Scry and Die [IC]

[maruahm]

Scry and Die

OOC (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?582763-Scry-and-Die-OOC&p=23757727) ▪ Maps (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1vDUZOhsvRtGz6zCwqUNiBLQPtaWwzu-JciykS3n88hs/edit?usp=sharing)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The Records

The main room of the Rusty Dragon consists of a bar and a dozen tables, tightly packed so as to allow avenues of movement. Most of the tables are on an elevated floor, with a five-foot balcony overlooking the bar and entry areas. There are a few doors to private booths, a back hall leading to the establishment's kitchens and rental rooms, and a staircase leading to further rental rooms on the second floor.

There is a crowd tonight. Revelers of the evening's Summer Solstice festivities have brought their coin and cheer, and are trading the former for food and drink and the latter for tales and jokes. For the Rusty Dragon's part, their spread today has lark pie and lobster dumplings, and their tap raspberry mead and Lurkwood cider. Moving between the bar, the kitchens, and the tables with the fare is a kindly old halfling woman. And strumming a samisen amid a crowd of admirers, its plucky tones rising above the general chatter and laughter, is a stunning human Tian woman.

Moving up the stairs to the second floor, the sound of merriment below quickly grows muffled and distant. The second floor is a winding hall adjoined to the inn's modest but well-kept rental rooms, all behind locked doors.

You find the right door. It is slightly ajar. You enter.

Tam is a familiar face to you. He is a planewalker, and one privy to some of the cosmos' best-kept secrets. There's usually a trade involved—fetch this artifact, slay that demon, and other relatively neutral tasks—but the knowledge that he has to share is always worth the price of admission and more.

At the moment, Tam is staying in one of the Rusty Dragon's cramped rooms. There's an unused bed to the side and a just as unused table in the center. Tam is standing by an open window, as usual appearing as an unaging human man in a plain traveling cloak. He stares out at the town attentively. There are sounds of far off fireworks and festivities and there is a fresh breeze wafting in from the night bay.

You were asked to be discrete in making this meeting. How did you arrive? How discrete were you? Does the inn even remain standing?

PCs may be recognizable to one another. You get to set the appropriate Knowledge checks and DCs to know things about your PC. (This is permanent and affects NPCs as well from here on out.)

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega is disguised more than usual. Normally, she appears as a tall, pale elf with purple hair, a disguise hiding her drow features of purple skin and white hair. She's wearing a black dress, with a veil covering her face. As a connosieur of the planes and the wonders they hold for her, Strega respects the planeswalker greatly. Due to this, she left early to get here, and only was distracted 3 times on her way, probably arriving before the others.

She's sitting by the corner, avoiding the sunlight. While she's not weak to sunlight like her drow brethen, she is still conditioned to avoid it, an old habit from when she pretended to be like the evil dark elves around her, lest he be killed. She is enjoying a nice spot of tea and a box of the lobster dumpings. "Oh, these are definitely good foods," she says, her common grammar being slight off. "I've never had lobster before, is quite delectable."

[3SecondCultist]

In the long dark of summer, two figures enter the Rusty Dragon together. The one who leads is a rather rumpled looking elderly man, his chestnut brown skin marked by worry lines along the forehead and the sunken cheeks that come with age. The short cropped curls atop his head are a stark white, which complement his watery grey eyes quite well. The old man is wearing a fine dark green three piece suit, complete with waistcoat and a cravat that sits just right. In his right hand is clutched the ebony handle of what looks at first like a cane, but upon closer inspection is actually a large folded up parasol. The man's entire ensemble has the distinct look of a uniform, save that none of the clothes fit very well.

"By my leave, my Lady, I bid you enter." intones the old man, stepping aside to leave room for the second figure to step past him and into the tavern. The dusky-skinned woman stands at a statuesque six and a half feet tall, her silhouette clad in a floor length gown of black-gold silk that heavily suggests curves without revealing them. There is the distinct hint of armor that moves along with the flesh beneath the fabric, but somehow it seems like a natural extension of the woman's body. On her waist is affixed some sort of curved blade in a dark leather scabbard, while upon her brow sits a circlet that radiates power. A cascade of pure black curls tumbles down to her shoulders, while radiant eyes of molten gold match a ghostly orange crystal that floats near her. One thing is certain: this person does not belong here, and yet the languid smile on her face would suggest otherwise.

"Marvelous decor, would you not say Athan? It almost makes me want to redecorate back home! The old hovel is a little bit last millennium. Now come on, let's get this over with so that we can get some food into you. You look positively skeletal, darling." Navanir's gaze turns to her companion expectantly, and she finds that she has to let out a dainty cough to summon him out of his stupor.

An almost infinitesimal sigh later, he responds: "I live to serve, my Lady."

