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The forge lets out a roar of flame as Adriana's blade touches its surface. A golden glow spreads from the forge and touches the elven blade, traveling down its length and spreading to the hilt and pommel. As the forge works its magic, the blade's appearance begins to change. Where it was once plain and unadorned, the hilt begins to look... more elegant and refined. The pommel begins to rebalance itself so it may fit a wielder's hand better. The sword's blade flares a bright golden colour, the impurities in its iron being scoured away and leaving behind only a weapon that any blacksmith would be proud of. After a few minutes, the forge's flames cool to embers, and the blade may be retrieved. Its hilt is rounded and refined; the pommel is inlaid with a single red gem. The blade, once made of a cold, dull grey iron, is now a proud golden colour--and a quick examination shows that it's as sturdy as before, but sharper. With a touch of the pommel gem, the blade glows for a moment before being wreathed in golden flames.
Vixie smashes the last skeleton standing apart with ease!
As the dust settles, the forge suddenly flares with a burst of magic. The anvil glows with a brilliant intensity, as if awaiting a new weapon to be placed upon its gilded surface.
Khalaban's strike goes wide, but Shyla's quarterstaff scatters one of the remaining skeleton's bones all over the place.
Max's Knowledge Roll:
They look like skeletons. Hopefully, they'll be vulnerable to Dad's might!
In response to Maxilla's prayer, a burst of holy power erupts from his holy symbol. Two of the remaining skeletons rattle violently, but remain intact--the rest cannot be said of the other five. The gold on their bones loses its shine, flakes rapidly and disintegrates--along with the skeletons themselves.
The remaining two skeletons stagger forward, swinging their flaming scimitars!
One flaming scimitar connects squarely with Max's breastplate--and the blade, brittle from fire and age, snaps off at the hilt without harming the kobold. The one swinging at Adriana misses completely.
Calistria's flames incinerate the gold-clad skeleton, causing it to melt into a puddle of rapidly-cooling metal.
In response to Max's callout, the rattling intensifies! Emerging from the surrounding rubble of the smithy are seven skeletons, each of them coated in a layer of visibly molten gold. They hiss and rattle as they step forward, bearing gilded, flaming scimitars that are little more than scraps of sharp metal.
With all things said and done, the party resumes their trek deeper into Xin-Grafar. The sunken city surrounds the group on all sides, their crumbling, gilded facades looming over them in silent judgement of their presence. To walk the long-lost streets of this place is to walk within a grand tomb instead of a place of life, commerce and culture; as a sharp, hot breeze cuts past the party with an almost agonized moan, the silence that follows is deafening. Though it may look otherwise, this is not a place of honour. A monument to greed, hubris and cruelty perhaps, but not honour. The party cuts through side alleys and makes their way across broken masonry as they move deeper into the ringed city. Whatever cataclysm resulted in its burial also choked many of its main roads and intersections with impassable rubble. Flickerings of magic radiate from the fallen stonework, with sparks of smothered flame crawling out from beneath it. After what feels like half an hour of traversing difficult terrain, the party comes across what appears to be the remnants of a smithy, its stone walls just as shattered as the rest of Xin-Grafar's. Its anvil is coated in a layer of gold, but the forge itself is, oddly, blazing as brightly as any modern-era smithy would. Detect Magic:
The smithy forge is radiating powerful magic--and it appears to be of the transmutation school of magic. DC 15 Perception: ...you think you hear the sound of rattling bones from the smithy's vicinity.
Kitterix emerges from the back of the party. "Is it dead?" He asks, his voice shaky.
Remembering what Khalaban said about the golem having a button on it, Adriana circles around the back and attempts to push it with her curve blade...
...but as she tries, the golem's arm swings back! It's thanks to Vixie's intervention that it doesn't find its mark!
The blade strikes the button dead centre, and it makes a *CLICK* in response. The guardian's golden glow abruptly fades and its body slouches forward, its head drooping and going still.
Khalaban's earthen club crashes against the golem, but it doesn't seem to have done any harm--the club impacted on its armoured pauldron.
Vixie's shield impacts on the golem's knee with a loud CLANG! It doesn't seem to have noticed.
Unfortunately for Shyla, the guardian's start-up sequence completes just as she reaches its back, and as it rises up to its full height her quarterstaff strikes one of its armoured portions. It doesn't seem to have noticed Shyla, at least--its attention is focused on the more-imposing Khalaban. It lumbers forward and swings at him with its fist!
Fortunately, it appears that not all of its rust has been shaken off--the incoming blow is easily dodged!
