I think I'll mark this campaign as inactive for the time being, though I'll probably use the same thread when we return from hiatus.
I'll take the rest of the year off, at least, and then we can reassess.
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I'm glad to hear that! You're definitely a joy to run for, as well—you really seem to thrive in this sort of play. :)
That's more or less what I've had in my head. I do keep forgetting just how young he is, though! Baby-faced little goth boy. Also, does this quarter end with Raveen leveling up? Sure, makes sense to me. At some point, I'll need an estimation of his wealth before the looting of Rastagar's office, but there's no hurry.
We're more or less done for this part of the Masque of Quarters. I really need a break, though of course I'll answer any questions you might have in the interim. The next major decision would be where you're headed. Andrzej wants to go east to meet with the rebels in the woods, Ruxandra wants to go north and cross the border to Ustalav, while Gweleddyd will attempt to push you west towards his prison near Lake Encarthan. As for Nalutari, the correspondence will show she has been sent to Rastagar's superiors in the southern cities. Raveen will, of course, have a lot of say here, and might be able to convince the rest of the group to go wherever he is heading. Pike will follow Andrzej and Myrna will likely follow Raveen by default, at least for now.
The Kedzierskis look at the illusion with apparent surprise, and in the case of Ruxandra, the bitter sting of old grief. She wipes at the corner of her eye and sniffles in spite of herself, clearly not one for showing weakness openly. "This isn't the first time I've tried to break into the Forgotten Track. My husband, Szilveszter, died in there years ago, and I couldn't stop it. I was young and stupid back then—we both were. He was a leader in the resistance, if you can even call 'em that. Melcat is long gone, and it's no coming back. How can you hope to dethrone a god?" "Desna is with us," declares Andrzej, his face set into an expression of stubborn defiance. "As long as the stars shine, there's hope. Besides, we've just proven that Razmir isn't anywhere near all-powerful. We'll get revenge for Sly, and everyone else who's been trod under the 'Living God's' heel. It's just a matter of time. Speaking o' which, friend Raveen, I was just 'bout to ask you if you'd like to—" Pike trundles over and pokes Andrzej on the arm, pointing over her shoulder at the now-harnessed horse. The Varisian blinks sheepishly. "Uh, right. I s'pose we should put a few miles between us and that blasted hole, afore we get too ahead of ourselves. I think everyone here can agree on that much, yea?" Ruxandra nods grimly and hops onto the driver's seat, while Pike more or less steps up and over the cart's edge and then helps pull Andrzej aboard. Myrna comes up with her bag, climbing timidly up and taking her place at a slight remove from the others, especially the suspicious glares of the elder Kedzierski. Andrzej offers you a calloused hand and a smile. "Whatever comes next, let's pray it doesn't involve hacking away at rocks all day!"
Myrna's face lights up. "Oh. Oh! Right, of course! I'm so used to just... forgetting things, forever. Don't worry, I'll tell you right away if I recall anything..."
"Like the kiss of a goddess," the Varisian replies with a grin. The cart seems almost ready to go: there are enough provisions for a couple days' travel, but it is otherwise is empty. Pike is currently making sure the horse is properly harnessed—the half-orc seems uncharacteristically gentle when handling the steed, murmuring wordlessly to calm it as she works. "Hey, focus!" says Ruxandra, snapping her fingers sharply under her brother's nose. "You talk some sense into this dolt, would ya? We need to go through Janoyt, and then hop over the border to Ustalav. We've got family in Varno—they can take us in. Otherwise it's just a matter of time before we're caught." Andrzej sighs. "You know I can't just leave, Roxie. I've gotta reach the Vergan Forest. I just, uh... remembered somethin' important—real important. The rebels in Whispertruth need to know, and I'm the only one who can tell 'em." Ruxandra grits her teeth and throws her hands in the air in frustration. "I did not just save you so that you could rush head-first into more danger," she hisses. "What am I gonna tell the kids, huh? That I was away for months to rescue their useless tramp of an uncle, only to return empty-handed!?" Andrzej shakes his head apologetically, but does not budge.
"I...hate murder," he says after a while, raising his hand holding the Warden's crosier. For a young man of twenty-two winters, he seemed remarkably old, burdened by the sins he bore, or forced himself to bear. "I have had chances to redeem myself, and yet stole such a chance from others. I made...so many wrong choices." Myrna smiles sadly and nods. There is nothing that can be said—only silent commiseration. "I go now to find my master, and complete the mission I have been given--retrieving the Black Book," He said, lowering the crosier and awakening from his revere, looking back at the healer. He then cracked a small smile. "Wherever you go: Hymbria, Absalom, wherever, I hope you the best...and a long life under a warm sun, doctor." Something about the start of your declaration seems to have caught the half-elf's attention, distracting her from the rest. "The Black... Book," she draws out the words, as if tasting them. "I'm not sure why, but that sounds familiar. Where have I heard that before?" Myrna shakes her head with a jolt. "Um, sorry. I'm not sure what to do, just yet. I suppose I'll stick with you, or Andrzej, depending on where you're going. Wherever I can do the most good, right? But thank you for... well, everything. We couldn't have gotten here without you."
Even though I've struggled at times to keep this game rolling, the results have been quite satisfying. I hadn't really run anything like this before, but I have to conclude this is sort of ideal for PbP—with only one player to worry about, there's room to craft a story that's really about that player's character, and that reacts to their decisions in a truly fleshed-out manner. IRL games that rely on improvisation can be great as well (BitD is a great example), but it's always sort of hectic, and sometimes the stuff you come up with on the fly does not land. The down-side here is, of course, the effort required. As I think I've said before, I had only a rough outline going in, and I basically improvised the rest based on where Raveen chose to lead the story. Like this whole slow-burn redemption arc with Myrna, and how that ties into Raveen's struggle with his own insecurities... I don't think I could have planned that out if I tried—it just happened.
Andrzej is dumb-struck by the strange offering, humming and hawing over it for a moment, though you can hear Ruxandra begin to elucidate as you walk away (in between curses and exhortations to stop slacking). After a while you hear the sound of cracking glass, and then another spitfire argument in Varisian.
