that had been crawling over the hand fly away as it approaches the dagger.

The hand slowly, carefully, patiently wraps itself around Gravewarden. It angles itself in an odd way, almost like it is listening to something. Or someone. There is a curious pause, as if the hand is lost in contemplation. The grip changes, as if a choice had been made. And then Wick’s left hand raises the dagger off the ground, turns it, and rams it into the stone floor.

There is no force behind the blow, but the blade shatters. The room is plunged into darkness. A fell wind blows through the chamber, and there is a sound like tens of thousands of bats devouring an endless feast. And then the noise stops, the eerie light returns, and standing above Wick, crossbow aimed at Vorlesh, is Nocticula.

“This is my knowledge you play with, Vorlesh. And I have come to reclaim it.” Quick as lightning, Vorlesh begins casting a spell, a look of genuine shock on her face. But Nocticula is faster. She snaps her fingers, and time stops.

She looks around the chamber, at the bodies of the Silver Scale, and clucks her tongue, dismissively. She sighs. “What a mess.” And then she closes her eyes and concentrates. Ethereal tendrils of purple mist flow from Nocticula into each member of the Silver Scale, kindling the mythic energy within them. And with a gasp, you open your eyes

“I have gambled quite a bit on you, and I don’t like to lose. Now get up”

I have 3 more scenes to share (including the closing of the worldwound) plus a massive epilogue. So more hopefully useful content coming

Ohh, I was further behind than I thought. This first bit is the dialogue the PCs had with Vorlesh prior to the final encounter

Cutscene XXI: An Altogether Different Game

9 Gozran, 4724 – The Roots of the Worldwound

You have encountered Vorlesh several times and have always been struck by the endless depths of her self-possession. She moves through the world like no one you have ever seen. Not like she expects it to bow to her whims, but instead like someone who has arranged things so that no outcome other than her desire is possible. The one exception was your first encounter, in the Gray Garrison, when the Wardstone’s energy repelled her arcane might. Your journey has given you ever greater mastery and control over that power, but if Vorlesh is intimated it does not show. She offers you a welcoming smile. It almost appears affectionate, but that’s not it, exactly. More like satisfaction born of possession.

“And here is the mighty Silver Scale. Right on time. You did not disappoint. Congratulations on playing your part beautifully. But here is where it ends. It is time to abandon the fiction that you can stop me. That you can undo my masterwork. That you would have made it through the doors of Threshold if there was the slightest chance otherwise.

The Herald gave you power but let us be absolutely clear. You are my creation. I forged you in the crucible of my will, my most elegant instruments. Since that moment you have been a servant of my design, systematically eliminating my rivals. Baphomet has been removed from my great game, and he blames Deskari. His need for vengeance will make him a powerful ally when I move to claim this plane as my own. Deskari’s entire high command, destroyed, so that when I strike, he will be alone. All this time your actions have diverted his eye away from me, his loyal servant. Even now he does not question why I remain locked away at the heart of the Worldwound. It is, after all, a necessary protection from the mighty Silver Scale. And his Echo, his eyes and ears and voice, lay dead at your feet. Even now he fantasizes about how he will take his revenge on you, and by the time he realizes what I have done it will be far too late. I will have eclipsed him with my power and stripped him of his own.

You even managed to feed my designs. The only reason Iomedae held onto the Herald as long as she did was her faith that you might free him. Over a month I spent feeding on her. I already possessed the power to make the Worldwound a new plane without your help, but with your aid, an extended transformation collapsed into a singular moment.

Ten days is the timeline you were given, I believe. Ten days before it was too late to stop me. Just enough time to prepare for Aponavicius. Just enough time to ensure you were rested and ready for the Broodlord, Anemora, and the Storm King. And then the discovery that Bothan has been my creature all along. Who knows how much time you have now? And so the grand rush to Threshold, and the breathless sprint through it. Just to find yourself before me. Weakened. Unprepared. Already defeated.”

She looks at Queso. “I have tried to share a piece of wisdom with you Queso, twice before. I think perhaps now you are finally ready to listen. Those who call themselves wise and clever believe that power comes from staying several moves ahead of your opponent. But those who think so are too blinded by their own smug self-satisfaction to see the flaw in that reasoning. There is always someone who might be cleverer, wiser, more far sighted than you.

The key to never losing is to make sure your board and pieces belong to an altogether different game, a game no one else realizes they are even playing. My work was irreversible from the beginning, thanks to the power I pulled from Iomedae. There is no timeline. No doomsday clock. The world ended five days ago, on the 4th of Gozran. My new plane emerges from its chrysalis, with me as its Lord and Master. And there is nothing left for you to do but watch it unfold its wings.

Let it not be said that I am without mercy or gratitude. I will need servants, and you have proven deliciously resourceful. I will allow you to serve me and take your revenge against Deskari. Or I will offer you a quick and painless death. You have earned that choice. Resist me and you may die.” Vorlesh glances at the Nightwalker that was once the Storm King. “Or you may live,” and she nods at the fallen Solar, “but either way you will belong to me - mind, body, and soul. You must choose and choose now. I am a patient woman, but I cannot abide indecision or distraction.

Vorlesh smiles and looks at you expectantly.

(Vorlesh activates her aura)

Fail: You can sense the river of mythic power within you rising, but then, suddenly, it dissipates. Present, but no longer angry. Vorlesh’s offer is tempting. She has done violent and terrible things, but she has never been cruel for its own sake, only when necessary, and in service of specific ends. A master craftsman with exacting standards. A painter whose canvas is the world. She is a far cry from the ravenous and demonic Deskari. Vorlesh is beautiful, intelligent, urbane. And your imagination marvels at all you could accomplish under her tutelage. It is clear to you now that Vorlesh cannot be stopped. What is to be gained from fighting? So much easier to just surrender, as Staunton Vhane once did. In time, you know, you will make your peace with it.

Save: You can feel Vorlesh’s will burrowing its way into your mind. Seductive, rational. Whereas Nocticula made you feel like your purpose in life was solely to please her, Vorlesh works differently, offering you a vision of a future that cannot be any way other than what she envisions. It is so tempting to surrender to it. But the mythic energy within you roars to life, a raging torrent that swallows Vorlesh’s suggestion, and your mind is once again your own.

(Silver Scale speaks)

Vorlesh laughs, and there is mirth, but it is dismissive and condescending. “I suppose I am not surprised. That’s Iomedae’s influence. But what exactly are you going to do? None of you have the power to stop me. Nor the will.

Rischa, or should I call you Herald?” She eyes her up and down, taking her measure. “No, I shouldn’t. You are a soft imitation, and while the Herald was my enemy, he was a mighty foe, and I had respect for his power, and his conviction. His courage even, to challenge the laws of time. Not something I would have expected from a member of Iomedae’s court. But he was willing to do great and terrible things and accept responsibility for his actions. You are a sad pretender to his title. How far Iomedae has fallen, to have to rely on one such as you to be her hand and voice. Let me take pity on you. I shall give you the gift of an ending. You will never have to close your eyes and drift off to sleep wrapped in a blanket of Iomedae’s sure and certain awareness of your failures, soothed by the screams of her true Herald, tortured by the weight of your inadequacies.

Zograthy, your advanced age did not bring with it wisdom, or even experience of any consequence. You were profligate with your time, and you stand before me a weak and brittle shell. A lifetime spent hiding a hollow core. You were too long in the fire, without enough time to temper and cool. And here where you finally need strength and solidity, you will shatter like glass against the anvil of my power.

And of course there is your young mirror, Queso. A man of singular ambition, whose desperation for notice and approval undermines his will at every turn.” She addresses Queso directly. “You have some potential for greatness, but you are unwilling to take responsibility when it matters. Unwilling to pay the cost. You were tested in the Ivory Labyrinth. You knew what needed to be done. And what did you do? You put it to a vote. You don’t want to do what is necessary. You want to feel superior to beings weaker than you. You want their adulation and praise. And that does not make you great, Queso. It makes you a child. No wonder you quest for your mother. But her soul is gone. Fuel for my ascension. You look surprised, Queso. Why would I have kept it? The world is not a story, and it does not rearrange itself to provide you with a happy ending.

You are all children, in your way. Kiryn, you, more than any, have refused to grow up. You are still the little girl, chained to Minagho’s table, trying to dream the world as it is into non-existence. But you have failed, because the building blocks of creation are not found in fantasy. They are found in blood, and suffering. You are a mighty warrior, but you will never have the direction or purpose to do anything with it. Instead, you will go skipping down moonlit paths, flittering to whatever shiny thing suits your fancy. But you know, in your heart, that you left the path long ago. You are lost and alone, in a deep dark wood. There is no moon to guide you home, and the wolves close in.

Wick, you are the one member of the Silver Scale who possessed the fortitude and will to do what is necessary. And I could have respected that, except you have completely broken under the strain, devolving back into the little boy reaching for his brother’s hand. That his soul remains bound to you speaks of your selfishness, and need. Unwilling to let him go. Unable to impress upon him that you do not need him anymore. Denying him his reward.

And Arueshalae, I have not forgotten you. I am glad you were able to make your way out of the dungeons beneath Drezen. You are so much more interesting now. And when all this is over, I will cut you open so I can understand whatever happened to you. Vivisection is not pleasant for immortal beings, but it is no more than you deserve. In your selfish heart you would horde your gift of redemption. I will master it, perfect it, and share it with the world.”

Finally, Vorlesh turns to Iomedae’s paladin. “Irabeth, we finally meet. You are not weak, nor can I call you selfish. You have earned a modicum of my respect for standing your ground in the face of Aponavicius’ triumph. And so I am doing you a favor, ending your journey before you could turn into a sad husk of a once formidable woman, like that empty shell of a Queen you idolize so much. Like Galfrey, you have wasted your life. You turned away from happiness time and time again, away from the love that was before you. And for what? All you accomplished in the end was ascetic denial, in the name of a lost cause that gave you an excuse not to feel. She cared so much for you, and held onto the secret wish that you would someday lay all this aside so you could just be here with her. It would always have been fleeting. But it could have been beautiful. And you drenched it in blood.

Yes, blood and futility. The ultimate legacy of the vaunted Silver Scale.

You have made your choice. And now I will teach you that actions have consequences.”

Vorlesh retreats into her mind, and begins casting a spell, with a speed you are stunned to discover matches your own. Her minions move into defensive positions around her, prepared to die to defend their mistress, their creator, their Lord. The time has come to face Areelu Vorlesh, here at the seat of her power. You try to take a deep, steadying breath, but the air is foul and evil. You see black spots behind your eyes, as the thrumming, maddening pressure of the Abyss seeps into your soul just as it transforms the world around you.

There is no breath to be had here. No respite. But if you do not succeed, none will be found anywhere. The world is at stake, balanced between the most powerful mind in Golarion’s history, and seven souls brought together through the last act of a dying dragon.

But you are more than that. You destroyed the wardstones and thwarted Vorlesh once before. You reclaimed the Sword of Valor, and restored the honor, glory, and hope of the Crusade. You mastered the Midnight Isles and made yourself a legend in the Abyss. You chased Baphomet from Golarion and showed him that not even his deepest, darkest prison is safe from your wrath. You have destroyed Deskari’s generals, one by one, until only Vorlesh remains. You are Iomedae’s Champions. You are the Silver Scale. There is work before you. And here, at the end, you will see it done.

final session of my campaign today. ill post the final scenes in a few days and see if i can clean it up. its been an amazing time. if you figure out how to navigate the mythic rules this is a great campaign - truly operatic and apocalyptic in scope. ill start a lessons learned thread as well

jayman - you should post what you came up with!

this is a really cool service, so thank you for doing it. Just a thought -my group hasnt shifted to 2e yet, but I will point out that having played this to completion as a DM (last session is saturday) the AP as written is irrevocably, hilariously broken and requires extraordinarily extensive modifications to the difficulty. even using the mythic stat blocks scorpion created and no mythic feats or powers (just the base mythic abilities) for PCs I had to regularly double (and maximize) hit points to make monsters challenging.

The story is great, and so the campaign is worrh investing in, but i dont know if a conversion will address core balance issues in the rulee set and how to navigate that. maybe 2E does?

i am a big believer in giving the PCs as many chances to interact with Vorlesh as possible. And the dinner scene was memorable when we had one (earlier in book 3 - it is in the narrative thread)

what is her motivation for not killing them?

If you go the rumble route and are interested i can post my rules for crowd interactions, environmental effects, etc

I made gelderfang another child of baphomet and added him to the inelecuctable prison as a guard

when all is said and done I'll figure out how to leave all of these as one PDF. when combined this will be close to 300 pages of text, which is a little nuts.

Cutscene XX: The Heart of the Worldwound

10 Gozran, 4724 - Vigil, Lastwall
In some ways, the setting is anticlimactic. You are in a small unassuming chapel of Iomedae, deep within the fortress of Vigil, away from the destruction caused by your battle with the Storm King. Galfrey and Anevia have gathered to witness this moment, as has the Watcher-Lord Ulthon IIII, ruler of Lastwall and leader of the Shining Crusade. Each of you stand inside carefully prepared ritual circles while braziers burn sacred incense secured from Prolera, Iomedae’s layer of Heaven. Waxberry offers a long prayer to the Inheritor, and then the ceremony begins. Ren Kinney, Dr. Arcadius, Odayama, and Christian Heavenly begin to chant four separate invocations, and as they do you feel the river of power within you rise.

But for the first time since your mythic ascension you can also sense the flow within your companions, as if you are each a tributary fed from some larger source. You feel your power stretch out towards your companions, seeking to merge, and as the rivers get closer your own senses begin to dim, your perception of reality narrowing, before being replaced by something simultaneously more intimate and expansive. Your sense of the chapel grows wider, as if seeing it from multiple eyes. One heartbeat becomes six, your blood flowing through veins that are not your own. You have brief flashes of memory you do not recognize yet somehow experienced. Nothing you can fully process, yet it is as if you have lived six lives in the span of one.

You feel whispered thoughts, emotions rather than words - the existential truth of your companions souls, visible to you for the first time. You marvel at Queso’s confidence, and draw strength from Irabeth’s boundless resolve. There is a thrilling recklessness emanating from Zograthy, tinged with a darkness that feels at odds with the righteousness pouring from Rischa. You almost gag at Wick’s suffocating guilt, before you are swept along the moonlit paths navigated by Kiryn, possibilities that could lead you anywhere.
The strands of the rivers flow closer and closer together, and just as they make contact an image of a vast golden wall on an empty featureless plain fills your vision. And then, suddenly, the ritual ends, and you are back in the chapel. Once again yourself, and only yourself - yet you have an increased awareness of your companions, and feel a collective connection to each of your individual manifestations of Iomedae’s power.

***

10 Gozran, 4724 - Threshold Exterior, The Worldwound
You stand on a cliff face overlooking a canyon a mile wide and a thousand feet deep, like the hand of an angry god reached down and scooped out the Sarkorian plateau, pouring their malice into the hole. An analogy not all that dissimilar from the truth.

The canyon walls are pockmarked with countless caves, most of which vomit out a steady stream of unholy lava, the heat turning the violent rain into a heavy, sickly mist. The sensation of evil in the air is so thick you can feel it on your skin, like a wet, abrasive slime, and for a moment you wonder if you will ever be clean again.

The sky is a violent infection unleashing the toxic fury of the abyss, rents in the atmosphere disgorging lightning, hail, acid, and thunder. Though it was the morning when you left Lastwall, it is night in the Worldwound, and what illumination the sky provides comes from stars that are not your own.

The canyon bowl writhes and seethes, a sea of vermin constantly consuming each other, though their numbers replenish as fast as they are destroyed, emerging through glowing gates somewhere below the roiling surface.

And there, off in the distance, at the center of the canyon, you see it - the tower of Threshold, like a spike stabbed into the heart of Golarion, or a claw rising from a grave. It reaches two hundred feet into the sky and seems to be eighty feet wide, made of a dark stone. Three of Threshold’s four outlying spires still arch up into the sky above the lake of vermin, but the fourth lies partially crumbled into ruins. The central spire of the tower rises up twice as high as its companions.

Everywhere the air has a shimmery haze, like the world around you is almost, but not quite solid. There is a deep thrumming screech, almost like the sound you imagine obsidian mountains would make if they were scraped together.

Your eyes shift into the spectrums of magic. Exploding from Threshold, you see hundreds, perhaps thousands, of massive strands of magical energy made of the nauseating iridescent colors of the abyss - purple, orange, yellow, green, shot through with darkness.

You see them stretch off into the Worldwound, like parasitic tentacles intent on enveloping Golarion - though whether they are sucking its vitality out, pumping corruption in, or both, is hard to say. You can see the abyssal tentacles have latched onto the network of magical ley lines that criss-cross the planet. Every few seconds you can swear you see new strands emerge from Threshold, and the velocity of their manifestation increases before your eyes

Circling the tower are four flying shapes – from this distance they look like birds, but that’s probably not what they are.

