[Author’s note: What are these “AoA” tags? Check out this post to know why I’m writing these and why they don’t have anything to do with superheroes. After writing only the occasional cut-scene, I decided to do a quick narrative before every Pathfinder session instead of a recap. We already had someone in the group writing recaps, so mine felt redundant, and there were too many opportunities for fiction writing that I was letting pass me by. Below are a collection of intros from our sessions. I don’t love using present tense, but it’s what fits best into these tabletop roleplaying sessions.]

Session 122: Transitions

We begin with a montage of scenes all in silence. We see Jethro Vermillion, wings spread wide, standing with charred bones all around him, his golden eyes looking down on the injured form of Coxsackie. Obedience Fletcher stands at his side. Jethro kneels, hands glowing, and the goblin’s eyes flutter open.

We see a group of Sunknights gathered around Jacques du Tank, all wide-eyed and talking over each other, gesturing wildly. The wounded, blind, and weary champion is ignoring them as he turns to look with sightless eyes out over the field of bones. We see beyond the field the distant forms of Jethro, the two goblins, Margaret, and Sabine walking away, headed south. Jacques’ mouth is set in a grim line.

We see our five heroes picking their way across a path churned from thousands of skeletal feet. Scattered every so often is a stray bone or scrap of armor. Obedience is pointing out a grisly splatter of blood and gore along the path as the others look on.

We see the same heroes moving up low foothills. In the background lies a broken cart laying on its side. On the horizon, the sun is low in the sky and near sunset.

We are now in a dungeon of some kind. Margaret steps forward in the darkness and spikes leap from the walls, clattering against her shield and armor. Sabine is saying something we can’t hear as she studies the many glyphs on the walls.

Still in the dungeon, we see the party battling two skeletons. One is Dmiri, the hobgoblin leader of the Bloody Blades from Book 1, scraps of flesh hanging off her bones. The other is the plate-armored figure named Law from our side quest session, the only reason we know it is a skeleton is because the full suit of plate is shattered below one elbow, a skeletal arm protruding, and of course that purple glow of undeath from within Law’s helmet. And finally, we are in a square stone chamber. A stone dais, covered in runes, sits in the middle of the room. Atop the dais is a long, curved dagger pulsing with violet light to the rhythm of a heartbeat. You all are there, and sound returns to the scene, a low hum of power in the chamber.  

Session 123: Into Duskgate

As you step through the gold and silver curtain of mist, you enter a remarkable place. The rooms within the waystation are tall, perhaps 15 feet tall at the walls, with delicately arching ceilings that peak at a height of 20 feet at their centers. The walls are magically-smoothed hewn stone decorated with shallowly carved friezes, fading frescos, or intricate mosaics consisting of thousands of precisely cut tiles in a breathtaking display of artistry and detail.

The entire place radiates dim lighting, as if lit by the setting sun, but other than the curtain of mists, there is no obvious source for the illumination.

Session 124: The Duskgate Waystation

[player-written intro]

Session 125: Promise of Fire

A town is burning, its residents running with arms shielding their heads. The sky is a deep red and black, choked with smoke and crackling with bright red lightning. Along with the sounds of flames and human terror, there is a low rumble punctuated by larger crashes and booms. In the first few moments, you can’t tell what these other noises are, but then an enormous boulder the size of two humans, glowing red and trailing flames, hurtles out of the sky and hits a single story building a block away.

It is Jethro who first notices the fountain, cracked and charred, maybe fifty feet away. Recognition floods him and his golden eyes open wide.

This is not Katapesh. This is Breachill. You are standing outside the town hall, and even as understanding fills you the great structure groans and collapses. You hear cries from within.

Obe is the one who looks out and up, where normally the comforting presence of Castle Redemption stands sentinel. But there is no castle there. In its place is a volcano, scattered rubble at its base, and spewing smoke, ash, and molten fragments into the sky.

Session 126: Finderplain

[no intro]

Session 127: Help For Finderplain

The heavy door to the Stove and Cupboard inn booms shut, muffling the howling winds and sand outside. The five of you, crowded near the door, find yourselves in the large common room of the inn. Nearly two dozen gnomes, dwarves, and humans stare at you, a mosaic of worry, fear, curiosity, and hope.

A voice speaks out over the crowd. It is a middle-aged dwarven woman with jet black hair pulled back into a braid, showing a round, sun-worn face with long sideburns. She crosses thick arms over her chest.

“Well, we’ve let you in. But we aren’t leaving zis blace.”

Session 128: The Storm Ends

[dialogue fragments with Satla]

“Well, we’ve made some grim discoveries, I’m afraid. More than one hundred people dead or missing, though the exact number is difficult to determine because we never really knew how many people lived here. Several cargoes have gone missing as well. It’s all a mess, but it could have been a lot worse if you all hadn’t arrived. Soluk believes you were sent by Sarenrae herself. Where did you say you came from again?”

“There is an upside, though. Now we can make several committees to repair the damage and enumerate the victims. I do love committees. I’m good at planning. It’s the reason I took over as soukmaster.”

“So, you’re still determined to take on the Scarlet Triad, eh? I had rather hoped you’d stay in Finderplain, maybe live here for a few years at least. Any chance of that? We… uh. I suppose we have plenty of houses for you!”

“Alright then. One of our other grim discoveries concerns the Triad. Several days ago, Triad agents and one of Finderplain’s antiquities dealers, a gnome named Benneb, apparently engaged in a verbal altercation. There were several witnesses. As the dust storm gathered, those same witnesses saw the Scarlet Triad agents pack up and leave on the road to Katapesh, moving they said quickly, like they’d done something wrong. Benneb is one of those missing after the storm, and now we’ve found his wagon ransacked with broken locks.”

“Look, this isn’t the first time the Scarlet Triad has harassed our residents. They’re pushy negotiators, opportunists, and slavers. But the evidence looks as if they simply took Benneb! That is simply egregious! Unacceptable!”

“You can’t enslave anyone in the city of Katapesh itself, but anyone enslaved outside and brought in remains a slave by law. The Scarlet Triad has been, if rumors can be believed, abducting people more and more. There’s even a vicious rumor that they recently enslaved the head of the Jeweler’s Guild when negotiations didn’t go their way! People say the Scarlet Triad’s foreign operations have been suffering, which is making them desperate.”

“Look, we put up with all of it because the Scarlet Triad is untouchable. I mean, they operate openly out of the Red Pyramid, but because they function as a legal and legitimate consortium—and have done so for decades–they’ve got the Pactmasters’ protection. Attack the Scarlet Triad, and you’ve basically attacked the city. You’re tough, but that’s not a fight you can win.”

“But you’ve shown me something. You’re strong and capable, and maybe Soluk is right and you do have the gods behind you. So I’ll tell you how I would get rid of the Scarlet Triad. I’m a planner, remember?”

“Okay, on the first Sunday of every month, there is a Council of Guilds meeting. That meeting is where all of the major trade organizations gather, vote on new policies, punish misdeeds, and revoke charters, that sort of thing. So my thought is that if you could get the Scarlet Triad’s charter revoked at that meeting, then anything that happens to them is on their heads and the Pactmasters won’t retaliate. I’m starting to believe you could convince a camel to drink sand. So convince the guilds to stand against the Scarlet Triad! At that point, even the Pactmasters would rescind their protection… or maybe even expel the Scarlet Triad entirely. Anyway, that’s what I would do if I were you. But it’s just an idea, and who knows if it would work? There are probably other ways to get at them too.”

Session 129: Welcome to Katapesh

We begin with sitar music playing as our camera pans across a desert landscape. A line of camels is snaking their way across the sand, the sky clear and blue.

The scene shifts as the camels stop in front of an amazing sight. An enormous, cracked, headless stone torso lies half-buried in a dune. One of the torso’s arms remains attached and juts out from the sands, its granite hand hollowed around a now-missing weapon.

The music fades as we get a close up of your guide, Haleh. She unwraps her head wrap to speak, her pierced, sun-withered face now visible. It is late afternoon on the first day of your travel, and this is the first time Haleh has spoken.

“Behold Selkelas, so named because it is the word engraved on the statue’s back between its shoulder blades. None living know its origins. Legends and myths abound at to what weapon the statue held and where it is now. When we get to Katapesh, beware anyone trying to sell you the Sword of Selkelas, for you will find many such items. Come. We go.”

Session 130: Legwork for the Auction

[overheard in tavern 1]

“Some of the guildmasters need to be replaced, seriously,” one of the Scarlet Triad pair says too loudly over his beer.

“I don’t disagree, but like who?”

“That fat Breeders guy, for example.”

The second man spits his drink. “Aldane Zulran?”

“That’s the one. Imperial Union of Breeders. Led by a buffoon.”

“I don’t disagree, but why?”

“You haven’t heard? For more than a year, he’s spent a fortune trying to capture a wild camel known as Duneshadow. It’s all he talks about.”

“A… camel.”

“Exactly. Talks about it like it’s a mythical beast. Hell, maybe it is. Or maybe he’s just old and crazy.”

[overheard in tavern 2]

“What do you think of this gig coming up? The one in a few days.”