Myrna flinches away from the vessels, as if the mere sight of them stirred an unpleasant recollection. She takes them nonetheless, shifting them around in her fingers before raising one to her face. "Yes, this is... me. I... I think I attacked you. That's what I used to do—kill people on command. That's who I was, for so long." She looks to you, one eye peering through the glass. "I have no idea what to do next, but... I don't want to be that person anymore. Part of me thinks I should forget, so that I could start anew. But no. I deserve to remember, to carry that burden. How else can I know to avoid making the same mistakes?" The half-elf lowers the tube, but does not break eye contact. She looks tired and weak, a far cry from the staunch healer you have learned to know. Perhaps there is something in your expression that cannot be communicated in words, because after a while you can see a tiny spark, a faint ghost of determination light up her gaze. "Perhaps there's a middle way," she decides, crouching down to slip the vessels into her bag. "Truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, in the best of times. Along the way, I'll make new memories—something sweet to make the medicine go down easier."
The best way to handle loot is probably to do a little check-up if/when we get back to this, and bring Raveen roughly up to WBL+1 (not counting special items like the mask and the shard). No sense getting into it now.
Your compatriots' memories (a quarter-full tube of faint recollections for Andrzej, and nothing for Pike) are fairly easy to recover, though you note that some of Myrna's older memories seem to have been disposed of—perhaps they were no longer useful, or they do not store interminably. There are still more vessels assigned to her than any other inmate. You also find a wide assortment of magical knick-knacks, some currency and valuables, and, perhaps more importantly, some correspondence and notes that seem to mention Nalutari. You stash these away for later perusal and hurry back to the central shaft. The rioting has grown even fainter, replaced by the sounds of celebration and looting. Some of the prisoners have even dared the upper levels, though none have yet reached the very top. In the ceiling you see a perfectly round aperture, and beyond it an overcast sky. There is rope, which appears to be connected to a pulley-operated crane aboveground. Pike waits at the bottom, and soon begins herding you towards the rope with her spear. As you reach the surface, you find yourself in a temperate valley: grassy plains interspersed here and there by rocky outcroppings. Right next to the entrance are the faint remains of a ruined farmstead, mostly comprised of a stone foundation and a half-collapsed chimney, with a somewhat more preserved barn to which the crane is attached. From a distance, the pulley system looks just as decrepit as everything else, though it is obviously still in functioning condition. Nearby you see Andrzej and—as you will soon learn—his older sister Ruxandra, who are bringing a horse-drawn wagon out of the barn. "Travers" has finally been discarded, leaving the false Priest wearing a practical suit of darkened leather, with a pair of wickedly curved daggers hanging from her belt. Pike joins them as soon as she comes up behind you, though she pauses to address you with a grunt and a shove towards Myrna, who is standing in the middle of the swaying grass and staring off into the distance. Her greying hair is unbound, tussled gently by the wind. Her expression is hard to read. "It's going to rain soon," the healer—or poisoner—says vaguely. "At least, I think it used to smell like this, before it poured down."
He was starting to remember. He tried to remember how he was captured--who took him in. You recall flashes of a skirmish, with the Drumish merchant-captain attempting in vain to fend off the Razmirans. The ranks of the attackers consisted mostly of Acolytes with (you now realise) a higher-than-usual ratio of Priests, and an elite squad of heavily armed Heralds. Though it was their hands that wielded the clubs and no doubt shackled you once they had truncheoned you into unconsciousness as you tried to reach the life-boats, there is a spot of colour amidst that sea of white, grey, and black: a person in a red robe wearing a golden mask, standing near the helm of the attacking vessel. He then tried to remember what happened to his master. There was a conversation just before the Razmiran attack, where you conferred with Nalutari as to the best course of action—you agreed that your best bet was to flee in the confusion, though it now seems as if the zealots had been looking for you, specifically. As with most of your belongings, you recall the flower-pot being confiscated on arrest. It seems Nalutari went undiscovered until you reached the Forgotten Track, as Rastagar was the first to ask you questions about your master's severed head—your memories of the warden's interrogations are somewhat painful to recollect, even now, but it seemed to you as if he was somewhat agitated, desperate to enlist your knowledge to "get through to her." Eventually, he stopped asking. With a heavy and guilty heart, he remembered Westcrown. His failed mission--and the new one with which he had to redeem his failure: The Black Book.
Shortly after departing Westcrown and reaching friendlier shores, you recall hearing the story of a Nidalese shadowcaller called Iluna of Elith Lorin. She is quite a legend, in her own right: it is told that as a fetchling, Iluna was denied entry into the Dusk Hall, and so had to become self-learned in the arts of illusion and necromancy. Some rumour she did so by calling beings directly from the Shadow Plane to coach her in the arcane, while others whisper that she invaded the tombs of elder wizards to steal their long-forgotten lore. Finally, after establishing her mastery in spite of the Nidalese elite's disdain, she became one of the few of her kind accepted into the Umbral Court. She had enemies, of course, but the will of the Black Triune is absolute, and thus she prospered. More importantly to your interests, she is said to have been in possession of a cursed grimoire of great renown, known only as the Black Book. The origins of the tome are unclear, but it has left in its wake generations of misery, driving its readers into ever-increasing depravity. To help in the search, you tracked down an old hermit, a shadowcaller who was known to have been an apprentice to Iluna, from whom you learned of her disappearance: apparently spurred on by the Book, the master had gone to investigate the Isle of Terror in order to learn of Tar-Baphon and the strange anomalies surrounding the ruins of the lich-king's capital. However, the last missive Iluna's apprentices received was signed in Aerduin, the capital of the Arch-Duchy of Melcat, before its destruction by Razmir. Since the grimoire had not resurfaced, both you and the hermit agreed that it had to remain within Razmiran. You left the meeting with a feeling of unease as to the old man's trustworthiness, or at least his motivations for helping you. Could he have sold you out to the Church of Razmir...?
