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he says as he leans down for a light kiss before turning to Quasit.

at first I read that as Findurel leaning down to kiss Quasit, and I was like wuuuuuut? lol

”What now, Q?”

Quasit is still looking over Bulvi with deep concern. "Through the door, dontcha think?" she says, a bit flippantly. "I'll go look it over, but there's probably no traps. It may not even be locked."

"Given all these undead, I'm thinking the Queen Bremagyr is undead too. And I'm also thinking that since no alarm has been sounded by all these minions that she doesn't need an alarm to know we're here. So I think the sooner we get to her the better. And as much as it would be nice to just ask her nicely to give up her crown, I think we're going to have to plan on attacking her on sight and just taking her down. Undead tyrants probably aren't the bargaining types."

Quasit leaves Kalchine to look over Bulvi, and picks her way along the causeway, trying not to step on pieces of the corpse-golem, and then looks over the inner gate.

Perception vs traps: 1d20 + 18 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 18 + 7 = 27

If she sees no traps on the gate, she tries to open it.

Buttercup reluctantly shares the coins with the rest of the group (.2 gp/person), though she does not let her reluctance show.

Impasha is caught unawares and hesitates as the halfling girl tugs at her tunic and offers her a shard of the spoils. A donation like that could help the soup kitchen, it would buy a bag of rice, or a basket of potatoes. But to take such money, liberated from the pockets of these dying villains, dispatched in the street—it felt uncomfortably like what the thugs themselves had sought to do.

With a pallid smile and a brief shake the head, she declines the bounty.

***

"Speaking of freedom, if the rebellion succeeds, what will be the status of all the slaves? As you know, this government makes a habit of enslaving halflings so, well, you know."

Impasha nods in agreement and waits to hear what Rexus says.

Moments after Myron reaches the wounded dandy, Impasha moves up as well ready to aid and assist him. She nods at the suggestion that they move off the street, looking about warily, then taking a few more steps up the street to look around the corner and see what has become of Hank and his quarry.

*****

Once ensconced at the cafe, Impasha pulls off her sword belt and drapes it and her shield over the back of a chair and sits down. She felt sweaty and dirty and knew how lurid the dried blood traced about her face and neck must look to anyone who happened to gaze at her, and her head still throbbed insistently. But perhaps what was even more uncomfortable was how nonchalant this man seemed to be about what had just happened to him.

When asked what she'd like to eat or drink, the fearless champion of Iomedae asks for lemonade and a croissant with jam. Protesting was thirsty work, and being half-beaten to death made a girl peckish.

Listening with intense seriousness to his proposal, Impasha cannot help but feel a thrill at how fate seemed to be thrusting itself upon her and the others. Had they not been discussing just such a person and cause as this just before they'd heard the street fracas involving this man? And indeed, had they been so noticeable that this nobleman had singled them out for his attention? Had they also been this noticeable to Thrune's henchmen?

"I would like to hear more about your movement, personally. I have many questions, some of which are probably best not discussed in public. Indeed, if you and your family have already been targeted by the Lord Mayor, I marvel that you came to the protest at all."

"But this much I will tell you--I am a loyal and dutiful servant of Iomedae. Our faith is dedicated to freedom and justice and defense of the oppressed. Indeed some of our faith have already struck a blow against the House of Thrune and incurred their retribution, as you have no doubt have heard. And I am here in Kintargo specifically and especially to oppose this unjust and evil regime, and will do whatever I am able to do to aid that cause. In some ways, I suppose I have been waiting to meet someone like you. You can depend on me, Mr. Victocora."

She then looks about the table to see how the others react, particularly Bellara.

I am intrigued by what you have to say and would like to subscribe to your newsletter!

Botting Selena

Selena has apparently been lost in thought, stroking her white fox and staring off into the distance. But now suddenly she turns back to Quasit with impatience.

"Didn't I just tell you the I needed to prepare the teleport spell? That's what I've been doing, which isn't easy to do with you jabbering over my shoulder."

She scans the group imperiously, then sighs wearily. "I see Kalchine has already left. You know, it's entirely possible that this entire area could be warded against teleportation, to prevent Bremagyr from escaping, in which case we'll still be walking, but now without our healer. Unless you can summon him back with the power of love." This last phrase is spoken with sneering contempt, and a great deal of relish.

"Very well, gather around. You know the drill, everyone needs to be touching. I'll aim for the spot southwest of the castle by the rocks, but obviously I've never been there before, so this may not be entirely precise. We'll probably be out in the open when we arrive, and perhaps closer to the castle than we'd like. It can't be helped I suppose."

Selena then begins to summon the magic from the air and ground around her, collecting the motes to form a sort of shimmering ball of arcane light that grows increasingly opaque, until with a flash she says the final triggering word, shunting the party across the intervening space in a stomach-bending moment of displacement.

Cast Teleport, aiming for square SW of "D"

Selena speaks as she pets Winter in a rhythmic way.

Somewhere in the fog of darkness, Impasha is aware of a sharp pinch to her fingers.

Someone is stepping on my hand. Is someone standing in my bed?

Then with a cough and a labored snuffle of blood, she is aware that she can hardly breathe and that her nose really hurts. She turns her head to the side and tries to open her eyes, but the bright light of day blasts her vision, and she becomes aware of a savage pulsing headache. What at first seems like a ringing sound resolves itself into a babble of voices.

The protest...I'm at the protest... the riot.

She attempts to push herself off the ground but her right shoulder can't bear the weight, and her head howls at her for the effort. Pebbles press into her cheek. Rolling onto her side, she brings a hand to her holy symbol and calls upon her deity for aid.

"Inheritor, hear me...the work of your servant is not finished. Fortify me so I may fight on." she says barely aloud in a voice cracking and dry from the clotted blood in the back of her throat.

Healing magic washes through her, deadening the pain and clearing her vision enough to open her eyes. People were shouting, running, pushing. Her sword was about a foot away.

I was knocked unconscious. Someone hit me in the head.

She pushes herself up to her knees, then grabs her sword and stands up the rest of the way. The world was spinning slightly, clockwise, and the ringing in her ears was insistent, but not absolute. The colors all seemed strangely vivid and oppressive, like the world in a painting. She looks around, feeling strangely detached from the raging action, as if this were actually a dream.

She can see dottati moving through the crowd, attacking people with lethal force. Past the fountain behind her (was there some kind of creature in the fountain?), she can see a man being carried over the shoulder of another. She thinks she can see Hank running away into the crowd to her left, but the little halfling girl seemed to be gone, or perhaps she too was lost in the crowd. Ahead of her, near the door of the opera house, the woman in the red cloak was dueling with one of the dottari.

She wobbles sideways and squints through her headache, but her grip tightens on her sword. She needed to run away--she could feel liquid eddying gently through her hair, probably blood. But for the moment she hesitates, struggling with a compulsion to duty, a sense that she needed to do more...

◈ Focus Spell: Lay on Hands (heal 6 hp)
◈ Stand
◈ Interact to pick up her sword (and shield)

Feels good to be out of the penalty box! I was getting very antsy!

I’m going to be really sad if I die in the first encounter. ;p

Now beset by three goons, Impasha grits her teeth, trying not to betray any facial expression that might indicate she was in pain. But she can’t help but stare wide-eyed at her hands as her skin suddenly takes on a scaly cast.

