| UnArcaneElection |
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
I think a scene should be judged partly by what comes out of it.
Here is how it went in my group, danger, massive wall of text.
{. . .}
Okay, that is awesome. This thread isn't dead, it's Ascended.
| Mightypion |
Thanks, on another table it went similiarly, but with actual strip dancing because their pro Noct character was a complete prankster/joker/Loki-but-a-bit-better-natured, who also offered Nocticula 3 laughs from the bottom of her (nocticulas) heart during negotiations. The spectacle of Strip dancing before Iomedae, in heaven, because she essentially asked for it did result in one.
The table was a bit more chaotic in general, with Nocticula behaving as more of a troll who is clearly bored. The long suffering GM (who had to deal with 2 reasonably well built groups of mythic player characters) also wanted to have some fun, and having to constantly appease Nocts Antics and shenangians (she did aquire very potent blackmail material over the party in act 4) was a nice way to do this.
| Mightypion |
Kevin Mack wrote:Part of me does kind of wonder if people are playing with groups that will relieve themself on a gods shoes for the Yuks how they have managed to have there group get to part 5 for the party members to do that to begin with (Since I assume most parties wont suddenly have there players go from sensible to jerk just because the NPC is a god.)Right? If groups are out here pissing off Iomedae how did they manage to survive their little chat with Nocticula last book?
My guess is that Nocticula behaves way nicer then expected.
This typically increases player tendency to reciprocate.
Iomedae in a way behaves harsher/less nice then expected.
Multiple initially mostly good parties ended the adventure path being on better relations with Nocticula then with Iomedae, but this did not neccesarily detract from their enjoyment.
Also, 3 out of 3 parties I am PnP wise aware off spend more time haggling with Nocticula over how much she would pay for a brand new horned midnight isle in act 5 (one party had one character simultaneously negotiate with Asmodeus, with the funny result that Baphomet managed to bugger off leaving an illusion behind just as Asmodeus and Nocticula invited themselfs into his realm. Hilarity ensued).
| Stip |
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
I want to offer my attempt to revise the Iomedae encounter to make her relatable and justify why the PCs would put the crusade on hold to save her Herald.
Cutscene XIII: The Twelfth Act of Iomedae
4 Pharast, 4724 – Proelara, Heaven
Without warning, the council room in Drezen fades out of existence. The world turns white, and you are enveloped by a cocooning pressure as you are transported somewhere by an overpowering magical force. You have been summoned like this before, with Areelu Vorlesh, and while you are equally powerless to resist, there is not the same experience of violation. It feels instead like you are gently gliding along currents you sense but cannot see. The air is rich with the sound of distant murmuring – words just beyond your comprehension.
You find yourself in the center of a vast cathedral whose dimensions extend beyond your sight, its walls covered in stained glass. You look around and see your fellow members of the Silver Scale are here with you, along with Galfrey and Irabeth. Soft golden light streams in through countless windows, illuminating the images within their frames. As you watch, the glass scenes animate and transform into moving records of history. You recognize them as moments from the great crusades against the Worldwound, stories you have only read about that come alive before you in the glass.
You watch as an avatar of the god Aroden defeats the Sarkorian cult dedicated to Deskari, banishing its remnants, including the demon lord’s ruined avatar, deep into the Lake of Mists and Veils.
The light darkens as a still human Areelu Vorlesh throws open the Worldwound within the bowels of the tower of Threshold. A young Queen Galfrey, paladin of the now dead Aroden, kneels before an altar. She rises as a paladin of Iomedae and takes her place as leader of the Crusades.
You watch as Iomedaen knights and Sarkorian survivors drive back the first wave of demons to emerge from the Worldwound, before the great phoenix Pyralisia falls to a demonic horde, her sacrifice granting the Herald of Iomedae time to call the wardstones into being.
The windows do not shy away from the darker moments of the crusades, as Minagho unleashes her Red Morning Massacre and a young Lord Hulrun orchestrates the witch trials of the Third Crusade. As innocents within Kenebras burn, Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth watch from the shadows and smile.
Elsewhere, Staunton Vhane places the Sword of Valor into the waiting hands of Jerribeth, as Aponavicius’ forces flow over the walls of Drezen. You see Yaniel’s last stand in Raliscard, an indomitable beacon of light illuminated against the tide of darkness crashing over her.