Gweleddyd makes no response, save for the ominous rattle of scales. As you break the vessel, the contained energy scatters, but then gets drawn back, clinging to you like a coating of morning dew on a leaf before it is burnt away by the sun. The oncoming rush of flashing images is nearly overwhelming, and you are having some trouble making any sense of it: they don't always come in the right order, and try as you might, sometimes you are left guessing at the chronology. You see the deck of the ship, and Lake Encharthan’s sea-like vastness before you; "We're not done yet, crow-boy," she claims, nearly drowned out by the panicked shouts of the Drumish mariners; there is a glimpse of another vessel, teeming with Razmirans; you feel the hard bite of a truncheon on your scalp; you see a sodden brig, a castle dungeon, a rickety carriage from which you glimpse a large city of stark division, half grand and opulent, half ruinous and squalid; again and again the scowling visage of Razmir, on the sails of the oncoming ship, on the faces of your captors, on every veneer of every building; harsh words in the dark, more pain and more questions; you never break, never tell anyone of the book or the flower pot; "The Black Book is a relic of ancient Gastash," whispers the old shadowbinder; a few hours of wretched sleep filled with strange visions; glimpses of a countryside, farms and fields and forests, with hollow-cheeked serfs working their lives away; deeper and deeper into the wilderness, as the carriage bumps and rattles ever more on the trackless earth; your master is near, but you have not been able to talk with her for days; the warden stares down at you, his pale eyes like twin moons in the night sky; soft words in the dark, more pain and more questions...
Raveen, quite wisely, left himself some wiggle room: he never explicitly promised... well, anything concrete. However, in Gweleddyd's absolutist mindset: "in equal measure" = "You help free me, I help free you." That's partly why he was so quick to jump on the deal: he knew it was sort of ambiguous, but that ambiguity cuts both ways; he had just made clear his goals and established that he is very keen to avenge himself on oathbreakers. He trusted that by the time you'd (hopefully) succeeded, he would have made his point. Now it's up to Raveen whether or not he "goes back on his word." Again, whatever he actually promised is, from Gweleddyd's perspective, utterly irrelevant—any bid to finagle is now an excuse to enact sweet, sweet revenge.
"Sssatisssfied," the voice repeats slowly, as if tasting the word. "Yesss, for the moment. But forget not your promissse: you ssshall find me and free me from my prissson, jussst asss I aided in your own liberation." There is a slight pause in the hissing, and then you feel a mental nudge of sorts. "Halt. It isss here..." You find yourself at a mahogany writing desk, upon which are laid various parchments: most of them seem to be notes on experiments, managerial paperwork, and correspondence. Nearby, next to an ornate lamp, you note a small cushion of red velvet, which is heavily indented near its centre and rather curiously caked with what appears to be clumps of mulch and flakes of dried blood. Of more immediate note is a catalogue of 'interview sessions,' which is highly unusual in its lack of detail: each log consists of merely a name, a number, and a date, as if there was no need to write down the actual results of each inquiry. The most recent entry (that of Curnow) is quite new, so much so that the ink has yet to dry. You quickly locate yourself in the list of names, a single interview, which—assuming the latest date is the current one—took place a week prior. That would leave a few whole days of missing time from your last memories of being aboard a ship on the Encarthan. Following this trail of papers, you are able to locate a delicate cabinet of darkwood with silvery filigree, somewhat Elven in design. The complex mithral locking mechanism, as you immediately suspect, responds to the touch of the crosier with a series of clicks. The doors fling open to reveal a series of small compartments, each filled by an identical glass cylinder resembling an alchemist's test tube; each tube is about the size of a finger and stoppered with a wax-sealed piece of cork. There are hundreds of them. It seems as if the vessels contain a shimmery, half-gaseous and half-liquid substance, though you are convinced it is neither. Some of the tubes appear fuller than others, and there are likewise variations in luminescence. "Ssstored memoriesss," says Gweleddyd, though he does not elucidate further.
As you inspect the tubes more closely, you are struck by their similarity to the infamous soul jars, which are used by night hags to store their unholy wares. However, rather than containing trapped spirits (often recognisable as semi-anthropomorphic ectoplasm), these vessels appear to have been modified in order to hold a different type of metaphysical essence. The amount of pseudo-matter and the variations in its luminescence might indicate the volume and potence of the energy within. Though some of the theory escapes you, based on the similarity in practical construction to soul jars, you are fairly certain that unstoppering or even shattering the tubes would safely free the energy within. However, like souls freed from imprisonment, the metaphysical essence should be free to naturally flow to wherever planar forces guide it—in case of unbound souls, this would be the Boneyard; in the case of errant memories, you are not quite as certain. Perhaps they would gravitate towards their rightful owner, or simply the nearest sentient mind at the time of emancipation.
Myrna only blinks in response, apparently somewhere between her previous somnambulist state and full wakefulness. As you move away, the half-elf walks over to the corpse of the man who held her in thrall for so long, and stares down at it, plainly uncomprehending of her newfound freedom. You saunter into the warden's private chapel, stepping gingerly over the dented remnants of the metal door. With the crosier in hand, the abjurations woven into Razmir's looming visage regard you as their creator—the green light burning in the giant mask's eye-holes flickers and dims as you approach. To your right, you see the entrance to Rastagar's storage of confiscated items and his collection of shadowy oddities. To your left, there is the entrance to his sanctum, which is shielded from view by colourful fabrics that glitter in the fading light. There appear to be no hidden traps. As you pass through the scintillating silks, you emerge into a laboratory, or a mages' workshop, or a torture chamber—or all of these at once. The wide chamber is filled by counters set with alchemical equipment, shelves laden with countless books and scrolls and manuscripts, as well as a multitude of tools for inflicting pain on others. At the centre of all this experimentation and cruelty is a sturdy iron table, set with chains and levers and winches, upon which lies the recently departed Priest Curnow—or so you would guess from his grey robes. Rastagar's ministrations have left him nigh unrecognisable. Curiously, you see nowhere for the warden to eat or sleep. You wonder if he did either, or if he simply used his sorceries to work around the clock for a cure to his inborn malady. Perhaps the constant pain allowed him no rest. There is a gloating hiss from the night-black shard. "The ssspoilsss, asss they sssay, go to the victor."
Sorry for taking so long to wrap this up. I have a deadline coming up, and it's taken up all of my time and drained me of my writing juices.