***

A massive gout of vermin erupts from the lake of corruption, and a wedge shaped cloud of insects veers into the sky. As the vermin fall away in crackling, popping sheets, twin intertwining ribbons of fire and ice diverge in opposite directions, the last of the vermin sloughing off their twisting forms, the charred and frozen bodies raining into the endless pool below.

One blur resolves into a gargantuan bird of living flame, and you would swear you are looking at a phoenix if not for its vulture-like aspect. Its flames are tinged with purple, burning with an unnatural, unholy heat. It releases a sharp piercing cry, half triumph, half pain, and within it you can feel an undying rage and sense of half remembered violation – unable to fully articulate itself and equally unable to let go. And you know that this is Pyralisia, once a noble phoenix and a powerful ally of the First Crusade – drawn north from the deserts of Osirian to oppose the forces of the Abyss. She was lost at the dawn of the Second Crusade, holding off the forces of Deskari long enough for the Herald of Iomedae to fully invest the wardstones. Her rebirth was corrupted by a combination of the abyssal energies of the Worldwound and some design of Vorlesh, and Pyralisia became the Rain of Embers – for many years a scourge of crusaders who journeyed too deeply into the Worldwound, though not seen at all during the Fifth Crusade.

For all the dire tragedy of Pyralisia, your heart truly breaks when you gaze upon her companion. Almost nine months ago, when the earth cracked open during the Storm King’s assault on Kenebras, it was the last act of a dying dragon that saved your life. You were no one important. No songs chronicled your deeds. No prophecy promised your name. You had not stared down demon lords, spoken to Gods, or performed feats that could rightfully be called miracles. You were just a small handful of lives to save, one final act of decency and hope in defiance of the world’s constant assertion of darkness and evil.

Almost nothing of that Terendelev remains. The dragon’s elegant silver frame is gone, reduced to a skeleton bathed in sickly green light. As she turns her head towards you there is no trace of nobility and compassion in her gaze – just a baleful stare to match a rictus snarl. Your eyes are drawn to the space in her neck where the Storm King decapitated the great dragon – the ghostly outline of a vertebrae marking the site of Khorramzadeh’s triumph.

The phoenix can sense the wardstone energy, and screeches in outrage. “I can feel those cursed stones within you. I gave my life bringing them into being, only to be forgotten by the mortals and forsaken by the gods. Every day since my sacrifice has been constant agony. Finally, after a century of torment. I shall revisit my pain upon its source!”

And then Terendelev speaks, the clarion timbre of her voice replaced by a cold, rumbling scrape. “Ahhh, my namesakes have come. I suppose the adoption of my former self as your standard is a tribute of sorts. But that form was weak and afraid. Now there is no pain. Now there is no fear. There is only hunger, and power. Lady Vorlesh prophesied you would come. She has prepared me for your arrival, and my might will grow when I feast upon your souls. My legend will strike terror in the hearts of mortals. There is a place of privilege for me in the world she is creating, where none will have the audacity to stand before me.

Welcome, Silver Scale, to Threshold. Welcome to your end.”

***
10 Gozran, 4724 - Threshold Interior, The Worldwound

You gaze down upon the interior of the tower of Threshold as you float at the top of a central shaft stretching four hundred feet down. All along the walls, at regular intervals, are arcane portals, one hundred in total. They cluster in blocks of five, with a new bank appearing in staggered intervals along the opposite wall. The ceiling holds a circular portal, and a portal of similar size lies directly below it, hundreds of feet down, nestled between the interior chambers at the tower’s apparent base.

The tower is filled to bursting with swarms of flying vermin, so thick they partially obscure your vision. Adorning the walls of Threshold are complex arcane symbols the likes of which you have never seen before, bathing the tower interior in a dim, eerie, strobing light. They crackle with energy, and purple, orange, yellow, and green bolts of eldritch power zip haphazardly from symbol to symbol. They incinerate the insects in their path, but there is an infinite supply eager to take their place.

Your magical sight reveals the abyssal aspected threads of magical energy emerging through the portal below, drawing strength from the symbols throughout the tower, weaving themselves into massive strands before passing through its ceiling and out into the ever expanding lands of the Worldwound. Threshold has been transformed into some kind of amplifier.

As you get your bearings, your vision blurs. But no, you realize. Your vision is fine. It is reality that wavers around you, as it struggles to make sense of two separate spaces collocated at the same moment and place in time. You are in Golarion. You are in the Rasping Rifts. You are someplace else. Someplace new.

You have journeyed in abyssal spaces, and stood before demon lords, but there is a concentrated evilness to this place, an edge to the chaos that bleeds over into insanity, as if everything noxious and unholy about the abyss is condensed down and forced out through a tiny aperture that focuses and distills its essence. It is all you can do to resist. But the sounds are the worst part. It takes a moment to hear it through the maddening chorus of billions of insects. It is the same tectonic screeching you heard outside, but amplified and focused. It is the sound of a planet screaming in pain, crying out for help. The tolling siren song of the apocalypse. The sound of the end of the world.

***

The gargantuan creature that emerges from the portal below you is the stuff of nightmares. It appears to be a large hybrid of a scorpion and crab, a eurypterid, Queso notes with pedantic satisfaction, though vastly larger than the normal versions of its species. There is a humanoid face embedded in its chest, bloody red and screaming with a terrifying rage. It clacks its claws and spits, releasing a stream of foul high pressurized water that cracks the stone walls of Threshold. A noxious poison drips from its stinger. It roars, and places itself between you and the portal.

But this creature is less terrifying than the enormous four legged insectoid monster that emerges from the portal behind him. It almost resembles a massive derakni, larger than an elephant except its wings seem to be made of thousands of flying insects. The arms emerging from its humanoid torso grip a massive scythe. It is a shape that has haunted the dreams of northern Golarian for more than a century. The Lord of the Locust Host, the Usher of the Apocalypse. Deskari.

But then the reality around the demon lord wavers, and he seems to collapse in on himself before growing back to his full size. In the blink of an eye his form expands and contracts a dozen times, before settling into a smaller form the size of a balor.

Galfrey warned you might encounter such a creature. When beings of extraordinary power manifest in a plane that is not their own, they can leave behind echoes of their essence, small reflections of their larger self. Two hundred years ago, an avatar of the god Aroden confronted Deskari in the lands of Sarkoris. Aroden defeated him, and banished the demon lord back to the Rasping Rifts. But the boundaries between the prime and Deskari’s realm are thin here, and Deskari’s echo remained. Aroden imprisoned it, deep within the Lake of Mists and Veils, where the church of Aroden and then Iomedae kept a careful vigil, ensuring its captivity. When Vorlesh fully opened the Worldwound, the surge of abyssal power must have been enough to destroy the integrity of Aroden’s seal. The Echo of Deskari clacks its mandibles in a gesture that manages to convey both smugness and rage, despite its inhuman aspect.

“Ahhh, at last. The servants of Aroden’s inheritor. I awoke to find that upstart God is no more, done in by his own self-righteousness and hubris. And now, with your death, Aroden’s failure is utterly complete, and vengeance will be mine. This planet will fall to me. Humanity will be mine to do with as I see fit. And I see fit to do unspeakable things. Use these final moments to contemplate the totality of your failure and despair, you jumped up mortal gnats. I am the mind, body, and voice of the swarm. I am perfection. And I will feast upon the carrion of your body, and bathe in the wreckage of your soul.”

***
11 Gozran, 4724 – The Heart of the Worldwound

At long last, you stand before the abyssal nightmare devouring Golarion. The end of all roads. The heart of the Worldwound. It is nestled eighty feet below you, a swirling vortex of abyssal maggots, crackling with energy in all the iridescent, revolting colors of the Abyss. And deep in this sucking, gurgling whirlpool shimmers a nauseating, pulsating orange light. You can sense its malevolence from here, and something that feels almost like sentience.

The room is filled with the constant roiling sound of thunder, thanks to the putrescent pool of billions of wriggling white grubs. The cries of Golarion are louder here, a siren screaming in your head, in vain protest of its intimate violation, powerless to do anything but witness the inevitability of its death. The air has a thickness to it, almost like you are moving through invisible webs.

Despite gravity appearing to function normally, maggots flow out of the pool and rain upon the ceiling above, where they either splatter or are immediately set upon by prior survivors. The walls of this immense chamber are made of pulsing, decayed flesh, from which spurs and fragments of worked stone protrude like jagged bones.

Masses of vermin crawl along every surface, feeding on the bleeding walls, the cancerous flesh scabbing over as quickly as it is devoured. The vermin shift in color and shape to form sinister runes and odious prayers out of their swarming bodies. It feels like Deskari’s answer to the stained glass windows of Iomeade’s cathedral. The swarms on the wall to the west glow with a nauseating orange light, forming two huge runes that vaguely resemble an insectile face. Underneath the insects, seemingly carved into the flesh of this chamber, are lurid frescoes of vermin devouring the world. The image of a towering demonic insect wielding a massive scythe made of bone looms within each one. Other carvings feature representations of chasms, rifts, and trenches, each depicted with incredible realism.

Arueshalae swallows, and speaks. The disgust in her voice is tinged with wonder and awe. “There it is - the heart of the Worldwound, the source of the evil that has been poisoning Golarion these last hundred years. If it hadn't opened, I would not have been here, would not have found Desna, would not have met you.” Irabeth places a hand on Arueshalae’s shoulder. “Iomedae preserve we mortals who stand in the way of chaos. This has been the wellspring of our collective nightmares for a century. It is time for us to wake up.”

***

11 Gozran, 4724 – The Soul of the Worldwound

There is a sensation that can only be described as time fracturing and reassembling. You experienced something similar once before, during the moment of your ascension, when you witnessed the wardstone’s past and visions of possible futures. The sensation lasts but a moment, and then you are back in your present.

Wick
You kneel before Nocticula in the Vault of Graves. She clicks her heels absentmindedly against the polished marble of her throne as she considers your request. As always, her smell is intoxicating. She has granted you a formal audience, a rare privilege. Your true heart’s desire has brought you here. For all your incredible achievements, your work remains incomplete, and this may be your one chance to set things right. To balance the scales by fulfilling your promise to the person who matters most. To silence part of your endless guilt. Phineas’s soul has been frozen out of the Boneyard, trapped in limbo, unable to find peace. Nocticula waits patiently as you gather your thoughts before she speaks, her voice a purring, illicit invitation.

“Well Wick. You asked for an audience, and now you have it. What do you ask of the Lady in Shadows?”

(Wick speaks)

“I already have granted you one boon, my champion. I’m afraid I never offer something for nothing, even for someone who has performed remarkably well in my service.” She pauses, considering, and leans forward, tenting her fingers and giving you a wicked smile. “Yes, I think I might find it useful if someone with your talents were to owe me a debt.” She leans back into her throne. “So I agree. I will intercede with Pharasma, and facilitate the release of your brother’s soul. For too long Phineas has been denied his rest and reward. Why Pharasma has seen fit to withhold it from him, I cannot say. After all, you got the job done, even if she disapproves of how you did it. But I can help. In exchange for a favor named later. Nothing a man of your talents can’t handle.”

What do you say, Bastion Wick. Hero of the Prime. Do we have a deal?”

***

Queso
You are in a richly appointed lab, built to your specifications, a gift from a grateful world after you did what you said you would do, and closed the Worldwound. But your victory remains bitter for its incompleteness. You stopped Vorlesh, but you were not able to restore the soul of your mother. Your sister. The people of Chitterhome. At least not yet. And you won’t lose to that witch, who taunted you with her dying breath.

Fresh from your victory in the Worldwound, the Silver Scale set out to make sure no demon lord would threaten Golarion again. Deskari lives, true, but the Rasping Rifts are sealed off. He is no longer a direct threat. And Baphomet was so vulnerable. The Ivory Labyrinth still reeled from his resurrection. You had ten months to prepare before his plane recovered. You used nine months and seventeen days to get ready. And with time finally on your side, the Silver Scale took their vengeance, and belatedly fulfilled a different promise.

So great is your arcane power that even the legendary Runelords fear to ignore your summons. And so Alderpash is here. Ready to assist you.

“Very well, Queso. I will share what I retain of the magic and knowledge of Thassilon, for one project, and one project only. Then my debt to you is paid. What secret do you desire to unlock? What do you wish to accomplish with my aid?”

(Queso speaks)

“This is something I believe we can accomplish. It will be difficult. And there are elements of my methods you may not enjoy. But Vorlesh was right about one thing. Power, true power, requires sacrifice. Shall we begin?” Alderpash offers you a dusty, cracked smile and awaits your answer.

***

Rischa
You stand on the rune covered circular stone slab, floating above the lake of tar in a chamber with no doors. The Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth, once the Hand of the Inheritor, is unconscious at your feet. The Silver Scale is arrayed in a loose circle around the Herald – battle weary and grievously wounded, but alive and once again triumphant. You hold the Herald’s heart in one hand, and can feel the atonement spell, a spark of Iomedae’s divine forgiveness, eager for release. The time has come to redeem the Herald, to restore the soul of your ancestor, and fulfill the wishes of your God. You know, as no one else can, the endless guilt she feels at having been responsible for the loss and corruption of two Heralds. The loss of Arazni as a mortal nearly broke Iomedae. You don’t know how she will endure this. You feel an overpowering urge to protect her.

You smile to yourself, in satisfaction. Serving as Herald was not an honor you sought out. It wasn’t even one you wanted. Your dreams were more modest. To delve into the history of your people. To find the lost sky citadel of Jormurdun. To live a life that honors Iomedae. But to act as her chosen agent. To fulfill that role as a mortal. It’s all too much, and you are ready to set that burden aside. But first you must complete this one task.

You look around at your companions, grateful that you found such mighty allies, united in service of a great cause, worthy vessels of Iomedae’s gift. But as your eyes land on Wick you can sense something is wrong. The subtlest of nervous twitches. A stance trying just a little too hard to be nonchalant. By the time Wick brings his dagger down you are already in motion. But you know you will not reach him in time. The Herald will die, unredeemed, the Abyss will claim his soul for an eternity of torture, and Iomedae’s divine heart will break.

You can sense within you a yet untapped wellspring of power. The true power of a herald. It will give you the speed you need to intercept the blade. To stop Wick. To save the Herald. To fulfill the wishes of your god. Do you reach for it?

(Rischa decides)

***

Kiryn
Areelu Vorlesh is dead, and it was Radiance that struck the final blow, wielded by your hand. And the ritual to close the Worldwound is working! An impossible journey has almost come to an end. While much of your focus is on sustaining the ritual, granting Queso and Zograthy access to your power, the part of your mind that remains in your control races, overwhelmed by this moment. It was less than twenty years ago you were bound to an altar, Minahgo about to sacrifice you to the Azverindus Rites, when Desna intervened, marking you with her symbol. Did she select you for some greater purpose? You may never know.

Perhaps it was never about you. Maybe this was always about Arueshalae, who saved you. If not for her actions in that moment you would be dead. And without your faith in her, would she have held to her newly awakened core? Or would she have thrown it all away? Crazy, that the fate of the world could swing on one moment like this. One test of character. One act of will. In either case, your heart swells with love and gratitude for the most unlikely of friends, this singular gift.

The part of your mind that is not bound to the ritual seeks Arueshalae out, to invite her into this moment. She can sense your thoughts, and you hers. And as you do your heart seizes for a beat. Arueshale’s face is twisted in pain, as she struggles to resist the overwhelming corruption pouring through the gateway. She has only been redeemed for a few months, and the Worldwound is awakening millennia of demonic instincts. She is losing her battle. It is as Galfrey feared. The pull of the Worldwound was just too strong. And should Arueshale turn, the Silver Scale will not even notice until it is too late, defenseless, absorbed by the ritual.

Arueshalae looks at you, and she is too lost in her struggle to speak. But you can see the despair in her eyes, the horror of having come so far, only to fail. And you hear her thoughts screaming in your head. “Sister…help me!”

You fear for Arueshalae, but your heart remains pure, and strong, your faith in Desna hardened into a spiritual shield, the first paladin of the Goddess of Dreams. And you are intimately bound to Arueshalae through her gift. You can reach out to her, share your faith, and help her through this final test. You just need to open yourself up a little wider.

(Kiryn decides)

***

Zograthy
The persona of the Amazing Zograthy was born a grift – a pathway to survival in a harsh world, to will a certain level of notoriety and security into existence. But finally, by the end of his life, Alayne Zeodorus was worthy of the name. He had closed the Worldwound. He had defeated the forces of the Abyss. He had not only discovered his ancestral legacy, but proved himself more than worthy of it.