“The private event? Seems like a lot of trouble and coin spent on security. Must be something important. I wish Apsis had assigned me, actually. Sounds swanky.”

“Seems weird, though, the Scarlet Triad hiring the Aspis Consortium for security detail on their own event.”

“Why? We’ve worked together before. Loads of times.”

“Sure, but rumor is that their heavy-hitters are spread thin. A lot of them doing damage control in other lands, or dead. So they need us. That’s what Ytrim Azas says.”

“Oh yeah. Like you talk to her.”

“Fuck you. I’ve heard she’s starting to mistrust the Scarlet Triad. Expecting to get back-stabbed or undercut on payment.”

“Ytrim is a suspicious, cold-hearted bitch.” “That’s why we like her, yeah. She’s lined our pockets enough times.”

Session 131: A Conversation with Sarenrae

Jethro, you are sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, facing the bright sun of Katapesh, on the fifth straight day of prayer, when suddenly, everything around you darkens and goes quiet. It’s not a sinister darkness, but a gentle one. A simple absence of everything. A sigh of serenity and void surrounds you.

You don’t know how long you’re in that peaceful nothingness. Maybe seconds. Maybe hours. But eventually there is the flicker of light, somewhere just beyond your perception. The light grows brighter and brighter and brighter and brighter and brighter, and even though your eyes are closed you are nearly overwhelmed by the sudden, inescapable glare.

And there, in the bright glow, is a figure. It’s impossible to tell exactly, but with your eyes closed you think it may be the figure of a woman, with angelic wings and hair aflame. The brightness behind her gets so intense that it’s painful, and you feel your skin begin to burn and smell the smoke of your robes.

A voice whispers gently in your ear. “Jethro, open your eyes.”

You are sitting in your childhood home, in a sturdy chair built by a much younger Quentino Posandi. A happy flame crackles in the fireplace. The window shudders are drawn, but you get the sense it is in the wee hours of the morning.

And there, across from you, with a lopsided grin, is a woman. She is a young, lean, and dark-skinned Kelish woman in colorful robes, perched atop a stool with perfect posture. Her ears are adorned with dangling yellow gems that catch the firelight.

“Ah, that’s better. I’m pleased that we finally get this opportunity, Jethro Vermillion.”

“Get up, please. None of that here. It’s why our conversation is in such a setting, so as not to worry about such things. Let’s chat. Have a seat and be comfortable.”

“Tell me: What had you hoped to gain from these fervent prayers?” Once again she gives you that lopsided grin.

“Failed? What have you failed, Jethro? Did you not discover the secrets of the auidara in the bowels of an abandoned castle? Did you not then find a key to take you to the Mwangi Expanse, where you not only thwarted a cult to Dahak and saved an elven people but also disrupted the Scarlet Triad’s gold mining? Did you not then head to Ravounel to save countless innocents from the Scarlet Triad and free the city of Kintargo from their underground slaving efforts? Yes, you died. But did you not return, continuing your quest of truth and purity? Who of your companions has died since that return? No, I don’t see a string of failure, child.”

“So, tell me. These past days, your companions have hunted information about this auction for the missing Jeweler, an auction attended by devils and demons. Truly an evil lot, smelling of perfume and expensive oils but rotten to the core. Yet for all of their information, your companions will look to you to tell them the plan. They will follow your word. What will you tell them?”

“I will not tell you what to do, but I will say this: Imagine that you announce yourself to the Scarlet Triad, yet they are still protected by the Pactmasters. The entire city of Katapesh, all of its laws, protectors, bounty hunters, assassins, and every guild in the Scarlet Triad’s pockets bend their collective will to stop you. Thousands upon thousands against you, upheld by the laws of this land. Many innocents will die. At best you will rot in a sunless prison. At worst you will die again, painfully, and this time permanently. Either way, the Scarlet Triad’s evil runs free and Uri Zandivar plays with powers he cannot hope to control. An Age of Ashes is poised to descend upon Golarion if you fail, Jethro.”

“This auction is a tipping point, and how you handle it may determine the fate of the world.”

“That’s the wonder of mortals and their free will… no outcomes are certain by any one action. I can only advise that you approach each circumstance with compassion, generosity, mercy, and honesty. Perhaps honesty most of all. Let the light of truth guide your way, Jethro. For a word of truth spoken at the right time can do more good than any sword. Or, I suppose in your case, fireball.”

“Ah, which reminds me. Do you still have that necklace?”

She rolls it around in her hands, and her eyes twinkle. “Mengkare’s Roar. That’s a good name, is it not? Mengkare is a powerful gold dragon, very powerful. Well. Here you are.” She hands it back, with two bright golden beads.

“Jethro, one last thing, and forgive me if this sounds somewhat contrary to our conversation to this point. Sometimes words fail, even if truthfully given. And in those cases, the best battle is a battle you WIN. If you die, you can no longer fight. Fight fairly when the fight is fair, and” she looks Jethro directly in the eye, “STRIKE QUICKLY AND WITHOUT MERCY WHEN IT IS NOT.”

“Now,” she stands gracefully, smoothing out her robes with long-fingered hands. “May the light of truth shine within you, Jethro Vermillion. And let’s hope we can talk again sometime. Good luck, child.”

There is a flash, and for the briefest of moments you see that angel-winged figure with the flaming hair, an impossibly bright radiance drowning out everything. And in that briefest of moments, you feel the skin burned from your bones by that radiance. And then the moment passes, and you open your eyes to the bustling street sounds of Katapesh. It is sunset, the golden rays of sun bathing your perch.

Session 132: The Ambush

Orand laughed into the night, a dry, raspy laugh.

“I will tell you something, my friend. Evil? We are not evil. We are members of the Scarlet Triad, a legitimate consortium in the city of Katapesh. The slaves we have are legitimate property, and we are on our way to a legitimate auction of our property. Everything we do is legal in the eyes of the Pactmasters and the city.”

“Evil? You are the ones breaking the city’s laws. What we do we do for profit. Katapesh is a city for profits. You cannot say the same.”

“So I will give you until the count of three to move your barricade or we will kill every one of you. One…”  

Session 133: The Jeweler and the Djinni

[no intro]

Session 134: Margaret the Skewer-Rat

Margaret, is in the section of the Grand Coliseum where the gladiators get ready, pray to their gods, throw up or urinate with nerves, and bleed out after matches. To say it smells rank is a vast understatement.

You are checking the straps of your armor and shield. What else are you doing as your fight draws near?

A muscled, middle-aged human man with a pitch-black beard that is so large and thick that it seems like a black hole covering his neck and upper chest approaches you. You met this man yesterday and know him as a veteran of the Gladiators’ Guild, but you never got his name.

“Ser Margaret. Please, forgive me. I do not wish to interrupt. I only wanted a word before you enter the arena. When you are able.”

“I am Hajir. Out there I am known as the Black Bear, heh. I have been fighting in this arena for a long while.”

“Times, they are not good for the gladiators. Our guild leader, the Sand Claws, she attempts to make the fights as deadly as possible for the entertainment of the crowd. The crowds are no doubt larger than before, but the gladiators are fewer, eh? Those of left fear for our lives.”

“In you I see a true champion. Do well today, and I believe you will be asked to the main event on Sunday. Do well there, mmm, and perhaps you can challenge Sand Claws herself. I see you fight. I see her fight. It would be a close thing, but I believe in you. We,” and he looks around and you realize that many eyes are on your conversation. Hard-scrabble warriors of all ancestries and age are watching. “We believe in you. May your gods bless you today.”

You walk about to a roar of cheers. The arena is about half-full, which you’re led to believe is really good for one of the warm-up acts before the headliner of the day.

A voice is echoing across the arena floor, and you peer around and locate a goblin in lavish robes speaking into what basically amounts to a brass megaphone.

“And here she comes, Ser Margaret, the Rodent of Valor! Such an impressive display only yesterday and is back for more!”

“Now that we know of Ser Margaret’s fierce prowess in battle, we have arranged a more formidable opponent. And I think you’ll find it quite appropriate.”

An enormous iron gate begins lifting on the other side of the arena. A giant steps out into the light. He looks like an enormous beggar, tattered hood and cloak covering dirty skin. But as the light hits him you realize two things. First, he is draped in chains beneath the cloak. Second, it isn’t dirt all over him, it is open, weeping sores. He’s dragging behind him an enormous flail, and looks like this.

“You all know that rats bring pestilence to any city, so we were able on short notice to find a fighter who is a plague giant. Will the rat or the pestilence win? Place your bets, children of Abadar, and let’s find out!”

[Parnoosh]

Parnoosh is a doe-eyed young half-elf woman dressed fashionably in bright colors. “Ah, Sabine! I am glad you’ve returned. I so enjoyed our conversation yesterday. What is it you want to discuss today?”

The two talked of elven lore, dimensional portals, and the college. Parnoosh seemed rapt with attention, asking questions and generally fascinated with the dragonscaled sorcerer. Eventually, after long hours, the conversation turned to Sabine’s true purpose: An audience with Parnoosh’s mentor, a Dean of the College of Dimensional Studies.