Rastagar gurgles as you drive the ebon-black shard into his subclavian artery, grasping feebly at your clothes as the light goes out of his eyes. The obsidian surface of the nightglass nearly glows with Gweleddyd's cruel satisfaction, as he pours words filled with the most acerbic sort of epicaricacy into the dying man's ear—you cannot help but to flinch at the surge of inhuman viciousness emanating from the makeshift blade. The Heralds react to the warden's death in wildly different ways: one goes entirely limp, forgoing any resistance as the Acolytes hack it to pieces; the other goes berserk, killing nearly a dozen guards in as many seconds before Pike brings it down with a stab to the back of the neck. You note that the spear the half-orc wields has been dipped in alchemical silver and bears the impression of a butterfly upon its head, a sign of Desna's blessing. You are soon approached by Andrzej, who is helping a reluctant "Travers" stay on her feet. The woman tosses away her mask, revealing a scarred Varisian somewhere in her mid-thirties—frizzy hair seeks to escape from the constraints of her hood, further cementing the family resemblance. "Okay, not bad..." she mutters, before being elbowed by her little brother. "Fine, 'twas bloody brilliant! Whatever else you need to get done, better do it now. I'll go pull out the plug, and if you're not here when it pops, we're leaving without you." As they move past you towards the roof-bound exit, Andrzej gives you a smirk and a clap on the shoulder. "I knew we'd met for a reason, friend." While all of this is going on, you see Myrna ascend the ramp with a look of utter confusion on her face. She looks around at the dead Acolytes, Heralds, and the warden himself as if she was beholding a dream, with the sounds of a continued—though fast dwindling—riot in the background.
I don't mind you having some inside knowledge, as long as the spoilers don't ruin your own fun and you don't use them to metagame (which I trust you won't do). As for your recollections, I will neither confirm nor deny their veracity, save to note that they appear sufficiently vague. :P Here's a link to the discussion thread. Unfortunately, my flurry of PMs didn't land us more than two people (including yourself), but I would have needed to get at least one person through open recruitment, in any case.
Sure, no problem.
Rastagar flinches as he sees "Raveen" appear out of nowhere and charge at him, turning his half-uttered spell on the illusion at the last moment—a ray of green energy flashes through the intangible figment, reducing a sizeable chunk of the rear wall into a fine dust. You see his pale blue eyes go wide as you snatch the crosier out of his hands, which sends the half-lame man sprawling onto the floor, his pristine blue robes marred by dirt and fresh blood. Unfortunately, as he falls, his mask is knocked aside, revealing a truly abhorrent visage: bruise-blue skin with splotches of sallowness, horribly shrivelled and covered in countless half-healed scars, pierced at places by painful-looking bone spurs. His nose is a mere hole punched through this tableau of suffering, and his mouth a drawn-out, lipless gash revealing a festering hole full of crooked yellow fangs. Every movement of the face appears to break or tear some feature. The fiend-blooded wretch tries to struggle back to his feet, but is unable: there is a premature senescence about the man, as if the crosier had supported him in more ways than one. The Mask of the Twelfth Step looks to his Heralds for aid, but they are practically buried under a mountain of enthralled Acolytes. Pike circles the fray, lunging in to land an opportunistic strike whenever possible, while Andrzej rushes to aid "Travers"—you catch a few words of a breathless exchange in Varisian. The warden turns back to you, his eyes focusing on the previously indiscernible, and reaches upwards with a claw-like gesture of his gnarled hands. "No!" he rasps, his voice a mix of anger, desperation, and fear. "Stop this madness at once—whatever the Prophet has promised you, it is a hollow lie! What power I find, I will share with you... I am so close—please!"
You had a good plan (even with the added difficulty of an unexpected deadline and having to negotiate and compromise with "Travers"; what might have been two clashing and mutually destructive riots became one quite smoothly), good prep (both in terms of information gathering and time management), and good execution (both narratively and mechanics-wise, culminating in an excellent roll [like, better than I thought would be possible]). So yeah, I did have some complications in mind, even for a DC 30 roll, but at DC 40 it would just feel contrived and unfair to throw a huge wrench in the works.
Well, I suppose it'd be years after Naberius' departure and the Westcrown debacle. I'm not planning on being too self-indulgent about it, as that might get alienating for the other players, so don't expect overt nods to our previous games. As much as I enjoyed Shadow Naberius, a scene like that wouldn't fly outside a solo game. BTW, congratulations on the baby! I hope you're acclimating well.
I had originally planned to run this more like a traditional combat encounter, but you've got everything more or less where you wanted. There's probably a roll or two left here, but unless those go really awry, I think Raveen is in the clear (fingers crossed!). By the way, since we're nearly done with this adventure, would you be interested in joining a new campaign I'm putting together? I’m thinking of running Academy of Secrets, a 13th-level adventure module for PF1. It's set in Naberius' alma mater!