"That's the spirit! Come along now, one mustn't keep a date with destiny waiting." Patting her manservant's cheek, Navanir - Heiress to Mzali, the First of the Blood, and Lady of Alcazotz - sashays into the middle of the tavern and everyone's line of sight without a care in the world. The vampire noble surveys and is surveyed in equal measure. She almost stops mid-stride as her eyes drink in the sight of the Tian woman in the midst of the throng, before stopping to remember her purpose. Navanir hearkens Athan to her side as she begins to ascend the stairs magisterially. As per custom, her servant follows exactly three paces behind her and to the left. Her destination: a small room, where she will help decide the fate of the world.

Just as a heads up, Navanir has cast Daywalker (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/all-spells/d/daywalker/) on her controlled juju zombie and personal manservant Athan. For the next 24 hours, he will appear as a older looking butler of Mwangi origin (think of Samuel L. Jackson's character from Django Unchained, but about 15 years younger). Anyone examining him closely must succeed at a DC 30 Perception check to realize that he is in fact an intelligent juju zombie.
While cults of Zura (https://aonprd.com/DeityDisplay.aspx?ItemName=Zura) are not all that high profile, it is something of a cultural trend among certain peoples of the Mwangi Expanse to worship at the altar of the Vampire Queen. This is not coincidence. Anyone who has studied the provenance of undead in the southern reaches of Garund would know that the blood cults there are nowhere near as haphazard as some anthropologists might suppose. In fact, the worship and veneration of vampiric ideals has been carefully cultivated for centuries, by a central coven of vampires whose base of operations is unclear.

The intermediary figure at the center of their religion is somebody known as 'the First of the Blood', a supposed chosen champion of Zura who is prophesied to bring about an age of darkness against the 'tyranny of the light'. Those who have met Navanir and know her abilities know her to be this same mythical figure, a powerful vampire whose blessing came directly from the Vampire Queen herself, many millennia ago. The Heiress to Mzali even now lives up to her prophecy, as her minions continue the ongoing battle against her brother, the mummy-king of the great city deep in the jungle.

[Dimers]

A final crackling, wriggling missile rushes into the air to make a violet burst as the children clap and shriek, but when they turn to beg the oddly-dressed relic of a gnome for more, he's vanished, already off to see his friend and occasional co-conspirator Tam. The invisible gnome floats lazily over the celebrating crowd, above the level of most roofs, directly toward the Rusty Dragon.

At the unremarkable open window, Wrinkles murmurs, "Tam. I'm back," and floats inside before resuming his visibility. "Did you get--- Ah, there. Thank you." He takes a bottle of mead more than half his own height and pours himself a rosy, aromatic glassful. Then, looking at the company assembled so far, he comments, "You know the prettiest people, Tam. Me especially, of course."

In his own case, 'pretty' stretches the truth more than a dragon noodle, though 'striking' would be fair. Viewers might have preferred he stay invisible. Skin so craggy that his wrinkles have wrinkles, hair that would look lacking on a mummy, a slept-in appearance to his otherwise fine-quality robes ... 'pretty' isn't a neighborhood this gnome is even allowed to visit.

I wasn't in town when the call came, so I spent a greater teleport to show up. The greater make whole was a favor for a friend of a friend, just a little repair job since I was here anyway.

1st: snapdragon fireworks x 2
2nd: extended snapdragon fireworks, extended heightened awareness, invisibility
4th: greater make whole
6th: extended overland flight
7th: greater teleport
9th: communal mind blank

Wrinkles doesn't advertise himself but also doesn't actively avoid the public eye. I guess it's around Knowledge (local) DC 19. I prefer knowing other characters at the start of a game, so I'd love to say I've worked with some or all of you in the past.

[Warlawk]

A small man floats in through the doorway, sighing contentedly after a sip from the mug in his hand. "Hello everyone!" He greets the room with a friendly wave. His proportions are human, but he only stands a few feet tall, or would if he wasn't floating lightly through the air. His eyes are electric blue with occasional sparks and arcs of electricity running through them. His dark robes and cloak are well made, bearing arcane runes in silvered thread. Laugh lines crease his eyes and cheeks even more deeply than the few other wrinkles that have crept into his friendly visage.

Scanning the room he nods in greeting to Wrinkles, a regular partner for a mug in the common room. With a pause he flinches at the sight of the manservant before his gaze alights upon The First of the Blood. "Aaaaaahhhhhhh, that would explain the quiet in the common room, they didn't even glance out the windows at those magnificent fireworks! Apparently the beauty of the Lady of Alcatoz in full blush left them stunned!" Making a short bow to The First in greeting then turns his attention to the unfamiliar face in the room.