You watch Irabeth defend the Wardstone of Kenebras against Staunton Vhane, while on a different window Terendelev beats back the assault of the mighty Khorramzadeh before the glass shifts and you witness the great dragon’s beheading at the hands of the Storm King on the day that Kenebras fell.
You feel a compulsion to approach the cathedral’s central nave. As you do, the history of the 5th Crusade unfolds before you, its story told in the glass.
You watch Queso touch the rod of cancellation to the wardstone fragment and witness its power flow into you. Curiously, the Herald is nowhere to be found within the image. You see Irabeth raise the Sword of Valor over a reclaimed Drezen and behold the redemption of Arueshalae before the Gods of the Crusade. You watch as Cyrus holds back Jerribeth’s elite agents in the Ivory Sanctum while Zograthy casts down Xanthir Vang and claims his birthright.
You see the forces of Drezen repel demonic invaders, while elsewhere Rischa kneels before the Herald of Iomedae, and Kiryn awakens Radiance from its slumber. You are with Galfrey, who barely aged a day since her ascension to the throne, as you close the gate in the Midnight Fane, and Wick is declared the champion of the Battlebliss.
As you enter the nave of the Cathedral, a space simultaneously vast and intimate, the images on the window change once more, as the Hand of the Inheritor bows before Iomedae, who declares him her Herald. And while you watch him turn the tide at the last desperate defense of Drezen, the stories widen their focus, and you bear witness to nearly a thousand years of the Herald’s loyal service to Iomedae across the planes.
The pressure intensifies, becoming painful – the light that pours in from the windows blindingly bright, the distant murmuring now a thunderous cacophony. You begin to bleed from your eyes, nose, ears. The very fabric of reality vibrates around you as you feel yourself melting away – your soul stripped of all armor, all pretense, just the exposed core of who you are remains, feeling impossibly small and insignificant in the face of the scouring light.
And just as you are about to be consumed the pressure abates – the light dims – bright, but no longer burning – the sound present but no longer deafening. Your wounds healed.
Standing before you is a is a tall woman with piercing eyes, angular features, and short black hair. She wears clean but well used silver plate, and a blood red cloak flows behind her, a long sword sheathed at her side, its handle ornate but functional. The Wardstone energy within you rushes to the surface in greeting as you behold the avatar of Iomedae the Inheritor – Light of the Sword, Lady of Valor, goddess of Justice and Honor– patron of the Crusade against the Worldwound.
You find it hard to look directly at her, as if some incomprehensible power is barely contained within this corporeal form. She radiates an overpowering sense of righteousness, resolve, and the peace that comes from absolute certainty of purpose. As you stand before her, you feel a clarity you have never experienced before, a feeling you will never forget all the rest of your days.
*** PCs react***
“Welcome, crusaders, to my cathedral. Please, I bid you rise:
Young Queso, who would hold the world’s knowledge in his hands so that he might finally put things to right.
Cyrus, your actions honor the blood that flows within your veins, a lineage that understands the cost and nobility of sacrifice.
Wick, who knows well the value of a second chance, and the need to do right by it.
Kiryn, paladin of Desna, so strong and resolute in your faith. There must be the dream of justice before it is made real. It must be sought before it is found, and so followers of the goddess of seekers and dreamers are always welcome in my halls.
Arueshalae, yours is a grand experiment in redemption. A dangerous road lies before you, and you must hold to your path.
Zograthy, you have walked long and far to find your purpose, but you have proven yourself worthy of your legacy.
Irabeth, my loyal paladin. Time and again you have held the line, stalwart shield of my faith.
Rischa, my indomitable champion, kin to my Herald – I see his dignity and resolve in you, and through your actions you honor us both.
And Queen Galfrey, your leadership has held the Crusades together and kept Golarion safe for all these long, grueling years. For over a century, you have been the tip of my sword.
As Iomedae speaks, you realize that her voice lacks the dark music and seductive notes of Nocticula and Vorlesh, or the commanding tenor of the Herald. And while Iomedae’s face is handsome, you would not call it beautiful. And yet you realize that you would follow anywhere she led, undertake any task she gave, knowing that if she believes in you then anything is possible.
