htrotter's page

That’s your call, of course. Some combats are just meant to soak up the party’s spells and resources, and so they force a party to think more strategically. And some encounters can be theatrical and interesting even if they aren’t a threat. And I think this particular encounter was necessary to keep up a consistent theme that Baba Yaga places guardians near all her portals.

But we won’t be aware of any encounter our GM chooses to skip because it’s dull or busywork.

I’m afraid this might also be a symptom of the continuing apathy of some of our players. This combat should have been over in a few days, not weeks. Everyone gets busy, or travels, or needs a day to touch grass, but we shouldn’t have to wait a week for people to post a combat action and beg them on Discord to participate. If you’ve lost interest, please just leave. I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but after being in this game for YEARS and being so close to the end, it’s driving me crazy that some people just don’t seem to care. Everyone knows after the first round that we are in combat—there is NO REASON you should not be checking in at least every other day to see if you need to post a sentence or two. You don’t have to roleplay, you don’t have to give it any thought. You can just post that you do nothing but watch. You can post what your character will do for the next 3-4 rounds and ask the GM to bot you. You can go sit in the Hut with Tezuzu until we’re finished.

Everyone in this game is a good writer who has created an interesting character. That’s why this game has lasted. We have shared something really special here. I consider you guys my friends. I guess that’s why I care enough to rant. Please, let’s carry this thing over the finish line.

" I'm not sure about wearing that clasp, it looks too fancy; I try hard not be looked at by anyone."

Impasha nods at this sensible response.

At Buttercups interjection, Celas says, "It can pay or cost everything. Heroing or adventuring as some more rightly call it, tops the list of high-risk with high-reward rackets."

Impasha stiffens a little. "We're not adventurers. Well, at least I'm not." she says, just a little too stridently. "An adventurer's first concern is their own profit and glory. Or thrills. I've known plenty of such people. We fight for the freedom of this city against tyranny, for the benefit of decent people, not merely for ourselves. When we went to that protest yesterday, I for one had no thought of profit. I went because my conscience demanded that I stand with the oppressed of this town. That hasn't changed."

Realizing that she's preaching, Impasha suddenly stops mid-rant, her mouth puckering into a grimace of restraint. "Well, hopefully I'm not the only one who feels that way." she adds, a little bashfully. And perhaps she flashes a look toward the halfling.

Seeing people evaluating the collected items causes Impasha to pause and wait. Once their investigations are finished, she moves to the passage across the hallway.

*****

As Impasha peers into the next chamber, her eyes sweep over the smashed furniture but settle on the strange pile of black feathers. "What in the world?..." she mutters to herself before her eye is drawn again to the movement of the fleeing humanoid.

She quietly pulls out her sword and takes her broken shield in hand, then looks back her shoulder at the others, gesturing with her head for people to follow her and pointing toward the doorway to the north of the chamber. She then makes her way north along the western wall until she's about level with the northern door before moving quietly across the room.

Attempting Stealth, assume that's a GM secret roll

Hearing Scarlett's decisive statement for everyone to withdraw to the slightly larger room, Alvis sees that he can stay where he is and still protect everyone. Alvis takes his usual approach to combat, raising his shield and casting Benediction. He prays, "Oh, Might Lord of Law and Righteous Tradition, we beech you to aid this lawful sovereign to suppressing the usurper of tradition, and his lackies by providing your divine protection." He hopes the Chieftain will appreciate the aid, and by including him in the spell will generate goodwill towards the god of law.

1-action Raise Shield, 2-actions Cast Spell Benediction

Um…

As Celas begins intoning a (no doubt prudent) prayer to Calistria, Impasha turns away and heads out into the main corridor again to keep watch. More rats might be lurking about, but more than that it seemed increasingly likely that other people might be down here, and they were unlikely to be friendly.

'Vengeance in my heart. Vengeance against my enemies.' she thinks. It struck a discordant chord in her. Familiar but distasteful. But was all her quest for justice and duty wholly removed from it, or did some oil of vengeance seep into her consciously higher motivations? She preferred to think of it as something she'd left behind, of her anger toward her enemies as righteous indignation at the harm they inflicted on the world, on decency, on the helpless. The wild reckless abandon of the passions of the Calistrians was a path to darkness and nihilism. Heat with no light.

Still, there would be some satisfaction in keeping a tooth from that alligator...