Offering his hand in greeting he floats before Strega "Hello My Lady! Call me Xe and color me pleased to meet you!"

Taking 10
Know: Local for Wrinkles, my drinking buddy! 49
Know: Religion for The Lady First. 49
Perception for the Manservant: 54, also Arcane Sight to realize there is something there I should be looking at closely

Xe is not exactly a celebrity, but more a fixture of the community. He lives just a few miles out of town and buys all his supplies locally, frequenting the common room of the Rusty Dragon for a mug of Raspberry Ale. His shop, Sages and Mages, has representatives in 5 of the most prominent trade cities, supplying magical reagents, creations and research makes him relatively well known among those of magical aptitude. As with any powerful mage, his exact capabilities are hard to nail down outside of "phenomenal cosmic power" type commentary.

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega shrinks slightly when she's called "pretty," blushing even through the makeup. She notes that she's not being complimented by Xe, but decides not to make a fuss. She's keeping a low profile, like always, ever since her childhood, alone.

The "Elf" moves with a start suddenly sitting upright when Xe speaks, looking around nervously. "Eh? Eh?" She finally meets eyes with Xe. "What colour? There is no colour. Am elfs." This would appear incredibly strange, but there are all sorts with adventurers. "My apology. Where are my manner," she says, calming down and offering her hand to Xe. "I am Strega, wandering... well, 'food connoisseur,' today."

[Warlawk]

Xe ***** an eyebrow at Strega's awkward delivery, smiling warmly as they clasp hands briefly, nodding in approval "You've chosen a fine establishment to connaître Lady, the Rusty Dragon offers fare I look forward to every time I travel."

With a pause now that he has met everyone Xe seems to realize how many are in the room. "Oh. Oh Tam, no. This many of us? How bad is it?" he absently reaches toward the handle of the still cracked door and glances back to Tam with a questioning expression "Please at least tell me there aren't any more on the way?"

[Dimers]

"Aw, go on, Xe, I know you like a challenge." The wrinkly gnome's smile and wink don't really disguise the fact that he's concerned too.

[3SecondCultist]

If the vampire is surprised at the arrival of the three other adventurers in the room, she does not show it. Instead, Navanir smiles and bows her head - only slightly, enough to convey admiration or at least respect without deference - at those known to her. She has heard of the gnome before, the wrinkly one with a tautological and self-evident name. Xe is, of course, well known to her, as this is not the first time she has been to the Lost Coast and rumors of powerful wizards tend to spread rather far. It is only other woman, the purple-haired one, that the Lady does not recognize.

Upon entering the small room, Navanir's servant Athan immediately moves forward to pull out a chair for her, directly opposite Tam. She takes her seat, lounging gracefully as if she were on a proper throne as opposed to a rickety wooden chair on the second floor of a tavern. Her smile grows as she listens to the back and forth. She leans forward slightly - the movement accentuating certain parts of her physique - and speaks in Tam's direction, though not directly at him.

"The esteemed Xe is correct. Whatever the matter, it must be important enough that any of us alone is insufficient for the task at hand. Furthermore, our friend 'Tam' here must be in truly dire straits indeed, to have called upon me and mine for aid. A queen - even a queen in waiting - does not receive summons so lightly, a fact which I suspect did not escape his attention."

[maruahm]

As you enter, Tam greets you in his usual summary fashion, with eye contact and verbal acknowledgement. Though polite, he was never one to stand on ceremony.

"Strega. Dumplings could do with more chives."

"Navanir. I call on none of you lightly." His gaze flits to Athan. "Don't believe I've met your escort."

"Wrinkles. Only the prettiest." He flashes a smile.

"Xe. No, this is all of us."

With the party gathered, Tam goes to the door and shuts it, then walks to the center of the room. He says, "Alright, business. As you've deduced, I've brought some very bad news. But first, security. Naas rii." He utters a quick incantation, and a scintillating dome of rainbow-colored light springs up around and above you, encapsulating the room and its furniture as well. Its opaque surface of shifting colors remains eerily silent. A Spellcraft check can identify the spell. Tam continues. "Let's start with the Akashic Record." A Knowledge (planes) check can identify the Akashic Record. "Not long ago, I visited the Record. It's an expensive and difficult trip, but I've made it before. In this particular instance, I was looking to study the metaphysics of Jandelay. I was... sidetracked, and my attentions turned instead to prophecies on Golarion.

"Dozens of prophecies birth and die by the day, and over many eons, past and future, the Record painstakingly gathers countless prophecies in its timeless volumes. Prophecies that once were, prophecies that are, and prophecies that will be.