It is uncomfortable to gaze upon her, a light burning too brightly, and so you find yourself looking around the immense chamber. A great stone well sits behind Iomedae, its marble wall five feet high, a soft multicolored light glowing within it. The cathedral stretches to heights beyond your sight, though about two hundred feet up you see a vast projection of stars – the celestial immensity of the prime material plane. You wonder which world is Golarion.
The stained glass windows now depict the eleven miraculous acts of a mortal Iomedae, when she was a paladin of Aroden – the slaying of Nakorsho’mond, and the freeing of her circle of paladins from the stomach of the beast. The First Act of Iomedae. On another window you observe her Second Act as she frees the city of Senghor from the tyranny of a witches coven. You watch the Whispering Tyrant shatter her sword, which Iomedae instantly reforges with a prayer and oath to end his evil, creating the artifact Heart’s Edge in the Sixth Act of Iomedae. Elsewhere she calls forth the Undenying Light from the Starstone, banishing the darkness of a terrible storm so that the city’s defenders could find and slay the ghouls rampaging throughout Absalom, Iomedae’s Seventh Act.
You thrill as you watch the sacred texts of Iomedae’s faith come to life before you – the Third Act where she slew Segruchen the Iron Gargoyle, King of the Barrowwood, or the Fourth Act, where she called upon Aroden’s herald Arazni, and the two of them stood with a mortally wounded regiment of knights against a horde of wraiths, holding the line until the dawn. The Fifth Act saw Iomedae smite Erum-Hel, the Lord of Mohrgs, at the Battle of Three Sorrows - inspiring the Shining Crusade to fight on despite the Whispering Tyrant revealing the now broken and ruined body of the slain Arazni to the crusaders.
Not every scene told a martial story. The Eight Act, where she allowed the graveknight known as the Black Prince to be redeemed and judged in the Halls of Aroden, spoke of her mercy. The Ninth Act, where she gave her own blood to free nine righteous knights from the vampire-mage Basilov, demonstrated her willingness to sacrifice. Or the Tenth, where she ruled the Chelaxian city of Kantaria for a year and a day, bringing prosperity to the war-torn region as she showed her capacity for wisdom and judgement. And her Eleventh act, a final miracle before her ascension to Godhood, as she cast her cloak into the Pit of the Starstone, which transformed into the walkway that granted access to the cathedral, and the test that would elevate her into a divinity, the last of the new gods.
Your ears adjust to the sounds permeating the cathedral, as the incomprehensible noise slowly crystalizes into a celestial choir chanting the Acts of Iomedae. The hymns are intercut with prayers from innumerable faithful across countless worlds. You cannot make out every prayer, but those you can, you realize, are not asking Iomedae to intercede or solve their problems. Instead, they call upon her to grant them strength, wisdom, and courage so they might solve those problems themselves. Iomedae continues.
“I have brought you here for a purpose and have done so only under the most dire of need. But before I lay this task before you, I must know that you are champions worthy of undertaking this great work.
You have been bold in your war against Deskari and Baphomet, and I favor boldness. Justice requires it, But the line separating boldness from arrogance is thin, and the greatest heroes suffer the longest falls. This has been true of the crusades in which I fought, and those fought in my name. So, tell me, what makes you worthy of carrying the legacy and values of my faith into the darkness of the Abyss, and how can I know you will return them untainted?”
PCs answer
“You have a hero’s bravery and have proven you can survive the horrors of the Abyss. None would doubt your courage. But you have also learned that not all those in the Abyss are your enemies. Some are creatures whose wicked nature can be used as a tool to defeat greater evils. And still others may yet strive to transcend who they are – to prove that just as one might fall, another may rise. One such story you know intimately well. And so, I ask you, are the wages of sin always death and oblivion? When is terrible evil due mercy? Who deserves death, and who deserves a chance at redemption? Which option is the path of justice, and how will you recognize it when more seductive roads lie before you?”
PCs answer
“Ours is work that never truly ends. The righteous are forever beset on all sides by the malevolent and wicked. And sometimes we are little more than a tiny candle burning in the midst of impenetrable night. And so I must know, how does justice triumph against overwhelming evil? How do you maintain light at the heart of darkness? How does one outwit and defeat a demon lord in his own domain? For I ask no less of you than this.