Waiting on actions from:
Bulvi
Sakitu
Selena
Kalchine (Wall of Stone was surprise round, now into Round 1)

I was thinking you could set the scene of us going back to Vigliv’s pool, then she or the doll can point us in the direction of Buyan.

"Ooh, you'll like it. It's a kind of stew you serve over rice. Really spicy. Chicken, sausage, shrimp and onion, garlic, tomatoes and celery and peppery seasoning. I've never made it myself actually, and I know we don't have half those things, but I'm really craving it. Yeah, how hard can it be? If we can kill an intergalactic lich queen and her undead hordes, we can fake a good chicken stock, right?"

In a sudden rush of gourmet greed and excitement, Quasit leaps like a child onto Maka's back, throws her arms around her friend's neck and plants a smooch on her cheek before sliding off, then grabs Sakitu by the hands and reels and twirls with her for a few steps. "Ooooooh, let's hope for a nice desert island to dig up our buried treasure on! With sunshine and parrots and just a few cute little crabs and sand and palm trees and cabana boys and warm azure lagooooons to swim in! Bring your swim suit, Amazing Fox Lady!"

She catches Kalchine's eye and gives him a gleeful, slightly sultry wink.

Cause they were the bad guys, weren’t they? And Maka is a good guy!

"Not exactly. It's the crystals I got from Zilvazaraat. If I feed enough energy into them, I can change my flames."

She lifted her fist, blue fire blooming to life around her knuckles before warping, the flames collapsing inward and reshaping into a shimmering sonic distortion that made the air vibrate.

"It doesn't last that long, though."

Quasit watches the transformation of Maka's energy with great interest. Her friend's abilities had fascinated her from the first time she'd seen them, all those many weeks ago, and she was always just a trifle jealous about all the things Maka could do.

"Wow. Amazing the things they come up with!" she says with genuine enthusiasm after the display. "That's the sort of gizmo that Nevar would have loved to study. He was always very interested in the theory and mechanics of spells and supernatural abilities. If he was here, he'd be lecturing us all now about how the micro-mana-flows would reorient the vibrations of the energy and realign its what's-a-doodle into a sleek new thing-a-ma-jig."

"I just got a cool sword from Mr. Z. Cause I'm basic." she adds with a delighted grin as she wipes off the blood on her sword onto Mametqul's coat and sheathes it.

She leaves the dismembered head for the others to fit with the crown and put into the cabinet, wherever it might be. In the meantime, she begins picking through the possessions of the dead divs, focusing especially on any tasteful costume jewelry the harem might have been wearing.

She removes a jangly earring and holds it up to one ear. "What do you think? Too much?" she asks, her eyes flicking between Maka, Sakitu and Kalchine.

Any good loot? We will of course be taking all their coffees and coffee-making gadgets.

Waiting on Bulvi, Sakitu and Selena.

Please, everyone should be able to check in at least once a week. Especially when everyone knows we're in combat. We are SO CLOSE to the end of this thing.

Impasha wrote:

"Myron, do you have any spells that can distract those guards?" asks Impasha.

I've been thinking about the answer to this question, and the only spell I have is figment, which only has a range of 5 cubic feet. That's only disguising one or two people.

Myron has pest form which could help disguise him, but I don't know if he can sustain figment while casting another spell, or even if I can sustain it while polymorphed.

Impasha only asks this because she doesn't really have a grasp on the technicalities of magic. In her mind, she thinks magic users can do almost anything. And she remembers Myron apparently summoning a water serpent back in Aria Park as well.

Impasha will take the offered raven figurine, and she would certainly be a candidate for the Oil of Potency. I can see her smearing that on her sword before an anticipated difficult fight.

I think the flashlight and the oil of weightlessness we just keep in party treasure for when we're in a dark place/need to move a heavy thing.

Not to meta-game too much, but I think the scenario expects us to move to the next scene with Rexus' friend to advance the plot. If there IS an ambush, we're meant to walk into it for plot reasons. I think it makes sense to get to that without any further delays.

GM, you said you're in contact with Bellara in another game and that her player is expecting to return? This might be a good place for her to come back to life, if you could give her a poke.

I think we need the spell casters to step in and say what they're actually doing here.

"YES, I AM CASTING THESE PROTECTIVE SPELLS FOR THE PARTY" (CASTS THEM OR SAYS THEY WILL CAST THEM ON ARRIVING AT THE TENT)
"NO I DON'T HAVE ANY SPELLS THAT CAN HELP, SORRY"
"I CAST TELEPORT" OR "I DONT HAVE ANOTHER TELEPORT SPELL TODAY, SORRY"

Otherwise we are ready to go.