"I'll spare you the gory details of how one reads prophecies directly from the Akashic Record. It's a very strenuous and dangerous process, and it's weakened me considerably. Here's the crux of our issue. As I studied the prophecies—a cursory thing, trading depth for breadth—I found that, starting in 4715 AR, the number of active prophecies on Golarion will begin to sharply decline. By 4723 AR, there will no longer be any active prophecies on Golarion, for at least several millennia if not the rest of time.

"Since the Age of Darkness, there has not once been a period without any active prophecies. As far as I can tell, all that is required for prophecies to exist is for there to be gods and mortals. I would have to somehow search back all the way to the Age of Creation to be sure, but as far as we're concerned, this has been true for nearly ten millennia. Needless to say, it's probably not a good thing that prophecies will vanish entirely.

"I'm treating this as a potential end-of-the-world scenario. If there are no prophecies, then it may be because there are no gods or mortals to make them, which entails a Golarion-wide apocalypse. But before I continue, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

[Warlawk]

Xe floats to the side, allowing a clear view of Tam as he begins to explain the situation. Brow crinkled in concentration, his face slowly curves into a troubled frown as the dire news is brought to light. Trying not to get sidetracked following the path of exploration from unproven links between Jandelay and the Armageddon of worlds through the death of Prophecy on Golarion. He takes a long pull off his mug, frowning into its depths as he considers. "Troubling. Nebulous. Obviously it requires investigation, however we're going to need something a bit more concrete as a starting point I think." Xe glances around the room, taking in the eclectic collection of troubleshooters gathered here "Does anyone have any information they think could help, or a suggested resource to tap for more details."


Taking 10
Spellcraft 64
Knowledge Planes 51

[Dimers]

"Well, clearly, the Akashic Record is wrong this time," Wrinkles jokes. "Nono, that's not it -- everyone is going to become a god, then there won't be gods and mortals anymore. Kidding aside, no, nothing leaps into my mind as a reason or solution. I'm sure there are ways to explore. Tam ... who would be concerned, discreet and possibly helpful? I've heard of few people in the lands I visit who would qualify for more than one of those."

The gnome silently wonders about the 'Queen' title, not having heard of a Queen or Princess Navanir.

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega gives Navanir a sideways, suspicious glance. Has she seen this woman before?

"Chive? What is chive?" Strega's brow furrows. "These are the best one's I've ever had." They're the only ones she's ever had. "Where do I find better dumpling?"

"As for the prophecy, there is option other than everything over. The entire art relies on divination, yes? Perhaps someone saw fit to Sequester the whole plane or even deaden its magic. Without any way to observing the plane in that timeframe, the prophecies would not make predictions, no?" Strega strokes her chin. "I wouldn't be able to leave if magic dead, either. Shame, I would like to see more things. Otherwise, we have a paradox, no? If world is ending, then if we can save it the world would not be ended and we would have prophecies."


[roll0] Planes
[roll1] Reminder that Strega is doubly disguised as both not a drow and not herself.

[maruahm]

Xe, and anyone else who makes a DC of 29 on their Spellcraft check, recognizes Tam's spell as prismatic sphere. Those who roll lower don't recognize the spell.

Strega only knows legends about the Akashic Record. As far as she was aware, it may as well have only been a legend. She, and anyone who rolls higher than a DC 15, knows the following.


Said to be a repository of all knowledge that has been or shall be, the Akashic Record's lore and secrets could be an invaluable resource, were they not so difficult to reach.

Xe and anyone else who makes a DC of 40 on their Knowledge (planes) check, knows the following additional lore about the Akashic Record.

The Akashic Record is a demiplane whose existence is a manifestation of the psychic nature of knowledge. The Record is often described as an elegant library with shelves overflowing with thick, mismatched volumes and stretching infinitely in every direction. While accurate visually, this description should not lead one to believe that the Record operates like a library. It does not collect knowledge. Rather, it exists physically because knowledge exists metaphysically, and some would argue that the converse is true as well.

Nonetheless, what is known about the Akashic Record's connection to knowledge is that there is no knowledge which cannot be found within the Record. In its vast halls guarded by aeons and danava titans, its countless volumes beckon with the secrets of the multiverse. Unfortunately, accessing the Record is quite difficult. No magic is known which permits planar travel to the Record. Divinations targeting the demiplane fail, or result in information useless enough that one might as well have failed. It is said that there is a portal to the Record in the Dimension of Time, though no scholar has yet located it.

Most who end up in the Akashic Record do so by way of temporary portals and a great deal of luck. Such a lucky traveler would find themselves in the Reading Room, an enclosed collection within the Record curated by lipika aeons specifically intended for outsiders' perusal. It is said that here one may not only read their own history and fate, but also alter them.

The Record's "head librarian," for lack of a better term, is the so-called Akashic Guru, an invincible danava titan who supposedly navigates the paths of fate as freely as a bird might navigate the air.