PCs answer
I am grateful for the honesty, wisdom, courage, and humility of your responses. You each possess a valorous soul. Are you worthy of the task I will place before you? That cannot be known. There is no such thing as destiny, and no conclusion is prewritten. None can read the chapters to come until the page is turned, and each of us must craft the ending to our own story. What we have is a chance to act. That is all we are ever given, but that is enough. Who we are, and what we are worth, is defined by what we do with that chance. When we fall, can we find the courage to rise again? When hope is lost, can we find the resolve to stand our ground until it is found? Every moment of our lives is an opportunity to live up to our ideals. And every failure affords us the chance to do better next time. If justice required perfection we could never achieve it, for we are all flawed and imperfect beings – even the Gods.”
As Iomedae speaks, you notice a new image among the ever-shifting Acts of Iomedae. You see the knights of Ozem once again call upon Aroden’s Herald Arazni to do battle against the forces of the Whispering Tyrant, her summoner obscured by the smoke and carnage. But this time was a trap, and the Tyrant captured Arazni, who he would torture, mutilate, and destroy. The tragedy is known to church scholars, though the summoner’s name is lost to history.
“Let us come to the heart of the matter. As you have learned, the Exalted Army of the Fifth Crusade was routed in Raliscard – a cunning trap set by Areelu Vorlesh, one that took advantage of the chaos and confidence caused by your victories. Nearly the entirety of that army was destroyed, but the most bitter loss was the capture of my Herald.
His fate is only partially known to me. I know that he lives, as I still feel him through our connection. I know that he suffers greatly, and he struggles to resist some consuming and terrible corruption. And I know that he is losing his battle. It is only a matter of time until he falls.
What’s more, I can feel something feeding off his connection to me, drawing upon my divinity to fuel some dark purpose.
I could end this by severing the connection. But to do so would consign his soul to the Abyss, forever. He would be lost to me. AND HE DOES NOT DESERVE THIS!”
Iomedae is angry now, and the force of her words shatter the stained glass windows – their shards rain down, but before they strike you they disappear, and the windows reform.
“I will not lose another Herald,” she whispers.
This time each window shows the capturing of the Herald Arazni. As you watch the scene unfold, the smoke dissipates, and the lost summoner is revealed – you gaze upon a young female paladin with short, black hair, wearing a long red cloak. Iomedae stares at the glass for a long moment before continuing.
“Behold, the 12th Act of Iomedae. My greatest failure. I was the favored champion of Aroden, sword-sister and friend to his mighty Herald, granted the blessing to call upon her in an hour of need. And whether it was arrogance, complacency, or fear, I abused that gift. The Whispering Tyrant set a trap for Arazni, and I delivered her to it.
The truth was covered up shortly after my ascension by the church of Aroden and my own fledgling faith. The Acts of Iomedae are stories – eleven myths that valorize and over simplify the very messy and imperfect efforts of a mortal doing the best she could under difficult circumstances. To build my faith, it was decided, I had to be divine even as a mortal. And so the truth was suppressed – known today not even by the most devout and loyal of my church. This is a secret possessed by only a handful of immortal beings.
My herald has been taken because he saw me grieve the impending doom of my mortal home and resolved to intercede on my behalf, as he understood I could not act on my own. I am a god – it is my role to give shape and focus to the power of belief that is at the root of life and creation, and to keep it contained – to allow others access to what they need, but always an infinitesimal part of the whole. No world, not even the planes, can hold our true selves for long.
Nor can I send an avatar to rescue him. Were I to invade the realm of an abyssal lord, it would surely trigger a planar war that would consume countless prime worlds. Like all gods, I am cursed to act through others.
And so, Order of the Silver Scale, my inadvertent champions, I confess that I did not choose you to receive the wardstones power, but you have proven yourself worthy nevertheless – and now I AM choosing you to undertake a sacred task in my name. Somewhere in the Abyss, within Baphomet’s Ivory Labyrinth, is my Herald. This I know. Beyond that he is hidden from my sight. I charge you with affecting his rescue. Find him and return him safely to me. Will you accept this charge?”