“You wish to meet Behfar?” she makes a sour face. “But he is so old and trapped in history. Antiquated. Not like you, Sabine, a true student of the world who wishes to experience life rather than read about it. You will learn nothing from that dusty, white-haired fool. Let us just keep meeting, you and I.”

But Sabine insisted that her earlier visit to the school had created such a negative impression that she felt the need to vindicate her image. She wanted only to show that she, too, was a scholar who could both learn and contribute a great deal to the college.

Parnoosh stared long and hard at Sabine, her eyes narrowed. Something seemed to be turning in her brain, and that something eventually clicked into place. In a flash, the large eyes returned and her smile was radiant.

“I see. Of course, Sabine. I will arrange a meeting for tomorrow. We will go see Behfar together. I’ll be there to ensure you are not misunderstood this time. And you, you will find your redemption.”

A smile curled at Parnoosh’s lips briefly, and Sabine couldn’t help but think it mischievous. Then they were saying their goodbyes and setting a time to meet. Sabine, for her part, felt as if once again she had missed something socially important in this strange, foreign city.

Session 135: Parnoosh and Duneshadow

Sabine, meets Parnoosh outside of the college. She is, as always, bright-eyed and eager to see you, giving you a hug when you arrive.

“Are you sure you still want to see the Dean today, Sabine? We could just talk as we’ve done the past two days. Behfar is such a bore.”

“Alright, then. Let us go and see if you might improve your reputation here at the College.”

She takes your hand and leads you past the college entryway. You’ve been here before, but she tugs at the sleeves of your robe and leads you more deeply, through the winding halls and up curved staircases. You see a dozen things you might want to explore, including a painting that might have been of an auidara and a glass-walled library filled with books and maps.

Eventually the two find themselves in a wider hallway with marble-tiled floor, facing a large wooden door. Parnoosh takes a deep breath.

“Well, here we are. He should be expecting us,” and she knocks three times.

Parnoosh opens the door to reveal a large office. And there at a desk facing a large window is an old, white-haired man.

“Ah, Parnoosh. Yes, I had almost forgotten–” and his voice falters as he sees Sabine. “What is this? Isn’t that the woman we’ve banned?”

“Yes, Dean. She insisted on speaking with you.”

Creakily, he gets up from his chair and comes around the desk, looking worried.

“What is this? You were banned from the college!”

[while Sabine explains, Parnoosh reveals a dagger stained with some sort of black tar]

“I don’t like this, Parnoosh. You should not…”

Parnoosh’s face has transformed into a mask of hate and rage. She plunges the dagger into Behfar’s side.

“Refuse to advance me in the order, will you? Keep me an apprentice?! Die, old fool!”

[Author’s note: What are these “AoA” tags? Check out this post to know why I’m writing these and why they don’t have anything to do with superheroes. After writing only the occasional cut-scene, I decided to do a quick narrative before every Pathfinder session instead of a recap. We already had someone in the group writing recaps, so mine felt redundant, and there were too many opportunities for fiction writing that I was letting pass me by. Below are a collection of intros from our sessions. I don’t love using present tense, but it’s what fits best into these tabletop roleplaying sessions.]

Session 99: Back in Saggorak

The black-clad duergar dashes into the room on short legs, her pale eyes taking in the wall of wind across the dining hall’s doorway. She curses in Undercommon, draws her shortsword, and plunges ahead, past one of the dwarves. Wind tears at the cloth around her armor and she’s through to the other side, where the pitched battle is underway.

“The alchemist–” she begins in Undercommon, then looks to her allies, frowns, and switches to Dwarven. “The alchemist is dead. Their invisible assassin killed her with a single shot. We can’t run, so either we kill them now or die.”

“We kill them, then!” one of the dwarves bellows, and swings his flail wide over his head.

Session 100: King Harral

Sabine Sterling picks her way around the apparently former-palace of King Harral. To Sabine’s wide, yellow eyes the structure–the very stone–has been reduced to slag from extreme heat. Undoubtedly the heat of a magma dragon’s breath, she thinks. Yes, see there? Those vertical slashes in that bit of unmelted stone may very well be claw marks. She studies the place, walking slowly in her perimeter study. The moans and wails of Saggorak’s undead have faded to the background. Indeed, she is concentrating so thoroughly that she hardly notices her surroundings at all, including the other structures nearby.

So it is a great surprise when a voice interrupts. “Sabine Sterling… Seeker of knowledge and arcane lore. Wisdom hoarder. Enter this place, Sabine… Come.”

She glances around to see who else had heard the voice, but Obedience is inspecting another part of the rubble, the closest but still too far to hear a whispered voice. None of her other companions are looking up from their own inspections. Only her. Only she had heard it. And the voice had called her by name, hadn’t it?

“Come Sabine. Important knowledge. Vital. Things you must know. In here…” She examines the structure from which this beckoning call seems to be emanating. Like most of Saggorak, the stone is crumbled by age and battle, its original purpose difficult to discern. But its pillars and towering walls are impressive, and relatively untouched by whatever had destroyed the palace. And is that the image of a book in the fresco there, worn away? She takes a step forward, King Harral’s palace momentarily forgotten. What is this place?

Session 101: Dead Man’s Party

The difficult-to-discern form of Casper the wraith appears and bows low to you all.

“Honored allies. My mighty King asks that I escort you to the regalia he wore in life. It is not a long journey. Please, follow me.”

While he escorts you, anything you want to say to each other or Casper?

“Powerful magics surround the King’s regalia. It is also the site of Old King Harral’s death, and where members of his personal guard made a last stand to protect him. As a result, powerful members of the Bound guard the robes, and they will attack anyone who enters without parley or discernment.”

“Only someone with Good in their heart may wear the King’s regalia. Indeed, Old King Harral has often said it is why he has not returned to that place – for fear that his undeath has twisted him in some way so as to prevent him from even touching the robes. He often worries about such things. It says quite a bit about what he sees in you that he suggests you obtain it.”

And after some travel through the ruined streets of Saggorak, you come to a once-great manor. It is two stories, and once supported six small towers, designed to echo the architecture of a castle in miniature. One of these towers has utterly crumbled, while another has collapsed, falling across the building and heavily damaging it. In contrast to the majority of the building, the southernmost room and towers are in relatively good repair, and stone doors seal up the place in several places, though the doors only hang loosely in their frames.

“Good luck, honored allies. I shall see you when the task is done.” And with that he blinks out.

Session 102: Saggorak Poltergeists

The foyer of this haunted hall had been a welcoming place. Falsely welcoming, it turned out, yet still a brief respite from the decaying ruins of Saggorak.

Beyond the foyer, you are back to decaying ruins. The most alarming feature of this once-great hall is the shattered ceiling, where one of building’s six towers has fallen long ago, crushing the second floor and sending pieces of the ceiling everywhere. Bits of broken and desiccated furniture mix with the rubble, making the original purpose of this place difficult to discern.

You all take in the sprawling hall through black-and-white darkvision. Between cracks in the walls and doorways leaning in their frames to the outside, the screams and moans of Saggorak drift into the interior.

The party begins to fan out, Coxsackie and Margaret taking point. But then Sabine’s voice echoes within the ruins to stop, as her arcane sight takes in the room. The dragon sorcerer warns of several unseen ghosts, just as they raise their clawed hands to attack.

Session 103: The King’s Regalia

[player-written intro]

Session 104: The King’s Fury

As you exit the once-great halls of King Harral’s former residence, the outlined form of Casper appears and bows low to you all.

“Oh. My. It is– I apologize. It is difficult to find words seeing someone in the King’s regalia. I did not believe that I could be moved this long after my death. Well done, honored allies.”

And he stays silent, bowing, until you believe he may be frozen like the poltergeists inside. With his head down, though, he speaks again.

“Perhaps you will defeat the usurper after all. You are truly sent by the gods. You have my thanks and respect, and if I may say so, elf, the robes suit you. Where may I escort you now?”

Session 105: Sanctum of the Starved

“Three days.” Commander Grokar Hammersong sighs heavily and smooths his black, thick beard with a calloused hand.

“Yes sir.”

“What do you make of it, Sergeant Arna? Three days and we have heard nothing. Still believe that it means the threat is simply not yet handled? Not that they’re dead?” His thick fingers absently move from his beard to the hilt of his warhammer.

The sergeant shrugs. She still has the black line painted from the left side of her forehead, down through her eye to chin.

“It’s not as if an enemy has emerged from the tunnel either, sir. And other than the continued tension and guild skirmishes in the city, we don’t have evidence that any new acts of terrorism have occurred. So they’re not dead, I reckon.”

“Indeed. Your faith in our outsider friends remains… bolstering, Sergeant.”

“Yes sir. I try, sir.”

Hammersong’s hand strays back to his beard, smoothing it. “Still, it does not strike me as a good sign. Organize a scouting party to send in at first torch tomorrow. I want to know what’s happening out there.”

Both dwarves’ eyes are locked on the tunnel entrance within the Hidden Forge. It is a dark, rough-hewn hole into the earth. Our camera zooms slowly in on that hole until it is simply a black screen. And we pull back, with many sets of eyes locked on another dark, rough-hewn hole into the earth. But this one has old, battered ties and tracks leading into it, and the sound of moans and shrieks echoing in the air.