As you make contact with the bell, both physically and metaphysically, you experience a moment of depersonalisation, as if your senses suddenly extended along the tendrils of force binding the immense hunk of metal to its many thralls—you share a brief connection with fellow inmates despairing in their darkened cells, nervous Acolytes in their chattering troops, even a flash of the warden's anger and glee as he slowly twists Curnow into something inhuman. With gritted teeth, you manage to retain your identity and focus on the hub, rather than the spokes. It all connects here, and here is where you can turn the wheel in whichever direction you please. Gweleddyd's hissing voice is like a proverbial hand on your shoulder, guiding each mental action with the shrewdness of a master strategist: where to look, where to advance or retreat, where to guide the massive amounts of energy stored within. There is a stern insistence to his guidance, as if the entity was more used to giving out orders than working in tandem, but its lust for vengeance and hunger for suffering make it manageable, and its knowledge opens up avenues you might have disregarded altogether. With this expert aid, you work to recontextualise the runes of power etched onto the bell's surface, making new connections and erasing others in order to convince the bell of its new purpose. There is a sense musicality to the whole process, like attempting to match a certain pitch by ear. With everything in tune, you ring the bell once: its reverberations are high and clear, quite unlike the bone-shaking tremors that have plagued the inmates every morning. You impart the sound with a single imperative, driven into each Acolyte's and Priest's mind with the subtlety of a whisper and the force of a nail. There is a short moment of utter silence, after which there is a crashing sound from the door leading to the warden's quarters. It rattles on its hinges, as if something was trying to force it open from the inside. Whatever trickery "Travers" had employed in preparation appears to be working, leaving Rastagar and his Heralds trapped for a few precious moments. You hear cries from down below—the first notes of the emancipatory choir you have so cunningly orchestrated. Your conspirator shouts at you to hurry, but you have already re-immersed yourself in the bell's aura. You ring it a second time, now dissonantly, bringing down those who might have resisted your compulsion to mutiny. This is followed by the growing sounds of chaos from below, as inmates begin to capitalise on the distraction. At the other end of the platform, the door to the warden's quarters is thrown off its hinges, battered and scorched. Rastagar emerges, flanked by his Heralds. To his great indignation and surprise, a group of Acolytes and Priests storms up the ramp and lunges at him, blank-eyed and silent as if in a trance, wielding an assortment of weaponry both improvised and properly lethal. They are immediately met by the warden's two kyton-like enforcers, who bring down several neophytes with a few swings of their vicious chains. However, there are more to replace them, and soon Pike joins the fray with a wordless roar of pent-up frustration, stabbing one of the Heralds in the throat with a longspear. Andrzej raises his voice as well, lending his mastery of the bardic arts to further stoke the involuntary mutineers into violence. As the mask's power makes you entirely unremarkable, you see Rastagar's masked gaze pass over you and fixate on your conspirator. "Travers" charges forward, as if guessing his intention, a curved knife appearing out of nowhere in her grasp. With a mere word and a gesture, Rastagar evokes a ray of crackling entropy, which strikes her in the chest and brings her to her knees after only a few steps, as if her legs no longer had the strength to carry her. The warden steps fully out of the doorway, leaning heavily on his silvered crosier. Protected from one side by the Heralds, he starts weaving another spell...
Gweledydd's expert guidance is worth a +4 bonus (since he aided in the bell's construction). You need to touch the shard to the bell to benefit from this. Raveen's earlier inspection of the bell (as well as his study of the manacles, rings, and their connection to the artifact) provides a +2 bonus. Using both a manacle and a ring as foci will raise that to a +4 ("Travers" is willing to loan you her ring, as she doesn't want to be wearing it right now, anyway). Perform (wind instruments) doesn't aid numerically (as Perform [percussion] obviously would), but the fact that Raveen has a sense rhythm and a basic grasp of musical theory does, at the very least, provide him with the basic competency to approach the bell as an instrument. Using the mask to shield himself doesn't aid directly, either, but does shield him from possible retribution (as the bell can't read you as being an inmate or attempting to tamper with it). I'll also throw in a generic +2 for general competency (having ranks in Disable Device, Knowledge [arcana], Spellcraft, etc.). That brings us up to a +10 bonus, not counting guile points. The Other might intervene, but that's not a given—if it could do this itself, it would have no need of you. Feel free to narrate Raveen's attempt in the gameplay thread, and specify what you want to happen.
The guards at the entrance do not seem overly concerned about you exiting with Myrna, whose near-catatonic state is not readily apparent unless she is addressed. You wait for a few tense moments at the periphery of the hubbub—a medium-sized group of Acolytes milling about the second-topmost platform—blending into the group of neophytes who are either waiting for orders from absent, now-overworked Priests, or actively attempting to avoid such assignments. You hear snippets of conversations, mostly grumbling about having been woken so early, about the extra work shifts, and so on. One group seems to be betting on Curnow's fate, while another whispers conspiratorially about various inmates and staff members who might be "in on it." The arrival of "Travers" is not difficult to perceive, as the Acolytes are quick to make way for the most influential Priest in the Forgotten Track. She is followed by Andrzej and Pike, both of who are chained at one ankle, the shackle being held by the conniving prelate. Andrzej is much like you remember, if a bit more frazzled than usual, while Pike presents an unforeseen mien of placidity. Between them they carry one of the crates of tools you studied at the bottom of the shaft. "Travers" goes to the ramp leading further upwards, tying the end of the chain around one of the beams underneath. "These inmates have been requested by the warden for questioning," she declares loudly. "No one is to lay a hand on either of them until His Luxuriousness is done interrogating the apostate. As for you idlers: anyone who is not otherwise occupied, you are required down in your cell blocks. Be ready for the bell, and remember well the words of Razmir: the prize for obedience is opulence—the price for disobedience, death." Once the about half of the Acolytes have filed away from the platform, "Travers" approaches you with similarly authoritative demeanour and looms over you threateningly, as if privately berating you for a more specific deficiency in morale or piousness "You better be ready," she says under her breath, in her more brusque tone. "Here goes nothing..." "Travers" leads you towards the ramp, and you follow with the proper deference of a scolded novice. You leave Myrna near Andrzej and Pike, who do not seem to question the addition. The Ustalav glances at you as you pass—perhaps making a guess, or maybe having been informed by your conspirator as to your identity—and winks at you surreptitiously. You note that their bindings are loose, and that the crate of tools has been put down nearby. As you reach the topmost platform and begin to make your way towards the bell, "Travers" makes a quick gesture and mutters something in the direction of the warden's quarters—almost certainly the activation word for a magical device of some kind. There echoes a faint, yet audible click from the same direction. Once you approach the source of the Track's collective misery, you are struck by the sheer immensity of the object, as well as its cruel artistry, neither which are readily appreciated from a distance. "Travers" nods, turning to watch the platform as you focus and shift your senses from the realm of the physical to the metaphysical. Like previously, the bell's aura is something to behold: like an immense octopus, its binding potency extends in every direction like a hundred tentacles, writhing in concert with the shifting sigils on its metal surface. Its greenish glow is nearly overwhelming, like staring at the sun—though it is not your eyesight that is in peril, but your mind. You feel the manacle around your ankle resonate, heating ever so slightly with every second you take to inspect the immensely ominous chime. You feel the shard of the nightglass humming with similar resonance—as per your agreement, Gweledydd stands ready to assist you in your endeavour.