Shyla's Knowledge Roll: This construct is a Golden Guardian--a unique type of golem constructed of a mix of iron, steel and most of all, gold. The construct's framework is then imbued with a fiery molten core of pure gold that powers its movements and gives it several special abilities. Its framework is resistant to harm from any weapon that isn't specifically crafted from adamantine and from magical sources.
Its primary forms of attack are its two arms, using them to slam into people with great enough force to break bones, but with the additional effect of burning them from its core's sheer heat. Prolonged contact with the Guardian's body will cause additional harm, resulting in injuries as severe as third-degree burns. The intense heat it radiates causes a natural shimmer similar in nature to a desert mirage, making it harder to strike. A quirk in the imbuing process for its molten core renders the Guardian highly receptive to electrical attacks--such attacks will cause the construct's frame to suddenly accelerate for up to 24 seconds at a time without harming it. However, because of this conductivity, the Guardian's core is highly unstable--if it sustains enough damage to render it nonfunctional, the core will superheat and instantly melt the golem. Considering the golem's size and the quantity of gold used in its creation, you estimate that minimum safe distance for such an event is eleven feet.
Apsu's divine blessing radiates outward from Maxilla, imbuing everyone.
As the party starts to approach the statue to turn it off, its limbs shift with a grinding noise and it lurches to life!
Kitterix swallows nervously. "Looks pretty tough to reach... well, for me at least."
Both Adriana and Khalaban look the statue over, but Khalaban is the first to notice what looks like a stone button on the creature's back.
The statue doesn't appear to be holding anything, but judging from the amount of heat radiating from it, it may not need to wield anything to cause harm.
Khalaban takes the lead and looks around as the party begins to make their way into Xin-Grafar. A large doorway passes from the room of murals into the city proper. A lightly glowing green fluorescence emanates from the cavern roof above, illuminating a once-great city now reduced to ash and rubble—but whose ruins are coated entirely in gold. A large, covered bridge across a canal glows white-hot and emits a searing, golden light. In the center of the bridge stands a man-shaped statue covered in fine gold plating, its carved face eerily human-like. Khalaban's Perception Roll:
The statue ahead is covered in gold, but the inside of the covered bridge is dusty, dirty and gold-free--aside from two piles of melted gold and other metals. As the group approaches, the statue's head starts to turn to look at them.
"Well, sounds like we know where to go. Let's get a move on!" Kitterix puffs his chest out and takes a few steps towards the other end of the gatehouse... ...only to pause and sheepishly turn to Khalaban. "Er... maybe one of you should take point? I've never been down here before."
Kitterix nods. "Okay. So, uh... where're you planning to look first? There seems to be quite a few points of interest on this map."
Kitterix ponders. "Um..." He starts to count on his fingers. "...carry the two... add on one for the leap year..." "...I think today's the 17th?" The kobold answers.
Shyla's Knowledge Roll:
As you examine the charcoal scribbles underneath the grand map of the city, you realize something--they're a series of mathematical equations. Comparing them and other inscriptions on the wall that refer to a "Jewel of Everlasting Gold" along with fires, floods and molten gold, you surmise that these calculations refer to three things:
--The volume of gold necessary to flood the entire city;
If your interpretation is correct (and it usually is), then in approximately three days molten gold will fill the city to a height of 40 feet within the first two rings of Xin-Grafar. This flood then takes an entire day to drain so the cycle may begin anew. A further note scrawled underneath the map mentions that the flood cannot be stopped once it has begun.
DC 10 Survival: There are several pairs of footprints in the gatehouse's dust here--and they were all made in quite a hurry.
Kitterix runs up to the doors and beckons the party to follow. "Well, no sense standing around here! Let's go!"
Kitterix leads the group down a series of several dozen switchbacks, and soon the only light the party has is that which they bring with them. "I feel sooooo much better right now, you have no idea." The violet-scaled kobold sighs. "Sometimes, you just gotta get away from the angry sky and underneath a nice, stable rock roof, y'know what I mean?" Eventually, the gleam of something golden emerges from the gloom of the underground passage. Rounding another corner in the rock, the party emerges out into a small cliff overlooking an impressively vast cavern--and in its centre, shining like a dragon's hoard, are the many gilded spires of what can only be the City of Xin-Grafar itself. At a distance, the lost city appears to be divided into three, evenly-spaced rings lined with the ruins of a nation long dead. Crumbling masonry and faded frescoes co-exist with the many different forms of moss and fungi clinging to their ancient frames, though the attempted reclamation by the subterranean wildlife has done little to dull the city's lustre. The buildings closer to the centre of the city are still mostly intact. Kitterix pauses briefly to take in the view before leading the party down the cliffside and towards a gatehouse at the southern end of the walled city. The floor here is sand and shows signs of recent foot traffic. The walls are all painted in enormous murals that depict a city in its prime. The south wall shows hundreds of men and women in a marketplace, trading everything from fruit and livestock to construction materials such as brick and wood. The north wall depicts row upon row of unarmed, uniformed men standing large in the foreground and growing smaller as their ranks disappear over the horizon toward the far right of the painting—a horizon over which an enormous golden sun rises. The east wall is a huge map that portrays the city--and it indicates that the city's rings are divided by canals of pure, crystal-clear water that flows from the innermost ring. Below this map someone has scrawled numerous notes and mathematical calculations in charcoal. Finally, the west wall depicts a leader of some sort, crowned by a golden sun and speaking before a huge crowd of people wearing white shawls and golden togas.