As he lay on his deathbed, satisfied he had made good in the end, he remained haunted by the sixty six years that now seemed wasted. He found his purpose, but he was out of time. His mind was clear, and his soul felt young, but his body had just given out, overwhelmed by the effort it took to seal the wound.. It was not right. Not fair. And he was afraid.

His last visitors had left for the day. He was alone, in the dark. And he could feel his life fading. He knew, instinctively, that when he closed his eyes they would not open again. And then he sensed someone standing over him, in the dark. He recognized her smell. How could anyone ever forget it? He could sense her calculating, wicked smile. Mocking, yes, but just playful enough to let Zograthy in on the joke.

“My magic man, with the magic hands. I dare say I may end up missing you. How do you feel, here at the end?”

(Zograthy responds)

“You know enough of the cosmology of the planes to know what happens next. Desna will try to claim your soul. I may try to stop her. I am sure I can make better use of it than she can. I might even let you keep your memories. The Amazing Zograthy is too singular to be reborn as just another Azata. You do not deserve to disappear. Far better to remain at my side.”

Nocticula sighs, theatrically. “I fear I’ve spent too much time in the company of Iomedae’s champions. I can’t believe I am saying this, and I will deny it if repeated, but you’ve earned more time. And unlike Iomedae, I am willing to bend the rules to grant it to you. If you wish, I can restore your youth, and give you the time you desire. I won’t even bind you to me. You have done enough for that consideration. I daresay those magic hands will find their way back to me of their own volition. What do you say, Zograthy?”

***

Arueshalae
The Worldwound was closed. The nightmare was over. And Arueshalae played her part – when the nalfeshnee demons, guardians of the Abyss, emerged from the Wound she held them off long enough for the Silver Scale to complete their ritual. And for the first time since her transformation, she felt what could only be described as satisfaction. But she was not complete. Not yet. She could dream of others, relive the lives she destroyed as a succubus. But she could not dream for herself.

That night, when she closed her eyes, she received a visitor. She recognized him instantly. It was the Desnan she killed all those years ago out in the Worldwound. The one whose dreams she invaded. The one who started her down the path that led her here. Arueshalae could not make eye contact. She took everything from this man. Owed him everything. What was there to say? How could she make amends?

Sensing her thoughts, the Desnan smiled. “Hello Arueshalae. We meet again, under very different circumstances. You have done well. This is not a path I would have foreseen for you in those moments after you revealed yourself to me. I am proud of you.”

Arueshalae’s heart seized in her chest. She felt the return of that old nausea. Her eyes began to well with tears. She tried to speak but before she could make a sound the Desnan held up his hand.

“There is nothing to say. Look at what you have accomplished. The lives you have saved. You have balanced your scales. Forgive yourself, Arueshalae. It is time to dream.”

And Arueshalae wanted that, so badly it hurt. But she recalled her conversation with Yaniel the night before the final battle of Drezen. And she told the Desnan:

“Forgiveness is not something I can give myself. Nor can you forgive me for the harm I inflicted on others. The scales can never be balanced. No good I will do can ever replace the evil I have done, or the lives I have destroyed. Those consequences will linger, a permanent stain upon everything they touched. That is how it must be. Such is the enduring legacy of sin.

But this has never been about the past. It is over, and I cannot change that. All I can do is begin each day, grateful for the chance to do good, to bring some light into darkened spaces, and help a lost soul find their path. I can strive to be better. I can make the most of my opportunity. I can make sure I never take the horizon for granted.

Perhaps in time, Desna will forgive me. Her grace is a gift I hope to one day receive. But it is not my place to absolve myself of the sins I inflicted on others. No – that guilt made me what I am. It set me on my path. It is mine, and I will keep it. I carry it as a reminder of who I was, and as a challenge to remain who I am.”

***

Irabeth
Irabeth and Anevia lay in bed together. Anevia’s head rested on Irabeth’s chest, her arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. They were at peace. For the first time in a very long time. Irabeth smiled,
contentedly.

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed, Neve”

“Me neither, Beth. But the bread won’t bake itself.”

“No, it won’t, but how hungry are you, really?”

Anevia thought, for a moment. “Not hungry enough to get up.”

Irabeth smiled. “Me neither.”

They lay there, quietly, together. Thinking mostly of nothing, enjoying the languid silence. But Irabeth’s mind eventually wandered. She pondered the cosmic immensity of the two of them finding each other, falling in love, and surviving what they’ve survived. It was just a lazy morning in bed. But it felt improbable. Impossible. That such a simple thing should exist was a miracle in itself.

Eventually Anevia propped herself up and gave Irabeth a kiss. Gentle at first, but when Irabeth responded it became more passionate, more urgent. And then the knock on the door.

“Commander Irabeth, are you there?”

Anevia growled in frustration. “What? No she isn’t. Go away. She is busy. F*~~ off!”

The messenger responded. “I am sorry. I have a summons from Queen Galfray. Commander Irabeth is needed immediately. It is urgent.”

Anevia slammed her head into the pillow and screamed in frustration. She raised her head after a moment, and tears rimmed her eyes.

“It’s never going to stop ‘Beth, is it? Someone is always going to need you. But I need you too. Here. Now. I have been so patient. You have done enough. We have done enough. Let someone else take responsibility for once. For me. Please.”

Irabeth took Anevia’s head in her hands and looked her in the eyes. She gently kissed away her tears. “Neve. I am so sorry. I want to stay here. More than anything in the world. But this is not about what I want. It is about who I am.” And Irabeth gently set Anevia aside, and reached for her sword.

***

11 Gozran, 4724 – The Roots of the Worldwound

You are in an immense chamber, its domed ceiling rising to a height of nearly two hundred feet. Ley lines flow up from the ground and into the Worldwound, like the demonic roots of a great abyssal tree. In fact, along the walls they seem to manifest as actual roots, infested by the vermin filling the space. You swear you can sense the chamber growing larger before your eyes, stretching and cracking as it absorbs more and more power.

Above you the Worldwound churns in a miasmic counter clockwise rotation, feasting upon the energy flowing through the roots into the fell gate, and outwards to infect Golarion. Floating in the ceiling below the portal is a fifteen foot wide cage made of sinew and bone. A six armed inevitable lies dead within.

There are four portals embedded in the walls, one at each cardinal point of the octagonal space. There are no furnishings of any kind, but every square inch of the chamber is covered in glyphs you have never seen. They radiate neither divine nor arcane magic, but something new. Something ontological. Queso and Zograthy recognize it as a new type of magic drawing upon quintessence – magic grounded in the soul of a plane.
You are not alone in the chamber. Arranged in a half circle radiating out along the western wall, are beings both horrifying and familiar.
There is a gigantic devastator, similar to the ones that assaulted Drezen, but larger, and covered in glyphs of warding and protection. There is a large purple golem, humanoid in shape but featureless, fused together from shards of nahyndrian crystals.

There is a towering humanoid creature with cracked metallic skin, glowing purple eyes, and three sets of frayed wings. It appears to have once been a solar, the mightiest of all angels. There is a gaping, festering, smoking hole in its chest, and the pulsing purple light emerging from within it hurts to gaze upon. The solar appears to have been put through the same ritual that corrupted the Hand of the Inheritor, and you wonder if what happened to the solar was a trial run for him.

You are startled to see a night black giant whose arms end in massive blades. You have fought nightwalkers before, when you destroyed the Father of Worms, but this one appears to have been born of the soul of the Storm King.

And behind them, standing at ease, is the architect of the Worldwound, the betrayer of humanity - Areelu Vorlesh. You have encountered her multiple times before – but this time her power is fully unveiled, and you can immediately tell that the stories are true. This the most powerful spellcaster in the history of Golarion, rivaled only by the legends of a mortal Aroden, a man who willed himself into Godhood. As the leylines of the chamber feed the Worldwound, you can sense that part of that energy is channeling itself into Vorlesh as well, and you recognize she is well on her way to becoming a full fledged demon lord, the transference of power subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion, until she has accumulated enough to challenge Deskari for complete control over Golarion and the Rasping Rifts.

She looks at you, and the certainty in her smile could transform the planes.

Okay, heading into our final two sessions, I rewrote a lot of the descriptive text around Threshold. A few major changes:

1. Threshold is guarded by Pyrallisia and Terendelev, which should make for an epic opening battle.

2. As I have Vorlesh betraying Deskari, and most of the campaign has been spent with Vorlesh gradually manipulating things so that the PCs are gradually taking out Deskari's principle allies, most of Threshold is empty of all save Vorlesh's inner circle - things she can control or had a hand in creating (like Pyralisia and Terendelev in this story).

3. I basically combined Threshold's interior into three sections, as a room by room dungeon crawl is underwhelming at this point:
- the Tower proper, which is about 400 feet high and which Vorlesh has turned into a magical amplifier to expand the Worldwound
- the actual heart of the Worldwound
- the 'roots of the worldwound, where they will confront vorlesh.

4. I added a significant RP section of sorts that I will tie into closing the Worldwound - as they pass through the portal to the 'roots' section the Worldwound will try to corrupt them, pushing their alignments towards evil and making it harder for them to close it. Each PC (plus irabeth and arueshalae) will end up either reliving a moment from their past or projected out into the future (which they will experience as present) where if they open themselves up to the WW's power they can achieve some great desire. They think this is real (as the dangerously malleable nature of time has been a campaign theme) though they will have sense motive checks to see if something is wrong. At the end they will have to make a will save, heavily modified by whether or not they made the RP choice to open themselves up to the WW (unknowingly). Hopefully it goes well. Text is below

5. We are leading off with a ritual they undertake (carried out by former PCs from earlier campaigns) that will link their minds and mythic powers. I need this for the ending, but will allow them to share mythic power with each other as a result (a 1-1 exchange on their initiative, and 2-1 if not).

We have about two more sessions left to go in my campaign - I wish I had kept up a summary like yours. I may post a big one when we're done. Thanks for sharing yours

I ended up making Yaniel a more significant character in book VI, in part because I needed to sacrifice someone and wanted to keep Galfrey and Irabeth, but also in Arueshalae's story.

i would reccomend using the alternate statblocks from this forum regardless. the campaign path ones are tissue paper. as is, i often need to double hit pointa to proivde a challenge and my pcs do not have access to mythic feats or class abilities

These scenes take place the night after the Battle of Drezen. I wanted to give each cluster of PCs the chance to interact with the high level NPC they have the most involved relationship. Two talk to Nocticula, two Iomedae, and one Vorlesh

Cutscene XX: Midnight Conversations

6 Gozran, 4724 – Drezen, The Worldwound

Wick and Zograthy feel an electric current in the air. The hair on your arms stands up, your heart beats faster, your mouth goes dry. The shadows in the room lengthen as the light dims, before you are plunged into a momentary darkness. The light returns, and standing casually in the doorway of Zograthy’s room, is Nocticula. She looks at you, and slowly smiles. “Good evening gentlemen. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

PCs respond

“I’ve always wanted to visit Drezen. So much turns on the fate of this flyspeck village in the middle of nowhere. I can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place.” She wanders over to a tapestry, studying its artistry with a critical eye, though her assessment is unreadable.

“I am here to check up on my investment. Certain outcomes in this conflict are more favorable to me than others, and I’d like to ensure they come to pass.”

“Zograthy, you have done well, but you are still holding onto Desna. You have always been stricken with a wanderlust and Desna is a goddess of journeys.” She approaches you and runs a perfectly manicured finger down your cheek. You shiver as she purrs into your ear. “But I can offer you a sublime destination.” She turns towards Wick. “And Wick, Optimus Prime, my unlikely champion. You are a man of singular talents. Mortal winner of the Battlebliss. The man who broke into the Ineluctable Prison and walked out having stolen Baphomet’s prize from under his nose. I don’t know that I’ve seen an act that brazen since, well, since Baphomet stole the prison out from under Asmodeus in the first place. Zograthy is a creature of passion but you, Wick, are a creature of will. Your ratfolk friend knew what he had to do, but when the time came, he dithered. He allowed others to dictate his actions. Not you. You had the courage to act. You knew what you wanted, and you took it, regardless of the cost. I admire that, and would extend my patronage to you, should you so desire it.”

PCs respond

“I wonder if you fully understand the nature of Vorlesh’s relationship to Deskari. If you truly understand her. Tell me, what you do you really know of Vorlesh, and her motives.”

PCs respond

“I suspect she hasn’t served Deskari for some time. She still performs her obeisances, and that is enough to assuage Desakri’s suspicions. She has played the part of dutiful servant, sharing the lesser versions of her accomplishments with his minions, making herself seem indispensable as she flattered their overinflated egos with the illusion of power. Table scraps presented as princely gifts.

In his arrogance Deskari has never seen her for the threat to his rule she truly is. The Worldwound is not folding Golarion into the Rasping Rifts. Not any longer. Thanks to the power she drew from Iomedae through her Herald Vorlesh is building a new Abyssal realm, born of the fusion of the Rasping Rifts and this corner of the prime. You have felt it, have you not. The pull towards Threshold – towards the heart of this new realm.

Vorlesh alters the plane, while Pharasma burns with impotent rage. Vorlesh has learned to harness the quintessence of a dying soul, captured in its moment of transition to serve her own designs. It is what powered her ritual – the death and transformation of the energy of 100,000 souls. On a smaller scale, she has captured it in the soul lead that fuels her other marvels. I will fully admit it. I am impressed. This is theft on a cosmic scale that only I had previously managed in the creation of my Midnight Islands.

Soon Deskari will realize that Vorlesh serves no master but her own ambition. Her will shall be tested against hiswhen that time comes. I do think she has the power to master him – especially aided by the true power of the crystals she has unlocked only for herself. She has kept all this carefully hidden. But it is difficult to keep secrets from me.

Vorlesh schemes like no other.” Nocticula smiles. “Save, perhaps, me. As soon as you established yourself as a piece on her board she used you to her ends. Thanks to your actions, Baphomet is out of the game – at least long enough for her to ensure her own elevation. Look at what just played out here in Drezen. Either Aponavicius claims the Sword of Valor, ensuring it cannot be used to weaken the Worldwound, or you defeat her, depriving Deskari of one of his most powerful weapons. Either way she wins, and thanks to your paladins, she has won twice over. And now, in your search for this Suture, she will pit you against Anemora, the Broodlord, and the Storm King. Should you succeed, when Vorlesh finally moves against him, Deskari will be alone.

Since your elevation, you have been her pawns – a weapon aimed straight at the heart of her enemies, its trajectory calculated to achieve her ends. And so I offer you something to consider. What do you know? Why do you know it? Who wants you to know it? And why?

Let me leave you with a gift of knowledge. The Suture was once a derakni, the first demon through the unstable gate that would mature into the Worldwound. The energy that powered its opening is trapped within him, twisting his form, forcing him to live every moment in agonizing torture. He is immortal, and cannot be killed as long as his body imprisons this piece of the Worldwound’s essence. And as long as he lives, the Worldwound cannot be closed.

The Suture is immortal, but he can be killed. It will require two things of you. The wards that protect the heart of the Worldwound must be overcome, and the Suture must be stabbed in the heart by the nahyndrian dagger Vorlesh used to spill the blood of her allies and create the Worldwound. The same dagger used by the Storm King to destroy the Wardstone at Kenebras. The dagger that is now in your possession.

I wish you luck and will follow your careers with great interest.” As Nocticula speaks, the light in the chamber dims, the shadows lengthen, until there is darkness. “Tell that rat to stay out of my vault if he knows what is good for him.” And then the light returns, and Nocticula is gone.

***

Rischa, Arueshalae, and Kiryn wander the halls of Citadel Drezen. While the site of Arueshalae’s visitation by Desna has retained its sacred echo, the restored temple of Iomeade was savaged by the demons rampaging through the citadel. The three of you spend some time restoring it as best you can. You find the work comforting, a reminder that even though you move on a grand stage, and that the steps you take reverberate throughout the planes, the planes are but an endless chain of smaller spaces, where quiet actions can still make a difference. You have removed the bodies, both the demons that profaned the temple and the defenders who gave their lives resisting them. The pews are restored to their orderly formation, the few intact tapestries rehung.

The altar was knocked aside, and a longsword thrust through a copy of the Acts of Iomeade, pinning it to the altar. The strength it took to drive the sword into the stone is difficult to imagine. Rischa goes to pull it out. As she wraps her hand around the hilt the blade begins to glow. Kiryn and Arueshalae feel the ghost of a breeze blow through the temple, like a quiet exhalation of breath. But Rischa can sense the direct presence of her God. Iomedae begins to speak, her voice clear in Rischa’s head, an audible whisper on the wind to Kiryn and Arueshale.