There are many "maybe's" and "supposedly's" regarding the Akashic Record. In fact, orthodox scholarly consensus in the Inner Sea region is agnostic on the question of the Record's existence. Fortunately, you are quite a bit wiser than the vast majority of scholars, and know that the evidence, though difficult to interpret, is fairly unequivocal about the fact that the Record does exist.

Physically speaking, the Akashic Record is located within the Astral Plane. It has normal gravity, time, and magic, and is neutral-aligned. It is structurally static and has mixed essence, and its infusion gives planar travelers revelatory psychic powers. Despite its infinite appearance, the demiplane is very much finite. All of this a learned scholar can piece together from the journals of brave planewalkers.
Tam clasps his hands. "Nebulous, yes. Very nebulous. Our adversaries do not leave evidence or a trail of clues. We are not heroes with a great evil to array ourselves against. We are merely grasping for something solid in the dark unknown. I will discuss my plan after I hear your thoughts, so that I do not bias your analysis.

"As for allies who are concerned, discrete, and helpful, you wound me by forgetting yours truly." Tam smiles slightly. "If you'll excuse my immodesty for a moment, few know the Record as well as I do. While many have visited the Reading Room, only a handful have ever walked the halls past the Room, and I am one of them. I am happy to field your questions.

"You joke that perhaps we all become gods ourselves, but since you mention it, I will say that it's not completely unreasonable. I just see it as improbable. It would require a radical shift in what it means to be a god, certainly.

"Chives." Tam smiles and holds a finger up, posing as a lecturer in a classroom. "A perennial cousin of the garlic and scallion. The Andorrans of Almas often cook lobster with chives. They wrap it in wheat flour rather than in rice flour as our gracious hosts do. They cover it in some sauce of egg, oil, vinegar, and lemon. Less delicate than the Minkai-inspired fare here, but, I think, a better match for lobster. The eel benefits the most from Minkai's flavors. A shame they're not serving eel today.

"It's an interesting theory you have regarding the evidence, Strega. I do not believe the Record gathers or gives prophecies through divination effects, so it does not seem to me that magic would be able to block it. But I would have to study the metaphysics of the Akashic Record to be sure, and that is a failing proposition for one of my limited cleverness. At the least, I wouldn't be able to make progress in the, oh, decade or so we have before our figurative water clock hits midnight."

[Dimers]

After a pause to muse on this, twirling his chin-hairs around a finger, Wrinkles asks, "Do you know if the prophecies come to pass or just fade away? And is there a prophecy -- within Golarion or beyond -- about the end of prophecies?"

[3SecondCultist]

The vampiric noble raises an eyebrow as Tam reveals the purpose for their gathering.. The Akashic Record is well known to her - when one has a particularly powerful spell in one's arsenal, it is only fitting that one has studied its origins - and the prospect of prophecy on Golarion on a sharp decline is... well, 'problematic' would seem to be a bit of an understatement. When Tam mentions an end of the world scenario, Navanir finds it in herself to agree silently. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches first Wrinkles and then Strega looking in her direction, and grants them a graceful smile in return.

"Normally I might be inclined to question the motives of those staring at me, but given our illustrious company I shall endeavor to take it as a compliment. This is Athan, by the way - he is one of my Inheritors, a friend by my own hand." As if on cue, the older man bows low, a slightly fleshy popping sound evident as some bone or cartilage moves out of place. Wincing, he rises back up to his full height and begins to massage the area on his back where the damage has been done.

"Now, onto more important matters: it makes sense why you summoned me, Tam. While I am hardly as well-appointed with knowledge as Xe, I know the Akashic Record as well as anyone can, short of having visited it myself. For anyone not aware, even getting to the Record is quite difficult, as one must find a way through the labyrinth that is the Dimension of Time. Even then, there is no set portal, but rather a maddening series of temporary gates that open up at random intervals - once again, this being a realm less strictly bound by temporal rules, even our perception of when they open will be suspect.

While it is impressive enough that you have gone beyond the Reading Room, this does raise a key question: why have you not gone back and checked the Akashic Record yourself? If you are able to walk the Record like the Guru can - or even some approximation thereof - then it stands to reason that you could proceed with an investigation into this 'death of prophecy' conundrum on your own."

Here is a picture of Athan, should anyone have True Seeing or can somehow breach through the Daywalker spell that Navanir currently has cast on him.

https://i.ibb.co/5s63Mmc/Juju-Zombie.png

[maruahm]

Tam is silent for a moment as he thinks. "Prophecies are loaded with enough contingencies and qualifiers that it's not clear whether any prophecy really comes to pass or fades to nothing. Within what I might call 'reasonable judgment,' though, sure—we can say that prophecies aren't truly binding. There are, after all, examples of heroes subverting prophecies' seeming intentions. I don't know if there's a prophecy about prophecies, and with how many countless lie in the Record's annexes, it would take decades to verify the existence of one.

