Dark Gods and Demagoguery: A Pure Steam Campaign

[not.a.newb]

After things in the Pathfinder (Using the Pure Steam setting) campaign I've been GMing started to get serious, I thought it might be worth posting it somewhere outside of our campaign website. If you're interested in campaigns that have both dead serious moments, and NPCs named Brother Bug-face and Shotgun Dwarf, you might enjoy reading about our adventures. Our bard, Nandir, (IamL) will be helping out with campaign logs written from the perspective of his character. We play weekly, and should be updating at least that often. But for starters, I'll ask you to step with me into my world...

In the land of Ullera, technology is king. As cannons and arcane magic began to take the place of a paladin's martial prowess and the powerful prayers of clerics, the people turned their attention to machines and wizards to solve their problems, while the organized churches began to turn from agents of aid to those in need, to bureaucratic money generating institutions. As revolutions toppled governments, their state religions toppled alongside them, and gradually, organized religion dwindled away and disappeared from all but the far corners of Ullera. The Gods and the Planes became lost to most, and have been all but forgotten. Thus began the Age of Steam.
Centuries later, you are in a backwater settlement of no real value, investigating rumors of something both old and new in the land. There have been reports of creatures, both fey and fell, that had fallen into history and legend. A growing mound of earth and stone only a few miles to your south, along with a new settlement to its west, mark the entry points of something unknown. Some say they are men from across the sea; others, products of Federation experiments gone wrong. The wise few who have kept alive the knowledge of your ancestors whisper amongst themselves of other worlds and powerful entities, fearful that these may be heralds ushering in the end of the Age of Steam, and returning the world to its prior state. Their nature and intentions, or those of the ones who may have sent them, remain unknown.

I will be bringing this thread up to date with my own campaign logs over the next few days before our next session. Hope you all enjoy!

[not.a.newb]

Here I have for your viewing pleasure my own rendering of the events before Nandir, our bard, had joined the party and begun his own recording of their adventures. Enjoy!

It's been some time since the reports of strange creatures in the forests began, and travelers have been attracted in large numbers to small villages along the Great River and the border between Harmonia and the Bastion. A handful of these travelers followed the trail of stories to a nameless hamlet to the south-east of Naughton, and after a few nights spent digging around the town for clues as to what's been going on, are coerced into taking part in the night watch. The small group- a ranger, a barbarian, a ninja, and a gearhead- find the swamp land of the Bastion to be eerily quiet, and prepare to defend themselves against an attack. Halfway through the tense watch, a winged figure clad in brilliant armor appears from the dark woods and relays to them a message; the strange creatures they have been warned of are refugees, fleeing from something dark, and mean no harm to the people of this world. The winged man pleads with the adventurers to bring trusted representatives of the local people to see for themselves that these strangers mean no harm. Curious, the adventurers agree, and the mysterious stranger leaves them with instructions to go south to find these other-worldly people. When pressed for aid or information, he leaves a satchel of healing fruit from his home, and the name of his master- Sarenrae- before disappearing.
The party went out on watch and met an angel-y guy who asked them to go help our some other-worldly refugees and gave them some healing fruit.

After their puzzling encounter with the winged man, the adventurers seek information and aid to begin their journey. Their search takes them to the kindly old medicine man, Uncle Tunuku, who agrees to accompany them, that he might interact with these strangers personally, and convinces the townspeople to supply them with a wagon and horses. With Uncle Tunuku to direct them, the travelers set off south in search of the other-worldly refugees. On the first night of their journey, however, they are accosted by another mysterious stranger, of a more hostile disposition. After animating the plants around them and watching them slowly battered, this stranger steps in and beats most of the party into unconsciousness using a peculiar golden mace formed from the same flowing coins that comprise his armor. With the bruised and bloodied ranger, he leaves a warning to stay out of the affairs they've begun investigating, before he, too, disappears into the night.
The party convinced the town medicine man to join them and the medicine man managed to get a wagon and horses. Just after starting their journey, the party got wrecked by a devil-ish guy who told them to stay away from the stuff they were getting involved in.