“You have done well, Rischa, and the courage of your friends runs deep and true. Hold to these companions. Trust in their judgement. More than one path leads to righteousness, and others may see a way forward even when you cannot.

The road before you is dark and overrun with terrors. You will bleed, and bleed again, before it is over. You have suffered much, and much suffering remains. Tell me, my true champions, what is the state of your heart and hope.”

PCs respond

“I too knew doubt and terror when I walked the world as a mortal. The Acts of Iomedae were canonized as miracles after the fact. At the time, they were desperate last stands and long shot chances. What saw me through them was not the certainty of my triumph. It was a stubborn refusal to lose, or a desire to take as many of the bastards with me as I could. You have it in you to succeed, my champions, as long as you never back down. Know that you need not see the path in front of you to keep walking it. Place one foot in front of the other, and never stop, and I promise you will arrive.

Kiryn, Arueshalae, Desna will not intervene. She waged war against the Abyss once, eons ago, and almost succeeded in uniting them in opposition against her. The memory of demon lords is long. She will not make that mistake again. But know she is proud of what you have accomplished in her name.

Rischa, one last great choice lies before you. You will know it when the time comes. And when it does, I bid you to follow your mortal heart, and not try to guess the will of your God. Trust Kiryn’s instincts. Desna know how to chart a path through the impossible and emerge on the other side.

I offer you all one final blessing. Go forward in light and combat the darkness.

With that the whispers fade, and the air in the chamber settles. Iomedae has withdrawn her presence. But a portion of the resolve that birthed a God remains within you. Rischa falls to her knees, overcome, not just by the visitation, but by the crushing, overpowering sadness and frustration that cannot hide from a herald, even deep within the secret heart of her Goddess.

***

Queso closes his eyes, frustrated by his body’s desire for rest even as he recognizes the need. There is much to do, always too much to do, and not enough time in which to do it. If only he could access a timeless demiplane of his own, he could make things right. But time evidently belongs to the gods. Their secret weapon. Their ultimate advantage. And so, he would rest for precisely one hour, wake, and then do what he could with the time he has left, knowing it would not be enough. Never enough.

Queso cannot mark the precise point at which he transitions into a dream, but he finds himself back in the halls of Areelu Vorlesh. Her dining room in Undarin. The last time he saw her mother, before Vorlesh stole her soul. But the table is larger, stretching off beyond his sight, every seat occupied by the ratfolk of Chitterhome. The people he could not save in the time that he had. His mother, father, sister. Rosita, his unrequired love. Santiago, his rival. His friends. Even his brother Justino, killed by demons before Queso even set out for Kenabres to close the Worldwound. They stare at him, eyes full of accusation and recrimination. Queso opens his mouth, wanting to apologize, wanting to explain himself, but most of all just desperate to talk to them, to explain himself. To say he was sorry. But every face lacks a mouth to speak and ears to hear. There is only the voiceless condemnation of their gaze.

“I just want you to know I did not invite them here. This is your dream. I am simply a visitor.” Sitting at the head of the table is Areelu Vorlesh, a goblet of wine in her hand, her gaze intent on Queso. Calculating. Weighing. Judging.

Queso responds

“If I can offer some advice, you torture yourself needlessly. These lives were not your responsibility. There is nothing you could have done to save them. They are a distraction. Their insignificance would have held you back. So I removed them for you. And you are welcome, for that. But only you can let them go. So, tell me, Queso Blanco, what will you do?”

Queso responds

“There is great potential within you. I have told you that before, back in the Yearning House in Alushinyrra. Do you recall what else I said to you that day?”

Queso responds

“There are some who bask in their own perceived cleverness by imagining that power comes from staying five moves ahead of your opponent. But dominance, true dominance, comes from playing an altogether different game, by subsuming theirs within your own.

You cannot win, because you do not know what game we are really playing. You have been scurrying after me since Kenabres, a snarling, spitting rat in a maze of my design. But that ignorance is not your fault. You are young, and new to a great power you did not earn. Everything you have achieved thus far comes from the gift a Goddess, offered so that you might serve someone else’s end. You have yet to learn that true power cannot be given. It is born of sacrifice and suffering. It is not gifted. It is forged in fire and blood, and until you have paid the price you cannot understand its value.

I see something of myself in you, Queso, and so I, more than anyone, understand your potential. Reach it and change worlds. Hold back and become a footnote in a story no one will ever read.

Tell me, you knew the right thing to do when you faced the corrupted Herald in Baphomet’s prison. You knew what the moment required. But you would not take that step. You would not do what was necessary? Why?

You are impossibly brilliant. So am I, even more so. But what separates us is will. I would not have hesitated. I have never hesitated. The path I walk may not always be direct, but it is always purposeful, each foot planted precisely where I intend.

Queso, I have let you chase after me because it serves my own designs, but you cannot stop me. I would have ended the game long ago if there was even the slightest risk that you could. It is time to abandon the fiction that things could be otherwise. I believe you are smart enough to see that, to set aside the ego that prevents you from embracing that truth and accept the opportunity I am offering you. Join me. I will have need of champions in the days to come, and you need a guide to help you unlock your true greatness.

Look at all I have accomplished in a hundred years, with the plundered resources of a great nation. Imagine what we could achieve working together, with endless time, the wealth of an entire planet and the secret knowledge of all the planes opened before us.

Queso responds

“You can serve me, Queso, or die in the service of a castrated Goddess. When the time comes, I trust you will make the right decision. Do not disappoint me.”

And with those words, Vorlesh disappears from your mind. You stare at her empty seat, afraid to turn your head, as you absorb the deafening silence of Chitterhome’s gaze.

Okay, I set up a LONG (10 fights (some with multiple phases) over two hours so round and minute buffs will expire) Battle for Drezen, that culminates with them confronting Apon in her lair. This was set up for them to lose (the real culmination of the adventure from the PC perspective was a final fight against Staunton Vhane (4th and final time he appears). Aponovicus defeats the PCs, because I wanted the the final battle of the Crusade/End of the Crusades (they are destroyed) to culminate with Galfrey and Irabeth being the heroes.

I also wanted to remove the Sword of Valor from the equation, and I like this because of the symmetry with the destruction of the wardstones that begin the 5th crusades.

To do this I created a second artifact destruction condition for the sword - it needed to be coated in the blood of a twice martyred paladin and used to smite a demon lord (and I buffed Apon so she was a nascent demon lord). And with Yaniel's death she becomes that paladin and pays off the PCs paying her. this is one of my favorite cut scenes for the campaign.

Cutscene XIX: Iomedae’s Sword

6 Gozran, 4724 – Drezen, The Worldwound

The battle for Drezen was over. Aponavicius had defeated an exhausted Silver Scale, the last defenders were overwhelmed, and the demon hordes were endless. Ulkreths tore down the remaining curtain walls of the keep as Aponavicius approached the ruins of the gatehouse, ready to claim the Sword of Valor, her prize – the final remnant of the might of the crusades.

She approached the Sword, idly dispatching the few remaining defenders. But as she crested the final pile of rubble, she stopped. At the other end of the debris-filled courtyard Yaniel waited for her, holding Iomedae’s banner in one hand, her sword in the other. Flanking her on either side were Galfrey and Irabeth. Three generations of Mendevian paladins, offering the Crusade’s final refusal. A long moment passed, as Deskari’s warlord stared down Iomedae’s champions, who would not blink. In the end Galfrey ignited her blade and broke the silence.

“This is my keep, demon. Built by my people, its stones mortared into place by their blood, its ground sanctified by my God. It is in their name that I claim this land. You and your kind are not welcome here. Leave, or I will destroy you.”

Aponavicius laughed, almost affectionately. “For over a hundred years you brief, insignificant mortals have been a source of unending delight. How I will miss you, your delicious optimism, your bottomless hope – my favorite playthings.”

Irabeth took a step forward. Her sword flared to life, wreathed in holy fire. “My Queen has given you an order,” declared Irabeth. This is your final warning, wormspawn.”

Aponavicius turned her gaze to Yaniel. “And you, paladin? Your decades of torture at Minagho’s hands were nothing compared to what I have in mind. If you run now, I may lose interest.” She gestured one of her arms at Irabeth and another at Galfrey. “While my attention is otherwise occupied.”

A smile, and the divine light enveloping her blade, was Yaniel’s answer. The paladins did not move, did not back down. Aponavicius, no longer amused, hissed and charged. The paladins rose to meet her. There was a whirlwind of clashing blades, but for all their power and skill they could not defeat Deskari’s champion. Lightning fast, two of Aponavicius’ swords pierced Irabeth’s side and chest, and another two gutted Galfrey. With otherworldly strength, Aponavicius lifted the two paladins overhead, impaled upon her blades, and hurled them each fifteen feet in opposite directions. They crashed to the ground, bleeding, broken, unmoving. Only Yaniel remained, blade in one hand, Sword of Valor in the other, eyes fixed on Aponavicius.

“Such a pity, little paladin – to return from the dead only to live long enough to see the final defeat of your pathetic crusade.”

Yaniel’s reply was bright and firm. “The arc of justice is long, and it is mysterious, but it is absolute, demon. A day will come when you answer for your crimes against creation, and my soul will be at Iomedae’s side to bear witness. This is not the end.”

“But for you, wretched mortal, I’m afraid it is.” Aponavicius lunged at the paladin, and while Yaniel fought with the courage that made her a legend, in the end she was overwhelmed. Profane blades slashed her throat, and the demon’s tail lifted her into the sky, hurling her away. She crashed into the ground, collapsing next to Galfrey, the great spear that held the Sword of Valor cracking in two from the impact. And Yaniel breathed her last as her blood coated the banner that she refused to yield, even in death.

Aponavicius slithers towards the banner, eager to claim her prize, when a voice calls out behind her. “We are not finished, demon.”

Aponavicius turns, as Irabeth painfully lifts herself onto one knee, her hand pressed against her grievous wounds. She uses the last of her healing magic, enough to grant her the strength to rise. She squares her shoulders, hefts her shield, and rests her blade above it, a one woman shield wall.

Aponavicius laughs. “How delightful. It seems you do not know when to die. Perhaps I will keep you alive for when Staunton Vhane is returned. A gift for my pet.”

Irabeth does not rise to the taunt. “I am Iomedae’s shield, and I will not yield to you.”

Aponavicius glides towards Irabeth, her fanged mouth curling into a malicious smile. Irabeth continues:

“I am Iomedae’s shield, and I will deny you”.

Aponavicius snarls, and once again stabs at Irabeth with all six blades. And while Irabeth blocks what she can, Aponavicius pierces her flesh over and over. Irabeth stumbles back, and falls. Aponavicius watches, bemused, as Irabeth picks herself up one last time, bleeding out but refusing to give in.

“You cannot win, little paladin, and I will bleed you until you understand.”

Irabeth smiles patiently through bloody teeth, her dying voice steady despite the pain. “But the role of a paladin is not to win. It is to resist, to endure, to be the light that holds the darkness at bay until the morning comes. I am Iomedae’s shield, and I wait for the dawn.

Aponavicius roars, and hammers at Irabeth’s shield, blow after blow, sundering it to bits.

“Pretty words, but your shield is shattered.” She gestures around her, at the hordes of demons swarming over Drezen and the final cries of its defenders. “Your cause lies in ruin. Your people are mine to torment. Your world is mine to despoil. And where, brave paladin, is your god now?’

“I am Iomedae’s shield, and here I stand.”

Irabeth is defenseless, lacking the strength to lift her sword, but refuses to turn away. Aponavicius raises all six weapons “Not for long,” she hisses.

“Not for long”, Irabeth agrees, “but long enough.”

Aponavicius brings her weapons down for the killing blow but stops inches from cleaving through the paladin. She looks at Irabeth, curiously, and then her eyes bulge wide as the splintered shaft of the Sword of Valor punches through her chest. Aponavicius drops her weapons and grasps the spear that pierced her heart as Galfrey rises behind her.

“I am the tip of Iomedae’s sword, and I will carve the fangs out of the Abyss!” As a sacred light travels up the length of the spear Galfrey gives an anguished cry for her fallen people, and smites Aponovicus with the Sword of Valor.

Aponavicius screams in pain and shock as the light glows brighter and brighter, enveloping the banner. The stitches tear apart as a golden brilliance floods out of the Sword of Valor. The banner disintegrates, as the power it contains burns the demonic armies rampaging through Drezen, melting them as they flee, unable to teleport away. There are eleven pulses of divine light, extending further and further until Drezen is purged, and then silence as the light fades.

Galfrey falls to her knees, spent, and expends her last healing to stabilize Irabeth and herself. The two of them stare at the bloody shaft that once held the Sword of Valor, and at the glowing purple knife lying amidst the ashes and ruin of the Crusade. Magnetically, they find their gaze pulled southwest, towards Threshold, and the heart of the Worldwound. The once clear skies above Drezen begin to rain fire and acid, a foul wind howls through the rubble of the city, and off in the distance, the chasmic ruins of the Rasping Rifts continue their consumption of Golarion.

Treb, I have 5 students with limited mythic abilities and I've started doubling hit points. It's really upped the challenge in a positive way

I did something similar Treb - a 30 person royal rumble style event, with the PCs, some characters from prior campaigns, and NPCs I either made up or pulled from other modules. It was incredible. I went full WWE. Everyone had entrances with music, there were running feuds, I had a Jim Ross gibrileth demon doing color commentary. PC loved it.

I also came up with a few alternate rules I'll post here eventually - every time a new person entered the battle (every 3 rounds) everyone received a random buff, debuff, and an enviornmental change in the arena. The power of the buff/debuff depended on how they worked the crowd and I had rules for that as well.

It took us about 14 hours to complete it. Gelderfang was not in the original tournament. the rumble was to fight Gelderfang in a four way force cage match (so the top 3 participants). While that was happening I had that Ankou assassin come after the PCs in the stands.

Two other things I'd reccomend

1. I had Vorlesh in the stands with Hepzimiriah

2. I had them meet a team of three paladins in the pregame. They were from another prime world that was going to be destroyed due to some cataclysm and Nocticula had the artifact they needed to save their world. They all agreed to support each other and help the loser after their respective 'campaigns' ended

3. I had Vorlesh kill two of those paladins prior to the start of the tournament so there could be two surprise entrants. One was Staunton Vhane (who will have appeared four times total in my campaign. Book 2, 3, 4, and 6). The second paladin was killed and replaced with a civilian from a PCs backstory so it could add the extra dimension of trying to keep them alive and the tragedy of failing

4. The surviving paladin was invited by the PCs back to Drezen and will help them during the Battle of Drezen. But unbeknownst to them, Vorlesh will get to her while PCs are off in the ivory labyrinth. At this point in the campaign Vorlesh will seem unstoppable, and she will damn her soul to get Vorlesh's help saving her world. She will turn on the PCs when they fight Staunton Vhane towards the end of the Drezen battle, probably by killing aravashinal. It will be great. They do NOT suspect her and the betrayal of Nurah at the end of book 2 is still talked about.

thanks for the plug. :). id love to see what you changed. my players love nocticula. i’ve kept her secondary so she can remain mysterious and otherworldly and Im
centering iomedae, but if i did it again i might beef up her role

we are about 6 sessions from finishing but we play 1/month so itll be a while. we finish the book VI battle of drezen, which I expanded to 10 straight encounters over the course of the day. so breaks between fights but no rests amd buffs expire. its been incredible so far

I'll add too, that one thing the video game did right was make the Herald a major character early on. This is a good idea. Book V doesn't really work without it

I made a number of fairly major story changes (to the point that my book VI has basically no overlap with book VI as published, or the video game. If you look at the narrative prologue/cut scene thread on this site I've posted most there with explanations. We are still in the Battle of Drezen part of Book VI so we haven't finished but it's been VERY successful for my players. Vorlesh is their most hated campaign villain after 20+ years of a core group playing together. I'd leave her and just change her motivations slightly.

More important than story for 1e Wrath is balance. The mythic rules are irrevocably broken. I HIGHLY recommend the following:

1. Just use the base mythic rules for your players - the level 1-10 bonuses, and swap mythic feats for regular feats. Do NOT use mythic abilities or feats

2. Use the Scorpion revised stat blocks found on this forum for your enemies. That will make the campaign hard, and therefore epic, but manageable

I'm happy to post more about some of the larger story changes we made if you'd like

We have begun the Battle of Drezen in book VI, which I have greatly expanded (it will be about 10 separate encounters over the course of the battle to push the PCs, some having multiple phases, and usually one of their NPC allies participating. Before we move over to the closing of the wound I wanted a big climax for the Crusades. I had Yaniel, Irabeth, and Galfrey make speeches to the Crusade before the battle (with PC speeches in between). I've set this up as a battle the Crusades cannot possibly win. They are going to their deaths to buy time for the PCs to lure Aponovicus into the field so they can kill her and get an artificat in her keeping needed to close the Worldwound. Galfrey's speech in particular is meant to be an elegy of the crusade. This is probably one of my top 4 things i've written for the campaign, at least in terms of my own favorites (along with the conclusion to the battle which I'll post in a few months when my players get there, Arueshale's prologue introduction, and her redemption).