"Astute question, Navanir, and it touches on a matter I was about to discuss, but since you asked, I shall answer now. In actuality, my studies in the Akashic Record have little to do with prophecies and more to do with, well, planar metaphysics. However, last I walked the halls of the Record, I felt a deep sense of wrongness and foreboding, causing me to shelve my more prosaic concerns. A series of divinations brought me to the annex of prophecies, whereupon the next many hours I discovered what I just recently relayed to you. Partway through my studies, my magically attuned instincts gave me a dire warning: if I did not leave the Record at that moment, I would never leave the Record, ever. I felt that something powerful was bearing down on me, not physically but very literally.

"So I left instantly. I left for Paradise, where I hoped the gods of good would shield me from pursuit. This was a... problematic decision, because I'm not good-aligned. In fact, I'm quite the opposite. Needless to say, considering the scale of the issue, I couldn't trust my safety to anyone but the lawful and good. I'd considered, of course, the Dark Prince's aid, but given the complexity of the task before me, I decided against adding infernal intrigue to my concerns. So I arrived at the Holy Mountain. I'll skip the part where I was taken prisoner by angels and archons and merely say that I was permitted to leave, for now.

"I conducted some more divinations. There is no possible future in which I could once again travel to the Akashic Record, and return to the Material Plane still among the living (or unliving), with nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to one odds. No, I am in exile."


⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tam pauses his story. The lazily scintillating colors of his prismatic sphere cast hues and shadows across his dreamy expression. He is deep in thought.

Then his attention snaps back and he continues. "So there you have it. Now I'll tell you my plan. I don't know the nature of our adversary, but I know that there is an adversary. I don't know what the death of prophecies means, but I know that we're sitting on the cusp of a potential apocalypse. You aren't the first adventurers I've contacted—you're the third bunch, in fact. We've already begun exploring several possibilities. One group travels to the City of Iz in the Worldwound, another to the House of Oblivion in Thuvia. Our goal is to determine if these 'obvious' apocalypses are our mysterious threat, and to eliminate them regardless of our findings; we can't risk them becoming an issue later, so it's better we keep things safe and remove them from the playing field now.

"Which is what I intend to ask of you. There are several major threats pressing down on us currently. The largest and most obvious are the Spawns of Rovagug. It's time to end them for good, and to determine if the Rough Beasts stirs within His Dead Vault. He, of course, would have minimal trouble eating Golarion if somehow released, so this is a high priority concern. Kill the Spawn, kill the Rough Beast's high priests, and ensure the Dead Vault remains secure."

He clasps his hands and watches you expectantly for an answer, a small and sad smile on his lips.

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega nods at Tam's story. "Yes, yes... I would need to acquire some of these chives. You've good company with me." Strega polishes off her dumplings., and gets up to pat "I'll gladly stomp a threat to this beautiful, sunny, world. What can you tell me of the Spawns of Rovagug? Are they some demonic or draconic threat?" She gives a warm smile. "I trust you will all agree to help this man help us help the world."

[maruahm]

What is Rovagug the Rough Beast but the ultimate adversary? Born alongside the primordial gods in the early eons, when countless worlds and stars budded with civilization, Rovagug was the antithesis of the other gods' creations—the Rough Beast sought only to destroy, only to consume.

It is not known how much Rovagug has eaten throughout his existence, but most scholars agree that more than a few worlds have been destroyed in their entirety by him. And not only worlds, so the legends go, but a dozen or so forgotten gods as well have been taken by the Rough Beast's titanic maws. Eventually, the gods of good and law—including unusual collaborations such as Sarenrae, Pharasma, Asmodeus—struck against Rovagug directly, imprisoning the all-consuming god within a prison demiplane. This demiplane, called the Dead Vault, is said to lie at the bottom of a great fault called the Pit of Gormuz.

Presently, the Pit is the center of Rovagug's rare and scattered worship. The Pit was formed after Sarenrae smote the corrupted (now fallen) City of Gormuz with radiant flames. Unfortunately, the Rough Beast's minions have crawled out of this scar upon the landscape, including in particular the most violent of the bunch, collectively the Spawn of Rovagug: the Festering Ulunat, the Monarch Worm Chemnosit, the Unyielding Kothogaz, the Most Terrible Tarrasque, the End-Singer Volnagur, and the Firebleeder Xotani. Each requires a Knowledge (arcana), Knowledge (religion), or Knowledge (history) check to identify.