Khalaban sees that a couple of shallow graves have been dug a scant twenty feet from the campsite. Otherwise, there's little else to be gleaned here. "This is the place." Kitterix points at the doors.
Mere moments after the party makes it to the relative safety of the treeline, arcs of pitch-black energy erupt from the clouds overhead and lance down towards the earth. Several of them catch a particularly stout-looking oak tree and ravage it to blackened, rotted splinters in the span of a few breaths. Kitterix winces. "Yep, that's what I was afraid would happen. Follow me!"
Soon, the party's destination comes into view--and it's built into the side of a tall cliff. The entrance to Xin-Grafar stands ahead—two enormous stone doors, each thirty feet high and fifteen feet wide, covered in carved, vertical wavy lines. The left-hand door stands open, a complex internal mechanism of worked stone and metal clockwork gears visible along the door’s side about halfway up. The doors are recessed about ten feet into the side of a large, grass-covered hill and tilt slightly inward. A firepit smolders beside the right-hand door, tiny tendrils of smoke still curling skyward from its coals.
"Yep, clear water's okay--if you can find it." Kitterix nods. His eyes widen when he looks behind the party. A harsh, chilly wind starts blowing past them, carrying with it the scent of death and pain. "We gotta go--negative energy storm's coming!" With that, Kitterix starts moving towards the nearby woods...
Adriana's Sense Motive Roll:
You get the impression that Kitterix is being nothing but truthful. "Poison water is always pitch black--like someone dropped a whole buncha coal dust in." Kitterix nods.
Shyla's Heal Roll:
Kitterix looks uninjured--just hungry. Kitterix eventually slows down enough to finish eating the offered rations without choking or having them all come racing back up. "Whew... dunno how long it's been since I had something actually tasty!" "Now, this cult you're looking for..." Kitterix wipes some crumbs from his snout. "...the masked ones kept going on about some place called 'the City of Golden Death'. Didn't have a clue what they were talking about--I mean, where they were going, there was all manner of nasty beasties and poison water that'd make sure they'd never get far." "So, I followed them a way. The trail they blazed led to a pair of golden gates... a pair of golden gates set before a massive cave entrance. I dared not follow them inside--it's hard enough surviving out in the open, Apsu only knows how deadly this Isle's caves are." "If you're going after them, you'll definitely want my help avoiding the baddies around here."
Kitterix takes the offered rations and starts to greedily scarf them down. He pauses just long enough to swallow before responding to Maxilla. "You have no idea... don't drink the water here. It's terrible--turns you sick and puke-y." "Been living off of rainwater and whatever I could scrape out of the mud. Food was a bit easier to come by, but you'd have to cook it to practically charcoal to not get sick from it."
Kitterix blinks several times before breathing a sigh of what sounds like relief. "Oh, thank goodness... only two years." "Surviving here, it felt a lot longer..." "Hello, Kitterix! I'm Maxilla! It's not often that truebloods go exploring or adventuring without a lot of other truebloods with them! And it's also not often that truebloods have purple scales, either! It's almost as rare as metallic scales! Do you need fresh water or food?" Kitterix approaches Maxilla with a very happy smile. "Well, if you've got them, I won't say no to having some."
"Um..." Kitterix starts counting on his fingers, then stops. "...what year is it?" Khalaban's Sense Motive: You get the impression that Kitterix is being truthful, and is quite desperate for someone non-hostile to talk to.
Is anyone having problems with Discord?
"Yes, I came here with Shardra as part of a Pathfinder team, but we got separated. And yes, I'm referring to those weirdos in the iron masks." The voice says before its owner takes a couple of tentative steps out of the undergrowth. "M-my name's Kitterix."