Session 106: Falrok Denied

Wump, wump, wump–The sound we described last time as a subwoofer–fills the mines’ caverns as a crudely-made stone golem pounds relentlessly on an invisible wall. Veins of lazurite glow along cracks and joints in the golem, filling the chamber with an eerie light akin to a blacklight.

Wump, wump, wump.

Behind the golem, swaying but otherwise still, is a skeleton so enormous its head almost touches the marrowstone ceiling. The glowing pits of its eyes roam from figure to figure, studying you all like a hungry tiger behind glass. Its huge, clawed hands flex and relax repeatedly. Whatever noise it may be making is lost behind the enchanted wall, and the constant barrage of the golem’s fists.

Wump, wump, wump.

Sabine knows that any moment her spell will have run its course, and the wall will cease to exist. And when it does, the tiger will be free.

Wump, wump, wump.

Session 107: The End of the Starved

Only minutes ago, when Sabine’s first wall of force had dropped, you all were ready for the golem and gashadokuro. As soon as the barrier disappeared, you swung into frenzied action.

This time is different. The wall vanishes with a whispering puff of magic, and the only sound rushing in to fill the space is… silence.

You’ve come to this place, deeper into the earth than you’ve ever traveled–miles below ground with tons of rock above you–to find and destroy a ghoul named Falrok. Yet last you saw he was loping deeper into the mine before he disappeared. And now, no sign of him remains.

Session 108: To the Temple

You had noticed it from a distance but not realized it was your destination until you are practically there. An enormous natural pillar of stone, maybe a full quarter mile in diameter, reaches from cavern ceiling to floor. Its enormity is difficult to comprehend until you approach, like ants walking up to an ancient redwood tree.

And built into the base of this natural stone giant is the Temple of All Gods.

Although worn by the thousands of years since its construction, Obe you see it is still a breathtaking marvel of stonemasonry. As you get closer you can make out that the façade has images of a single dwarven hero in various acts of defeating all manner of strange monsters, single-handedly building huge structures, and forging powerful weapons. A pair of curving stone stairs rise up to meet a looming iron double door in the middle of the building, and these doors are flanked by identical enormous statues of armored dwarves kneeling. All along the approach to the Temple and the colossal stone pillar, there is rubble, bloodstains, and bones that have been picked clean. Other than that, though, it is silent and empty and waiting.

Session 109: The Mukradi

As you approach, the pillar towering over you, something begins shifting all along the stairs. What you first assumed were deep shadows resolve themselves into black, chitinous scales of a gargantuan centipede as it untangles itself from the structure. It had apparently been wrapped all through the stairs, and as it moves and moves and moves you are like, holy shit how long is this thing? Then it rears up you and see that not only is it friggin’ huge, it has three giant heads.

Session 110: Temple’s First Floor

Jacques du Tank drums his fingers on the rough wood of his desk in a tuneless, distracted rhythm. His other arm lays tucked away on his lap. He doesn’t consciously realize that he hides the handless limb out of sight as if behind a shield. Yet he does, and these days his mighty shield is the large, functional desk of his office.

With this shield, the battle he wages is with the mounting administrative tasks of Castle Redemption. Every week, more would-be adventurers show up to Breachill to join the Sunknights, and each person must be housed, screened, trained, and found a role. Increasingly, fights break out among the recruits that need settling. The tension between the townsfolk and their would-be defenders increases every week as well. The result is that these days he finds himself arbitrating conflict within Breachill even more than addressing threats beyond.

Yet his work is more than simply a growing militia. Every week, the renovations of the citadel increase in complexity, and town artisans must be paid, listened to, or reminded for the hundredth time of the purpose behind each construction. In addition, Councilwoman Gardenia has deferred to Jacques more and more on civic matters, and recently he has become a voting member of the Breachill Town Council, the town’s representative from the growing presence of Castle Redemption.

The result is piles upon piles of scrolls needing to be read, needing to be signed, needing to be changed, or worse of all, requiring a meeting. Jacques has grown to hate administrative meetings most of all.

He can’t honestly remember the last time he was in the training yard, with his actual shield upon his handless arm.

Jacques frowns, his fingers still drumming out the distracted beat. Memories plague him, of being at Jethro Vermillion’s side, in this very citadel, uncovering the first signs of the Cinderclaw cult. Signs that would lead him to the Mwangi Expanse, sweating beneath heavy armor as a giant crocodile dragged him into the swampy depths.

Wondering plagues him as well. He is wondering for the thousandth time if he should have accompanied Jethro into Dreamgate after the Mwangi, and whether Jacques might have somehow saved his friend’s life. It is a thought that visits him constantly, day and night.

He is also wondering if he should have traveled through Jewelgate after Jethro’s death. He is wondering whether the almost three weeks of silence forebode any doom for Obe and the others. But at least on this last thought, he reminds himself, that is why he sent Tak. Jacques trusts the fighter to keep his friend safe.

Increasingly, he is wondering whether these castle defenses are the best way to uphold Jethro’s ideals, to keep the world safe from the cleric’s haunting visions. Is this mountain of administrative work the best and highest use of his skills?

After almost an hour of remembering and brooding and wondering and worrying, his fingers stop their drumming.

His eyes flick to the piles of scrolls littering every inch of the desk’s surface. He sighs, shakes his head, and reaches for the quill.

A quick knock on his door precedes it opening with a rush. The pale halfling woman with bright, braided red hair is out of breath, her eyes wide.

“Captain!” Betsy Jadefinders says. “We’ve got trouble, to the South. Big friggin’ trouble, sir. Get your armor, sword, and shield, sir. We need you, sir. Right. Now.”

[Author’s note: What are these “AoA” tags? Check out this post to know why I’m writing these and why they don’t have anything to do with superheroes. After writing only the occasional cut-scene, I decided to do a quick narrative before every Pathfinder session instead of a recap. We already had someone in the group writing recaps, so mine felt redundant, and there were too many opportunities for fiction writing that I was letting pass me by. Below are a collection of intros from our sessions. I don’t love using present tense, but it’s what fits best into these tabletop roleplaying sessions.]

Session 88: Theft in the Regents’ Vault

[player-written intro]

Session 89: Brigven and the Cops

“Is that them?” a voice in the shadows asks.

“What in the bowels of the Darklands do you mean, ‘is that them?’ They aren’t dwarves, for Torag’s sake! I see two humans, a goblin dressed like a human, a silver-skinned elf, and a rat in armor. That’s all five of them.”

“Do we get ‘em now, then?”

“No. The Regent wants us to merely watch them for now. So stay hidden and eyes open.”

“Right. You think we can take ‘em?”

“They look tough and battle-hardened, and it would be two on five. No, I do not. But, always remember that we have the law on our side. We will be saving the city by taking these five off the streets.”

“Right. Don’t see why we wait to take ‘em, then.”

“The Regent said watch, so we watch. The time to act will come soon enough.”

Knuckles pop in the darkness of the alleyway. “I think I could take ‘em. At least a couple of ‘em.”

“No. We do this by the Regent’s wishes. The city is at the precipice and about to topple. We are the law that will set things right.”

“We’ll be heroes, then.”

“Quite right.”

“Alright. We watch.”

“It looks like they’re moving now. Stay hidden, and let’s see what they do next.”

Session 90: The Earthfire Prison

In a dwarven city deep underground, before a heavy, squat, stone structure, we have ourselves a situation.

A half dozen dwarves, all bearing identical seals of the Guild of Arms, surround the party. Obedience has disappeared. Leilani looks wary. Margaret blurs with defensive magic. Tak has both swords out in a defensive position.

And a strong dwarf grapples with the taller Sabine amidst them all.

“Tell your friends to drop their weapons,” she growls, so only the elf can hear. “We had planned to just take you off the streets for a few days, but you’re about to land in a dwarven prison for years.”

“Marda!” one of the dwarven city guards says, panting as he runs up. “What’s this all about then?”

Marda raises her voice to the gathering crowd of guards. “These outsiders seemed to be breaking into this building! When we questioned them, they drew their weapons!”

“Aren’t they the ones Hammerson deputized?” another dwarf asks.

“I don’t care who they are! They’ve drawn weapons on Guardsmen!”

The squat, ugly dwarf with Marda has paused from blowing his heavy brass whistle. In the break you can hear other City Watch whistles blowing in the distance.

Session 91: Confronting the Alljoiner

Since it’s been TEN FRIGGIN’ DAYS, let’s briefly recap where we are, a la Troy in GCP:

As part of gaining the Court of Regents’ favor in the dwarven city of Kovlar, you all were doing several mini quests for the various guild leaders. You ventured out into the lake for the Guild of Arms and Commander Grokar Hammersong, discovering lower doses of the same poison that wiped out Cypress Point.For the Guild of Coins and Goldhand Wuldi Irontemper, you investigated a theft from the vault of the Regents, exonerating Fortunate Algera Kord of the Gamblers’ Guild and uncovering that she too had been the victim of a theft, but not yet finding the true culprit. You helped Adorned Stosk Dolgindir and the Guild of Finery explore a missing tailor, Algret, who you realized disappeared somewhere in the Earthfire District.