”You fiends! What did you DO to me?” she shouts furiously at her attackers, redoubling her resolve to fight and to resist her infernal transformation.

No one is born a paladin.

explicit language and situations

Tell me more about that gap. Is it jumpable? Is it bottomless?

The next morning, Impasha ventures into the street to purchase a bundle of firewood for the cookfires. She'd already been up for an hour, spending time in the garden doing her martial exercises and her prayers. It was her favorite time of day, and had been even before the time she joined her order -- she always felt full of energy and ambition on first arising, and went about her chores with purpose. It made her feel good about herself, to go down a mental checklist of duties and accomplish things while the day was so young--to know she had not squandered herself in indolence or frivolity, or worse yet, slept until called to breakfast by someone who'd been up and working before her, on her behalf.

A light rain in the predawn hours had put a sheen on the cobblestones and they now glimmered pleasantly in the morning sun, just now peeking up over the rooftops of the lower buildings. The wind was from the northwest and smelled of the ocean, a tangy rugged smell that opened the eyes. She found a vendor out by the main street whom she recognized and purchased a copper bundle, giving him an extra copper and asking after his wife and son. The transaction concluded and the burden light, she decided to walk back a different way, to have a look at the river and see what boats had come in with the tide.

A handful of people were gathered in one of the old piazzas, and a man was reading out a some official city proclamation. She recognized the text as something she'd seen posted in various places and businesses around town. She stops to listen near a small clot of townsfolk.

"Proclamation the First: All slayers of city pests (hereby defined as doves, mice, and ravens) who present said pests to the dottari shall be rewarded with a bounty of 1 copper piece."

"Why not rats, I wonder?" said one of the men, a short lumpen man in a kitchen apron. "I wonder that every time I hear it."

"I think they's already marked out. No need mentionin' 'em again. Plus, it'd cut into the rat-catchers business if anyone could get the bounties." says another man, a younger fellow with spectacles and a book under his arm, perhaps a student or a clerk in one of the law offices.

"I don't mind about the mice or the ravens, they're nasty enough, but why the doves? What do they hurt?" asked an old woman carrying a basket filled with fresh bread. She had a fat nose crinkled with little red blood vessels, and her eyes were boggy. A drinker. Impasha frowned and looked away.

"One of 'em must've crapped on a Thrune statue. 'The new Lord Mayah did NOT approve'." quipped the bespectacled youth, affecting a posh accent.

Impasha silently wondered if the edict was somehow a covert jab at the Silver Ravens. The pettiness would fit.

Proclamation the Second: All places of public business must display in a position of prominence within the first room accessible from the building’s primary entrance a portrait of Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II. Said portrait must measure no less than 11 by 17 inches.

This one excited little comment, and the people near Impasha let it blandly pass. Impasha looked at her feet and sighed. There could be no clearer signal that the days of freedom were coming to an end. The stamp of authority had to be placed everywhere, to remind them all that no one would go unnoticed any longer. Taldan kings sometimes did this sort of thing, and it never boded well.

Proclamation the Third: Anyone who captures, alive and unharmed, a feral dog of a weight exceeding 50 pounds is to be rewarded with a payment of 2 silver pieces upon transfer of the dog to the dottari. Such noble guardian creatures should find homes worthy of their kind!

A murmur went through the crowd as people recalled to one another dogs they'd seen about in the previous days. The man in the kitchen apron tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if mentally totting up the weight of some canine he was acquainted with. "Best thing for 'em." said the young man. Impasha wondered if the dottari would be all that picky about the weight, and speculated darkly on the use the noble guardians would be put to. She'd have to take steps to hide the mongrel that hung about the Milani quarters.

Proclamation the Fourth: The right to wear fine embroidered clothing in public is hereafter proscribed to anyone other than agents of House Thrune or the Holy Church of Asmodeus. Exceptions can be awarded or purchased at the city’s discretion.

This one elicited much nodding of heads and verbal remonstrations against various city personalities. At street level, the artists and opera goers did not have many supporters among the unwashed. Conspicuous new money families came in for several scowling jibes. One joked that bribery would be more difficult now. Another noted that it would be easier since the dispensations could be purchased.

"Actually sumptuary laws are rarely effective. It's always the little things that spark the greatest indignation in people." said the young man self-importantly. He actually glanced back at Impasha to see if she was impressed. He looked her up and down as men often did. She stared straight ahead at the herald, pretending not to notice.

Proclamation the Fifth: Grain is life! Should grain be spilled in public, it must be gathered, cleaned, and repackaged within the hour. Any person who allows grain to go ungathered after a spillage shall be fined 1 copper piece per grain.

"Grain? Do they mean all grain? Goodness, I'd hate to be one of them dock workers unloading the stuff! Someone always muffs a bag of that!" said the old woman, clutching her bread.

"They don't mean flour too, do they?" said the man in the apron in a worried tone.

The young man shook his head. "No, they said grain. That wouldn't include flour."

"Imagine if you worked in one of the mills!" said the old woman breathlessly. "You can't grind grain without spilling some of it!"

The young man laughed. "Oh come now, they aren't talking about inside one's home or place of business! Just sweep up afterwards!"

"Sounds mad to me." said the older man with a committed shake of the head.

The young man was intent on playing devil's advocate. "Well think about it. You've gotten rid of all the mice and ravens and doves. Who'd eat the grain if it spilled in the street? There's a certain internal logic to it."

The man in the apron frowned and shook his head firmly. "Mad." he reasserted.

Provocative, thought Impasha. The sort of ordinance people would use to settle scores. Scatter some grain by their door and call over a municipal official. Would a new sort of official be needed to attend to grain misdemeanors? A little tentacle of fussy control slipped into everyone's lives. Grain was life indeed. And now it would be watched.

Proclamation the Sixth: The imbibing of night tea brings a dangerous imbalance to the slumbering mind. Between the hours of sunset and sunrise, the taking of tea is proscribed.

"What, do they mean in our homes too? Not just in inns and such?" said the older man, who was becoming more indignant by the second.

"They should perscribe strong alcohols." said the old woman, incongruously. Impasha looked at her in surprise, wondering why she'd say such a thing.

"I sometimes drink a tea at night to help me sleep. They don't all keep you awake you know." said the young man wistfully. Again he looked back at Impasha, hoping to provoke a response out of her, and possibly start a conversation. Her eyes caught his briefly and he smiled. She gave him a quick nod of her head and walked away out of the group, giving up on the idea of walking by the river. Her heart was no longer in it.

Proclamation the Seventh: The odor and flavor of mint is an abomination to the refined palate. Be not the cretin! Mint use in candies, drinks, and all manner of confections is hereby proscribed.

Another provocation. Bait. Some distracting whim of the new Lord Mayor, a battlefield of his own choosing. Impasha could imagine the upper classes and elites about the city laughing to one another about The Mint Law at their parties, dismissing Thrune as a clown not to be taken seriously, who would collapse under the weight of his silly mediocrity. Right up until the time his agents burst into their homes and arrested them all.

These proclamations were ridiculous, but not mad. He was daring people to resist. Hoping they would. It seemed so clear to her. It chilled her--the bluntness of it. Like someone announcing they were going to gouge out your eyes, and the moment they pull out the implement they intend to do it with and then smirk at you.