Alright, the waiting will take place in the clinic. Raveen should focus on the bell. Raveen will also ask Myrna wryly if she has any poisons that he can use on his weapons. Myrna will point vaguely at her bag, which does contain a few doses of poison (mainly those usable as medicine, such as blue whinnis and oil of taggit). At what stage is the riot taking place? Do we have to bypass the dozen acolytes or will they be busy with the riots? The riot will start as soon Raveen incapacitates the guards. As she fetches Andrzej and Pike, "Travers" will make sure that certain prisoners' cells are left unlocked and that cell keys and hidden weapons are left nearby, which should then escalate naturally as these firebrands set their fellows free. The dozen Acolytes will not be an issue—as a Priest, "Travers" can lead you through. By the time any of the mooks overcome their indoctrination and start to consider reporting a higher-up for messing with the bell, they should already be writhing on the floor or working for you under magical compulsion. That is, assuming you succeed...
Sure! Disguised as an Acolyte, Raveen can mill about the upper platforms quite freely (save for the very uppermost level). Anything else you need clarified before we head into (what I assume will be) the finale of this prison saga?
Hmm. That might be too much of a retcon, since you specifically convinced "Travers" that you shouldn't be the one to get them. She's already been on the case while Raveen has been doing his own thing. To be clear, she can do it without issue—this absolutely won't make things harder for you. As seen on the map of the Track, Myrna's clinic is off the second-topmost platform (~20 ft by 30 ft), with a short-ish ramp (~20 ft) zig-zagging upwards. There is a former cell-block connecting the platform to the clinic, with the cells along it being used for storage. The very topmost platform—with the bell, the entrance to the warden's quarters, and the exit on the ceiling—extends off a rocky lip (with a combined extent of ~40 ft by 50 ft). The ceiling is ~25 feet up. There are about a dozen Acolytes milling about the second-topmost platform, with 3-4 specifically watching the entrance to the former cell-block leading to the clinic. Unfortunately, the ropes Raveen hid earlier might end up being useless, but that's how it goes when there's no set plot.
This is 100% accurate, save for a lack of evidence for #4 being related to the Other.
Travers can accomplish phase #6 without too much trouble, though not without being noticed—she has enough authority to remove them from their cells and bring the up-ramp without anyone questioning her, though it will essentially blow her cover if your plan does not work. It's a risk she's willing to take, however. Where do you want the "wait here" part of phase #7 to take place? In the clinic, the cell block in front, or the second top-most ramp? Otherwise, I think we're on the same page. Notably, "Travers" has a way of blocking the warden in his quarters for a brief while, which will give Raveen the time he needs to work on phase #8. Since the Heralds are in with Rastagar, there is no one outranking "Travers" who could stop you from approaching the bell.
Where do you want the rendezvous to be? What are the next steps? Just so that we're on the same page.
Well, at this pace, I don't think so. But thank you. :) My current translation project is nearing its final stages, so I'm going to be a bit flaky. Sorry about that.
At your exhortation, Myrna remains in an upright position, but she refuses to meet your gaze. You get the sense that she hears and understands your every word, but her presence is distant and muted. When you move towards the exit, she follows with even steps, like someone on a thoughtful stroll. Near the desk you note the healer's bag, which seems ready for an immediate "house call." The poisoned knife lies on the floor close by.
Well, there you go. Life is so very easy when you're rolling 20s. :P
As the half-elf wheels around, you note two key details: firstly, Myrna is holding a small knife, the blade of which has been smeared with a bluish substance; and secondly, her eyes are glazed over and her face slack in a manner that signals overt mind-control. However, as her gaze meets the brilliance of the sun—the sun which she scarcely remembers—something changes. Grasping at her temples, she staggers back, dropping her knife and upending a couple of jars from her little desk. Her face twists, going from an expression of desperation to that of placidity and back again, changing as she struggles to escape her conditioning. It is obvious that she is not going to win the battle, but you nonetheless cannot help but to admire her persistence in fighting it—this is no mere charm she is attempting to shake. Rastagar's assassin mutters through gritted teeth, "I must... bring you... to the warden..." "No!" hisses the healer, almost without pause. "Not again... This is... This is all wrong! Help... me...." Reaching out with the power of the mask, you feel a sudden coldness brush up against your being—like first winds of winter shaking at the leaves of an autumnal tree, seeking to tear away the last of its yellowed foliage. As soon as you have made the connection between it and Myrna, you instinctively cut it away. Wherever that wind blows, or whatever gulf of nothingness breathed it, you know it was shaking at the very tatters of your eternal soul. The results are immediate: Myrna ceases her rambling and looks up at you with an expression of both anguish and relief. "Thank you," she whispers. "I... I think I deserve this." After that she goes silent, her eyes dropping to the floor. Slowly, unless you move to support her, she curls into a fetal position on the floor. Though she does not answer to you verbally, she appears to obey your instructions and follows your lead if you guide her by the hand.
Well, it'd certainly get her attention and give you time to do your thing. Coupled with a successful Diplomacy/Intimidate/Perform check, it could set you up for whatever you need to do next, effectively making her more susceptible and/or receptive to either being guilt-tripped or charmed. It's basically letting her know that whatever you're about to do is for her benefit, so that it's not as intensely unpleasant—especially so if you go with the guilt angle. Is that what you'd like to do, then?
There we go—sorry about that. What guise is Raveen currently in, by the way?
GM Screen:
While at a glance it would seem Myrna is half-asleep, there is a tenseness in her posture that makes you think otherwise. She does not have eyes on the room, but a twitch of her half-even ears implies full alertness to her surroundings. She has positioned herself so that her hands are not visible. Whether there a risk of hostility towards yourself is unclear, but the healer is clearly set to ambush someone.
As you return to the clinic, things have calmed down somewhat. The guards have moved outside, where they idle nervously at the entrance to the decommissioned cellblock—you do not see your erstwhile shepherd amongst their number. Once you step in, you see one more covered-up cadaver in the corner, but all of the other patients look to be well attended to, most of them asleep, unconscious, or dozing off in a drugged haze. Myrna herself stands in her little workspace with her back to the door, leaning heavily against what passes for her desk. She appears not to have noticed your entry. Maybe she is sleeping...?