Cutscene XVIII: Go Forward in Light

6 Gozran, 4724 – Drezen, The Worldwound

What is left of the Fifth Crusade, and the armed might of Mendev, is arrayed before you, filling the Drezen courtyard and the surrounding town, now a heavily fortified encampment. It is the single largest gathering of military strength you have ever seen, and it is hard not to feel a surge of pride at the sight of some many soldiers of differing faiths, races, and nations gathered in one place to do what is right and necessary. But your thoughts drift to the near inexhaustible size and power of the forces arrayed against you, and your confidence wavers. Suddenly the crusades seem a paltry and meager thing – weak and feeble mortals playing at soldiers thanks to the indulgent sufferance of demonic masters who have finally run out of patience.

With these conflicting thoughts at war in your mind you realize the ability of the Crusaders to hold their ground, to fight to the end in a battle they cannot possibly win, will come down to the story they are told. What can you be made to believe, and is it strong enough to endure the demonic wave that has swallowed the north, and about to break over Drezen?

Yaniel approaches the podium, which has been enchanted to carry the speaker’s voice across the courtyard and through the twisting and cluttered alleyways of Drezen. She is no longer the desiccated husk you freed from Minagho in the Midnight Fane almost two months ago, weak and frail from years of imprisonment. She stands tall and strong, and while she does not carry herself with Galfrey’s regal bearing, or Irabeth’s ramrod conviction, she radiates an earthy, playful goodness that drives back the shadows in your heart. In your brief acquaintance with Yaniel you find you feel better about yourself when she is near, especially after your crushing loss of the Herald.

She crowds out the spaces where recrimination and regret might take hold, and in the light of her gaze what you previously understood as a flaw or weakness within yourself is revealed instead as a core component of a larger design, necessary imperfections whose contrast illuminates your finest qualities. The greatest hero of the Fourth Crusade has joined the Fifth, and your heart is glad for her presence. She clears her throat, and smiles.

“I am Yaniel, paladin of Iomeade and I greet you, my fellow crusaders. I have journeyed here from your past to fight for our future. For almost thirty years I have been tortured by the demon Minagho, rescued not two months ago by the Silver Scale and our mighty warrior Queen. I endured much during my long captivity, and it has left deep scars and weighty regrets. But perhaps my enforced martyrdom was all part of Iomedae’s grand design. Had I remained free, I might not have lived long enough to witness this moment. To these old and tired eyes you are a sunrise after a long night, and I am renewed by the sight of you.

Crusaders, look at what you have accomplished! The Sword of Valor flies defiant and proud over a liberated Drezen. Baphomet has been driven from Golarion. Xanthir Vang is dead. Minagho is dead. Jerribeth is dead. The turncoat and coward Staunton Vhane has paid for his treachery. Soon Aponovicus will join him. And Areelu Vorlesh, the great betrayer of humanity, has locked herself in the tower of Threshold, afraid to take to the field.

I look at the great host before me, and let me tell you what I see. I see the enduring strength of Iomeade’s armor, and the ever sharpened edge of her blade. I see heroes who understand the simple truth at the heart of Iomeade’s teaching, even if they owe allegiance to other gods. In the face of injustice, be the first into battle and the last to leave. This teaching comes at a cost, but we gladly pay it. We have lost friends, homes, family, but our suffering only hardens our resistance. We fight, because we understand the value and fragility of what remains. We fight because we honor the past that shaped us and will not abandon the future yet to be.

Should we be forced to die, we will die as we lived – with pride, as crusaders. It has been a long road we have walked these hundred years and more. But there is no more road before us. Only destination. Only destiny.

The day ahead will be difficult, but please know, no matter how arduous the struggle, no matter how far the dawn, no matter how much blood flows from my wounds, I shall stand with you. We fight for our loved ones, for our friends, for the right to live and die free. We shall do everything we possibly can, and after that, we shall find a way to do more. And if the hour should come when our arms can no longer raise our swords we will make of our bodies a shield to cover those who still have the strength to fight. And together, we will win!

May Iomedae and all the goodly gods strengthen and preserve we who fight against the malignant chaos of the Abyss.

Go forward in light to combat the darkness.”

PC speeches

Irabeth held up her hand for silence, and the soldiers quieted, ready to hear the words of their commander, last of the crusaders touched by the power of the Wardstones. While the Silver Scale had become living myths, their heroism was the heroism of stories, of great works and towering feats performed elsewhere, in the realm of gods and monsters. But Irabeth had stayed with the people of Drezen. Walked among them. Lived alongside them. Protected them from their waking nightmare. She was Iomedae’s truth made accessible and real. And because of that, the people of Drezen were prepared to fight for her, no matter the odds. Because she would be there alongside them, with her inexhaustible resolve - an avatar of stubborn faith refusing to die. She would not give up on them, and so they would not give up on her. Queen Galfrey was the enduring spirit of the crusades. But somewhere along the way Irabeth had become its heart. She began to speak.

“The first time I addressed a group of soldiers it was a much smaller gathering, back in Defender’s Heart, in Kenebras. Eight months and a lifetime ago. I was the ranking officer in the Eagle’s Watch by virtue of outliving my superiors, and we were buying time for a miracle. It seemed impossible, but the Crusades have taught us the impossible is merely the possible starved of blood and will. All who heard my voice were forced to fight that day, whether at Defenders Heart, on the streets, or within the Grey Garrison. Many of us died, but our blood and will birthed a miracle. Together we ensured Areelu Vorlesh could not corrupt the power of the Wardstones, our precious gift from Iomedae’s Herald. Instead, that power was transferred into new vessels prepared to carry out Iomedae’s will.

Just ten day later we had liberated this city from the forces of the Worldwound, and the Sword of Valor, Iomedae’s sacred banner, resumed its sentinel watch over Drezen. This was another impossible moment, a miracle secured with the blood and will of heroes. Some of those heroes are with us today. But it was not their might and magic that made them heroes. It was their resolve. Their faith. Their willingness to do what was right and pay the cost of their righteousness. Their refusal to do otherwise. And there is no power in the Abyss that can stand against that.

I have witnessed other miracles. The Fifth Crusade has known tragedy, yes, but each of those tragedies has been offset by acts of unconquerable bravery and unbreakable faith, and these are the seeds from which miracles grow.

If you do not relinquish your faith I will hold to mine, and if we stand together the darkness cannot win. That is my promise to you. There is one final miracle within us, and we will protect that seed.

Go forward in light to combat the darkness.”

A great cheer followed Irabeth’s words, an unveiling of oaths and clanging of swords on shields. But gradually the sound died down, replaced by a great thundering off in the distance. While the skies above Drezen were clear, a great black cloud filled the horizon. It was the sight and sound of tens of thousands of demons churning the earth and sky beneath them in a mad rush for Drezen. The sound of an ending. But there is time still for final words, to armor the soul with meaning.

Galfrey gazed upon the mass of soldiers arrayed before her. Paladins, clerics, warriors of every faith, drawn north to try and do right by themselves and their gods. The last surviving remnants of the crusades, of the dream that mortal resolve could triumph against immortal sin. Time and again, for over a century, Galfrey had looked upon gatherings like this, and spoke the words that would inspire brave men and women to die for a dream, for a story she told. This would be the final time she has to spin faith into truth, and carry the bloody weight of that transformation. The people assembled here would be the last to die with her words ringing in their ears. The last souls on her conscience. Her war was ending.

It was an oddly liberating feeling. For the first time in one hundred and twenty years she did not need to worry about the future. For the first time in over a century she did not have to think about the impact her actions today would have on tomorrow. Here, at the end, she felt free. Maybe for the first time. Galfrey stepped forward, and her step felt just a little lighter. She took a deep breath, blinked back tears, and took in the scene before her. It was tense, and fragile, and hopeful, and scared, and real. It was beautiful. Perhaps the last beautiful thing she would ever see with mortal eyes. She began to speak, honestly and from her heart. Anything less would be an insult to the heroes gathered here.

“We are all going to die. That is the bitter truth of morality. But it is also a secret blessing – the source of its power. Mortal minds cannot comprehend the infinite. We are made to fade away, but the brief spark of our lives is the fuel that drives all of creation. And it is in these moments, when we stare into the face of that truth that we discover the secret meaning of love, beauty, and joy. It is not the thing in itself that has value, but its ability to stand, for a brief moment, in defiance of its opposite. To prove that hatred, and ugliness, and misery will always be resisted.

It is likely most of us will not live out the day – that this is the moment of our defiance. The time has come for us to offer up the beauty of our lives, the love that sustains them, the joy they create, and in that offering force the universe to recognize and honor our sacrifice, to accept it as validation of the ideals to which we have dedicated our lives. Without this sacrifice, without this gift, our words have no meaning, our values no core, our lives no weight.

We are here today to die, to return the life that was given to us. But our journey is not over. Though the facts of our bodies may reach their end, the truth of our souls will continue. Pharasma will weigh what we offer, and none of us will be found wanting. We will go on to our great reward in the life to come, and finally understand the meaning of eternity, and behold the forever mysteries that confound mortality. It will be beautiful, and it will be ours.

We come to the end of one story, and the beginning of another. For each and every one of us. But the end is not here yet. There is still work that lies ahead, and we will see it done.

I have been blessed throughout my long life. I have seen more than most mortals have seen. I have had the opportunity to stand before my god. To speak with her. I do not have to guess her will, for she has shared it with me. And she commands us to fight. And to keep fighting. For as long as we can. Until no one is left to fight and there is nothing left to fight for.

Iomedae is a just and benevolent god. She can be stern. And she can be demanding. But she is not capricious. And she is not cruel. She knows what she asks of us. She knows what it will cost. And she would not ask it of us without reason. There is a greater purpose at work here today. I do not claim to understand it. Such knowledge is beyond my mortal comprehension. But my joyful heart confirms the truth of its existence.

We are here because Iomedae calls for it. Because Sarenrae needs it. Because Torag expects it, and Shelyn desires it, and because Desna’s paths have led us here. And together we are the body and blood of our faiths. We are the sword and shield of our Gods. We are their spirit made manifest. Here and now, in this sacred space, for their sacred purpose.

Do not lose sight of that today. You are here because your god requires it, and all gods have set aside a place of honor for those who would enact their will. We commit our bodies to their cause, and our spirits to their keeping, and they will reward our sacrifice and our faith.

Fight hard while you can. Die well when you must. Sharing the gift of time with you has been the great honor and privilege of my life, and I will see you again, to thank you for that gift and to repay my debts, in this world or the next.”

Galfrey draws her sword and brandishes it above her head. The sun still shines over Drezen, and the light catches on the blade. The great masses of crusaders draw their weapons in response, and as the light reflects from blade to blade the air is filled with a mirrored radiance burning brighter than the noonday sky. Galfrey unleashes a primal scream, one final joyful noise, declaring that here and now, she is alive. Her soldiers answer, a celebratory cry of mortality that drowns out the thundering roar of Aponavicius’ approaching horde. Galfrey continues, her voice magically carrying above the wall of sound.

“Knights of the Crusade, our destiny has arrived, and we rise to meet it. Go forward in light and defy the darkness.”

Spirits bolstered, and resolved to their fate, the warriors of Drezen made ready to join the final battle of the crusades and to die for Golarion.

Stip wrote:

a latent powerful artifact that he needed to learn how to unlock predated Earthfall that gave him a bunch of abilities to enhance his transmutations and increase his base attack bonus when he used knowledge checks to identify foes

Sounds like something made by a Runelord of Greed from old Thassilon. Any ties?

yes, in fact. story wise i had it once belong to Alderpash, though it was created by the aboleth. ties in loosely with the modified cosmology im building the campaign around. - the real truth behind the earthfall. its in the (admittedly voluminous) prologue/cutscene narratives ive bee posting in that thread that will all pay off at the end (and long game center iomedae as a major character and the being that will ultimately close the WW)

If anyone is using/adapting any of this text, there are times it is scripted around very specific music cues (all on Spotify) I am happy to share if interested. I found it really enhances the text, especially as I am not a particularly evocative reader

Cutscene XVII: Lords of the Ivory Labyrinth

5 Gozran, 4724 – Ineluctable Prison, The Ivory Labyrinth

You teleport into a vast chamber and stand upon a fifteen-foot-long ledge extending out over a lake of boiling tar. There is no way in or out. To the east, bone walls are supported by numerous ivory pillars, while a single statue of a goat-headed demon leers at you from the central alcove. It is carved with such uncanny precision its mere gaze feels violating. Two smaller ledges, inscribed with pentagrams, protrude into the tar lake from either side of this central ledge. A ring of pillars surrounds a thirty-foot-wide disc of metal floating ten feet above the surface of the tar, suspended at the same level as the floor in the eastern portion of the room.

The disc’s surface is inscribed with thousands of glowing runes and blasphemous glyphs. The air in the chamber stings your eyes and chokes your breath, a foul, reeking mixture of oil and decay whose corruption seeps under your skin and stains your soul.

A figure claws its way out of the tar, and strides to the center of the unholy disc. Molten sludge streams off the tarnished golden form of the Herald of Iomedae. As the tar pools to the floor, you see the armor’s once perfect surface is covered in abyssal markings. Even from this distance, Rischa and Arueshalae can see the sigils boast of Baphomet’s great triumphs over the gods of the Crusade, a profane inversion of the Acts of Iomedae. The Herald’s once lustrous wings have atrophied into a sickly approximation of a bat, almost skeletal if not for the frayed leather flesh barely clinging to them. Twin curling horns bore their way through his golden helm, and the faceplate has melted away. As you gaze into the rotting, rictus visage of the Herald, you realize this is the first time you have ever seen his face. His eyes glow a sickly yellow, a perversion of their once golden radiance.

He carries no weapons, though you recoil in horror at the sight of his hands. The skin has been completely flayed off, the wounds burbling and suppurating in response to the burning tar. But the ghastliest feature, the final proof of his fallen state, is the gaping, crumpled hole in his chest.

A sickly purple light glows from within, and the wound is covered in rot grubs and other abyssal pestilence. You can just barely make out the thinnest golden strands deep within the recess of his chest, strangled by the purple tendrils oozing from the nahyndrian crystal that replaced his heart. Despite his twisted, suffering form, he moves with an effortless grace and boundless confidence, wearing his corrupted armor like a second skin.

He stares at you, and as you look back you can feel the room around you bending and twisting. The sensation makes you want to vomit, and it takes all your will to force reality to hold its shape, to avoid getting pulled into the maddening passageways of the Herald’s tortured mind.

He begins to speak, his voice, once deep and rich with a noble, comforting resonance, is now a hollow, grating rasp.

“My friends and kindred. My would-be saviors, sent by the child-goddess. You have arrived too late. I am the Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth, champion of Lord Baphomet, and you have been sent here to die.”

PCS speak

“Iomedae has no use for me. You have been led here like puppets convinced they have escaped their strings, and your arrogance will see you dead. This is my master’s domain, and he has promised surcease from my endless pain if I gift him your lives. I have been waiting for this moment. Let us begin.” And with those words, unholy glaives, facsimiles of Baphomet’s great weapon Aizerghaul, appear in each of the Herald’s hands.

Combat dialogue

“Iomedae cannot find you here. She has abandoned you, as she abandoned me. Surrender to the Lord of Minotaurs, and partake of his mercy.”

“I was Iomedae’ s favorite servant and she did not think twice about sacrificing me. And you think she cares for you, insignificant pawns in a game whose timeline beggars belief.”

“Your Herald is gone. What remains is a clot of insanity and torment. There is no coming back from what he has endured. What are you even trying to save?”

He turns to Rischa. “I can sense Iomedae’s cheap stench on you. The whore goddess moved on to another plaything before my body was even cold. Tell me, did the b$@!+ even mourn me before she sank her talons into your soul.”

The Herald staggers under the shock of that blow, and for the briefest of moments his features soften and a faint aura of majesty pushes through the stench of corruption that surrounds him. “Please, champions. Rischa. Don’t abandon me!” he cries in a voice that is almost familiar. And then the Herald shakes his head, and snarls to himself. “Your deaths are the final step towards my ascension. There is no mercy for the lamb awaiting its slaughter. No salvation for the condemned.”

Saving the Herald

With that final atonement the Herald’s body seizes. In his chest a golden light begins to smother the purple corruption. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and he vomits up a seemingly endless stream of abyssal rot. Eventually it is purged, and he looks at you, eyes wild with terror and endless guilt. And then he collapses, limp. His body and soul ravaged, but alive.