And yet they had to be resisted. Just not on the battlefield they'd chosen. There were darker, deeper crimes at work. Ignore the chaff. She'd intended to go that day to the protest anyway, but now she resolved to go armed and with armor. If the authorities would provoke people over tea and mint, they'd certainly try to goad people into doing something impulsive at a protest. If the crackdown materialized, people would need protection.

"Let me be your Hand." she murmurs, and turns into an alley to take the fastest way home.

Maxis tries to break free then repeatedly whacks his sword at the leopard hanging onto his leg.
"Drop it! DROP IT!
Unarmed to escape Grapple: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 8 + 1 = 15
Longsword: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 8 + 1 = 29Damage: 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 3 + 1 = 12x2
Longsword: 1d20 + 8 + 1 - 5 ⇒ (12) + 8 + 1 - 5 = 16Damage: 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 1 = 9

I dunno Fin, are you finished with your Old Rasputin Stout?

Tezuzu arrives fashionably late for his breakfast, as usual, and stares disapprovingly when he notices that someone has broken into the jar of preserves he'd been saving. Was nothing sacred? With an indulgent sigh, he scoops some spicy potatoes onto his plate, pointedly avoiding the oatmeal. He helps himself to a cup of tea.

Feeling the need to talk, he makes his way over to the new girl child, Anastasia, and practices his Russian, asking her various mundane questions about her home, her garden, her studies and giving responses about how a sturdy young tengu scholar would be raised. She still seemed nervous around him, as if he were some enormous pink elephant demon, instead of an old fellow just trying to be friendly. Even for a human, she seemed remarkably unwelcoming of diverse races. No doubt that was partly her aristocratic mindset. These people all spent far too much time and energy rationalizing their superiority.

It was at this moment that Zilvazaraat popped into the room, and Tezuzu nearly fumbled his teacup as he flinched in surprise. He didn't really care for the merchant -- too smooth, too eager to please, like all salesmen. He felt the urge to refuse everything offered to him by such people, strictly on principle. But as the little chest was unpacked, Quasit presented him with the simple bronze scrollcase containing Selena's resurrection spell.

Wordlessly he accepted it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but in truth he was quite curious to see it. He laid it out on a table and began pouring over its calligraphy and iconography, making mental notes about the materials that likely made up the ink and the probable provenance of its creation. The rampant lions against a sunburst background in the corners marked it out for a Sarenrite scroll, but manufactured within Taldor, or ... no, it was Qadiran, but quite old. Yes, those were desert lions. Charming. He pulled out a notebook and began copying the details. He catalogued as quickly as he could, knowing that the others were anxious to have Selena returned to them. He implied that he was researching the ritual itself, though it seemed straightforward enough.

But soon he was ready. He didn't exactly exclude the others, but implied very strongly that he preferred them not to be present in the room, as he'd need to concentrate. Frankly this was true --Maka would be certain to chatter while he worked, and Kachine would likely bring his enormous monkey who would be certain to touch things. Picking an unused room of the Hut, he tidied it up and set about preparing the ritual space with etchings on the floor filled in with pigments, incenses to clear the air and pillows for himself and the fox. Winter was key--she would be the conduit through which the soul would be called back. The little creature seemed to understand what was expected of it, and sat patiently in its spot, watching Tezuzu in expectation, as if awaiting a scrap from the table.

His preparations complete, Tezuzu set about the initial incantations, invoking the indulgence of Pharasma, and naming the soul he sought, drawing on a temporary mental connection with the familiar to properly visualize the lost little witch. Rocking as he sat, and moving his hands in broad waving motions, like one polishing a tabletop with both hands, Tezuzu settled into the redundant portion of the chant, repeated 12 times, interspersed each time with a new phrase of the spell. The magic breathed out of the scroll like a smoke, mingling with the incensed air, and glittering like the diamond dust it was originally made of. The sparkling dust collected wisps of energy from the air, little crackles and wisps of color, settling in little whirlwinds over the central area of the ritual, until after a few minutes a small mound of ashes had collected into a roughly humanoid shape. And like a gingerbread cookie baking, the ashes seemed to harden and solidify into a form that looked more and more like Selena as she had been, but still waxy and unreal, like a mannequin or a poppet of her.

Winter stared soundlessly at the forming body, as if helping to will it into existence, her canine lips pulled back to reveal her sharp little teeth in an eerie little vulpine smile.

And now was the moment of truth. Tezuzu began the final repetitive chant, calling for the spirit of Selena to enter this construct or magic and diamond and ash and give it reality. If her spirit chose not to leave the Boneyard, the construct would quickly melt away now, like snow in an oven. But if it came, the waxy substance would rapidly transmute into actual flesh and bone as the spirit slipped into the material, infusing it all with life. In the center of the body, the interplanar connection had formed, a conduit to the dimension of the dead. Tezuzu could hear the winds of eternity and feel some of his pinfeathers pulled toward the void. And he could feel the cold stare of Pharasma upon him, judging him and his claim, weighing his worthiness to beg her boons, holding the spirit of Selena like a protective mother. But it was up to Selena now, to come if she wished, before the conduit closed.

Tezuzu holds out both his taloned hands toward her, toward the body, a gesture of beckoning welcome, and expectantly waits...

For the skills I had Thievery & Korvosa Lore for the Background, Religion and Intimidation for champion class and deity choice, then 2+Int (1) additional skills, and I chose Athletics, Diplomacy and Medicine. I did in fact forget that I took Skilled Heritage and Natural Skill.

That being the case, I think I'd like to swap my 12 Int and 10 Dex to instead be 10 Int and 12 Dex. Which means I have 2 more skills to choose. Let's go Acrobatics and Survival.

I'll adjust my totals to reflect these changes. Thanks for catching that.

Gear:
Longsword 1g
Breastplate 8g
Wooden Shield 1g
Adventurer Pack 7s
Crowbar 5s
Grappling Hook 1s
Religious symbol 1s
javelins x4 4s
ordinary clothing 1s
simple manacles 3g
my total=14g9s, so 1s left over by my count.

In the dimly lit back room of the abandoned clothing store that now served as an impromptu soup kitchen three days a week, Impasha scrubbed away meticulously at the large iron pot that until half an hour ago had held a lentil stew. Her hair was tied back away from her perspiring face, and she was dressed in a plain, dark-green homespun dress and wooden clogs. Her own bowl of soup now rested fresh and warm in her belly -- she had not eaten until the kitchen was shut down and all the clients had been served. Enough had remained for her, just. Iomedae provides for her servants.

The boar bristles of the brush were short and bent in many places, and often it was Impasha's nails which had to scrape away the burnt remnants of the soup from the pitted black cast iron, but her mind was elsewhere, thinking of the faces of the hungry, unwashed, loud, fascinating, mostly grateful people of this poor neighborhood of Kintargo, a few of whom she was coming to know, and many of whom already seemed to know her. Wretched, ignorant, mostly good-hearted, just trying to get by-- these were her people, the ones who needed her. She only wished she had more to give them than soup three times a week.