The flower is certainly reminiscent of a bluebell, though too roughly drawn to be accurately identified. You can write down what you see without issue. Also, question: does the mirror still cast Continual Light, or was the spell infused with it changed to Shadow Evocation? The mirror is, by default, set to replicate daylight. When closed and reopened, you can make it replicate any spell with the light descriptor that is of a level shadow evocation is capable of replicating—it can't replicate any other spells.
GM Screen:
The upper-to-middle levels of the Track are still in disarray. Disguised as one Acolyte amongst dozens, it is a relatively simple matter to swipe a key and enter your former cell without anyone batting an eye. The accommodations seem to be unoccupied, and look much as you left them previously: cold and damp air, rough-hewn stone walls, empty save for the pile of rags and straw on the floor. There are carvings on the walls, left by previous tenants: "Long live Melcat!
"SAY WHAT
There is also a small inscription written in the hodgepodge tongue of the halflings: four short lines—discrete sentences, perhaps—written one above the other, at human knee-level. Next to the text are the faint outlines of a flower, drawn in blue chalk. And of course, there is the orb—cold and unbearably bright, still aglow near the ceiling. Now that you have access to all your senses, you take a moment to inspect the auras surrounding the brilliant globe. At first, you are confused by the powerful presence of illusion magic. There are, of course, figments and glamers that have the outward likeness of true illumination, but actual light demands evocation in order to produce the requisite energy. Moreover, you notice the tell-tale signs of shadowcasting. As soon as you realise this paradox of light and shadow, you find yourself in darkness—indeed, the cell was never truly lit in the first place.
Sounds good? I'll go for Stage 1 if you're ready. Sounds good. I'll get in a gameplay post ASAP. Also, quick question. Does Raveen know he is about to be corrupted when he uses the mask's third power? Yes, he is aware of the risk.
Ugh, sorry for the late answer. I've been a bit frazzled lately. 1. Andrzej learned how to remove the manacles from Raveen. Can Raveen likewise learn from Gweledydd how to use the Bell? Like Gweledydd said, it's like playing music. If you had more time, he could instruct you in the intricacies of this particular instrument. As it is, you'll have to do with general theory and whatever info you've managed to gather, which is—at this point—a pretty solid foundation. However, Gweledydd can provide some guidance in situ, assuming you open communications prior to touching the bell (sort of like a pupil playing a piano one-handed while the teacher plays with the other). 2. Raveen wants to spirit Myrna out. She was, unfortunately, the bane of previous escapes (whether by participating or sabotaging from a distance). To keep her under his eye, Raveen wants to take her with--but preferably in a way where she would not cause harm. I got a Charm Person spell up my sleeve, but had an idea besides ungentlemanly knocking her out. Could we, by Raveen's assessment, use the Mask's second power (the make-generic-by-reflecting-on-past-failures power) keep Myrna mentally busy enough to make her compliant? The mysticism I got from the mask is that it conceals your identity by tapping into your regret. If her regret is enabled and tapped into, she might be free of mind enough to unshackle her from Rastigar's influence, if only for a time. Charm person might do the trick—at least if the warden tried to force her to attack you, she'd be less willing to comply, even if the effect caused her to momentarily forget your burgeoning bond of mutual respect. However, this wouldn't necessarily spare any of your allies from her sweet ninja moves. Unfortunately, the mask is only "real" for Raveen: if he tries to give it to someone else to wear, it disappears back into his shadow. I'd be willing to let you use UMD to stretch what the item is capable of (in this case, to reach out with the power of the Other and incapacitate Myrna with guilt for an extended period of time; that's honestly not a big push :P), but the attempt would accrue the 10% chance to suffer from Shadowbound corruption that comes with the activation of its third-tier power (as in, there'd be a 10% chance of contracting it right away, and it'd contribute to the cumulative chance later on [with a 20% chance the next time it's used]). 3. Since we got so little time, can I try to deduce something? If he senses the sun-orb isn't really in his cell, does Raveen think it is tied to the Bell instead? Can I make a check for that? No need to spend the grit. You've got a working theory (i.e. it's your own magically illuminated mirror turned against you), but you'd actually have to return to your cell and inspect it to confirm the hypothesis. You do have enough time, if you'd like to do so.
I do try! Now I just have to work on actually posting, and I'll be unstoppable... :P I don't think you did. To sum it up: he doesn't know for sure, but he thinks Raveen's theory about it being his own mirror turned against him fits in with the sorts of mind-games the warden likes to play.
He thinks, saying, "How likely is our plan to succeed? Can I dominate the bell and use it to escape? With the powers it has that I know or are ignorant of?" "Your new friend of convenience isss wissse," the voice replies, "insssofar asss the likelihood of sssucccessss isss oftentimesss reversssely proportional to the complexity of the ssstrategy. I have told you previousssly that Rassstagar isss an artissst, rather than a ssscientissst. Thisss extendsss to hisss creationsss, asss the bell isss precisssely that: a bell—a musssical inssstrument of sssortsss, the extent of itsss resssonance being fully dependant on the ssskill and imagination of the perssson who ringsss it. When I wasss aiding in itsss conssstruction, we ssspent many an hour sssimply experimenting, in order to essstablisssh itsss practical limitationsss. Thessse are, in effect, the conventionalisssed usssesss you already know. I would sssuggessst a certain warinessss in deviating from thessse: improvissse only asss much asss you need, and otherwissse... follow the notation."
"Travers" departs with nary a curt nod, clearly preoccupied with the sudden change of plans. Gweledydd's reply comes as a faint echo, commingled with the dry chafing of scales upon scales. The murk of the shard is roiling with anticipation, and the faint lantern-light around you seems to recede even further across the ruined proof of Priest Curnow's idle existence. "No, thisss human isss not a ssslave to Rassstagar'sss will," it hisses. "Beyond that fact, ssshe isss asss much a myssstery to me asss to yourssself. I sssenssse that ssshe is dangerousss, in her own way—ruthlessss, but not one who revelsss in the rare delightsss of cruelty." There is a slight pause. "Mayhapsss it would be for the bessst if ssshe perissshed in the fighting? Once victory isss clear, of courssse..."