"Hmm," she says, standing up. "I don't smell anything. Are you sure this is real gold?"

"I mean maybe some of it's fools gold to make the horde seems bigger but even if half of it is real that's still a huge amount of gold. I'm sure there's some way to double check."

"Guys, guys, cheap alloys and adulterated precious metals are for the LITTLE people. Not for royalty. You think the tyrant queen is going to melt pyrite into ingots and hide it in a secret vault with her most precious possession? It's real all right. Once we get back to the real world, we can pop into the assayers office for confirmation."

"Well it better not be that you can actually turn into little animals!"

Quasit's eyes roll up and sideways a bit as she tilts her head. "No... not exactly."

"The short version of the story is that when I came back to Cassomir I was 16, and even littler and skinnier than I am now. Like embarrassing. At first my brothers just wanted me to look after dad and keep house for him, but Colin kept bringing me along on jobs for one reason or another. I was good at squeezing into little places and through narrow openings, and I was good at hiding and climbing. And he'd use me as a lookout on jobs too. I guess I kinda stuck out in people's memories, and they started referring to me as his 'familiar'. And once you're a familiar, you also get referred to as a cat, a raven, a rat, an imp, etc etc. Very humdrum, very cliché. Most of them knew I was his kid sister, and didn't really take me seriously, which kinda annoyed Colin actually. When you're a smuggler and running rackets, your credibility is everything. So both my brothers started spreading it around that I was some kind of ultra assassin who never got caught, with all sorts of secret training and ninja tricks, and that's where I'd been all those years I was missing from Cassomir. They'd hint darkly about me anytime someone was found floating in the river with a punctured back. The truth is I never stabbed anything bigger than a rabbit, but I have to admit my teenage mind liked the weird respect I was kinda getting. Then suddenly I was Colin's DEMON familiar, which is way cooler than his little black kitten."

"Anyway, the whole thing was just a cool bit of street rep to a handful of dumb thugs, and everyone still called me Mina. It was only after I met Nevar that the name really got coined. When I told him about the Demon Familiar thing, he immediately told me that some evil wizards actually did have demon familiars, little critters called quasits, which I thought was a really splendid word. And since Nevar was a wizard and we were hanging out all the time together, it became this thing between us. He'd 'summon' me, I'd use a funny voice, and he'd call me Quasit in front of people. I mean, it sounds so dopey now, but when we started doing missions together, I started using the name as like a work name. It's part of how I psyched myself up -- having a stage name is actually very liberating. And people took me way more seriously, especially when we signed up to train as Pathfinders. In a typical Pathfinder group, you have 400 year old gnomes and androids and half-vampires and psychics and undine clerics of obscure fish gods you never heard of, and half-dragon lesbian necromancers. And I'm gonna just be Mina the street kid with that bunch? I mean, Mina is totally a kitten name. And besides, Mina was Colin's little sister. And Colin is an asswipe. And then my other brother Bernardo got caught kidnapping people with that stupid Groetus cult and the authorities got really interested in his family, so I kinda stopped being Mina full time after that. And I just kinda got used to everyone calling me Quasit because the authorities were looking for Mina McQuillen, even though I had nothing to do with that stupid cult. That's just Taldor, the authorities and lazy and dumb."

"What can I say, I still think it's a cool name."

Quasit gives a low whistle as the full value of the thing she holds overtakes her.

"Jeepers." she says, eloquently. "Stavian himself would be proud to wear this little bauble. I mean, anyone can glom some diamonds and rubies into some gold, but look at this workmanship! ... The symmetry in the size and quality of the stones in the arrangements. And the quality of the gold itself -- that's 100% if ever I saw it, which I'm not sure I ever have. And look at the way the inner circle of the crown is rolled over and fitted -- no cushioning is necessary, this was designed to be worn comfortably on a particular head, all without compromising the perfect circle of the outer circle shape. If this is a fake, it's the best one I've ever seen."

She takes a few steps back up the stairs and hands it off to Selena. "Can you inspect this for magic? Then get down here and help us magic-test the rest of this treasury."

This done, she goes to start inventorying the contents of the various crates and coffers with Findurel.