Khalaban looks around--and almost immediately, he spots the source of the tiny voice. Hiding in a patch of long grass is a small, purple-scaled kobold, dressed in battered studded leathers and peering at the group with wide green eyes. "Y-you're not with of them, are you?" The kobold asks, looking between Khalaban and Maxilla. "D-did Shardra send you?"
A search of the landing leads the party to a pair of shallow graves filled with two dead Razmir cultists, their throats having been savaged by several sets of jaws and their iron masks looking to have been thoroughly chewed on. A further investigation reveals a series of tracks leading into the island's interior--and from the looks of things, those who made them made no effort to hide their movement. The tracks are humanoid in origin. No doubt these tracks belonged to the cult of Razmir. The party sets out to follow them, the shadows cast by the blight-stricken trees looming all around them...
Eventually, the party stumbles across what looks like a large, pitch-black lake of foul-smelling water, with black mist creeping across its centre and drifting northward with the breeze towards a large cliff face. The tracks the party is following seem to decrease in number here, but they continue eastward before eventually turning to the northeast. Before the party can continue too far, there's a rustling in the undergrowth--and it's accompanied by a frightened whimper. "H-hello?" A small, timid voice asks.
Khalaban's Perception: As you scan your surroundings, you think you hear the lonely howl of a wolf.
Looking around, you see at least five twisted lupine forms in the treeline beyond the fort. They're watching the party intently.
Once the plan has been made, the party sets out to the docks. The Isle of Terror awaits!
The sailing is slow going, at first--the first day on the water is met with winds blowing in the opposite direction of the island. When the second day arrives, the winds right themselves and the Trident is sped along--and the waters turn stormy and wild. The Trident is tossed about the waves, almost like a cork, but the sailing acumen of captain and crew are up to the task of keeping the ship afloat. As the third day dawns, the storm clouds recede, and the overcast Isle of Terror looms on the horizon. Black clouds gather about the island's three peaks as the ship sails to the western edge of the island. "We'll hold here for ten days. Once you're done with whatever you came here for, light two signal fires on the shore so we'll know to come and get ya." The captain says as the party is lowered in a rowboat. After a lot of rowing, the party finally reaches the shore. On the shore are the ruins of an ancient stone fort, its wind-scarred ramparts and crumbling flagstones all but overgrown with ivy. Anything organic that could have survived the test of time--wood, rope, flesh--has long since been worn away by the island's forces of nature.
"Climbing equipment wouldn't go amiss, no." Shardra shakes her head. "Wish I listened to Kitterix when he brought that up..."
Shardra sniffs. "Regarding gear, you'll want to bring lots of rope--the Isle has several spots where quicksand and tar pits have formed, so of one of you falls in the others can more effectively help you." "The last time I was there, we ran into a couple of trolls that had been altered by the island. Alchemist's fire or acid will be necessary to bring them down. Also, the island has a far too healthy centipede population that likes to swarm intruders, so any measures you can take to deal with swarms will need to be taken." "One more thing: don't drink the water there. It's pure poison and will rot you from the inside out." "As to the cult?" She looks at Vixie. "Well, there's always a chance some of them have died to the island's hazards. You'll at least have information they don't."
"You'd have to ask them yourselves, I suspect." Shardra takes the drink that comes for her and sips from it.
"If you've run into any information on the Isle that'd be handy for the team to know. I'll be honest, between the matter we were discussing earlier and helping out others in town I've kind of completely lost track of where we are at and anything we could know in advance might mean the difference between success, failure, or even survival?" Shardra's expression darkens. "The Isle of Terror..." "My Pathfinder team only traveled there once." She shakes her head. "It lives up to its name, certainly. Not all of us made it back..." "Well, to start with, the weather on the Isle is deadly enough by itself. Storms of raw necrotic energy plague the island, and get stronger the further inland you go. Some of the beasts there even thrive off of them. If you find yourself in the middle of such a storm, seek shelter immediately." "The island is also prone to hurricane-force gales blowing down from the three mountains at its centre. They're strong enough to knock over trees, cause floods, and blow chunks of debris about. They only last for a few minutes at a time, but they can blow people away in that time, so be wary." "Then there's the locals." Shardra waves down a waiter for a refill on her drink. "The Isle of Terror changes those who are born there. The negative energies of the place warp wildlife into more corrupted and terrifying forms--wolves, trolls, frogs, even the trees themselves..." Shardra shudders.
Shardra gives Vixie a little nod. "A pleasure." "Now, Maxilla here has informed me that you were all planning to venture out to the Isle of Terror at some point?"
The two of you run off to the Forest's Bounty. The drinking hall's common room is busy with patrons at breakfast today. |