Half an hour later, the followers of Milani were ready to close up and return to their quarters, some servant's buildings at the back of a sympathetic nobleman's house. Impasha carried the pot slung over her back, filled with the loose utensils. She felt content and comfortable with them, and they had accepted her, but were still wary. They were a bit wary of everyone, but that was to be expected. They all existed on a narrow ledge, one misstep from disaster. And as much as she liked them, she chafed at their reluctance to act more forcefully in the cause of liberation, and they shrank from her occasional clarion calls to action.

She needed to give more than soup three times a week.

Later, as evening was falling, she sat up in the branches of a sycamore tree, watching children playing noisily beyond the wall, fingering a tin pendant on her neck given to her years ago, wrestling with her restlessness. Was it her duty to follow the law if those in charge were flouting it? If the powers that be oppressed and stole from the poor people of the city, how far could she go to help them? She wanted to fight for them, but was she ready to kill for them? It might come to that. She brooded on this for a while, then closed her eyes and cleared her mind. The Inheritor is wiser than you. She will tell you what is right at the moment it must be done. You are the Hand that must be ready. Listen with your heart. Trust your conscience. Than act without hesitation.

After evening vespers with the faithful of Milani, she sat out back and sharpened the blade on her longsword for 20 minutes, then returned inside to sleep on her straw pallet. A mongrel street dog who hung about the place climbed onto the pallet near her feet and curled up there. She smiled to feel its softness and warmth, the first time she'd truly smiled all day.

If Dr Z interrupts bath time, Izzy may bite him.

So one of the ways my brain works is that I like to imagine PCs in terms of musical artists that exemplify their energy/aesthetic. It’s a little shorthand for my brain when visualizing interactions or reactions. Kalchine can attest to this, in a previous game of ours, I chose Evanescence, Eminem, John Denver and Blackpink to represent our 4 characters. Needless to say, we were a fractious bunch.

I should note that these choices do not claim to be objectively definitive choices - I don’t claim encyclopedic knowledge of all genres of music. Nor do I wish to suggest that the characters would actually like or listen to the artists I pick, nor that their players would favor them particularly. It’s just a quick gestalt for my impressions. The soundtrack that might accompany them on a loading screen.

You would probably make different choices, especially about your own characters. But I like to share. I’m nice like that. For ease of comparison, most of my choices fit within a particular era, and that’s intentional. Plus I must confess that my knowledge of the post-CD music universe is pretty thin.

As an example of my method, consider Tezuzu, who I often use as a sock-puppet NPC. To me Tez is clever, a little prim, strong dad energy. I considered Barenaked Ladies, but they are too whimsical and frivolous. I likewise considered The Grateful Dead, but they’re too rambling and free-flowing. I finally settled on The Decemberists.

So without further ado, here’s the rundown of the party:

No doubt you all have your own thoughts! Soundtracks are naturally subjective things. I just happened to be stuck at work with hours to kill!

I should acknowledge everyone’s indulgence of this racy scene of clumsy seduction, and apologize if anyone was made uncomfortable by the adult themes. My intention was not (entirely) titillation for its own sake.

I would plead that Quasit has been solitary for months now, an unusual state of affairs for her, and is only human. She is also rebounding from the intense anxiety of the last several days in Russia and lubricated liberally by the local rotgut which always loosens her up, so to speak. She is fond of Kalchine, and since everyone else is paired off, dead or a monkey, it seemed probable to me that she’d seek a little release with him.

An open question to me is precisely how compatible or not Triaxians are with humans. Kal’s player is welcome to post a response that illuminates some unseen complication or moment of cultural misunderstanding, if he feels it should happen. I merely wanted to draw a curtain before things got too PG-13 for a Paizo forum.

”I DD have my moments.” she reiterates with a cheeky, satisfied, muzzy smile as she hangs with both arms around Kalchine’s neck. She leans in for another quick kiss, as a prelude or a stopgap, then falls back on her haunches and quickly wriggles out of her shirt, then stares intently into Kalchine’s face, to gauge the effect this has on him. Pale in the darkness, her small breasts peek up at him as well from her bony torso, honest and unassuming. She bites her lip in excited anticipation, then moves forward for another kiss,

”Now about that discussion of anatomy…” she whispers huskily, as her fingers interrogate the fastenings of his trousers…

And that is where the scene fades to black. Join Quasit’s Patreon for bonus content.

"As far as girlfriends. I have had two people who could fit that definition. The first was a dragonkin named Verangia...We were going to partner bond. That's something dragonkin can do. They can telepathically bond to a single partner," he explains as an obvious aside, then pauses. It takes him several seconds to continue.

"Right before we were going to do it, she died in a raid. She was targeted by a group of archers. I don't know how many arrows it took to take her down and she crashed in a crevasse so we couldn't recover her body."

Quasit listens with interest, perhaps a little surprised to get such an answer. Her smile fades into a look of empathy and concern, and she clasps one of her hands with his as she look up into his face.

"I keep forgetting about the war on your world. And all the ways it can intrude onto your life. That must have been really hard to lose her like that, and to not be able to find her. I'm sorry you had to go through that." She also seems to regret bringing up a depressing topic.

She closes her eyes sleepily and heaves out a deep breath. "Verangia. I like that name. But I don't think I'd want to bond telepathically with anyone. My soul isn't vibrant and deep enough to stand up to that sort of scrutiny."

Opening her eyes again, she lays aside some of the drunken coquetry. "And I haven't been fair to you, have I? Poor Kal, I'm giving you all these mixed signals. Like a cat that rubs against your leg, then runs off if you try to pet it. I'm sorry for that."

"I think I told you I messed up my last relationship. I really thought he was the one, but he went off on a six month mission for the Pathfinders and I ended up cheating on him with some guy I barely knew, just because I was lonely. And I haven't quite known what to do with myself since. No sense trying to try and fix what I wrecked -- you can't make spoiled milk sweet again. But I still feel guilty about it, and I don't quite trust myself. You've probably noticed I can be... I don't know, emotionally volatile? I have a knack for painting myself into corners, you know?"

"So I think I haven't been fair to you. Here you are on a strange world, with a bunch of aliens, and you must be so lonely. But I think I've gotten to know you and Chest Thumper a little better at least."

She falls silent and looks for a long moment up into Kalchine's eyes.

"You can kiss me if you want." she finally says, clearly and quietly.

We probably shouldn't encourage Quasit's tendency to binge drink with expensive magic. Mundane distilled spirits will suffice. ;)

Contacting Space Merchant. Here's our particulars.