Killing the Herald

The light leaves the Herald's eyes, the quintessence of his soul joining the Abyss to be reborn. But in those final moments, you can sense that a piece of the Herald’s soul still lingers. Just a tiny spark, but within it an infinite well of horror, pain, and fathomless guilt. You reach for it, hoping to draw it back to you, to save it from eternal torment. As you stretch out with your power, your head is full of the roar of rushing water, and the deep crushing pressure of limitless potential forced through the tiniest of apertures. You wrap your mythic energy around the one pure ember that remains. But you are too late. It slips through your grasp, and as it is absorbed into the Abyss you can swear you hear the sound of the Herald’s forever scream. And for Rischa, the endless, impossible grief of a god.

Baphomet Arrives

The Ineluctable Prison thrums with power, as if its walls pulse in sympathetic vibration with their approaching Lord. The air is heavy with the paralyzing dread of cornered prey realizing there is no way out, an ancient and primordial terror. Baphomet is coming.

A muffled roar echoes throughout the Ineluctable Prison, everywhere at once and yet somehow getting closer.

The air is thick with rage and anticipation.

You are overwhelmed by dark sensations. The taste of raw meat, the coppery smell of blood, the bright clarity of fear, the heavy rutting musk of an animal in heat, the sickly sweet rot of a recently abandoned kill. And then Baphomet is before you, here in the heart of his realm. He stands fourteen feet tall even with his stooping posture, his midnight blue wings folded tightly against his back. Though his form is emaciated, there is no denying its feral strength. A flame burns between his elongated horns, and he holds Aizerghaul, Labyrinth’s Final Edge, in one hand. His eyes betray a deep cunning and speak to a stunning intelligence that belies his bestial features. And you realize that what you faced in the Midnight Isles was only a fraction of the power he possesses here at the seat of his power.

“I HAVE DEFIED THE MOST ANCIENT BEINGS TO WALK THE PLANES. I HAVE OUTWITTED GODS AND EMERGED THE VICTOR. AND IN YOUR ARROGANCE YOU WOULD CHALLENGE ME, LORD OF THE IVORY LABYRINTH IN MY MOST SACRED OF PLACES? YOU DO NOT HAVE YOUR STRUMPET PROTECTOR WITH YOU THIS TIME, FOOLS! YOU WILL DIE HERE, ALONE, SO FAR FROM THE LIGHT OF YOUR HEAVEN.
I HAVE CRUSHED THE BONES OF TENS OF THOUSANDS OF HEROES BENEATH MY IRON HOOVES. NOW YOUR BONES SHALL JOIN THEM, AND EVEN A DECADE FROMNOW NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOUR SACRIFICE. ALL YOUR STRIVING AND EFFORT AND NOISE IS BUT THE SLIGHTEST INCONVENIENCE. YOU ARE BUT ANTS AT A PICNIC. I WILL BE AVENGED AGAINST NOCTICULA. DESKARI WILL PAY FOR HIS USURPATION. GOLARION WILL BE RULED BY ME, ITS EVERY LIVING SOUL MY OFFSPRING, IT’S EVERY BREATHING BODY FILLED WITH MY BURNING SEED, AND IOMEDAE WILL WATCH IN IMPOTENT RAGE.
YOUR STORY ENDS HERE. THERE WILL BE NO FINAL ACT. NO SONG, SAVE THE ETERNAL MUSIC OF YOUR SCREAMS.”

Baphomet Retreats

“ENOUGH! YOU HAVE EARNED A REPRIVE THIS DAY. I AM PATIENT, AND YOUR FATE IS SEALED. TO ME YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN MAYFLIES, AN IRRITANT NOT WORTH THE TROUBLE OF SWATTING. YOUR LIVES ARE SO BRIEF IT IS AS IF YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD. GO, AND LIVE OUT THE REST OF YOUR TIME IN FEAR, KNOWING THAT YOU WILL BE MY VICTIMS AT A MOMENT OF MY CHOOSING.”

He waves his arm, and you are violently ejected from his prison, hurtling back towards the prime. But before you can manifest there some other force grabs hold of you.

Baphomet Killed

Baphomet stares at you in shock and hatred, and then the Abyss claims his soul. A violent tremor rocks the Ineluctable Prison, and cracks emerge in its walls as the bones begin to splinter and powder. You can feel the Ivory Labyrinth start to destabilize, its abyssal quintessence no longer given shape and focus by Baphomet’s will. Walls flicker in and out of existence, and the terrain flashes from biome to biome as the various mazes of the labyrinth overlay themselves one atop the other. Zograthy can sense a vacuum, and already there are powers moving to assert their will and dominance, to seize the Ivory Labyrinth that was once Baphomet’s, and turn it into something wholly their own. But there is a curious, deeper shifting within the prison itself, and with a start, Zograthy realizes what is happening. Asmodeus is moving to reclaim the territory Baphomet stole from him countless eons ago. Before he can share this horrifying realization, there is a flash of white light.

Iomedae-Herald Killed

You are back in Iomedae’s cathedral, in its central knave. Her avatar awaits you. The rest of the Silver Scale is here, but Waxberry and Alderpash are gone. The Herald’s broken and corrupted body lies lifeless on the stone floor. Iomedae’s human mask is stern, tense, watchful, but Rischa can sense a coldness within her, a protective wall sheltering you from the weight of her crushing disappointment, the bitterness of her unrewarded faith, and the endless clinging guilt that accrues when others bear the consequences of your actions. She is not angry, and that is somehow worse. You realize in this moment she reminds you of no one less than Queen Galfrey. Rischa may serve as Iomedae’s Herald, but Mendev’s queen is her true mortal avatar.

“Tell me what happened.” Her voice is flat and level. She asks the question despite knowing the answer, having sensed Rischa’s thoughts the moment she left the Ivory Labyrinth.

PCs Respond

“It is one thing to try and fail. There is no shame in reaching your limit, only to find your limit is not enough. There is even honor in it. But to serve and then openly defy me, or obey only because you were outnumbered…

I am well aware of Jingh’s concerns, and he will answer to me. I am not ignorant of the cosmic laws, though some of you, in your hubris, accuse me of just that. But it is I, not Jingh, not even Pharasma, who is the God of Justice.”

She faces Wick, and an uncharacteristic rage swells within her, barely contained by her avatar. Wick begins to bleed from his eyes and ears, the pain driving him to his knees, and though Iomeade does not shout, you can still make out her words over the deafening cacophony of tolling bells that emanate from everywhere and nowhere.

“It is not your place to dispense this justice, and now my Herald will pay eternally for your arrogance and my failure. But another has laid a claim on you, Bastion Wick. One you carry freely, if unwittingly. She will answer for her machinations later. For now, I have need of you.”

Iomedae masters her anger, the bells fade, and the crushing pressure abates. Wick rises shakily to his feet, as she folds you all into her gaze.

“Much remains to be done, and there is little time in which to do it. You are the weapons before me, and a general goes to war with the army they have. Rischa Cadesh, I remain in need of a Herald for the coming conflict. You have held to your faith in the face of doubt and temptation. Your soul remains valorous and true. Will you continue to shoulder that responsibility until a permanent Herald enters my service?”

Rischa answers

“As for the rest of you, there is value in failure if we allow it to forge us from who we are into who we ought to be. This is a lesson I learned as a mortal, and have carried into Godhood.

Knights of the Silver Scale, champions of Golarion, while you could not return my Herald, you defied a Demon Lord in the heart of his domain. I call upon you to do it again.

Areelu Vorlesh has finally thrown open the Worldwound. This is no longer an infection, an abyssal taint slowly corrupting a prime world. Vorlesh’s portal is consuming Golarion in its entirety, pulling the entire planet into the Rasping Rifts. Such an act will magnify his power tenfold, to say nothing of Deskari’s dominion over Rovagug’s prison or an artifact of the Starstone’s power. And I need not tell you what it means for the people of Golarion. Will you answer this final call? Will you serve, and will that service be faithful and true?”

It is only a matter of days before the abyssal roots of the Worldwound run so deep they can never be severed. I cannot interfere. The work of preventing this falls to you, my champions. Even as we speak, your enemies surround Drezen, and you lack the tools to close the portal. You are out of time.

But I am not. There is so much I cannot do, but perhaps I can do this one thing. As my Herald would remind me, I am not the god of law. I am the god of justice. And on certain rare occasions, justice may require a bending of the rules.

You are my avatars in the battle for Golarion. Protect the Sword. Secure the knife. Find the Suture. Close the Wound.”

There is a flash of white light, and you find yourself in a dining hall with a long oak table and six comfortable chairs. The air is suffused with tranquility and stillness. The frantic stress of the last eight months has lifted, and while your purpose remains carefully fixed in your mind, it has lost its immediacy. You realize with a start that you are not breathing. You touch your bare skin, and there is warmth, but no pulse. Your first thought is that you’ve died, but you do not feel dead, and this matches no description of any afterlife you know. And then you realize. You have been taken outside of time – that this space, wherever it is, consists of one frozen moment stretching out into infinity.

Curious, you explore. There are eleven doors leading out of the lab. Six open to comfortably appointed bedrooms. There is a laboratory, complete with forge, a gymnasium, a sitting room with a small recreational library, bathing room, and a well stocked kitchen. You are not hungry, and suspect your body requires no nourishment or rest in this place, but you cannot remember the last time you truly enjoyed a meal at peace, or slept in true safety. Before you left for the Midnight Fane, at least. Possibly before the fall of Kenabres. Iomedae has gifted you sanctuary, and with it time to rest and prepare. There is much to be done, and you are the only ones who can do it. The last hope for Golarion’s present, and the architects of its future.

There is a twelfth door you somehow missed in your earlier exploration. It bears no unusual markings, and looks, by all accounts, to be an ordinary door. But you instinctively know as soon as you open the portal, this space will collapse in on itself, and you will be returned to Golarion to decide its fate. You hear Iomedae’s voice in your head one final time. ‘You must open one door to close another. Go forward in light to combat the darkness.”

Herald Saved

You are back in Iomedae’s cathedral, in its central knave, before her oracular well. The rest of the Silver Scale is here with you, along with the Herald, but Waxberry and Alderpash are gone. An avatar of Iomedae waits for you. Iomedae’s human mask is stern, tense, watchful, but Rischa can sense through their connection that something within her melts, a deep inhalation the moment before suffocation. She reaches for the unconscious form of the Herald, and cradles him in her arms. Some of her divine power flows into him, and his wounds close, the rent in his chest sealing, excised of the last remnants of nahyndrian blood. You watch as the skin on his face regenerates, but before you can take your first look at the Herald’s true form his golden helm reforms around him, a mask of impartial, implacable justice. He turns his head to Iomedae and speaks. His voice is weak, tentative, but it is his.

“My lady, the power that Vorlesh stole…The Worldwound. I have failed you.”

Iomedae gently shakes her head, and smiles through her tears. “My Herald – you have fought bravely, and held on long enough to return to me. You have come home. There can be no greater victory than that.”

“I am not worthy…”

“It is I am who am not worthy of you,” she quiets him. She then turns her gaze to the Silver Scale. “Of any of you.”

The Herald disappears, and Iomedae stands and straightens.

“It will be a long time until he has recovered from his ordeal.” She looks at Rischa, and in a single instant absorbs the events of the last month. Her features darken. “Jingh will answer to me in short order. But there is much that remains to be done, and little time in which to do it…

The scene below is a few different bits of text that formed the introduction to the fight against the Herald (which I had spent most of the campaign gradually setting up, with the conflict as to whether or not saving him as Iomeade asked would have terrible consequences (see earlier cut scenes). In the end they decided to save/redeem him, though the wizard and rogue thought they should kill him. They were outvoted by the Desna ranger/paladin, the Desnan Arcanist, and the Iomedean herald/inquistor. But the rogue (who worships Pharsma) ended up getting the Torc of the Heaven, and given how much the party made him pay for it, I decided that it was powerful enough to pierce the veil in the Ineluctable Prison that blinded the Gods, and let him ask questions of Phrasma. This conversation convinced him that the saving the Herald would come at a terrible cost to Iomedae.

The fight against the Herald was excellent, but in the end they dropped him into negatives. They were preparing to redeem him when the rogue went, well rogue, and murdered the Herald. Before they could process, Baphomet began his manifestation, and the session ended. We pick up Saturday with this and the start of book VI and the Battle of Drezen (which probably has my favorite stuff I've written for this campaign excepting maybe Arueshale's redemption).

But anyway, this is the introduction of the Herald, some scripted Herald dialogue I used during the fight, text for whether they saved or redeemed him, Baphomet's entrance, Baphomet potentially dying or being forced to flee (though I think the PCs are just going to use the Stole of the Inheritor and bail since a few are in tough shape and they aren't in a cohesive party state at the moment), and then their reckoning with Iomedae and the transition into book VI (I have some different starter text if they saved the Herald but it eventually transitions to the same conclusion).

I have kept a relentless pace for the campaign (start to finish it will be about 8 months of Golarion time) and for story purposes forbid spells like timeless demiplane. The crafter has been begging for an extended break, and that's what this reward is.

When you get to book IV two recommendations

1. I greatly increased the Battlebliss size and scope, turning it into a WWE Royal Rumble style event. Probably their campaign highlight. a 70+ round 16 hour combat. I invented rules to constantly buff and debuff the combatants every few rounds, and a constantly shifting terrain, and depending on how well they worked the crowd they buffs were more or less powerful and the debuffs more or less painful. Had a Gibrileth doing commentary Jim Ross style, and modeled a few of the combatants after wrestlers. Great fun. Also a chance to introduce a handful of folks they would fight later. Winner gets a boon from Nocticula which is how they won their audience

2. Since the card was already filled, they had to get Velexia (who had leverage over the owner of the Battlebliss) to let them enter. I moved the brothel encounter from book VI (where it doesn't fit well) into book IV and she had them destroy the brothel, controlled by a rival who slighted her.

My PCs love Nocticula. If I had this to do over again I might try and find a way to increase her presence.

I created a legendary item for each of my PCs, focusing on things they could not otherwise create for themselves and PCs love them. It also gives me additional moments to reward them for story beats where their artifacts can charge.

I souped up Radiance for the character using it in part because they are not a full paladin (and so it lets them use an increasing percentage of their character levels as paladin levels for smite, dispel, lay on hands)

The person who has the trait where they descend from a god is related to the Herald in my campaign (who is a much larger character presence to increase the emotional resonance of book V). I gave her the armor the herald used as a mortal (discovered in the temple with the summoner in book 3). I also reskinned Radiance to be the Herald's sword, which she got in book V

The person with the Riftwarden background (a pure arcanist) got a staff that gradually confers all the riftwarden prestige class bonuses (enhanced by the spirit of his dead parents who were riftwardens killed by a mortal Xanthir Vang - he recovered this in the ivory sanctum. It was corrupted and needed the redeemed corruption forge to make it usable)

My transmuter wizard had an item from his background I turned into a latent powerful artifact that he needed to learn how to unlock that predated Earthfall that gave him a bunch of abilities to enhance his transmutations and increase his base attack bonus when he used knowledge checks to identify foes

My rogue who worships pharasma received a dagger from Nocticula that she claimed had the soul of a powerful pharasmite. Among its other abilities it confers all the domain powers of pharasma's various domains. If fighting a demon 4 HD or more it grants a bonus attack if the demon is below 50. A sufficiently powerful (think CR 20 or above) killed in this way actually creates a small midnight isle, as the dagger is an avatar/echo of Nocticula (in case I need to use her as a deus ex machina at some point)

I've played that epic is anything going above +5 in total weapon value, but I don't know if that is RAW

We finished Book V last weekend (pending the Baphomet encounter). The cut scene below was given about a day before their fight with the Herald. One of my characters experienced this as a vision - the one who was rescued from the Azverendus rites. I've had that character linked to the ritual.

In my campaign, Vorlesh powers the ritual to expand the Worldwound by sacrificing 100,000 souls to the Rite, except instead of turning their souls into demons they are binding them to the Abyss. The interlude with two prisoners is related to PC family/backstory. I also made the opening much more powerful, with abysal energy immediately infecting all of Golarion. I also have Vorlesh betraying Deskari (though he doesn't know yet) by fusing GOlarion and the rasping rifts into a new plane, one that she then becomes the demon lord over.

Cutscene XVI: The Worldwound Expansion

5 Gozran, 4724 – Undarin, The Worldwound

Over one hundred thousand mortal souls huddled in Undarin’s central plaza, prisoners from all the nations bordering the Worldwound. Since the collapse of the Wardstones the demons had waited for the harvest, and the time had come to reap. The surrounding buildings were leveled weeks ago to make space for the sheer size of the gathering.