Fully recovered from their frightening encounter with the coin-armored man, the adventurers travel south through the woods and swamps until they arrive at a strange earthen mound in a freshly cut clearing. Stranger still are the bipedal, insect-like creatures crawling about and constructing the mound. They are greeted hesitantly at first, but the telepathic creatures, identifying themselves as "D'Ziriak," gladly invite the travelers to stay with them in their hive-settlement indefinitely, in exchange for a favor; the tunnels they dug opened up unexpectedly into a series of caverns, and those caverns need to be cleared of hostile creatures. Doing so themselves would require diverting much needed man- or rather, bug- power away from construction. The party reluctanctly agrees, and mops up the few mindless critters they initially find, along with a drow scouting party, which had been headed towards the D'Ziriak settlement at the same time. Upon their return to the hive, their hosts are so greatly impressed that they send the adventurers on their way with a number of gifts, weapons crafted from the chitinous shells of their fallen and imbued with magic, as well as an even greater gift- a nameless D'Ziriak warrior who sets out to accompany the party to the Federation city of Naughton, and quickly comes to be known as 'Brother Bug-Face.'
The party found the D'Ziriak hive, cleared out some baddies for them, and in return got some cool bug-weapons and a giant soldier-bug to help them out.

Accompanied by Brother Bug-Face and Uncle Tunuku, the travelers eventually manage to find the other refugees, a race of strange, grey men, lithe and quiet, almost seeming like shadows; Fetchlings. Unfortunately, what might have been a quick visit quickly degenerates into a shouting match between their angry barbarian and the gate keeper to the fort at the center of the settlement, and the adventurers are curtly denied entry. At first, it seems like nothing can be done, until the proprietor of the only inn, a wily gnome, offers them a chance to visit the leaders of the settlement, if they'll remove the indigenous lizardfolk in the lake the Fetchlings decided to settle on. After a disastrous attempt by the ninja to infiltrate the nest of the lizardfolk, a gun-toting bard by the name of Nandir Sepamagne, proposes an insane plan to the distraught party; he'll go to the lizardfolk and simply talk with them. Though it is met with skepticism, no other choice presents itself, so the adventurers follow Nandir out and wait. When he returns to them, the lizardfolk are ready for negotiations, and the fast-talker managers to convince the lizardfolk and Fetchling leaders to share the lake, and to go with him to Naughton to seek an official charter for their respective settlements. So prepared, the adventurers, with Uncle Tunuku, Brother Bug-Face, the Lizard King, and the Emissary of the Fetchlings set out for their final destination of Naughton.
The party found the Fetchling settlement and negotiated a truce between them and some lizardfolk, in addition to meeting a bard and adding him to the party. Finally, everyone left to go to Naughton.

Feel free to post any questions, comments, or feedback, however, I will be withholding certain information due to the fact that Nandir will be contributing to the thread as well, and I don't want to spoil it for him.

[IamL]

Sorry for the delay; I was debating putting this up in one mega-post to get us up to date, then decided against it in favor for doing installments that should catch up to our current time soon.

Listen! For I sing of great deeds done. I tell of the epic deeds of all generations. But I have a story quite close to my heart to tell today, a saga Listen! I attest to the utmost truth of this narrative as a chronicle of adventures, an epic of the ages. Listen! I am Nandir Sepamagne, the Forgotten Bard, and this is my tale.

Two months after I had won my freedom, I found myself drawn, strangely, to a Fetchling settlement. Perhaps it was because they, like me, were outsiders. Perhaps it was because I felt a connection to those thrust outside their homes with nothing but their wits. Or maybe, it was simply my ka, my fate. Either way, I felt an inexorable pull to the Eastern roads that fateful day I left Lorsgard, and it took me to the settlement, a town built in the middle of a system of marshes.

I was well-received and well-paid in the town, but that wasn’t why I stayed longer than the few days I planned to. I spent a full week and a half there, three times as long as I spend anywhere. But again, it wasn’t for the pay or the company. It was because I felt once more the inexorable pull of my destiny, and, soon enough, a brief while later, my fated companions, stumbled into the tavern where I was working, bloody and nearly-dead. I did only what my limited grasp of restorative charms allowed me to, but it was enough.

After inquiring as to what caused their condition was, I was told by the bartender that he had hired them to wipe out a Lizardfolk nest several miles from the town. Evidently, the lizardfolk had been attacking the town, and the Fetchlings needed the problem to stop.

Naturally, I felt that genocide wasn’t a good solution to the problem; they hadn’t even attempted diplomacy. So I volunteered to go along with them.

I made my way to the settlement, the group (composed of a ninja, a ranger, and a barbarian with a stupid name) in their cart out of eyesight fairly nearby. I approached the Lizardfolk, speaking to them in Draconic, setting down my guns. One of them approached me, and held me underwater until my vision went black.

[not.a.newb]

Here I have for your enjoyment, the "Grave Fever" which my players have encountered, and will continue to encounter, in their pursuit of the cause of the planar rift.