LOOT LIST
Claimed:
+2 Nagant M185 revolver (4k)(Bulvi)
Belt of Incredible Dexterity +4 (8k)(Quasit)
Ring of Protection +2 (4k)(Findurel)
Belt of Physical Perfection +2 (8k)(Bulvi)
Headband of Mental Prowess +4 (Wis, Cha)(20k)(Kalchine)
Amulet of Natural Armor +4 (16k)(Findurel)

Selling:
Sword of the Planes (11.158k)
+1 Scimitar (1K)
Cassock of the Black Monk (17k)
Well of Many Worlds (41k)
Ring Gates (20k)
Extend Metamagic Rod (5.5k)
Sniper's Goggles (10k)
11 M1891 rifles (2.750k)
21 M1914 grenades (15.750k)
2 M1895 revolvers (400)
8 bayonets (20)
6 gas masks (75)
1 periscope (10)
1 1917 flamethrower (400)
1 M1910 machine gun (750g)
1 mortar (250)
4 mortar bombs (8)
bullets (189)
Assorted gold & valuables (23.4k)

SHOPPING LIST
Findurel:
Pale Green Prism Ioun stone (cracked)(+1 attack)(4K)
Pale Green Prism Ioun stone (cracked)(+1 save)(4k)
Amber Spindle Ioun stone (cracked)(3.4K)
Dusty Rose Prism Ioun stone (5k)
Bulvi:
Shield Upgrade (+2->+4) (12k)
Goggles of Night (12k)
Immovable Rod (5k)
selling revolver (200)
Maka:
Custom Magic Bracers (18k)
Quasit:
Sword of Subtlety (22,310)
2 potions Cure Serious (1.5k)
1 bottle Andoran whiskey (??)
selling Gloomblade (4.4k), Belt of Dex +2 (2k)
Selena:
Scroll of True Resurrection

It's been a couple weeks since we killed Rasputin. So we need to think about pushing ahead with the narrative.

I'm going to impose a totally arbitrary deadline of this upcoming Monday, July 21st, for claiming any of the loot from the current pile and for anything people want to purchase from the vendor. At that time, we send the list and summon Zilvazaraat. You still get your share of the gold, and you can level up whenever you want. But we need to clear our inventory and start Book 6.

Maybe Saki can just auto-assist Tezuzu while he identifies things by taking 10 on her Spellcraft. +2 across the board might be more useful.

I was hoping that now that Tezuzu is an NPC, maybe we can fudge his numbers and abilities to be an identification machine.

”What’s that? Someone fell down the old well?”

we’ll definitely be bringing out all the bodies into the sunlight, live and dead. Just in case.

We also got about 6000g out of the machine.

Let's find out what the magic items are, then Maka can work her magic putting it all into the spread sheet and toting up how much we're each entitled to once we split it evenly. If Selena's share isn't enough for the True Rez scroll, then we'll have a discussion about whether we can afford to chip in to bring her back.

I will say that having someone with good Spellcraft and Arcane Knowledge has been something this party has needed, and she's an alternate healer. And having Baba Yaga's 'granddaughter' around when we release her might be helpful.

Quasit nods. "That'll work. I want to search every corner of this place. Maybe Rasputin was sleeping up there and keeping diary about the girl he had a crush on, I don't know. I'd almost like him better if he wrote bad poetry. Or something that relates to his plot, or Anastasia, or the machine, or Elvanna. Maybe he took notes on a criminal conspiracy. He's arrogant enough to do that. I bet he planned to publish a book about it. 'How I did it.' by Grigory Ass-hole Rasputin."

Hey GM, just wanna make sure I’m seeing things right before I post…

Maka’s down, Selena’s dead…the headless dude and now Quasit are in the shell with Rasputin…and no other foes left (that we know of) on the outside of that shell…is that right?

Quasit has squeezed into a little pocket past the wind wall, but still outside the anti life shield. That’s why she’s still using the bow. Fin should find a similar spot!

Correct!

I think one of Kal's elementals could get at him --I'm guessing he's hiding behind an Antilife Shell. Maybe a huge earth elemental to grapple him and prevent his spellcasting? Undead can also get through such a barrier -- if someone has a way to send undead minions at him, it might work and I would relish the irony.

If any of our casters have a Dispel Magic handy, i think it's worth a shot to throw that at him and see if we can pry away some of his buffs.

I think there's some sort of effect that prevents teleporting here -- if we wall him off with a wall of stone or something, we might buy time to deal with his minions.

I'd like to see Fin focus his favored enemy attacks on Headless for the moment, and for Bulvi to go for the vampires with his holy sword.

Maka, I'm not sure he can make himself totally immune to fire? If he's got a Protection from Energy up, then I think Maka has probably just blasted through about 75% of it. It might be worth sticking with it for another round to see if you can break through. Also, not to put too fine a point on things, Maka is probably most likely to make a save against any of his big nasty spells, which he's probably getting ready to drop. So stay in his face and distract him?

I want to see the monkey tackle Headless off his horse. Or knock his head away.

Quasit closes her eyes and slowly counts to 10 as Selena yells at her. A city sized hole being blown in the planet was bad, but if her last conscious moment was seeing a certain witch being blasted apart...

"All right, all right, I'm going. I notice you aren't volunteering to actually twiddle the dials yourself." she grouses as she retreats up the ladder.

And once again, taking 10 on Disable Device with +2 assist from Findurel.
I know I'm sort of stepping on Selena's player, but I felt that since the Spellcraft checks are supposed to be integral to the process, some appropriate voice should be introduced into the process. Once the last terminal is turned off, I'll lay down by Selena-bot mantle.

"I pretty much know what I'm doing, but it's still tricky. And it doesn't help that this cold wind makes my fingers feel stiff as I poke around at the cold metal inside this thing. But I think I'm getting the hang of it."

She takes another moment to savor her win, then nods once at the universe and shinnies down the rope.

"Alright, we're moving south to the next tower. The clock is ticking." she announces to the group.

Moving to southwest tower, same procedure. Taking 10 on Disable Device with an assist from Findurel. After that Southeast tower, then back up to Northeast Tower. Once we're working on the last terminal, we may want the rest of the group waiting maybe 30 yards south of the burned shrine, ready for anything that may pop out at us once the sanctuary returns.

Beware the Ides of March!

Not only is today the anniversary of Julius Caesar’s assassination, it is also the anniversary of the day Nicholas II abdicated the Russian throne and ended the Romanov dynasty. Unless Rasputin manages to get Anastasia onto the throne, I guess.

As Quasit prepares to follow Findurel up the rope, Selena reaches over and grabs her by the scabbard on one of her swords.

”I see you’re not going to bother consulting with anyone about what you’re about to do, even if your ignorance might blow up half this planet. I don’t know why that still surprises me. No doubt one of your street rat nostalgia stories will provide all the relevant information you think you need. But humor me and just listen for a minute.”

She releases her grip and allows Silver to jump up into her arms. The fox’s unnaturally bright eyes stare witheringly at the rogue.

”I spoke with the scientist before you got him blown up. He didn’t realize it, but he was attempting to use his technology to replicate a sort of Plane Shift spell. Actually what he ended up with was closer to an overblown Rope Trick spell, and even that is incredibly inefficient and clumsy. Like trying to put out a fire by spraying nails at it instead of water.”

”There were a couple aspects of his machine that puzzled me, so I questioned him about them. First off, the machine is generating enormous amounts of energy somehow, much more power than this compound can provide for things like their searchlights or electric fence. Second, why does it need four stations? Especially since they seem unconnected by any wires? Interestingly, the answers to those two questions are interconnected. As I suspected they would be.”

Selena pauses to allow Quasit’s mind to catch up, and to pick some lint off her dress.