(PCS respond)
“I would not send you into Baphomet’s realm unprepared. He has many prisons, and you may need this.” Appearing in her hands is a goblet, made of mithril and studded with dozens of rubies. “This is the Chalice of Ozem, an artifact sacred to my faith – it has many abilities, and can safely hold any liquid, including the caustic blood of the Father of Worms, a beast that may be found somewhere within the Ivory Labyrinth. It is said that his blood can melt any lock, and it may be the key to entering whatever prison holds my Herald.” Iomedae offers the chalice to Queso.
“Baphomet’s layer is dark and dangerous, and many temptations await you within its twisted labyrinths. I grant each of you the power to cast atonement one time in my name. Use this for yourselves should you fall but resist if you can so that the gift of a second chance can be given to those who may need it.”
Iomedae raises her hand, and your heart swells to near bursting with a sense of righteous mercy, before receding into something small and secret you carry within you, ready to be called forth if needed.
Iomedae then plucks a single red thread from her cloak, and as she pulls it free it turns into a long red shawl. She hands it to Zograthy. “With the Stole of the Inheritor you will always be but a step away from home, yet know that you can only open this pathway once – save such a flight for a last resort.
We fight a war on many fronts, and not everyone is meant to wander the dark passages of the Ivory Labyrinth. Irabeth Tiribade, you must return to Drezen and defend the Sword of Valor. Areelu Vorlesh schemes within schemes within schemes, and we cannot know if she might seize the chance to reclaim the Sword, and to what fell purpose she might subject its power.”
Irabeth draws her sword and drives its tip into the stone floor of the cathedral. She grasps its pommel and kneels before Iomedae. “My Lady, there can be no greater glory than to carry out your will. I shall do as you ask, and my heart will be glad for it.” Iomedae nods, and turns her attention to Galfrey, who stares back, meeting the gaze of her goddess, tears running down her face – clearly in great pain, but unwilling to look away. A long moment passes, a space filled by a lifetime of questions no longer requiring an answer, and unspoken words no longer in need of a voice. Iomedae continues, her tone conveying respect for the mortal who stands before her – a kindred soul despite the vast gulf between them.
“And you, Queen Galfrey, my loyal, patient champion. For a hundred years and more you have kept the fire of resistance burning in the face of impossible odds. I know your heart yearns for the field, and the clarity of battle, and an ending. The final war is coming, but it is not a war that you can win. Let us be under no illusions. The Abyss will not be defeated through strength of arms. But I do not ask you for victory. I simply ask that you fight to save your people, as many as you can, for each life saved is my answer to the horrors of the Abyss. I know that you are tired, and that your soul longs to set aside the burdens you have had to carry for far too long, but you must endure. I have asked much, but not more than you can handle, for you, Queen Galfrey of Mendev, Paladin and Champion of Iomedae, have a soul made of cold iron, and that iron does not break.”
Like Irabeth, Galfrey drives the tip of her sword into the cathedral floor and kneels before it, her face radiating a renewed spirit. “My Lady, though my sword may grow heavy, within you I shall always find the strength to lift it, until the day comes that there is no longer a need.”
(Pcs ask questions)
“Rischa, my faithful servant – I have one final question to ask of you alone. My Herald has been taken from me, and the fate of the Mendevian Crusade, and all Golarion, is soon to be decided. A Herald serves as my voice, and walks the paths forbidden to me. Until such time as my Hand is restored, I offer you the opportunity to assume his responsibilities.
Before you accept, Rischa, know that to be a Herald is surrender your own interests and ambitions and to serve as an extension of my will. It will make you a target for the forces of Desakri and Baphomet, as your light will be a beacon that draws the darkness to it. Nor will you immediately possess his great power, as it takes many years to learn how to properly wield it. This is not a responsibility to be taken lightly, and no honor is lost in refusal. Will you shoulder this burden?”
(Rischa speaks)
“Then kneel, Rischa, and affirm what oath you deem appropriate.”
(rischa completes her oath)
As Rischa finishes, the blinding pressure you felt upon first encountering Iomedae builds again, along with the roar and sensation of rushing water. You can feel it flooding into the Cathedral, squeezing you, crowding out your mortal frame, until the pressure eases, its force drawn into Rischa. Rischa begins to glow from within, a radiant light that confers a transparency of the soul – her very being laid bare before you. Her faith, and her doubt that she is not strong enough to do what Iomedae requires. Her implacable certainty, and her shame at the times she was deceived. Her desire to find the great sky citadel Jormurdun, and her secret guilt for harboring ambitions not connected to Iomedae. But above all you see her desire to live up to her god’s example, to embody within herself the lessons of the Acts of Iomedae.