Unlike most gods, Rovagug has little desire for formal clerical hierarchy or services, though his priests often make up the difference with particularly brutal displays they hope will convince the Rough Beast to lend them their spells. His symbol is a fanged spider, and he is often depicted as an insectile god.
The City of Gormuz was an interesting display of cunning from a creature otherwise known for being destructive and nothing else. Initially a holy site of Sarenites who oversaw the landscape upon which the Dawnflower and allied gods struck down Rovagug and imprisoned him, Gormuz was corrupted over many years and its people slipped into depravity. Sarenrae sent many omens, culminating with her herald, the solar Kohal, delivering a person warning to the city, but they were not merely unheeded, they were rejected violently. In Kohal's case, he was overpowered and slain.

Sarenrae thus wielded her flaming scimitar and rent the hills in two. Gormuz fell into a quickly expanding pit, but contrary to the Dawnflower's expectations, the pit did not close after her task was done. Instead, Rovagug's power held it open, and through this new wound countless of his spawn climbed out.

It is generally agreed upon by religious scholars, and some say by the Dawnflower herself, that the goddess was tricked by Rovagug into weakening the bonds of the Rough Beast's imprisonment. Where previously he only corrupted the minds of mortals, now his terrible creatures roam Golarion, seeking yet more ways to free their master.

Of the Spawn of Rovagug, only two have been slain: Xotani, whose corpse lies in Katapesh; and Kothogaz, slain in Vudra and whose corpse has since been scattered across the continent of Casmaron. It is not known who are Rovagug's high priests, though good paces to check for their presence are the Pyramid of Kamaria in Osirion (built by a pharaoh who worshiped Rovagug openly, whose name is now lost to history), and of course the Pit of Gormuz itself.

Another lead is the mad Chalmus Col, who penned the Rough Beast's first and only holy text, the Cycle of the Beast. He has not been seen or heard from in a countless years, so finding him would be nontrivial.
"The Spawn of Rovagug," says Tam, "are magical beasts by and large, though there may be exceptions. They are all immense in size and in physical power, and many call them 'vessels of the apocalypse,' which is generally accurate when describing their destructive potential. Of course, by that measure, our present company is in every sense apocalyptic as well.

"It's better, I think, to interpret the Rough Beast's spawn less as entities trying to start the apocalypse (though given the opportunity they'll certainly take it) and more as servants who hope that well-timed mass destruction can weaken the bonds on their master's prison. It is their master we should worry about. If the Dead Vault splits open, Golarion will not have long before its fragments join the hallowed ranks of Jandelay.

"Frankly, prior to my most recent trip to the Akashic Record, I didn't give a single thought to Rovagug or his insane cult, and I preferred it that way because they're a real waste of a headache. You'll have to do much of the legwork in coming up with a cohesive plan."

[3SecondCultist]

"Well," Navanir replies with another smile that shows teeth that are just a little bit too white, "you certainly have done your homework, Tam. It was likely a wise choice to avoid the Hells - in my experience, devils take more than their due - but I would not have been brave enough to tread their opposite as you have done. I have found that 'good' can a label too liberally applied to the narrow-minded. Still, your thoroughness does you further credit than I had anticipated. I can see why you have chosen to hone your focus on the Rough Beast and his spawn."

The ruler of the dead turns to the tall Strega to give some additional context to Tam's answer, ignoring the implied comparison on the man's part to such an adversary. "Rovagug is a blight on creation itself, the waves that crash and the mountains that crush. He epitomizes mindless destruction, and would end the world were he released from the Dead Vault that has remained his prison ever since Golarion was formed. There is a reason that some call this world 'the Cage'. His Spawn are terrific engines of cataclysm, imbued with their master's wroth for everything that is. Only two have ever been slain: Xotani, whose corpse lies in Katapesh; and Kothogaz, slain in Vudra and whose corpse has since been scattered across the continent of Casmaron."

Navanir's gaze sweeps the room, taking in all of the others who have joined in this council before looking back at Tam. They are certainly powerful, and there can be no doubt that there will be those here who can fight the Spawn of the Rough Beast. However, there is one more matter that she need concern herself with before they can begin. "I have several promising leads to contribute," she says, "should my aid be secured." The implication of reciprocity is heavy on the air, and impossible to miss. It would, however, be gauche to mention such a transaction out loud.

[Warlawk]

Navanir's gaze sweeps the room, taking in all of the others who have joined in this council before looking back at Tam. They are certainly powerful, and there can be no doubt that there will be those here who can fight the Spawn of the Rough Beast. However, there is one more matter that she need concern herself with before they can begin. "I have several promising leads to contribute," she says, "should my aid be secured." The implication of reciprocity is heavy on the air, and impossible to miss. It would, however, be gauche to mention such a transaction out loud.