”As you may or may not know, lightning in clouds is caused by imbalances between their ionic potentials. The mechanism is complicated, but much of it is caused by friction resulting from winds, air pressures, humidity, and other such things. A similar dynamic is at work with the machine terminals. While active, they exist on two dimensional planes at once. This created enormous energy strain as the matter is pulled in two directions simultaneously. Each terminal is creating a field of pseudo-magical energy that extends out several hundred yards. By having four terminals, the fields of all four interact to create a sort of pocket dimension between them, stranded between the two actual dimensions. Like a Rope Trick spell, the effect is temporary, and so must be consistently recharged—thus the purple arcane lightning discharges.”

”The one truly ingenious aspect is the way Miroslav managed to balance the four fields to reinforce one another as well as to stabilize the geometry of the pocket dimension. A lot of the wiring and tubes in the terminals is to monitor the fields at the other terminals, and attempt compensate for fluctuations in energy, and even to restart the other terminals by temporarily expanding their fields. They’re linked together in a very intricate dance of energy flows. Which is also what makes them so dangerous if you meddle with them. Their very adaptability is what makes them so potentially unstable.”

“And because these troglodytes have no idea that the real energy they are dealing with are actually magical mana flows, they have no way to construct proper monitors and dials to measure them. It really is a miracle that the hunchback didn’t blow everything to kingdom come. Rasputin must have been truly desperate to stand in the middle of that shrine when Miroslav turned this contraption on.”

”So, you’ll have to be very aware of the pitch and tones of the electrical hums you hear as you power the terminals down. Those will be the only indications you’ll have that things are staying in balance. Take your time and really listen.”

Selena steps in closer and whispers the last part.

”I know you haven’t slept properly for several nights now. And I know you’re upset about your father and the gods know what else. I don’t care. But you NEED to FOCUS. Castigate yourself on you own time. Pull yourself together and stop being a dramatic child.”

She then steps back, fixes Quasit with a final cold look, then nods once and turns to walk to the back of the group.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25

Maka gave Quasit one last, slightly worrying look before flashing her toothy grin. She slammed her fist into her palm, a small explosion cracking between her fingers.

"Have I ever not been?" she said, her voice brimming with confidence.

Quasit smiles back gratefully and gives Maka a firm whap on the bicep in solidarity.

"At least let me work out that knot, though."

"Huh?... Wait, you don't have to--"

Before Quasit could protest, Maka was upon her. A series of sharp, unsettling cracks echoed as she worked over Quasit’s neck with terrifyingly practiced precision. Then, without warning, she yanked Quasit’s arm so tight that, for a moment, Quasit was sure it might pop out of the socket. At the same time, Maka’s thumb dug deep into the knotted muscle, pressing with the intensity of a battlefield maneuver.

Quasit couldn't tell if it felt incredible or excruciating. Maybe both.

Then, just as suddenly, Maka let go, and a flood of relief washed over Quasit, the tension melting from her muscles

At first Quasit seems afraid to move, lest the entire house of cards that is her poor skeleton should collapse. Her eyes shift about uncertainly as she re-engages with her body.

"Oh." She feels at her neck.

"Wow." She bends her neck left and right briskly.

"Hey, that really worked. Thanks!"

I think we're roughly ready to move ahead to the next morning. We're keeping a watch for the Headless general overnight and we're stowing Anastasia in the Hut with Tezuzu, and we're returning to the compound on foot tomorrow morning (no need to teleport now).

For disabling the machine, I'm planning on having Quasit take 10 on each terminal. With Findurel assisting (+2), that passes a DC 40, and we've consulted the blueprints and Viktor for whatever bonuses that might be worth. That really better be enough. Imagine if a party didn't have a rogue for this part!

I'm still worried about those Spellcraft checks on the machine stations. Remind me, do we just need one successful check or a separate check at each of the 4 terminals?

Quasit's instinct is to try to curb Maka's friendly enthusiasm about shoving more of the world of fairy tales into Anastasia's face, but she inwardly shrugs and lets it happen. There wasn't really any point in trying to shield her from it any more. They WERE traveling around in a giant chicken-legged murder hut to free a fey demigod from captivity, and only a couple in the group were even human.

In a way, the strangeness might even be good. The whirl of unreality might be the break that the poor girl's shattered, confused world needed right now; a brief escape from the horror and grief of her life. And all this was certainly not going to be the strangest thing she was going to be experiencing in the coming days.

"Ok everyone, today was a good day. We finally emptied that camp and have access to the machine. And we've rescued Anastasia from Rasputin's clutches. But Headless is still out there, and Rasputin may have more tricks up his sleeve. So, we're going to keep watch tonight, and we're going to head back to the camp first thing in the morning."

She then addresses the girl in Russian. "So Ana, obviously this is no ordinary Hut. The inside is magical, and seems very much bigger on the inside than it seems from the outside. We know our way around, but there are rooms in there that can be dangerous, so please don't wander off alone. The good thing about the Hut is that you'll be safe from Rasputin and his minions there. I'm sure you'd like to get some sleep and a warm meal. Maybe we can even rustle up a change of clothes or a bath, if you like."

"Oh, and the man guarding the door is a skeleton. But don't worry, he's harmless. He likes to play card games, if you get bored."

”Aye…but they’ll never even know that we were responsible for ‘saving the world’…and by Erastil’s antlers, they’re not gonna believe any of us if we were to tell…the only one left alive to know, other than us, will likely be Baba Yaga…but that’s not why I’m doing this any way…”

"Well, maybe you can get Baba Yaga to vouch for you. She's gonna owe you a solid. Or for that matter, maybe they'll believe Saki if they won't believe anyone else."

"Honestly, I'm gonna be pretty disappointed if I can't make people believe I helped save the world. When I write my memoir: 'Quasit's Tale-How I did it!', I expect to receive a very healthy advance from the publisher."

He nods sadly. ”Aye…we’re much the same in that respect. But I never could come to grasp with the concept of a dowry; I would never expect one, least of all ask for one…love is all I ask…”

"Yeah, well, when you're a noble you never marry someone because you love them. You're marrying land or money or a title. Very romantic. Which is why the aristocracy are such miserable people as a rule, I think. And why they all sleep around on one another like a bunch of minks in heat."

Quasit creeps along in the shadows of the buildings, following Findurel, allowing herself to be quiet for a few minutes. Then she pipes up again.

"Man, can you imagine watching your whole family get gunned down? Then being brought back to life while they all remain dead? And remembering it? The girl has no home and no family aside from Rasputin and a bunch of witches. Either we die and they claim her and raise her to be an evil witch, or Rasputin dies and we have to find her a new home and a new life. That poor kid."

"Jeepers, you think Baba Yaga will try to claim her even if we succeed? That doesn't seem like a good outcome either."

"I think we should maybe take her back to Cluckers and make her some pancakes," Maka said to the others.

As soon as she was sure the dragon was dead, Quasit looks back at Anastasia with only pity in her heart.

”We still need to at least try and find the tombstone fairy to revive Viktor.” she says, half to herself. She looks around at the others, putting her hands on her hips (after sheathing her blades), in an attitude of mournful consternation at this steaming pile of horror and complication.

”Let me talk to her for a bit.”

She scoops up the discarded blanket and makes her way over to the girl, sits beside her and wraps the blanket around them both.

”So, again…not Alexei.” she says in Russian after a moment to break the ice. ”Look, I know this is all really confusing and frightening and nothing in your life prepared you for this. Believe me, I know how THAT feels at least. There’s no shame in being freaked out right now.”