Interspersed throughout the starving and terrified masses were demons charged with keeping the slaves docile. Over ten thousand mortal cultists of Deskari and the mercenaries in their employ ringed the teeming throngs, their scythes cutting down those who tried to run. But not many did. By now the will of the prisoners was thoroughly broken. And where would they go? Only the newly imprisoned cultists of Baphomet showed any signs of resistance – but their demonic allies had been purged, either murdered by Deskari’s forces or recalled to the Ivory Labyrinth. Former masters of the Worldwound, now chattel imprisoned by broken promises.

The sky was full of countless vrocks and derakni, while swarms of vermin blotted out what anemic sun managed to pierce the abyssal clouds. The rooftops of the remaining buildings overlooking the plaza held thousands of demons, here to bask in the glory of Deskari’s final triumph.

A stone platform rose one hundred feet above the crowd below, and at its summit Areelu Vorlesh was in the final stages of her ritual - an alteration of the Azverindus Rites on an unimaginable scale. Her features were ecstatic, exulting in the power she channeled. Bearing witness were Deskari’s mightiest servants – Khorramzadeh the Storm King, the warlord Aponavicius, the Broodlord, and the drider Anemora – high priestess of Deskari’s cult. The poisoned skies above Undarin crackled with electricity, and the ground surrounding the city began to shake. Several buildings collapsed as the tremors intensified.

Orbiting Vorlesh was a massive cloud of large black prismatic gems, over one hundred thousand in total. Her hand held an even larger black gem, glowing with corrupted golden light drawn from the Herald of Iomedae. Anemora gazed upon Vorlesh with her magical sight, and was nearly blinded by what she beheld.

In the masses below, a swarm of ratfolk, maybe a thousand strong, huddled together. A young ratfolk girl began to cry. “Papa, I’m scared.” Raul Blanco took her hand and squeezed it hard, offering her the bravest smile he could. “So am I, Poppy, but if we just stay together everything will be okay.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“I miss mama, and Justino, and Queso.”

Raul kept his voice steady, a final act of heroism in defense of his daughter. “Me too, my little doodle. But we will see them again soon.”

Atop the stone platform, Vorlesh cried the ritual’s final words, her voice rising above the apocalyptic thunder in the toxic sky. She crushed the black gem in her hand, and a great scream erupted from the hundred thousand souls gathered below her, before it was strangled into silence. A hundred thousand silver strands flowed from the plaza, up into the sky, filling the massed soul gems surrounding Vorlesh.
A brief cry of shock, outrage, and then further silence as the mortal followers of Deskari collapsed, the silver strands of their souls joining those of the slaves they helped capture, the weakest part of the swarm culled to strengthen the whole.

The hundred thousand gems began to rotate around Vorlesh, faster and faster, a shadowy radiance rising within them as they fed upon the mass sacrifice. And then, as one, the gems shattered, their dark light coalescing into a massive beam that surged through the sky, called home to Threshold, where it plunged into the miasmic swirling heart of the Worldwound.

Abyssal energy flooded into Golarion. The sky was torn open, and massive bolts of lighting, freezing hurricanes, sheets of fire, and acid rain pummeled the lands that were once Sarkoris. Hundreds of new portals spontaneously opened throughout the Worldwound, at every place the planer boundary had thinned, ley lines connecting these gateways to the heart of the Worldwound beneath Threshold.

Uncountable billions of insects swarmed through the gates, and the demons followed. There was a thunderous rumble, as the ground opened beneath Undarin, swallowing the wreckage of Areelu Vorlesh’s city, before the devastation slowly began to spread, fully transforming the blighted Golarion landscape into the chasms of the Rasping Rifts. Vorlesh’s eyes were bright with triumph, and Anemora could swear a portion of the Abyssal power pouring into Golarion flowed into Vorlesh.

The rumblings were felt throughout the world, the dark swirling sky visible as far south as the southern shores of the Inner Sea. The navigators sailing Golarion’s waters stared at their instruments in dumbfounded frustration as compass needles shifted their true north, towards Threshold. Across the planet people felt a strange, distant wrongness, and they stared off in the direction of the Worldwound, seeking the disturbance that lay just beyond the horizon.

Within Drezen the air grew heavy, as if some implacable force was pressing down against the zone of purity created by the Sword of Valor.

In Kintargo, a mother cried in relief as she welcomed her new child into the world, until the midwife recoiled in horror at the tainted monstrosity that emerged from the womb, part human, part insect. The scene played out across the world, as every birth was corrupted by the Abyssal energy surging across Golarion.

The demons roared in victory, the sound drowned out by the cataclysmic transformation of the ground beneath them. Deskari’s generals stared at Vorlesh with something close to awe, as she basked in the aftermath of her triumph, a feat that eclipsed the mightiest works of Azlant and Thassalon. Anemora prostrated herself before her master’s greatest servant, Architect of the Worldwound, who ushered in the apocalypse that would consume Golarian. Under his breath the Storm King rumbled “She actually did it.”

Vorlesh turned to face them, her features once again composed into an expression of serene competence, a craftsman surveying the outcome of a particularly satisfying and challenging project. Anemora looked past the mask, into Vorlesh’s eyes, which burned with an ambition that would rip the secret of fire from the Gods who dared withhold it. But what truly frightened Deskari’s priestess was the utter disgust and contempt that Vorlesh had for the demons surrounding her, the most powerful of her master’s servants. Anemora could sense her taking their measure and finding them wanting.

Vorlesh offered them a predatory smile. They grinned in return, sharing in this moment of dark joy and anticipating the great feast that lay before them – alpha predators unaware of their danger. She gestured expansively at the carnage surrounding them.

“Welcome, my friends, to the end of the world.”

XXXX XXXXX, 4724 - Ineluctable Prison, The Ivory Labyrinth

An ancient human emerges from the doorway to the north, old enough to have a distinctly pickled appearance. He leans upon a staff, and several small gems orbit his head. His robes are resplendent under the heavy layer of dust that clings to them. He appraises you with a calculating eye, and Rischa and Arueshalae can sense he is impressed, jealous, and bitter, though he hides it well. He offers you the sour smile of one put upon by demanding guests who are tolerated because they may yet prove useful.

“So this is the Silver Scale, is it? The adventurers who drove Baphomet into hiding. The mortals daring or foolish enough to take on the Ineluctable Prison. Welcome to my home. I am Alderpash, first and greatest of the Runelords of Wrath, peer to King Xin, and “guest” of our esteemed Lord Baphomet. To what do I owe the pleasure of such esteemed company?”

How did you end up imprisoned here?
“I made a deal with Lord Baphomet long ago. I was to deliver to him Sorshen, Runelord of Lust and a woman he greatly desired. In exchange he would grant me access to the cosmic power that forms the building blocks of reality - the same power you siphon from your God. But I was betrayed, repeatedly, by the weak and ineffectual minions I was saddled with, and Lord Baphomet grew tired of my failure. I offered him other prizes, like Igramalash, but this was not enough to appease him, and I was imprisoned here, a thousand years before Earthfall.

I was delighted to see Earthfall punish Thassilon, but I have been here a long, long, long, long time, and part of me thinks outliving my accursed colleagues was perhaps not such a blessing after all. But recent events have opened new possibilities, and I suspect there is much we can offer each other.

Although I am a prisoner here, I know much that may be of value to you, and I am happy to offer it. All I want in exchange is your help in fleeing this accursed prison. Do we have a deal?”

We can just force you to talk
Alderpash laughs - a dry, wheezing, distinctly unpleasant sound. “I hold the cards here. If you leave me to my luxurious prison you learn nothing and return to stumbling through the Ineluctable Prison– time you can ill afford to lose. If we fight, you will expend resources and take risks you can ill afford to take. If you destroy me, I am released from my interminable existence in this place, and you learn nothing. If I defeat you, or even weaken you, I will have earned Lord Baphomet’s favor, perhaps enough to be granted my freedom, and you would still have learned nothing. You have my terms. Do with them what you will. But decide quickly. I am a busy man with a rich and full social calendar that you interfere with.

How can we help you escape?
“I have been unable to break the wards that hold me here. Normally anti-magic shells and disjunctions can disrupt even the most powerful of planer bindings. Unfortunately for me, I cannot cast either of these spells, an irony Baphomet has doubtlessly enjoyed. I once used a wish to reproduce an anti-magic field and it did nothing. It is possible a sufficiently powerful disjunction could temporarily suppress the effect, should you wish to try.

However, when Nocticula destroyed Baphomet’s avatar, the wards were disrupted – just for the briefest of instants, too fleeting for me to take advantage of the opportunity. But should Baphomet be killed, I believe the binding will fail – at least long enough for me to escape. We just need to draw him to the Ineluctable Prison. And though he hides in his tower, recovering, I suspect the humiliation of losing the Herald, however you achieve this, will draw him out. That will be your moment. Should he die again, he will be gone forever, and you will have eliminated a terrible threat to Golarion, with some vengeance thrown in for good measure.”

What information can you offer us?
He turns to Queso. “Let us speak on your sphere. You would perhaps know the alghollthu by the name aboleth, which translated into the Thassilonian tongue is roughly equivalent to owner, master, or God. There was an aboleth orb like yours in Thassilon. It may well be the same orb. Where did you acquire it?

The orb I knew of was in possession of Xin, and then Kaladurnae, the first Runelord of Greed and a master of transmutation magic. Does your control over the orb strengthen that school?

We do not know how many of those orbs were created, just that they were created by the alghollthu Veiled Masters, and traveled with them from world to world, repositories of their knowledge. They saw themselves as guardians of reality. They first arrived on Golarion during the Age of Creation, and the humans they raised from barbarism would become the Azlanti. When Xin fled Azlant to Avistan and founded Thassilon, he brought the orb he had stolen from the aboleth.

The aboleth failed to recover the orb, and while most histories of this period posit the aboleth called down the Earthfall to punish Thassilon and Azlant for their theft and appropriation of aboleth magics, that story is a lie intended to obscure a very different truth.

The aboleth are among the oldest creatures in existence. They claim to be the first to achieve sentience in this iteration of reality. But there have been other realities that predate ours. Tell me, Silver Scale, what do you know of the Dark Tapestry?

The Dark Tapestry is nothingness, the void that resists creation. It is a force of cosmic entropy that has warred against reality since before there was time. It is older than Pharasma and the gods. And it has succeeded in destroying reality, more times than any can know. It is resisted by the cosmic force of creation that called forth the Gods and empowered them to serve as stewards of existence.

When the aboleth awoke and began to explore the universe, they learned of the Dark Tapestry, and the eternal, cosmic struggle between creation and entropy. And they saw themselves, the first creatures to achieve consciousness, as defenders of this iteration of reality.

You are familiar with the two commandments that constrain the gods, correct? The gods must not manifest their full power within reality, and they are not to manipulate or alter the flow of time. As a result, all but the weakest of time magics are forbidden, and the Gods act through their servants, or demi agents like Heralds, Empyreal and Demon Lords, Arch Devils, and other nascent divinities. These prohibitions exist because any divine manifestation weakens the border between creation and the Dark Tapestry, as does the manipulation of time.

There are exceptions, of course. The Gods manifested to imprison Rovagug, a corrupted divine agent of the Dark Tapestry, within Golarion’s heart. They will use avatars, sparingly. And in exceedingly rare instances they have been summoned into reality, a loophole that requires access to power on such a cosmic scale as to be functionally impossible.

The temptation for the Gods to use their power must be nearly irresistible, and so there are rules embedded into reality, hidden so deeply that only the most ancient and powerful of beings are aware of them. Should anyone willingly violate these cosmic strictures and inch open the doorway to the Dark Tapestry, the entity responsible is annihilated and unmade. There is always a cost, and actions have consequences. Should they find a way to avoid them their debt is transferred to another. A horrific example must be made, to serve as a cosmic deterrence.

And so, it was not the use of rune magic or the theft of an orb that caused the aboleth to call for a conclave of Veiled Masters from across the cosmos. The Azlanti were close to unlocking the secrets of time magic, and had to be stopped. Earthfall was the mechanism the Conclave chose, though they underestimated its destructive potential. Two of the Gods worshiped by the Azlanti manifested in their totality to try and preserve Rovagug’s prison, though our myths say this was to prevent the complete destruction of humanity. Their deaths were the price they had to pay for their willful violation of cosmic law. Even then, Azlant and Thassilon were destroyed, as was much of the aboleth’s civilization, and no God has manifested since.

Unsurprisingly, this was not a lesson Aroden, the last Azlanti and God of humanity, bothered to learn, and his death at the moment of his prophesied return was likely the elimination of another cosmic threat to reality.”

What do you know about the Herald?
“I scryed his torture and transformation. The arch-witch Vorlesh has replaced his heart with one of her Nahyndrian blood crystals, and it has corrupted his soul. He is a creature of Lord Baphomet now.” He looks at Queso. “You have met the Herald, correct? Since you came into possession of the orb? Tell me, have you used its power to examine his magical aura? Had you possessed the intelligence to do so, you would have sensed colors you would not recognize, that do not align to any school of magic you know. It is the stain of true time magic, the universe marking him for judgment and punishment.”

What do you know of Areelu Vorlesh?
“I have had the chance to speak with her on several occasions. She desired the knowledge I possess of the achievements of Azlant and Thassilon, and I have offered them to her in exchange for her promised help in escaping my prison. Once she has come into her full power, she will destroy Lord Baphomet, and free me. But I am not powerful enough to compel her, and would prefer other, more immediate exchanges.”

There is a change in Alderpash’s tone and affect. The otherwise haughty and endlessly confident Runelord seems genuinely impressed, and more than a little intimidated, by Vorlesh.

“She is a truly remarkable creature. She possesses what may well be the greatest mind in the history of Golarion. She eclipses Xin, the Runelords, Geb, Nex, Tar-Baphon – perhaps even the greatest of the Azlanti. But it is not just her intelligence. What makes her unique is her breathtaking ambition and the singular focus and will she commits to that ambition. We all have something we are afraid to lose, something we refuse to relinquish. A risk we will not take, a line we will not cross. A fear that masters us. But there is no barrier she will not shatter, no sacrifice that can deter her, nothing she cannot endure, in the service of her ends. She will pay any and every price to succeed.

This is why she is greater than me. Why she will always be greater than you, no matter how much of Iomedae’s power you leach. I do not know her end game, but I know she does not serve Deskari. She aims to succeed him, though nothing short of true divinity will satisfy her. I’m not even sure that will be enough.”

How can you help us free the Herald?
The Herald’s prison can only be reached by one who has been there. I have seen it, and can describe it in sufficient detail so that you can teleport in. But I would not make that journey until you have destroyed the prison’s guardians. Svendack, Baphomet’s high priestess, Ploric-Stagul, his torturer, Inger-Maggor, his Hunter, and especially Ylleshka, his Warden and most dangerous servant. Should any of them still live they will converge on that location, and you will be overwhelmed.

If you can destroy Svendack and sanctify her temple, you can disrupt the dark blessing that Baphomet has bestowed upon this prison. But Ylleshka is the most dangerous of his servants. If you can free Igramalash Ylleshka will be forced to reimprison him, and in his blind rage he may well attack her.

Who is Igramalash?
He is the greatest of my creations – the first of the rune giants. I fused his essence with a qlippoth to help me capture Sorshen, making him the first and greatest of the inverted giants. When he failed, I gifted him to Lord Baphomet, who has trapped him in a gaseous stasis for over ten thousand years. He is the oldest of the prisoners here, and has no doubt been driven mad by his isolation.

Will you help us fight Baphomet?
Should you succeed in drawing him to his prison, and if you flee to this chamber, I will aid you. He has had no right to keep me here and will finally feel my wrath!

XXXX XXXXX, 4724 – Ineluctable Prison, The Ivory Labyrinth

The body of an astral deva lies chained to one of the torture beds. The light has left its eyes, and you recognize this as a mercy. Each of its limbs has been twisted in unnatural directions and many of its bones are flattened into powder. The skin has been flayed from most of its body. Rot grubs writhe within the gaping wounds that cover him, devouring him from the inside. There are residual signs of powerful healing magic used to keep the angel alive so the torture could continue. You feel bile and gorge travel up your throat, and with effort you swallow it down. Whoever this poor angel was, they suffered a horrid, excruciating fate, one you would not wish upon your worst enemies. You are the
beneficiaries of some perverse luck, at least. Its mouth is intact. With the proper magics you could speak with it.

Who are you?
“I was the astral deva Malakia, servant of Iomedae the Inheritor, Light of the Sword, and Lady of Valor. I was privileged to act as one of her divine messengers.”

Why are you here?
“I told my captors my purpose was to rescue Iomedae’s Herald, and they saw an angel overwhelmed by grief and blinded by anger, eager to avenge their god. But that was merely a cover. I am a messenger, and I came, knowingly and willingly, to face torture and death, so that I might deliver my message.”