And finally, before she would agree to get the Court together to address what you (particularly Obe) believed was a threat from the Scarlet Triad, you helped Forgemaster Kelda Halrig and the Anvillers’ Guild settle a dispute with some merchants who claimed that they were receiving shoddy weapons. You traced the forged weapons back to a disgruntled dwarf named Brigven, who revealed three things:

1. There is a secret cult to the evil dwarven god Droskar somewhere in the city, and they were the ones paying Brigven to replace good weapons with shoddy forged ones.
2. Though he doesn’t know where it is, the cult is operating out of someplace called the Hidden Forge.
3. They are being led by a fearsome woman named Ilssrah Embermead, the first name of which matches the name in Laslunn’s journal as a higher-up in the Scarlet Triad.

Convinced you now had enough evidence for the Court to act, you implored Forgemaster Halrig to gather the Regents and she agreed to do so the next morning. That night–last night, in game terms–Leilani also became convinced that her mentor, Gwenryl Longbraid, had gone missing, and you searched her empty house to no avail.

You woke up this morning ready to meet with the Court, but on the way two members of the Guild of Arms accosted you and told you to follow them for questioning. You did so, all the way to the Earthfire District and to a squat, stone building. There a tense standoff ensued that could have gone a lot of different directions, and eventually ended with you agreeing to be escorted back to the Court of Regents to sort out what was happening.

There you found that the Court had broken up when you didn’t show, but not before those who didn’t trust you–led by Mountainheart Kolarun Chiselrock of the Stonemasons’ Guild–cast suspicion on YOU. Thankfully, Forgemaster Halrig and Commander Hammersong remained on your side and vowed to help you. Indeed, Hammersong said that he’d question the two corrupt guards who accosted you and ensure no patrols went through the Earthfire District for a couple of hours so you could investigate. He warned you, though, that you were no longer deputized, and if you were caught breaking the law you would be imprisoned.

Back to the Earthfire District you went, and through a hole in the ceiling at the back of that squat, stone building. You discovered Gwenryl and Algret, both of whom had been taken captive by some corrupt faction within the Guild of Arms. You freed them both, and now find yourself in pitched battle with those corrupt guardsmen. There is a wall of hairy, fleshy, baby arms to the east, and a patch of grease in the hallway. One of the guards is dead, three remain. Margaret and the southernmost guard are currently Grabbed by the hairy baby arms. Tak is currently Restrained by them.

Session 92: Entering the Hidden Forge

There is no sun to signal dawn in Kovlar. Instead, members of the Physic Guild make their morning routes throughout the city, lighting the “dawn torches” to announce a new day.

Those lights shine upon a city in disarray, brimming with tension. And as a dwarf lights the torch outside of the Sleep Like A Stone inn, we are transported inside.

There, in a bed too small for his frame, is a warrior from Tian-Xa. His sleep reflects the city outside, full of disquieting dreams. One such dream visits him often…   

[player-written dream sequence]

Session 93: Tak Revealed, Coxsackie Returned

“Well, well, well. So the children have finally arrived. You all have caused quite a ruckus. I don’t suppose it’s a surprise that you found this place, but I do find myself fascinated that you have surived to do so. Kralgurn, though admittedly annoying, was no slouch. I suppose he’s dead now, ‘cause that’s what you all do, bodies piled everywhere. You would have made powerful allies had you not been so…” and she makes a sour face, “chaotic. I just can’t rely on wildcards.”

“Speaking of which, allow me to introduce my associates. Folks call this charming human here The Anarchist, our own agent of chaos like you all. But unlike you, she is adept at preparing places the be ready for a new order. Despite her moniker, she is 100% a servant of Order. Isn’t that right, The A?”

The A looks around nervously, the blowgun at her lips.

“And that hulking fellow over there is called an Accursed Forge-Spurned, a rare dwarf whose failure to Droskar in life was so profound that he has been consigned in undeath to gorge endlessly on others’ suffering. I’m sure he’d love to see you slavin’ away here, but as I’ve explained to him, you’re too dangerous to be allowed to live.”

“They don’t look dangerous to me. They look small, and fragile.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find them quite the chore, my friend. But let’s be polite and finish our introductions. I am made to understand you’ve been tellin’ folks in Kovlar that the Scarlet Triad takes over a place quietly, and that’s right on. We are, truth be told, less inclined towards blood and death than you lot. Butcherin’ gets you meat but wastes labor, in my view.”

“But when threatened, we do our best to put down the threat. Allow the seeds we’ve planted to weaken a place to rise up and snap shut like a purple worm’s jaws. And you all are definitely a threat that needs to be put down. Isn’t that right, Toshifume-san?”

Session 94: The Battle of the Forge

Ilssrah Embermead pauses in the rough, stone tunnel. Even above the sounds of battle and the spinning blades of her spell, she hears the forge-spurned, undead giant roar and expel its fiery breath.

Perhaps I should stay, she thinks, ensure these children are put down with finality. The forge-spurned, Tak, The A – these are valuable game pieces with unique skills. She grips Fleshroaster, and the black chain begins to glow red-hot. It would be delicious to watch them suffer and die in Droskar’s embrace.

Damn the timing! No. I may already be late for my negotiation, and the dragon was quite clear on the importance of manners. Within the Hidden Forge, temple to the Dark Smith himself, my allies must prevail. There are only four of the children, after all.

Saying a quick prayer and with a grimace, Ilssrah pivots and storms into the darkness.

Session 95: Hidden Forge Aftermath

Obe’s arrow appears mid-air, sails twenty feet, and vanishes into the accursed forge-spurned’s open mouth. Ice crackles from its lips and the creature groans. Its head swivels ponderously slowly towards the molten lava of the forge, then to the cowering, chained dwarves, and finally, back to Leilani. Its burning eyes lock onto the necromancer-hunter as its flesh begins to flake away like ash. And then, a puppet with its strings cut, the undead giant’s form collapses in on itself. The warhammer and chains clatter to the stone floor first, followed by sections of its plate armor. Kthunk, kthunk, kthunk.

As the last piece of battered iron falls, the forge in the room suddenly blazes. Fire erupts, flowing upwards and spilling across the ceiling. Sabine finds herself scrabbling to get away as the heat washes over her. For all of you, the already sweltering room becomes oppressive in moments. And, somewhere in the roar of the flames, you distinctly hear a deep, male voice, bellowing in anger.

As suddenly as it began, the fire dies, taking the unseen voice with it. The room cools to merely hot. There is only the quiet of low, crackling flames. No distant, echoing hammers. No haunting groans. You hadn’t realized that there was an unseen presence with you in this place until now, when it’s gone. Yet there can be no doubt, even for those of you blinded by the forge-spurned’s stinging embers… something has changed. You are more alone in the Hidden Forge now than moments before.

Session 96: Getting Ready for Saggorak

As Obedience and Sabine are finishing the dismantling of the machine in the southernmost room, the echoes of dozens of dwarven boots fill the Hidden Forge. Commander Hammersong’s voice rings out.

“Fan out! I want this place picked clean, and any remaining survivors tended to. Someone find me one of the outsiders!”

Session 97: Entering the Old Workshop

As you make your way to the Earthfire District, you are aware that all dwarven eyes are on you. People point and whisper. Some scowl and make fists, their hard eyes following you. Mothers with babies turn and shield their children from you with their bodies. People cross the street or duck into buildings to get out of your path. It is clear that although some people may see you as the saviors of this city, no one feels particularly safe in your presence. And of course it is also clear that many people in the city see you like predators stalking their streets.

Eventually, though, you are back at the alley on the edge of the Earthfire District, through the short door into the basement of an abandoned warehouse, through the secret entrance, down the stairs, and back into the Hidden Forge. There is Commander Hammersong and around a dozen of his Armsmen. Many don’t look like they’ve slept.

As Hammersong approaches, you see dark circles under his eyes. “Ah, you’re back. Good. What news from the city?”

Session 98: The Old Workshop

Commander Grokar Hammersong sighs heavily and smooths his black, thick beard with a calloused hand. For the thousandth time, his eyes wander to the dark tunnel.

“You look exhausted, Commander.”

He blinks slowly and turns to the speaker, a middle-aged dwarf with brown, wavy hair pulled back from her broad face.

“Ah. Sergeant Arna. You snuck up on me.”

Arna grins. She has painted a long black line from forehead to chin on the lefthand side of her face, something she always does when on duty. She had explained the significance years ago, but in the moment Hammersong can’t remember it.

“Actually, Commander, I’m wearing chainmail and clanked over here making quite the racket. I believe you’re going on a third day without sleep, sir. Perhaps you should take a break. Leave this guard post to us while you get some rest.”

He sighs again, his ornate black and gold platemail feeling impossibly heavy.

“I appreciate the concern, Sergeant. I had only hoped…” his voice trails off. “It’s been, what? Almost three hours since they went in?”

Arna nods.