Xe shakes his head sadly. "Perhaps Tam or one of the others has something to offer you, because my only response to that is 'Goodbye Navanir', I suppose you will know one way or another if we are successful."

[3SecondCultist]

The room is filled with a bright titter of laughter, as Navanir allows her amused facade to crack at Xe's comment. "Dear one, you can't suppose that I meant any of you. I would never expect you to offer me anything, nor would I trust any offer you did make. I was referring only to our illustrious host." She gestures demurely in Tam's direction, allowing herself a smile that is gracious and never touches condescension. This has been, after all, a simple misunderstanding, and should not be construed as expectation.

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

"Hm, yes blightbeast," Strega says, stroking her chin. Her command is common is poor enough that she didn't understand every word "Well, no time to discuss compensation, greed is self defeating. The alternative is certain dead, so we might as well wipe them out for its own sake. We have their location, yes? Any particular weaknesses I should consider, or are they weak to the standard kill," Strega says with a wicked chuckle.

[Dimers]

"Dear one, you can't suppose that I meant any of you. I would never expect you to offer me anything, nor would I trust any offer you did make."

With a slight smile -- an upward crinkle in the wrinkle -- Wrinkles says, "Then I suppose I needn't ask what you want anyway."


Any particular weaknesses I should consider, or are they weak to the standard kill," Strega says with a wicked chuckle.

"Hmm? What's is your 'standard'? Anyone Tam taps probably has some unique perspective on how to deal with problems ..." The gnome looks plainly curious, though he gives Tam a glance to indicate his willingness to rein it in if the planeswalker needs to hurry.

[maruahm]

Tam gives a short, embarrassed laugh. "You give me too much credit, Wrinkles. I'm not tapping the right team, I'm tapping all the teams. All of them, at least, that can reasonably handle a task such as this. Now, the Lady of Mzali isn't the first to ask for recompense, but here's what I told the others: even if my belongings weren't held by the solars of Iudica, my net worth would still be rather trivial compared to the magnitudes you're used to. I burn through gold very quickly in my travels. For reference, every trip to the Akashic Record costs me at least one wish.

"I've half a mind to offer nothing, but instead I open myself to suggestions. What do you want, Navanir? I've no wealth in capital, labor, or land, but maybe you're interested in magic? I'm not the most powerful wizard on the planet—nor even on the continent, I suspect—but I know more than a few magic tricks from distant worlds and ancient times, tricks I think which only a handful of mortals anywhere know. Maybe what you want, I can give. And for fairness's sake, I extend my offer to the other three of you."

It's a Diplomacy check (which will be modified based on your response) to convince Tam to supply a service. You know little about his capabilities other than that he can cast 9th-level arcane spells, so maybe some quizzing is necessary to determine what precisely he can do for you.

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega, seeing the gnome, lowers herself so she can be on his level when she speaks to him. "Well, you know about filthy drow, yes? Imagine opposite of that," Strega says with a smile and a wink.

She gets back up to look at Tam and then glances away. She taps her lip with her forefinger. "I'm sorry, I am not god with customs here. Perhaps what I am looking for is marriage?" She looks at Tam suggestively.


lying her ass off [roll0]

[Warlawk]

Ianxeras (Xe) Syltemaril (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1843619)

Xe offers a small smile along with his words "Tam you know I'll do this simply because it needs to be done. The only thing I would ask is that the next time I find myself needing information in the future you provide anything you have on the relevant topic without charge." He takes another sip of his mug, determined to enjoy the savory drink despite the harsh news.

Diplomacy[roll0]

[Dimers]

Awaiting Navanir's reply with a bit of tension, Wrinkles lets Tam know with a shrug that he hasn't suddenly become more acquisitive.

[3SecondCultist]

There is a long moment, after everyone has exclaimed their own requests - or lack thereof - while the lady considers the question asked of her. Her silence stretches long enough for anyone watching to conclude that either Navanir is toying with Tam, or she genuinely did not expect for the man to just offer up something right away. The undying royal finally takes a sip of the drink that Athan picked up for her, a fine mead from the tap downstairs. Honestly, whoever thought up the notion that vampires can only drink red wine had the most limited imagination.

"I am happy to tell you that my desired payment is not in wealth or land. Instead, after all of this mess has been cleaned up, I will ask you for a reasonable favor of proportionate magnitude." The vampire flashes her teeth once more at the assembled guests. "Rest assured, it will not be so drastic as saving the world from metaphysical annihilation, and neither will it run counter to any of your interests. Hopefully that will suffice your curiosity for now, and we can return to debating our best course of action."

[Snowbluff]

Strega Alexander

Strega smiles at Navanir. "Perhaps after this, we will be friends, yes? Then I could help a friend," she says coyly.