"You know, this is one of those times when I wish I had some clever little calling card like classy cat burglars use. A little origami figure of a Quasit or a card reading - 'The Quasit was here' or something. So that in the future, if anyone ever comes here, they'll know they missed out on a big score and silently curse my nom de guerre." she observes cheerfully.

Fin arches an eyebrow at Quasit’s query followed by spontaneous laughter. ”Aye, Q, elves do indeed pee, as do I. We have the same…equipment…that you humans do. I’m stealthy about it though, so perhaps you never noticed…humans seem to be not so stealthy in that regard…”

Quasit really wanted to dwell on a silly conversation about elfin toiletry habits, but forces herself to drop it. "Well, I'm as stealthy as I *can* be." she protests, not all that seriously. "But we'd better stop. I can see Saki blushing through her fur. Sorry, Queen Saki the First." She genuflects respectfully toward the crowned kitsune.

"All right Bull, another charge coming up." she says, giving the wand a little twirl in the air this time before casting...

UMD: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (20) + 14 = 34

When the spell again effortlessly goes off, she fairly beams with satisfaction. "You know, I think I missed my calling. I wonder if it's too late to become an acolyte of Desna?"

"Thanks Quasit and Selena." His words were muffled.

Quasit looks intensely relieved. "Oh my gosh, you had me scared there." she says, a little breathlessly.

"I'm afraid Quasit has deprived everyone of the exciting adventures of watching me try to figure out how to pee in the woods without a handle as an elven maiden. I'm mostly better but not entirely, if you can get it to work again Quasit that should do the trick. Sorry for the scare everyone."

"Do elves pee? Fin, do you pee? I've never noticed. I always imagined elves discharged their water by way of laughter or songs or something." Then she notices belatedly the request at the end of the sentence. "Oh, wait, you want me to use the wand again? Bulvina?"

Quasit starts excitedly wag-pointing at Kalchine as he describes the wand.

"Yeah! Yeah, I know the one you mean! I know the one you mean!..."

She then goes digging into the bag of holding.

"I KNOW the one you mean!"

She yanks it out, looks it over quickly to confirm it's the one she needs (She never 100% trusts that the bag of holding will disgorge the correct thing each time, the whole process of how the extradimensional space worked was still mysterious to her), then reads and memorizes the word inscribed in elaborate calligraphy on the side.

Then, feet planted slightly apart, like she was getting ready to throw a punch, she attempts to use the wand on Bulvi.

UMD: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (20) + 14 = 34

Quasit smiles wistfully as she watches the undead buuuuurn.

"Ah. I love the smell of roasting zombies in the morning. Smells like... victory."

Reflex: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Summoning all the dignity she can muster, laid out on a filthy slaughterhouse floor flat on her back like an overturned turtle, Impasha rolls herself stiffly over (with the aid of her shield) and gets herself up to a hands-and-knees position. From here it would be a simple thing to crawl from the black oily area of the floor, but that felt like admitting defeat. Setting her feet under herself, she rises carefully to a standing position, arms out for balance, then steps methodically from the dangerous spot.

Now on her feet again, she attempts to pick out the places where the tiny creatures have emerged from the walls, doing her best to try not to scowl too intently. Her head told her that bargaining with these creatures made some sense and might even be preferable to attacking them, even if her heart wanted to stamp on them 'til they squealed. She closes her eyes to center herself and count to 10.

Clearly the creatures wanted payment in the form of actual money. It vexed her to think of paying a toll to these wretched tricksters, but she knew that was her pride speaking. 'Humility is the handmaiden of Duty'. She briefly considered paying the creatures herself on behalf of the group, before remembering that she'd already spent nearly all her coin on her healing kit.

She reopens her eyes and exhales a deep breath, then turns her attention back to the barred area at the southeast end of the hall.

Searching. Any way through/past the bars?

"You think the soup kitchen would be interested in the meat if'n we brought it all back? I mean, these are pretty big rats and then there are the dogs upstairs. And the eatin' folks ain't picky."

Upton Sinclair has thoughts!

"You think the soup kitchen would be interested in the meat if'n we brought it all back? I mean, these are pretty big rats and then there are the dogs upstairs. And the eatin' folks ain't picky."

"Let's... table that one for now." answers Impasha gently.

Btw, anyone heard from Bellara since PAX? Wondering if we need to bail her out of a Philadelphia jail for drunk & disorderly conduct with Gritty?

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.