Grave Fever is a supernatural affliction of negative energy, harnessed by Zon-Kuthon for the sake of inflicting pain on mortal populations, only affecting good- or neutral-aligned characters. The disease will lead to the formation of one of two varieties of undead, depending on how far it has progressed when the afflicted perishes.

The initial onset of Grave Fever is caused by contact with the bodily fluids of a carrier or Fever Ghoul, or the mere touch of a Fever Wraith. Any individual who fails an initial constitution check (DC15*) becomes infected with Grave Fever, and becomes a carrier. A carrier is immediately afflicted with an extreme fever and incredible pain, is considered helpless, and must make a constitution check (DC15*) each hour or take (1d4) points of constitution damage. Should the carrier die within (1d4) hours of succumbing to Grave Fever, they rise as a Fever Ghoul. However, the consequences of survival are far more grim; should a carrier survive initial infection, they begin to develop a more severe form of a disease. Every (1d6**) hours, the carrier must make another constitution check (DC15*) or be wracked by severe pains and take 1 constitution damage. Once per day, the carrier must succeed at a will save (DC20*) or succumb to the force of the negative energy which fuels the fever. This initiates a death which takes (1d4, rolled) hours, through which the carrier is overcome with agony. During this period, the carrier’s flesh slowly shrivels and dries up, leaving them, at the end, am emaciated husk. Soon (3d10 hours) after their death, the carrier rises as a Fever Wraith.

*(The DC of the check is increased by 5 for good characters)
**(Roll a separate number of hours after each constitution check)

Will add ASAP, sorry for the delay.

Will add ASAP, sorry for the delay.

[IamL]

And on that note, Update!
I awoke some time later, probably about an hour and a half later or so, judging from the water left in my clothes. I looked around after the ringing headache subsided, blinking the muddy water out of my eyes. I saw a huge lizardfolk, whom my enigmatic memory told me was called a Lizardfolk King, sitting near the doorway, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Having been a slave for years and having seen this tactic before, I quickly noticed that he was merely pretending to be asleep to see if I would escape. I gained his attention and asked where I was. He told me that I was in their main hive, and revealed to me the cause of the lizardfolk’s assaults: the lake that the Fetchlings had build their settlement upon was the Lizarfolk’s home. I assured the Lizarfolk, who turned out to be their King, that I would broker a deal between the two settlements.
With the use of my knowledge of speeches and ethics, I devised a clever plan by which I would attract a large audience in the Fetchling tavern and construct a parable about the Lizardfolk and the Fetchlings to evoke compassion from the Fetchlings. It worked, and I soon used my skills at diplomacy to create a deal between the two.
Now all we had to do was go to the city of Naughton to get the township and treaty sealed into official law. It seemed simple enough, Naughton is but a week or so away from the Fetchling settlement. But this task was like many others that seem simple. Which is to say, it wasn’t.
En route to Naughton, we ran into a hell-servant of the Archdevil of Wealth and his pet hellhounds, a group that had easily bested my companions once before. But with my guns, spells, and a hefty helping of luck, we defeated the devil soundly, banishing him back from whence he came. We were able to procure a considerable amount of funds from this encounter; with these, we were able to purchase new gear in Naughton’s Academy of Engineering. An interesting stroke of luck happened when we were getting our gear. It was a turn of fate that clearly had Destiny’s fingerprints upon it. I was, through my demonstration of my extensive working knowledge of practically all subjects and my skills at oration, offered a position as a long-term guest lecturer. The Academy proved to be a staunch political ally for me in the months to come, but I’m getting ahead of myself. For the moment, it offered food, shelter, and a place for research and intelligent conversation. We negotiated a deal with the Star Committee, Naughton’s merchant town council, and the Fetchling settlement and its treaty with the Lizardfolk was signed into law. It was the last and time I saw the Committee in a positive light.
A brief time later, the Fetchlings and Lizardfolk left us, and so did Brother Bug-Face, a D’Ziriak emissary who came along with us to ensure that his people would be treated peacefully and respectfully. As he left, a knot twisted in my stomach as I belatedly realized something that I should have figured out a long time ago: Firstly, that the existence of the D’Ziriak and the Fetchlings must mean that the barrier between planes was punctured. Secondly, the D’Ziriak or Fetchlings had to have been running from something. And anything strong and evil enough to force the D’Ziriak to flight could well destroy the world as we know it. Frantically, I transmitted a message to Brother Bug-Face with the intent to figure out what, exactly, forced them to flight. And the answer I received chilled my blood and tightened the knot in my gut.
The Midnight Lord.