“Well, I suppose I hoped they would be back by now. That this whole business would be behind us. What does it mean, do you think, that we have heard nothing?”

The dwarf shrugs her shoulder, chainmail clinking. “They are the most powerful force I’ve ever seen, Commander. The stuff of legends if I’m honest. We found the bodies of those lake serpents washed ashore, giant things. And it looks like they carved through these forces here like a hot knife through butter. What I guess I’m trying to say is that they can handle whatever’s out there, sir. If it’s taking awhile, it just means the threat is far away or there’s a lot to handle.”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I’m afraid of. If they fall…”

“They won’t, Commander.”

“You sound quite sure.”

“I feel quite sure, sir.”

Hammersong smiles wearily. “Alright. I suppose your faith will have to be enough for now. You’re right that I am not doing anyone any good here. I’ll go get some sleep, be back in six hours.”

Arna nods.

He groans as he stands, slinging his warhammer across one shoulder. “I’ll bring with me a change of guard so you too can get some rest when I’m back.” He glances at the silent tunnel again and purses his lips. “And Sergeant?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“If three more hours pass and they haven’t returned, send for Archmage Nalruven. The Guild of Spells can begin to ward this tunnel. If you’re wrong and our enemies break through, we’ll need to weaken them if we stand any sort of chance.” Hammersong drags himself heavily towards the staircase in the Hidden Forge. He has none of Arna’s faith in his chest. Instead, a cold dread has filled him, a feeling that he and everyone here are falling through darkness, and that the only question left is when the impact will kill them.

[Author’s note: What are these “AoA” tags? Check out this post to know why I’m writing these and why they don’t have anything to do with superheroes. After writing only the occasional cut-scene, I decided to do a quick narrative before every Pathfinder session instead of a recap. We already had someone in the group writing recaps, so mine felt redundant, and there were too many opportunities for fiction writing that I was letting pass me by. Below are a collection of intros from our sessions. I don’t love using present tense, but it’s what fits best into these tabletop roleplaying sessions.]

Session 71: Jaggaki’s Revenge

Sun is finally beginning to break through the days of cloud cover overhead, and it shines down upon the Summershade Granite Quarry. There, atop the quarry’s ridge, we see Leilani Greyara standing quietly, almost as if in meditation. Near her, Obedience Fletcher nocks another arrow in his shortbow while Sabine Sterling banks through the air on silver wings. Both Obe and Sabine look down, and the camera follows their gaze to a cave entrance seventy feet below.

There we see Margaret, her platemail gleaming in the sunlight, with shield raised and sword drawn. The ratfolk warrior stands on a ledge across from Coxsackie, swinging his thundering mace with a wild grin. Between them, skeletal, undead stone giants push past the shredded corpse of a rotting bear and crowd the entrance. One giant has fallen and reaches up to Coxsackie with a single, clawed hand.

The camera moves into the cave, past the skeletal hulks and into the darkened interior. The scene slows dramatically as a figure strides into view.

He is taller than the other giants, a perfect skeleton of dark gray bones wrapped in a brown, hooded robe. In the darkness, his eye sockets glow faintly with a pale blue light. His leering skull takes in the scene as he raises a skeletal hand to the bright cave entrance.

“Thieves! You cannot have the secrets of Minderhal’s Shrine! Begone from this place, desecrators!”

Session 72: The Great Escape

Two clear voices, one a male bass and the other a female soprano, speak as one.

“Calm yourself, Jethro. I know it is difficult to watch and yet be unable to act. And doubly difficult, I suspect, to see your killer gain the upper hand. Come. Stand with me. Close your eyes if you must.

“These next moments are critical. Hunting the lich was borne out of revenge from your friends and aligned with Leilani’s mission. Now that the necromancer hunter has fallen, will their resolve fall away as well?

“Can you feel it, Jethro? Can you feel the other gods step backwards? These moments are for Pharasma alone, and all bow to her will. The Lady of Graves is also the Lady of Mysteries, and none can know her final judgment. But there she is, leaning close. Bearing witness, just as we are. How will she judge these souls?”   

Session 73: Jaggaki Strikes! …and Falls

[player-written intro]

Session 74: The Quarry Aftermath

We see an aerial view, camera circling your campsite.

In the predawn darkness we see oily, black tentacles crawling over a wide area. They scatter your belongings and the embers of your campfire, frantically searching for something living to grab and crush. The flopping, writhing tentacles are one of only two sounds.

The other is a jaunty humming. Coxsackie, last of the Scuttlestouts and naked as the day he was born, raises his voice in a magical song that soothes Margaret Arodeni from unconsciousness. The ratfolk paladin gasps and looks around with eyes as black as night. She is once again blind, unable to see the ravaged forms of dead stone giants on either side of her.

Sabine Sterling strides across landscape that is frozen, churned, and blasted to examine Leilani Greyara. Sabine steps back, recoiling from the sight as the necromancer hunter appears dead and rotting.

And, standing twenty feet from Leilani’s corpse, back to everything and everyone else, is Obedience Fletcher. The goblin looks down impassively, his hands flexing into fists and then relaxing almost rhythmically as he stares down at the broken bones of the lich Jaggaki.

Session 75: Welcome to Whiterock

The tall grass near the dock rustles, and a human girl of perhaps ten years old darts out. She wears a simple, shapeless green dress and only one sandal. Her thin brown hair is braided on one side and free on the other, and she is breathing hard. Her wide, wild eyes fasten on the modest riverboat at dock.

She hisses in a sharp whisper. “Why are you here? Go! Before it’s too late! The giant!”

Captain Coke has been slowly chewing a piece of grass he’s pulled from the riverbank. He loudly spits it into the lazy current.

“Now, now,” the halfling answers. “I brought some people who should take care of that giant.”

“It’s not just him, though,” the girl has gotten closer, her head whipping around to look behind her constantly. “There’s others too!”

“Well, I suspect they’ll take care of them too, lass. Where’s your parents?”

The girl looks down. “I was getting dressed and my ma–” She stops speaking, petrified for several moments as she stares at her one shoe. When she finally looks up her lip is trembling. “I don’t think they made it. They– I saw. They didn’t make it.”

Coke grunts and levels a hard stare at the waif of a girl.

“You got someplace to go, then?”

She sniffles and shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“Get in the boat. If the people I brought come back, it means vengeance for your parents and we’ll go to Kintargo. If we see one of the others, we’ll shove off and get away.”

Without hesitation the girl jumps into the boat, getting as far to one side as she can away from the shore. She pulls her knees up to her chin and hugs them tightly.

Captain Coke rocks the boat as he moves to get a blanket and rest it next to the girl. He then pauses and pulls another long blade of grass that’s protruding from the water.

Settling back in his seat, he begins to rip the grass slowly, methodically into pieces, fold them, and tuck them into his mouth. The girl watches him silently with wide eyes.

“I don’t mean to scare you, mind, but how did you know I wasn’t with the giant and the rest of that crew?”

The girl pulls her knees closer, seeming to fold in on herself.

“You’d know if you saw them,” she says in the barest of whispers.

Session 76: Laslunn and the Interlocutor

[Notes on Laslunn’s dialogue with the party at the start of the session]

[hyena laughter]

“So. You’ve finally done it. You’ve killed us all and come for me. Your organization is quite impressive. Quite… thorough.”

“But I find myself asking the same question, day after day, night after night: Why? For what reason do you assassins hunt us and spill our blood? So if you would do me the courtesy before we must inevitably fight, I would ask you: Why?”

“Oh I’ve heard of you, little goblin in a suit, who sneaks through the shadows, sometimes invisible, and tears out our throats. Like a tiger in the jungle, eh?” [laugh]

“I’ve heard of you as well, the singing goblin. Master of disguise and deception, with his mighty thunderous mace!” [laugh]

“The rest of you are new to me, I admit. I do not know you.”

“Ideals? Morals? Where I come from slavery is quite legal, and our government turns a blind eye when we bring shipments from other lands, not asking how they came to be there. I was born into a small gnoll tribe in western Katapesh. Very poor. Very savage. I survived because I waited. I watched. I planned. And, eventually, I built a craft. Slavery is that craft. It is my business. So to hear that you have done all of this, just to thwart the very essence of my business dealings? For no professional gain? Well. You’ll pardon me but that sounds insane. Would that I hunt you in the night and slit your throat because you wore the wrong color… that is how it sounds to me.”

Session 77: Goodbye Aadrushian. Hello, Kintargo.

In a hand both calloused and scarred, Obedience Fletcher holds a large, black gem. The Eye of the Wise, an aiudara key and ancient elven artifact, pulled from Laslunn’s empty armor.

No doubt in the coming days the spellcasters of the group will uncover its secrets and abilities, and no doubt the very presence of the Eye will mean yet another journey into incalculable danger. Voz Lirayne is still out there. The Scarlet Triad is still out there. If Jethro’s dreams can be believed, the threat of Dahak is still out there.

There’s probably even more danger than that, Obedience thinks grimly… and the deeper he finds himself in this complicated web of dangers, it all seems less and less like the grand stories he was read as a child, and much more horrible. Much more tragic.