”If you want to ask me any questions about my friends and I, I’ll do my best to answer. And I’ll try and answer any other questions you may have, though I can’t promise I’ll know everything. We had heard you might be around here, but to be honest we weren’t looking for you. But there are a couple things I want you to understand right up front.”

”First off, Rasputin is not a good person. He wants to use you. To gain power. He’s the one who left that…creature to guard you and trick you.”

”Second, my friends and I are going to do everything we can to help you and keep you safe. It’s probably hard to know who to trust right now, and of course it’s your choice. But believe me when I say you are in danger still. And I think we are your best option.”

She takes the girl’s hand and bends around a little to look her in the eye. ”You are the grand duchess Anastasia. You have the blood of the Romanovs in you. You have the strength to face this. Ok?”

Diplomacy (if needed): 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (20) + 20 = 40

Findurel immediately lowers his bow and shows his hands.

"Don't be afraid. We're not going to hurt you. The demon is dead, you're safe."

The elf lays a gentle hand on Maka's shoulder, to encourage her to stand down as well, and ventures a small, kind smile at the children.

I really don't want to start botting people in this combat. There are a lot of moving parts and a lot of things might start happening at any point. And I don't want to just assume that people are going to do what Quasit tells them to. Especially Selena, who very much has her own ideas and priorities when it comes to combat, and who usually does not see things as Quasit does. It would be entirely in character for her to go off-script.

So I'm hoping that my fellow players can try to keep up with things here. Posting once or twice a week shouldn't be a hardship, especially once we move to Initiative.

Fin has the flying potion for his flight. Kal gets the first greater invisibility, then Fin gets his and can go in the second round, probably around the time the elemental actually appears. The plan was always for the first couple rounds to have focus drawn off by the huge elemental and Maka.

We are go for launch, Flight.

"Look, I might be out of line but there's been a few times you've shown some interest in Maka, I'm not sure if you remember one time when you were drunk. Maka is different from me, from a lot of people. Just don't think I'd end up being an issue if you decided to explore that.""

Quasit rolls her eyes and chuckles and gets even a little more tense once the drift of Bulvi's conversation becomes clear. "Everybody is trying to shove me into bed with everyone else. Bulvi, you dear sweet, kind man-- just--that's not at all..."

She pauses, remembering the couple times she got drunk around Maka, at the centaur camp and at the Triaxian banquet. She sighs and covers her eyes with a hand and then pulls her hand down, comically stretching her features as she does.

"Look, I will grant you that when I get drunk, I sometimes get...affectionate." she says through a mouth still pulled downward, after which she releases her face so she can use her hands to properly gesticulate. "But that sort of thing is really non-specific for me, if you know what I mean. To be brutally honest, I've ended up in bed with a few men whose names I couldn't quite remember in the morning. A certain half-orc stable-boy back in Heldren springs to mind. I'm still not sure exactly what happened in that closet."

She waves her hands around like she's shooing bugs. "Look... the point is, I honestly don't see Maka that way. She and Saki are like sisters to me, and you and Fin are like my brothers. The last week or so has been really hard for me. I'm just feeling really homesick and my dad dying has just stirred up all this mishegoss in my soul, and Maka's heart is so huge that she can't help but rush to my rescue any time she senses that I'm sad. I admire her and love her so much for that."

"But I have no interest in any licking or kissing or poking or squeezing with her. That would be super weird. I like boys."

She seems to want to go on, and her hands wave a little more on their own before she rolls eyes and coughs out an awkward laugh and covers her eyes with both hands and shakes her head. Then she gives up and just wraps Bulvi in a hug.

"I appreciate what you were trying to do. You're a good honorable man, and way more generous and considerate than most men. I promise you, if I ever decide to try and steal your broad, I will discuss it with you first." She looks up at the Ulfen, clunking her chin a little against his breastplate. "OK?" She lets a few beats pass, then adds.

"Hugging someone in full armor is a really unrewarding experience. It's like hugging a barrel."

Quasit accepts the jug with a smile, and raises it in salute with a wink. "Breakfast. Cheers."

She throws back a long, thirsty swallow before coming up for air. Then she wanders off to the back side of the Hut and drinks some more. She was still frustrated and upset, but the anger had passed. The sun would be rising in a few hours, and they'd all be looking to her again for decisions on what to do.

"What we need is for a certain Murder Hut to get off its lazy ass and go stomp those soldiers for us." she says over her shoulder. She takes another drink but shorter this time-- she was already a little sick of the taste. Plum wine wasn't her favorite. And she wasn't even drunk yet, just a little woozy. Weirdly, she was also full of energy. She had thought she'd just drink til she fell asleep, but it was clear now that wasn't going to work -- was she ever going to sleep normally again?

She found herself going back inside the Hut, cradling the jug under one arm like a baby. "Red seven on black eight." she says to the Coffin Man as she passes him, then goes off looking for Tezuzu.

He was back in the room with a cauldron and the little men in the cage, reading, spectacles perched precariously on his black beak. He glances up to see her, blinks, then slowly closes his book and tilts his head.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Poetry, actually. At the moment. You know, the books changed when we appeared here. I've been reading something called 'Torrents of Spring' by a fellow named Turgenev, but I needed a break. To be honest, I'm not really a fiction person."

She nods, then uncorks the jug and sloshes another drink while he watches her silently and expectantly. She walks over and picks up one of the books on the table. "I can read this stuff a bit now." she announces, in lieu of anything interesting. "But poetry would be lost on me, probably."

"There was another story I was reading. You might find it interesting. It's about a man who's dying. He's lying in his deathbed trying to come to terms with the end of his life, and everyone around him is in denial or pretending it's not happening, or just lying to him in a misguided effort to be nice or diplomatic, and the foolishness of all the pretense in the face of this supreme truth consumes him with fury at the people he used to value. He finds himself desperate for just one. honest. word."

Quasit looks at Tezuzu, wondering if he was trying to say something to her.

"What was it called?"

He shrugs. "I don't remember."

"How does it end?"

He blinks at her and pulls off his spectacles. "He dies, naturally."

"And then?"

"And then, everyone goes home."

Quasit slumps into a chair and puts down the jug heavily on the table. After a moment, she gestures to it, offering him a swig, but he declines with a wave of his hand. "Your lips have been all over it. I'll be quite honest, Monkey. I find lips to be faintly disgusting."

She smiles and leans back stretching and taking a deep breath that ends in a chuckle. She holds up her hands in deferential surrender, then slaps them down on her thighs. He watches her some more.

"Feathers, do you have extra paper? And pen and ink?"

"Extra? Not extra. I have a sizeable amount, probably enough to share, if that's what you're asking. Planning to write some poetry?"

She shakes her head. "No. Our story. Someone should write all this down. In case we don't make it. To explain that we tried. And so people know something about who we were. That we were real people, thrown into this impossible situation, not just mercenaries and yahoos."

"Excuse me... yahoos?"

"You know, weirdos."

"Hmm. You might want to watch the silly slang words. You'd write it in Taldan of course. And if you die here, none of the people on this world would be able to read it. They'd most likely burn it. A waste of my paper."

Quasit looks at him with mild annoyance. "Well, if you don't want to share, fine. I'll get some from the space merchant."