A bright golden tether emerges from Iomedae – not from within her avatar, but from the space between reality that is the true home of the Gods. The tether enters Rischa’s chest and wraps itself around her heart – and through it Rischa can sense Iomedae’s goodness and patience, her nobility and forgiveness, her courage and will.
But the connection reveals Iomedae’s hidden truths as well. Her anger at what has been done to her Herald, to her home world – her grinding frustration at the loss of her agency. The need to put others at risk while she remains safe. Knowing that with a thought she could right the wrongs of the world, but that doing so would invite destruction on a cosmic scale. There is a wild, caged eagerness within her – a woman of action forced to be a bystander. Her divinity a blessing and a prison.
There is more – Rischa experiences the memory of the fierce joy Iomedae felt as a mortal, the way she found glory and purpose in the pursuit of justice, and her wonder at the way an otherwise shy and modest woman could so effortlessly inspire others. Rischa is awed by the deep well of her faith and devotion to Aroden, and the desolate space left by his absence. She feels the intimacy of the kindship Iomedae felt with Arazni, and her totalizing guilt over her loss and mutilation.
It is that guilt, Rischa realizes, that caused Iomedae to undertake the test of the Starstone – the need to right a wrong, to offer up herself in Arazni’s place. Burning brightly is her fear that she would not be worthy of that legacy. That even as she ascended to true Godhood, far eclipsing Arazni’s powers, her place was still at Aroden’s side so she could honor the empty space left by his lost herald. An absence she caused – a death she could never repay.
Rischa experiences the endless prayers, the noise, the need, pulling at her in infinite directions across the endless expanse of the prime material plane – even if they know her by a different name, there is no world that fails to cry out for justice to balance the horrors creation inflicts upon its subjects.
And yet, underneath that cosmic awareness, Iomedae has held on to part of her human, mortal soul – refusing to let go of what it means to be vulnerable, impermanent, to have hopes and dreams without the power to achieve them, to know that time is always your enemy. She understands the day she loses that feeling is the day she loses her empathy, and that without it her justice will be cold, sharp, and clinical. Rischa’s soul swells at the intimacy of the connection, marvels at the sacrifice Iomedae has made, and is overcome by a sense of gratitude and purpose.
And then the connection closes, the raging river of power reduced to a tiny, steady stream. And Rischa felt like herself again, though something new grows within her. And though Iomedae keeps a respectful distance, granting Rischa the autonomy of her mind and the freedom of her actions, her presence remains.
Iomedae stands back and gazes upon Queen Galfrey and Lady Irabeth, before turning her attention to her new Herald, and the Order of the Silver Scale. She nods to herself, satisfied. “Know that you are worthy to champion me against Baphomet, for mandate prohibits the willful intercession of the divine even in such matters as personal as the loss of a herald. Though I lay no geas or compulsion upon you, I charge you to go into the darkness of the Abyss, into the heart of the Ivory Labyrinth of my enemy and seek out my herald. If he is imprisoned, rescue him. If he is dead, bring him home. Should he have fallen, redeem him. Find a way to save him, so that I do not need to surrender his soul to the Abyss forever. But you must act, and act quickly. Something feeds upon me, and the longer I hold onto my connection to the Herald, the stronger it becomes.”
The church begins to fade out, and you experience the same gliding sensation that brought you to Iomedae’s cathedral. You find yourself back in Drezen, mere moments having passed, Aravashinal, James Bothan, and Yaniel staring at you, looking perplexed and wary. Within each of your hands is a small holy symbol of Iomedae, and you understand that it contains the power to transport you, just once, into the Ivory Labyrinth.
| Valiran9 |
I'm wondering, has anyone run this encounter as written and the players chose to react like any other reasonable person would? Shock, anger, outrage, determination to get to the bottom of WTF just happened? I know it isn't what the writers intended, but it's definitely an interesting way to derail a campaign.