He looks around the small room in the Jhaltero manor at his companions. Coxsackie, grinning and sifting through Laslunn’s possessions. The ratfolk Margaret, blood-spattered but still gleaming in her shining platemail. Leilani, smelling like a half-buried corpse and with that freaky-voiced dragon on her shoulder. And behind them all, a large, gleaming, honest-to-Erastil silver dragon. Four companions and himself, same as always. But what a different group.

Obe sighs.

[When they arrive in Kintargo…]

Captain Coke nods to the party.

“Before you go, I wanted to tell you that the Bellflower Network here in Ravounel thanks you for what you’ve done. You’ve saved a number of people and put down a threat we were struggling to handle ourselves.

“But,” he continues. “You also cost us Nolly Peltry.” For a moment he can’t go on, struggling with tears. Eventually he clears his throat. “I’ve watched you lot closely since then. And if you don’t mind my saying, you seemed more interested in revenge and killing these villains than actually trying to save as many people as you could. I suspect a lot more would be alive, both at the quarry and here in Whiterock if you’d shifted your focus to protecting the innocents.” He spits into the river.

“Again, we’re thankful for what you’ve done, but we don’t much like how you’ve done it. Good luck to you, but you won’t be hearing from us again.”

And with that, he shoves off from the pier and heads on down the river.

***

Back at Castle Kintargo, an escort brings you back to the now-familiar office of Vors Eivensor, Captain of the Kintargo City Watch. As you pass into the room, the relief on his face of seeing the two goblins is evident.

“You really have survived. Thank the gods. I don’t mind telling you that there were quite a few rumors flying around about what happened to you lot. So what did happen?”

[party explanation]

“That fits more with my expectations. When a riverboat carrying survivors showed up, wouldn’t you know it but Boblin was there. He’s claiming that he put down the threat all on his own and saved those people, and that you lot had died. His popularity’s never been higher, and it’s giving me no end of headaches. I had to give the fucker a medal to make him go away.”

“Well, now that I know the truth, I suspect the Silver Council will want a word with you. Will you be staying a day or two here in Kintargo?”

“Excellent. I’ll send someone to get you when it can be arranged. Enjoy the city, and try not to get arrested or killed, eh? I’m glad you made it, Mr. Fletcher and the lot of you. I truly am.”

***

[Obedience 1:1 role-play scene]

We are in the embassy of Nidal, where Obedience Fletcher has been before, and the goblin is sitting in a waiting room. The architecture here is dramatically gothic, dark wood that seems to suck up the light, and intricate details everywhere. The longer you look at the décor, the more you see it contains lots of creepy-but-subtle gargoyle and monster imagery everywhere.

The door opens and Halleka Shadeborn enters, a bright smile on his young, thin face and a bundle of cloth in one hand. He gives Obedience an awkward hug immediately.

“Thank you so much for coming. It is good to see you! Thank you. Thank you for visiting. Why has it been so long? How have you been, Obedience?”

“We are heading back to Nidal, but the delegates believe the negotiations vent quite well. They were near disaster, but the news you brought of someone setting the people’s sentiment in Kintargo against Nidal changed everything.”

“Unfortunately,” and he clenches his free hand into a fist. “They still do not see the wisdom of the veltrac. They could provide such order to this wild land. I will return and continue to plead my case.”

“The Umbral Court themselves have sent word of praise to you. This is a great honor, you must understand. They cannot outwardly show you too much attention, or they say it might bring suspicion on you somehow being agents of Nidal. But, they have asked me to give these gifts…”

[He gives Obe the Fearsome rune stone and Coxsackie the potions of Retaliation.]

“You are a good friend, Obedience. I am glad to have met you. Please, come visit Nidal sometime, ya? Your friends are welcome as well. There you can see what true LAW AND ORDER looks like, and perhaps we can even witness the effects of the velstrac together! Show these wild lands what is possible!”

“Well, good luck to you, friend.”

Halleka again awkwardly hugs you, and we fade out.

***

[Sabine 1:1 roleplay scene]

We are in the austere waiting room of Lady Mialani Docur, who sits in scandalously tight breeches with her legs crossed at the knee. Across from her in a high-backed wooden chair is Sabine Sterling.

“I was sorry to hear about your sister,” she says, sipping tea. “Tell me, did the rest of the party ever discover that she was a she? It seemed they did not know, even though I thought it was quite evident.”

“I must confess, it ruins the offer I had planned for her, to stay and study at this school. She seemed quite eager to do so, and I would have enjoyed seeing what she would both learn and teach. And now you are here and I cannot make the same offer. We only train half-elves, as you know. Alas.”

“I do not know you, Sabine Sterling, so I will ask you the same question I asked the others when I first met them. Why are you here? Why stay on this path that has already killed your sister and threatens your life every day?”

“Ahhhh, quite a mystery you are. Perhaps I can help you after all.”

She tinkles a little bell and a well-dressed, attractive half-elven woman arrives, the same woman who had let you into the school. She hands Lady Docur a small box.

“Thank you Arlethi.”

“I see that you too are a spellcaster, yes? Perhaps the gift I had planned to entice your sister to join us can still be put to good use.”

[Lady Docur offers small box to Sabine – Ring of Wizardry III with school’s logo on it.]

“Use it for good in the world, eh? Even if a Sterling is not officially part of Lady Docur’s school, it does not mean our influence cannot spread.”

A bell tinkles in another room. “Ah, I am sorry. Duty calls me to another meeting. Good luck to you, Lady Sterling. If you ever find yourself again in Kintargo, do drop by to say hello.”

As Sabine stands to leave, we fade out.

***

[Leilani 1:1 roleplay scene]

Leilani Greyara has decided to take a night walk in the city of Kintargo. Maybe you didn’t actually get a chance to visit the Silver City as you were tracking Jaggaki, so this is your chance to look around.

So you’re strolling through the streets, still vibrant after dark. Again, think of the energy of a new nation within a couple years of its freedom from tyranny. There is music and laughing behind closed doors, still audible in the streets. Couples walk hand in hand, huddled together on the cool spring night.

As you pass in front of a building, a voice hails you. Actually, it’s two voices–one of a deep bass male and one of a clear female soprano–speaking together in harmony.

“Leilani Greyara. Might I have a word?”

You turn and, standing in an outdoor stairwell is an angel. They are tall, dark-skinned and hairless, with eyes of the glowing light of dawn. The angel wears bright orange robes, and their wings are a vibrant orange and red, almost fluorescent.

“My name is Chioma. It is an honor to meet you finally. There are precious few of your kind, and I admit this is my first time speaking with one.”

“I am curious, Leilani. What will you do now? Where will your feet take you from here, duskwalker?”

“You serve the Lady of Mysteries, of course. I am but a singer in Sarenrae’s chorus, here to lend my voice so that it might move others towards love, kindness, patience, and redemption. I cannot tell you your fate or what path to walk.

“But if I may, in my observation there is a divine hand that brought you to these people. That you arrived just as the light of Jethro Vermillion had been extinguished feels beyond the realm of chance. Perhaps Pharasma sees what Jethro saw so clearly, that an Age of Ashes is threatening this world. Perhaps she sees a role you might yet play.”

“Well, think on it. Allow these people into your heart. Sometimes it is better to walk a path together than alone. Surely your time at the quarry made this lesson clear.”

“Regardless of your decision, I have a gift.” Chioma reaches back to one of their wings and when their hand appears again it is holding two fluorescent feathers. “I know that you do not wield weapons in combat, nor are you specifically in a fight against Evil. Perhaps you will find a use for these, perhaps you will find someone worthy to use them, or perhaps you will find profit from selling them. As with all things, the choice is yours.”

The feathers are hot to the touch.

“May your Lady watch over you, Leilani Greyara. May you find peace in this life and the next.”

“’Scuse me!” someone barks at you from behind. It’s an older man, obviously irritated, squinting up at you on the stairs. “You gonna just stand there or can I get through?”

The man pushes past you, past the empty space where Chioma had been moments before, and into the building beyond. You are alone on the stairway, in darkness. As your eyes travel up, you see that the building is a mortuary. And we fade out.

***

[Margaret 1:1 roleplay scene]

We find Margaret asleep in her room at the inn. Her armor and sword are neatly arranged next to her bed, and without them she looks tiny in the covers as she tosses and turns. The cat Lymi sits curled at the foot of the bed, a black lump in the night.

Margaret gasps loudly, waking Leilani. Lymi raises her yellow eyes and stares at the paladin. Margaret’s own eyes open wide in the darkness. To Margaret, bees begin to fly within the room, some crawling along the curtains, some landing on the bed, some just making lazy circles in the air. The sound in the room begins to distort, echoing like it’s a much smaller space, and we hear water sloshing and moving around.

“Well well. My dearest Margaret. You have been up to quite a lot, haven’t you? New adventures and new friends. Tell me: What do you make of these friends you’ve found?”

“I was right to choose you, Margaret. How you stood toe to toe with that fiend, trading blows! So fierce. So brave. You are delightful in every way, my dearest Margaret. I could not have wished for better.”