Now it's Tezuzu's turn to wave his hands in surrender. "No, no, far be it from me to interrupt the stylings of your muse." he protests, then digs into his satchel and pulls out a sheaf of foolscap, a quill and small jar of ink. "And you're welcome to work here, I won't bother you. And perhaps I can help refresh your memory on some of the details. I know how scatter-brained you can be."

Quasit smiles at the ribbing, then takes another drink. "Oh, I remember it all just fine. And the things I don't remember, I'll just fill in the gaps in a way that makes the story more interesting."

Tezuzu snorts. "In a way that makes you look better you mean."

Quasit shakes her head. "No, nononono. No, if anything, the opposite. No, I have to make sense of it. And remind myself why it's worth it. Plus I can't sleep anyway."

"Idle hands gather no moss. Or is it that a devil's plaything is a joy forever? Ah, I can never remember how these little proverbs go. Of course, I'll be happy to proofread it. Correct your spelling and punctuation. You'll forgive me, but you don't strike me as the type who had much formal schooling.

Quasit concedes wth a shrug. "Just what my mom and her boyfriend taught me. And what I picked up working for my brother."

Tezuzu shifts in his seat. "You never call him your step-father."

Quasit's head rears back. "Garen? Damn right I don't."

"He didn't marry your mother?"

Quasit squirms. "I mean... kinda... some Varisian folk ceremony. But she was still married to my dad. So it didn't really count." Tezuzu nods and thinks a moment.

"Your father is dead. Does it count now?"

Quasit looks at him. The heartlessness with which he said it had caught her off guard. She stands up, gathers the jug in one hand and the writing materials in the other.

"Thanks for the paper." she says like an expletive, then turns and leaves the room. Tezuzu scratches at his cheek feathers with a talon, then returns his spectacles to their perch and returns to his poetry while the comprehend languages spell lasts.

"I like this Yeats fellow." he muses to himself.

When a GM asks for feedback, I think a detailed answer is called for, so forgive me if I ramble a bit.

First off, there is no harder sort of module for any Pathfinder GM than the 'Sandbox' adventure. It's really hard to maintain any sort of narrative storytelling when as the GM you are letting the players have all the initiative to dig around and proceed however they want. And it can be really easy for players to get sidetracked or lost or bored or frustrated, because it forces them to really test the limits of their group dynamic in terms of planning and reacting to the situations they find themselves in as they poke their way through the sand. Or just plain not knowing what to do next.

Kalchine's player and I were together in a different AP that was very successful and had some marvelous roleplaying and really seemed like a safe bet to stay alive, but we hit a sandbox module where we needed to take down an armed camp (I think he may already have referenced this) and the whole thing just fell apart. The GM lost the thread or at least seemed to lose interest, we spun our wheels trying to figure out what we wanted to accomplish and taking the initiative to organize ourselves, and after a few weeks we all kinda figuratively looked at each other and decided that we weren't having fun any more, and just dropped it.

We are definitely not in that situation now. Partly I think our group dynamic is stronger and more cohesive and we've had more discreet goals and clearer bites at the apple. It helps that our group has a consensus about Quasit being the leader and setting up plans and agendas to accomplish. Which is not to say anything more than that having *any* of our characters being a clear leader helps in a less directed scenario like this.

To me it feels like the GM is providing very reasonable and realistic obstacles to our various forays into the camp. Our plans are not always panning out, and our repeated retreats are evidence that we are being tactically stymied from time to time simply because of the numbers of our opposition -- once our cover is blown and the camp is aware that we are there, things have quickly been getting too hot to remain, which is absolutely valid. And the fact that we are now on, I think, our fourth trip inside the compound, means that we have utterly lost the element of surprise and are now having to just chew through all the opponents. That also seems absolutely valid.

I think we're making concrete progress. I think we are winning. I think we're gonna get that machine turned off. And at that point, I think the sandbox fades away and we get into a last few final encounters culminating in a boss fight against Rasputin. I worry that we are going to blow so many resources getting to that point that we might have a hard time dealing with a guy who's apparently capable or throwing 8th and maybe even 9th level spells at us, but we won't have any options for recuperation or retreat at that point. That seems built into this scenario, no way we could have avoided that.

I've tried to imagine alternative paths we might have taken which might have been more efficient. I think right now we're paying for the decision not to engage that sally by the enemy to track us down at the Hut, maybe we should have engaged them there after all. But with depleted spells and with all their forces clumped together, that would have been a tough challenge to overcome, especially since the Chicken Hut buggered off instead of helping, as I'd kinda hoped it would. That is one of many moments where I guessed wrong about what would happen. But other than that instance, I think we've done this about as well as we could. We don't have a party with the skills to ninja our way from tower to tower, taking each down before they could fire a weapon or raise an alarm. I think if we'd had a cleric with lots of Silence spells, or if Sakitu could throw some Deep Slumber spells at all the towers as we get into them, we might have been more efficient in clearing the main surveillance forces we've been trying to overcome. C'est la vie.

I definitely feel like we've been messing around in this camp for a really long time. As a player I'm chafing for it to be over. But I don't feel that any of that has been avoidable or that it's the result of inexpert GMing or unfocused action on our part. It's just been a tough nut to crack.

As someone who's played Pathfinder for years, I was aware that his book of the AP involved Rasputin and encounters with World War I Russian soldiers, which was one of the reasons I was drawn to play this AP in the first place. What an amazing concept! I've enjoyed that the adventure has played with the legend of Rasputin, introduced us to the Romanovs, and allowed us sword and sorcery types to interact with early 20th century Earth technology and culture.

And as always, for me the most important aspect of the gameplay has been how the adventure fosters fertile opportunities for roleplaying. Typically we bloom in our 'downtime' between encounters or at the end of the day in game time, but this adventure has provided a lot of sparks to play with. Some rifts and tensions have popped up and had to be dealt with, Quasit has experienced moments of sheer panic, existential dread, loss of self-confidence, awkward ear tickling--I'm still fully engaged in her character arc and development, which is always my prime barometer for how things are going.

So, to summarize, the State of our Nation is GOOD. Keep calm and carry on.

Daedin is so elite he rolls a d10 to hit. And does.

All 4 world machine stations must be disabled within 1 hour. Since the entire camp seems to be alerted to us and converging on us, we probably will have to deal with a lot of mooks before we can turn our attention to the machines -- the stealth option is over.

Once we deactivate the machine, I think we HAVE to keep going. Rasputin has a lot of magic at his disposal, he could bring in more undead critters and demons to guard him, or he could slip away with our quarry if we give him time, not to mention using his vampire priests to go rustle up another few battalions. I think we've already given him too much time to plan and react to us, unfortunately.

Obviously if we're losing and people start dropping, we may have to run away. But it looks like from now on we just have to bull our way through, no finesse, big body count.

"YOU SHOULD BE MORE WORRIED ABOUT ME!" Maka roared in Russian as she struck the spotlight with explosive force.

”…and there she goes.” says Quasit in Common to the guy she’s stabbing. ”You see what I have to work with?”

:D

it’s ok, let’s just go with it

Quasit begins to move, heading to the stairway up the tower. Not sure how far she can get.

To be clear, Victor is with us and Selena is not?