Who is your message for?
“It is for you.”

Who sent you?
“I was not sent by Iomedae. I was sent by her servant Jingh, the ancient wheel of fire, progenitor of the iophanite angels and servant of Heaven. He is one of the eldest beings in the planes.”

Why did you have to come here to deliver the message?
“This is a sacred space for Baphomet, one of the twin hearts of his realm. Iomedae and the other gods are deaf and blind to what happens here. And this was not a message Iomedae could hear, as she would countermand it. I can sense that Iomedae has anointed a new herald. Once you hear my message you must not leave this place until your work is done. Iomedae will sense what you know, and she will stop you.”

Why would Iomedae try to stop us?
“Iomedae has held onto much of her mortal heart, and at times still thinks as a mortal, not a God. The Herald is her weakness. She will never allow him to suffer endless torment.”

What is your message?
“The Herald of Iomedae must die corrupted and face the eternal horror of being forever reborn as a servant of the Abyss. You must not rescue him. You must not redeem him. The Herald needs to die as he is, fallen and transformed. Any attempt to alter his fate will lead to greater tragedy. You must defy Iomedae’s express command and kill him to ensure this does not happen.”

What greater tragedy?
“I do not know. Jingh did not tell me. I only know the threat is grave enough to warrant my sacrifice.”

What will happen if he dies without being redeemed?
“The quintessence of his soul will join the Abyss, where he will be reborn into something new. He will be lost forever, everything he was corrupted beyond recognition, never to return. If the universe grants him a small mercy, he will not remember his former life, though the nature of evil is such that some small core of his being will remain and persist through any future incarnations. He will be haunted forever by an unformed memory of who he was, and tortured by what he has become. It will be agonizing, and it will never end. The risen demon among you has the faintest inkling of what I speak. I tell you this so you make this decision of your own free will, in full knowledge of the consequences, so that your own souls might be prepared for the weight they will forever carry.”

Can we raise you?
“If you tried, I would refuse. I have lingered in the Boneyard, waiting, resisting my return to the planes. My quintessence will return to Heaven, and I will be reborn. Malakia’s story has ended. It must end. Iomedae would need to release my soul for me to be restored to life as Malakia and in doing so would learn what I know, and what Jingh has charged you to do. And then she would stop you.”

Do you have proof?
“I have Jingh’s word, and I trust its judgement and wisdom enough to sacrifice my life. That is all I required, and Jingh feared to tell me more. But there is an ancient being who resides here. He was not the first resident of the Ineluctable Prison, but only one has been here longer. It has been ten thousand years and more since he was imprisoned. Before your Earthfall. Seek out Alderpash if you wish to learn more.”

Malakia’s lifeless head turns towards Rischa, and the deva stares at her with his unseeing eyes. “I pray you trust Jingh as I trust him. Enough to defy the express command of our God.

A choice lies before you, champions of light. I pray you make the right one. I bid this life farewell and return to the planes to be born again.” The astral deva’s eyes close a final time, his soul departed, to rejoin the cosmic cycle of renewal.

Below are three conversations from the Inelectuable Prison setting up the decision to save or kill the Herald. A lot of the cosmology of my campaign gets shared by Alderpash to set things up. I also made Waxberry a character much earlier (I killed off Sosiel and Aaron Kir in book 2 so Wax become the priest). They rescue her, and she was aware of an angel that attacked the prison. When they rescued the prisoner he was dead and learn through speak with dead that he came her on a suicide mission from one of Iomeade's advisors saying they had to kill the Herald even though it would damn his soul (this was all set up with Arueshalae's experiences earlier. But Iomedae wasn't thinking clearly given her own history with Arazani - the human part of her personaltiy was controlling. They are to seek out Alderpash to learn more - the oldest prisoner in the prison (technically not true because of Ingramalesh). A lot of information dumps with Alderpash, but it began to tie together all the things I had been seeding throughout.

Conversations From the Ineluctable Prison

30 Pharast, 4724 - Ineluctable Prison, The Ivory Labyrinth

Having dispatched the cellblock guardians, you turn your attention to the closest cell, and its unexpected occupant. A halfling who very much appears to be Waxberry stares at you through the wall of force that traps her within the bone white cell. Thought lost at the Battle of Raliscrad, she is dressed in a tattered blue and gray shift and clutches a small holy symbol of Iomedae. Her short hair is a tangled mess, and she looks a little thinner, but otherwise intact – at least physically. There are none of the tell-tale signs of the torture you would expect to find. She stares at you, incredulously. “How…how is this possible?” she asks, before bursting into tears of desperation, hope, and relief.

What are you doing here?
“I was captured at Raliscrad. I was trying…” Waxberry’s voice breaks, and she begins to weep again. After a minute she masters herself and continues with a cracking hitch in her voice. “I was out of magic and just getting in the way. I saw the Herald calling the demons to him and wanted to help. There was death everywhere, and I just needed mine to mean something. To be worthy of Iomedae. To do what Queen Galfrey would have done. But I was useless. And then Vorlesh came. She was the last thing I saw before I woke up here.”

Where did you get that holy symbol?
“They would bring me into this torture chamber, where they would…they would…” Waxberry trails off, and you watch as behind her eyes her mind compartmentalizes and seals off experiences she is not ready to think about. Not now. Possibly never. She swallows and continues.

“The head torturer was this obesely swollen creature – he looked like a human toad with bat wings and obsidian skin. They called him Plorig-Stagul. I was…with him, when a barely conscious angel was dragged into the room. An astral deva. They rushed me out to make room for him. As we passed each other he slid me this holy symbol, and I was able to hide it as they brought me here.”

I never saw him again. They’ve been torturing him ever since. I don’t know for how long. Nothing changes here to mark the days. But it has been days at least. Maybe weeks? The jailers would occasionally describe his torture to me. They called him Malaika, and say he single handedly assaulted the prison in a mad fury trying to free the Herald. But I’ve had nothing but time with little I was willing to think about. It doesn’t make sense! Why would Iomedae send just one angel? There’s no way he could have been successful. It’s suicide. It’s beyond suicide. I don’t understand…”

Do you know where the Herald is?
“I have only seen him once since Raliscrad. They took me into a circular chamber, a lake of boiling tar. We had to teleport in. I didn’t see any doors. There was a disc of metal floating above the tar, and the Herald was chained to pillars on the disc. There was a great hole in his chest, and a noxious purple smoke pouring out of it. They…they took his heart and replaced it with something obscene. I don’t know if he saw me, or even knew I was there. I could sense the endless corruption pouring out of the hole in his chest. But he was fighting back, somehow.

I never saw him again, but my captors have been taunting me, saying he fell.” Waxberry shudders and her voice cracks as she continues. “That he is no longer serves Iomedae. That he’s become the Herald of the Ivory Labyrinth.”

Can he be saved?
“At least part of his soul must remain in Iomedae’s keeping. She would not have sent you here if his corruption could not be undone. And he would never stop fighting. Deep inside some part of him will be resisting. He needs his heart. That’s the key. I know it! If you can find his heart and remove whatever corruption festers inside of him, you can save him! You can do it! You must do it! He would not give up on us. We cannot give up on him!”

Are you able to help us?
A few things are clear. Waxberry never expected to leave this prison alive. She desperately wants to go home, to put as much physical distance between herself and this place as possible, even if she will never escape the memory of it. She has no equipment save a tattered dress and a holy symbol she may never let go. She is exhausted and traumatized. But when she looks at you her eyes shine with the resolute certainty of someone convinced they see the invisible hand of their God at work and are determined to play their part. “Just tell me what you need.”

Thanks :) I have a few more coming - The final expansion of the Worldwound (end of book V/start of 6), before and after the battle for drezen (maybe my two favorite pieces other than Arueshalae's redemption), closing the Worldwound, and two Epilogues (based on whether or not they redeem or damn the Herald - right now they are leaning towards saving which will, in the cosmology of my campaign, end up sacrificing Iomedae - though they don't know that yet)

I had 6 players for most of the campaign (down to 5), and one is a Rogue so Anevia receeded to the background (as did Aravashinal and Yaniel - Arueshale, Horgus, Galfray and Irabeth were the PCs that popped). Given the ending I have in mind I wish I had done more with Anevia - I lean into her relationship with IRabeth and missed some chances to develop it further. So it's smart that you are working her in more.

Ohh, reading what's here i'm behind on a post. Incoming

i am running a large party (5 pcs plus arueshale ) currently with a modifed set of mythic rules against the fully mythic upgraded monster statblocks abailable in thse forums and it has worked great. PCs feel epic but less powerful than monsters so all combats feel scary and desperate. experienced players and we have been a group for over a decade so there is trust

The pcs have;

25 point buy
access to the basic mythic template (bonus ability scores (i use two plus ones instead of plus 2 enhancements and non mythic bonus feats) max hit points, reduced mythic power (3 plus 1 per level) and slightly depowered base mythic powers. no mythic feats or classes - mythic spells allowed but none of the super pumped up ones. each player has a custom artifact built into the story. Has worked great. Ive made a number of story changes im posting in that other thread but kept the core WOTR structure.

overall (with 1.5 books to go) my players have said this is the best campaign we have done - and i have been playing with some of these folks for close to 30 years.

it can work great in 1e ditching full mythic rules for players without much adjustement - assuming you use scorpion’s alt stat blocks which was heroic work on his part

I wrote this piece to show the forces of the Worldwound on the move, and to continue to develop Iomedae as a character since she will play such a key role in the finale. I am planning to have the forces of the WW basically steamroll the north of Golarion - a set of unstoppable armies that no one can realistically oppose (the fallout of which will be addressed in book VI). I am also having Vorlesh expand the worldwound through the sacrifice of a hundred thousand prisoners, and this explains where they come from. PCs got this at the start of an Ivory Labyrinth session to help give them a sense of urgency.

Cutscene XV: Past Belief

30 Pharast, 4724 – Proelera, Heaven

Iomedae stared into the oracular well at the heart of her cathedral, surrounded by her inner court. Jingh - eldest of the iophanites who have served the rulers of Heaven since the dawn of creation. Saint Lymirin - the eagle headed high priestess of her faith. And Peace Through Vigilance, the normally irrepressible celestial gold dragon – far from the most powerful of Iomedae’s servants but a trusted confidant and advisor who offered important counterpoints to the stern judgements of the priestess or Jingh’s cosmic logic. The Herald was conspicuous by his absence, a missing presence that defined the space. The stained-glass windows reflected Iomedae’s inner thoughts, cycling through images too rapidly for mortal eyes to follow, though the Herald and Arazni recurred with enough frequency to be visible.

Although time passes differently in the seat of Iomedae’s power, their vigil had lasted weeks by Golarion reckoning, silent observers of long-anticipated fears finally arisen. The armies of the Abyss were on the march, rampaging through northern Golarion with a devastating ferocity honed to a razor’s edge by Deskari’s vaunted generals, unleashed in all their terrible power. Their legendary cruelty and focus imposed a horrifying discipline on the chaotic and fractious demons – forging them into a world devouring force.

Iomedae had manifested as an avatar to stay grounded in this moment, the physical form helping her screen out the noise and interference of a celestial consciousness. She needed to be present. To act if she could find a way. To bear witness if she could not. She winced, occasionally, at the stabbing migraine pains and clenching tightness in her chest. But if this was the cost of preserving her Herald she would gladly pay it.

The vast nave was silent except for Peace Through Vigilance’s breathing – the sound of a deep, rumbling furnace. Normally Iomedae found it soothing, but now its cadence seemed to urge on the demonic armies. The demons were loyal to Deskari, Baphomet’s troops recalled to his abyssal labyrinths to protect their vulnerable master. But this was not a cause for celebration. There was still no force powerful enough to stand against Deskari’s might, and the distant hope that the demons would turn on each other was no more. The demons’ nature was, along with the wardstones, Golarion’s principal protection against their rapacious destruction – and both defenses were gone. With uncharacteristic patience, Deskari had waited to unleash his true war, and that patience was richly rewarded.

Diurgez Broodlord swarmed into Numeria without warning, vast numbers of demons falling upon Starfall and the hidden treasures of the Silver Mount. The demons stayed focused on the horizon line – teleporting en masse as far as they could see, remaining in formation, and teleporting again. They covered vast distances at inconceivable speed, resisting the distraction of isolated tribes and small villages, fixated on their larger prize. The Technic League fled with what secrets and treasure they could gather in their brief window of warning, abandoning the capital and its people. Starfall was crushed in a matter of hours, but what truly frightened Iomedae was the aftermath. The demons did not scatter, did not get lost in the joy of destroying a city and tormenting its citizens, as they had during the sacking of Kenebras. Civilian deaths were shockingly light. Deskari wanted prisoners, and while demonic warbands scoured the countryside for smaller settlements, the Broodlord returned to Undarin with tens of thousands of survivors. The inhuman pace proved far more murderous than the assault, and over half the prisoners dropped dead on the death march to Areelu Vorlesh’s city.

Khorramzadeh The Storm King moved through the counties of Ustalav with astonishing haste, deploying the same tactics as the Broodlord, focused on the major population centers and avoiding the distraction of its countless villages and hamlets. Karcau and Lepidstadt offered only the most token resistance, their citizens marched north as the Storm King moved south. The natural defensive barrier of the Hungry Mountains offered no protection, barely slowing the Storm King’s relentless onslaught, and within days a demonic tide engulfed the capital of Caliphas. For the first time since the opening of the Worldwound, demons stood on the shore of Lake Encarthan. But the rampage halted there, and while warbands began to depopulate the smaller settlements, the Storm King returned to the north with his mortal prizes.

The greatest armed resistance was in Mendev, the heart of the crusade against the Worldwound, and Aponavicius descended upon it with the largest of the demonic armies. Galfrey had spent a hundred years preparing for this moment, and when the Bothan network warned of the imminent attack she was ready to evacuate Nerosyan and save her people. The bulk of its citizens journeyed along the Egelsee River, skirting the Estrovian Forest, towards the costal city of Egede. There a mass exodus began, and the people of Mendev made their way across the Lake of Mists and Veils, towards Brevoy and the promise of sanctuary in the nation of Verdant, their passage and settlement negotiated in the days after the destruction of the Wardstones.

Galfrey sent the majority of her strength northeast towards Drezen, under the command of Yaniel, who absorbed the soldiers stationed at Kenebras and Valas’ Gift and escorted the remaining civilians towards what safety the Sword of Valor offered.

To protect the diaspora, Nerosyan had to be a target, and so Galfrey stayed behind, too tempting a prize for Aponavicius to ignore. Ten thousand crusaders volunteered to remain with her, prepared to lay down their lives in defense of a city they could not possibly hold. But they did not have to hold. They simply had to resist the inevitable, to draw the marilith’s attention long enough for the civilians to make it to Egede, and the army to reach Drezen.

They fought bravely, for the glory of the Crusade and for the honor of their gods. For the memory of Mendev and the safety of their families. For the love of their warrior queen, and the people of Golarion they would never know. They forced Aponavicius to pay in blood for every street, every building, every life. But if this was the price of revenge the demon would gladly pay it. Blood, after all, was in endless supply. Galfrey fought to the bitter end, and saw the mighty Woundward Tower fall, Mendev’s banner disappearing within its smoking wreckage. It was her last image of Nerosyan before Aravashnial teleported her to safety, the final survivors of a doomed last stand.

Iomedae’s court witnessed the collapse of the nations surrounding the Worldwound. The resistance, where it existed, was heroic, but futile. Tens of thousands of innocent souls were dead, and tens of thousands more were marching to Undarin and the ghastly fate awaiting them. It was clear no armed force could stand against the disciplined, unstoppable leaders driving these demonic armies. More than a century of conflict and bloodshed, generations who have known nothing but war, and all it did was delay the inevitable. The north was lost, and the rest of Golarion would follow. As Iomedae watched the people of Mendev flee towards Brevoy, and the temporary sanctuary it offered, she sensed a great darkness stirring within the depths of the Lake of Mists and Veils.

Iomedae no longer thought victory was possible. But what is left, when you have journeyed past belief? Faith belongs to mortals. No one hears the prayers of the gods.

She turned her attention north, towards Drezen – a small and solitary light within a black and oppressive night. She grimaced at the stabbing pain in her heart, desperate to act, powerless to do anything but watch. So much lay beyond her sight. But the Herald still lived and though she could only distantly sense them, her champions were coming. They would save him, and redeem her great failure. The Sword of Valor maintained a silent protective vigil over the remnants of the Crusade. She had not lost yet. If there was resistance, there was a chance. It would have to be enough.

Iomedae had not spoken for two weeks. Finally, she broke her silence, whispering words of comfort - for her court, and for herself.

“They will be my answer.”