“Remember, my dear Margaret: I have given you all of this for one moment. One moment when you can be my hand in vengeance. In the name of love. Can you feel it approaching? Can you feel us getting closer to that moment? Closer to each other? One thing leads to the next and our paths are intertwined, my shining paladin. Our moment together is not imminent. But it draws ever closer. And these new friends will help you find your way to Breachill and then you’ll find your way to me.”

“Ah, ah. It is too soon for another question. Now is not the time.”

“Well, I merely wanted to check in on you, my dear Margaret. It has been too long, and so much has happened with you since we last spoke. I do fear that you will forget about me if I don’t remind you from time to time.”

“Oh! Silly, silly me. I had almost forgotten. I bring to you a gift. Something like Lymi, to ensure you never forget I’m there with you, my dear Margaret, always and forever. Iomedae is your deity, dear Margaret, but always remember that I hold your soul. Sweet dreams, my fierce little paladin…”

Margaret blinks, and the bees and water sounds fade, the room returning to normal. Lymi puts her head down and curls up back to sleep.

[dialogue between Margaret and Leilani]

And you, Margaret, feel something in your hand. You open it to find a pink stone, shaped sort of like a parallelogram.  

And we fade out.

***

[session end]

You find yourselves in a section of Castle Kintargo where none of you have previously been. It is almost entirely the silver-threaded white marble that is the city’s signature, and incredibly lavish. Wide pillars reach up to high ceilings in this open-aired hall. You can imagine great crowds gathering here for formal gatherings or matters of state.

Yet today the great hall is empty except for you five, a smattering of guards, a few attendants, and seven well-dressed nobles. These are the Silver Council, a group of Kintargan noble houses and power brokers who now rule the new country of Ravounel.

At their head is a human woman with pale skin and dark hair in an elaborate robe. Though she looks to be in her late 30s or early 40s and attractive, her wise eyes make her appear as if they belong to someone much, much older.

“I am Domina Jilia Bainilus. My understanding is that you have waited in the city until we could become available and would otherwise be on your way back to Isger. We appreciate you pausing your long journey home to speak with us.”

“Though we have never met, it seems the entire nation of Ravounel is in your debt. Captain Eivensor has explained your thwarting of a budding slaver ring beneath our very noses within the Silver City and beyond. Further, he has handed over the notes of both the wizard Barushak il-Varashma and the slaver Laslunn. These notes outline a plot not only to take our citizenry, but to sow discord between us and our neighbor nation of Nidal. The Captain takes no credit whatsoever for these slavers’ defeat, nor the mended reputation of our Nidalese delegates. He says these are due to you and you alone. Is this true?”

“And why, may I ask, have you done these things?”

“We thank you. We are still recovering from our liberation from Cheliax, both emotionally and financially. I wish that we could give our thanks in more meaningful material ways. As it stands, we hope this token will aid you on the roads to Isger.”

On cue, two men in livery who had been standing behind the Silver Council step around and forward, placing a heavy chest at your feet.

“Ten thousand Kintargan silver pieces. You’ll pardon the symbolism. Gold would have been easier to carry, but we are the Silver City after all.” Those old-soul eyes crinkle at the edges. “In any case, our nation thanks you.”

And she and the other members of the Silver Council bow.

Session 78: End of Book 3

As you get within a mile or so of where you know the bend of the road takes you to Cypress Point, you begin to see the birds. Black ravens and white seagulls. They fill the sky, circling in a wide column.

When you arrive, their cawing is ever-present, mixing with the steady waves pounding the coastline. And as you wander into the town, you begin to see the bodies. Men, women, children – all of them curled into a ball as if protecting their stomachs.

It seems whatever poison the Scarlet Triad introduced into the water system had a delayed onset, but then acted quite quickly. Those of you trained in Medicine deduce that these people were likely walking along when they were struck by severe abdominal pain, followed quickly by death. There are a couple of living people as well. Scavengers, just like the birds. They’re picking through the homes and corpses, looking for loot.

***

The party steps through the portal to Breachill. Fade to black.

[Book 3 Epilogue]

We fade into the sound of dirt crunching under two pairs of boots.

“I didn’t join the Kintargo City Watch to travel three fucking days out into the middle of fucking nowhere, I can tell you that. The Silver City is the greatest fucking city in the world. What are we doing out here in the fucking country?”

“For the love of Desna shut up. I’ve had to listen to your filthy mouth complaining for three days. I should get hazard pay. Captain Eivensor sent us here to see if there were any survivors and to make sure there’s no threat to the city. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Just a weird fucking task for a City Watchman, right? Just look around an abandoned fucking quarry?”

“Let’s just do it, alright? An assignment from the Captain is an assignment needing to be done.”

“I just saying that… What the fucking pit of hell is this?”

And the two City Watchmen gape as they crest the Summershade Granite Quarry, confronted with a giant Coxsackie’s bare ass as he pisses over the edge.

We fade out.

***

We fade in on a stone chamber devoid of any furnishing. In the center of the room is a large rectangular structure, over ten feet in length and made of the same heavy stone as the walls. The structure might be a tomb, except it has no religious iconography at all. It is simply a stone box in a stone room, and very dark.

Suddenly, we see a single rune flare to life on the structure. Like a pebble dropped in a pond, more runes begin to glow a pale, blue light. Soon the entire rectangular block of stone is glowing with runes across its surface. What meager light shows that the walls, floor, and ceiling are also inscribed in meticulous runic symbols, though these stay dark and dormant.

There is a groan as the top of the structure begins to move. The heavy stone slab grinds as, inch by inch, it is pushed aside from within. After long minutes, the slab teeters and crashes to the rune-inscribed floor, cracking into three pieces. The glow on the structure winks out, leaving the room in darkness once more.

That is, until a pair of pale blue eyes rise. Jaggaki’s skull takes in his surroundings as he stands.

“Steal from me,” he says to the darkness. “Mortal fools. Goblins and rats. I am inexorable. You think me stopped? A tree cannot stop the fire. A heart cannot stop the arrow. Steal from me, will you? We shall see. We shall see…”

We fade to black.

***

And we fade in once more.

We see a woman on the bow of a ship. Behind her, sailors call out to one another and scurry about the deck performing tasks. They are a rough crew, mostly half-orcs, humans, and dwarves, with an occasional halfling or gnoll. All of them are dressed in loose-fitting pants and either simple sleeveless shirts or, more commonly, bare-chested.

In contrast, the woman is wearing a bright blue robe, with red scarves around her waist, neck, and head. The material is fine, but quite below her usual standards. Indeed, she had to quickly sell off her finer wardrobe to afford this journey.

Sedranni Vashnarstill looks different than Jethro Vermillion and the Redeemers would remember in more ways than simply her attire. She is noticeably thinner, largely from frequently forgetting to eat. Though still beautiful, dark circles gather below her eyes from lack of sleep. Far from the solicitous smile of a merchant, Sedranni’s mouth is now most often in a grim line, her eyes narrowed.

“You should get belowdecks, Lady,” a voice says behind her. That would be Captain Qadi, one of the few other women upon the vessel, dark-skinned, tattooed, with arms thicker than Sedranni’s waist. “We’ll be in Katapesh soon and the crew needs the full deck to work.”

“Alright. Thank you Captain.”

Qadi grunts, and the wood creaks as she leaves. Sedranni takes a long look out at the sea, smells the salty air, and exhales.

The Vashnarstills can no longer operate in selling goods. Her reputation ruined, her staff murdered, her goods destroyed, the door has closed on the generations that built Sunset Imports. She is desperate and alone. And in that desperation, Sedranni has clung to the hope of a new profession: that of selling information.

For the thousandth time, she pulls a dirty, rumpled parchment from her robe, one of many correspondences between her and Katapesh. One name clearly stands out, signed at the bottom of the letter:

Uri Zandivar. Sedranni has said this name day and night like a mantra. Uri Zandivar.

With shaking fingers, Sedranni folds the paper and slips it for the thousandth time in her robe. She turns her back on the sea and, with dark determination, prepares herself for this next journey. The sun has begun to set over the waves.

Blackout.

And you have officially finished Book 3! Congratulations!  

[start of Book 4]  

You step through the gold-and-silver mists of the portal and into the lowest level of Castle Redemption. As your eyes adjust to the darkness and scenery, you see two very different figures. One is a tall, wiry, tan human man in studded leather armor that’s black with orange tiger stripes. He’s basically a bad-ass samurai. He has a katana drawn and is facing you, though you notice a black silk blindfold covering his eyes. The other is a pale halfling woman with bright red hair tied into a braid hanging over one shoulder. She is wearing matte, dark-green leather and twirling a curved dagger deftly in each hand.

The halfling squints at you. “Halt right there! Please kindly hold while we sort out if you’re friend or foe. Tak, will you be a dear and go get Captain du Tank?”

“Of course,” the blindfolded man answers. “Be careful.” He spins on one heel and disappears towards the staircase on hurried steps.

“Now some of you are matchin’ the descriptions but not all. You just go ahead and keep waitin’ there and be patient if you please. No sudden moves.” “Betsy Jadefingers, at your service, and Sargeant in the Order of the Sunknights.”