"Depending on how we use the bell, we might not even need to leave our places," Raveen says slowly. "It can command the ring-bearers and the prisoners--depending on how we use it, we might conduct the whole operation near it. From forcing the ring-bearers to let Andrzej and Pike upstairs unmolested, to paralyzing the ring-bearers, to sparking the riot." The woman raises a hand. "There's a pretty big might in there, cutter. I'd rather keep things as clean as possible. Let's assume we can turn some of the Acolytes on their master, and work from there. Anything else is a bonus, yea?" He frowns, remembering the dark presences of the two Heralds. "But we need to get rid of those freaks first. Do they ever leave his side?" "The Heralds?" she muses. "Never. At least one of 'em is always near at hand: they're usually posted at the entrance to his shrine, but if one is required elsewhere, the other retreats within the sanctum to protect their master. Right now, both of them are with him, assistin' him in his tortures." She glances to the ceiling, restless. "We have an hour or two, at the most. I suggest we move while they're still... occupied." He thinks on the mirror shard. And I need some time to consult my contacts on how the Warden might react to our plan. Your thoughts are met with a familiar empathic tug from the stowed shard, too vague for words but clear in resonance—Gweledydd also wishes to speak with you.
Yes, that is all Raveen has been able to ascertain. His new mirror-friend might have more insight, of course.
"Fine." The woman raises a hand, her voice strained with reluctance. "You've made your godsdamned point. The bastard is awfully vindictive..." She taps her foot restlessly, staring off into the distance for a few moments. You can hear vague mutterings in Varisian through her mask as she thinks aloud. "The pieces are still on the board, but we're goin' to have to play 'em a bit differently. I can get you up-ramp, and give you a few minutes to work the bell. But we'd have to delay the riot until after you're done. It'd be just me and you. There's little chance of me gettin' Andrzej and the half-orc upstairs without the distraction—t'would just draw more attention to ourselves. And if we set it off, there'll be no time for the bell." "I could inform Andrzej beforehand, and once you've messed with the manacles and the rings, he can handle the riot downstairs. I'm sure he'll be thrilled. But we'll need to handle the warden by ourselves. Either he dies, or it's all over. There'll be no chance of runnin' once it's underway." She turns back to face you, fixing you with her dark gaze. "Any other ominous revelations, or are we clear on the plan?"
The first quote simply refers to an effect on the manacles that makes it harder for the wearer to remove them—this has no effect after they are successfully taken off. The second quote refers specifically to the lesser geas effect the wearer of a ring can place on a wearer of a pair of manacles, if they so choose. This is not a constant effect, but something that allows the guards to give the inmates orders if they prove unruly. They don't bother doing this if an inmate is compliant, since a ring can only keep one such effect active at a time, and there are way more manacles than there are rings. But yes, if they have been given such an order and the manacles are removed, the lesser geas won't go away until the task has been fulfilled, the duration runs out, or the effect is dispelled. Sorry for having been unclear on the matter.
Yes, though you are limited to one ring-bearer per a pair of manacles, and the targets receive a Will save as normal.
"We have the barrier of the manacles," Raveen says cautiously, recollecting his knowledge. "That simply removing the manacles will not break the enchantment on any of us prisoners. If we just evade the Warden and leave his Power intact, he will be able to command us to return. We must strike down the head of the snake, otherwise it will return to strike." Sorry, have I implied there's a lingering enchantment after the removal of the manacles? Just to be clear: that's not the case. Of course, if the warden has messed around in your brain (as he has with Raveen), there might well be some subconscious brainwashing directive at work, but it's not directly related to the manacles. Also, Rastagar is a powerful spellcaster (with access to scrying, etc.), so the "head-of-the-snake" argument does still apply.
"Doesn't he have the control rod? Isn't that enough to knock us all down, even from his room?" Raveen asks. "I've watched him ring the bell multiple times," answers the woman, "morning, evening, and riot. There's always been contact, and I've seen nothin' to show he could it at a remove. And even if he could, we sure as sh*t ain't wearin' no manacles or rings by that point." He pauses, and asks, "You said you were here for a while. What do you know about the healer, Myrna?" "'Myrna,'" she repeats in an acrid tone. "Suffice to say, that's not her real name. Whatever you've got goin' on with that b*tch, you need to cut it out. She's a Daggermark poisoner—one of the best, I've heard. They sent her to kill Razmir, back when they didn't know what he was capable of. Didn't end well for her, obviously, but she's easily still one of the most dangerous people in here. The warden uses her to infiltrate and put out escape attempts and mutinies."
The woman listents patiently to your plan, her posture signalling a cautious interest. "I've managed somethin' like that, with the rings and the manacles—mainly gettin' rid of the latter with the former. Nothin' as big as what you're plannin', of course, but I believe you. Well, I believe it's possible, and that you think you could do it, anyway. You bein' able to get rid of the manacles does make things a lot easier, and proves you're as resourceful as I'd hoped." "My question is," she adds in a more stern tone, "why in the Hells should I risk my life, or Andrzej's, to make this bigger than it needs to be? Both of us know people—people who make other people disappear, and that can get us out of the country. We get rid of the manacles, put some distance between us and the Track, and I'm fairly sure we can evade capture until we're clear. With any luck, they won't notice we're gone for some time after the riot." "Besides, there's a couple of problems with your plan: first, the warden doesn't wear a ring, and second, the Heralds aren't even human. You might bring down everyone else in the Track, but they'd still be an issue. A big f*ckin' issue, I remind you, set to jump at our backs while we fiddle around with the bell." "As for the distance and possible freeloaders... I'm trustin' you to move Andrzej and Pike up-ramp, quietly and without fuss. If you can't do that... well, then I've got no use for you. Since I've already told you my plan, I don't think I need to tell you what that means."
Either tonight or early tomorrow morning, depending on the warden's whim. As it happens, he's not in a good mood. And yes, I think Raveen has already devised a method of using a ring and a manacle to short-circuit the bell, for a brief period of time. I don't remember the specifics off the top of my head, but fortunately we have a handy written archive of everything that's happened so far. :P
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