Pathfinder 2e: Legacy of Nex (IC)

[Inspector Valin]

Pathfinder: Legacy of Nex
The Oenopion Incident

5th Neth, 4719 Absalom Reckoning
Oenopion, Nex

It's proving to be a packed festival season for Oenopion. Perhaps spurred on by Master Alchemist Borume's desire to throw a spectacular set of festivals (and thus outdo those thrown by his rival Dunn Palovar and the city of Ecanus) Nex's Capitol of Alchemy has thrown open its doors wide, and admitted almost all comers. Folk from smaller outlying vales and towns are to be expected of course, but there are travellers from Geb, the Mhagwei Expanse, Absalom and still further abroad. The city streets thrum with activity no matter where you go, and the mood is joyful and content. This month is holy to those who practice magic, and for once, the festive spirit seems well and truly in the air.

That said, for six particular people, the metaphorical clock of adventure has begun to tick. Let's check in on them, shall we?

---

Sachni
There's a reception for the ambassadors tonight, now that everyone is officially here. Some kind of formal dance, where the leader of the city introduces everyone important to you. But that's not for a while yet: there is time to enjoy the various intriguing aspects of non-monastic life. For the moment, Sachni's quest for food has led her to Hapwel Park, a small spot of greenery in the midst of Oenopion. Young alchemists, craftsmen, bureaucrats and other sorts all take their ease here - there's benches, fountains, countless food stalls and a slow lumbering golem watching over everything.

After getting some food for herself (some sort of dust covered hot potato cubes the vendor called raqayiq harin) Sachni follows the growing crowd that have congregated around the park's public auditorium. The stone benches are already full, but the day is fine and a good dozen to two dozen people are standing around, enjoying the show. Today the stage is held by a group of armoured northerners called the Knights of Lastwall. They're performing the Acts of Iomedae; the party of warriors acting out the stories while the leader, a statuesque looking ban with a clean cropped red beard called Sir Landran, narrates the tales one by one with a band of homunculi musicians providing musical accompaniment.

Sachni is actually familiar with these tales - they're the thirteen different miraculous feats the goddess of justice is supposed to have accomplished in order to ascend to divinity. (Sach knows that mostly through her brother - Makrish isn't an Iomedaen either, but he owns a copy of their holy book and references it for some of his own work. Sachi couldn't quote from the Acts verbatim, but she knows the bits that Makrish focused on.)

The troupe of knights turned actors have reached the Eighth Act, the duel between Iomedae and the revenant knight known as the Black Prince. The knight-players are to a one locked in theatrical conflict, with the two leads in the foreground, Iomedae and the Black Prince both looking appropriately heroic and vile. After a few passes of blades, the pair separate as they give a final pair of speeches, Iomedae raising her hands imploringly.

"Good Prince, I implore you now: think back!
For once you were not one so low and base
to serve this bloodstained heartless tyranny.
The man I knew was bold, with heart and joy
No faceless rogue of whispers and dark devilry."

She beckons behind her, towards the spot where a great tree is supposed to stand.

"Join us, here, beneath this oaken bough
Let deeds of righteousness be yours once more
And know again that gentle hearth so warm
Aroden's loving house, upon the shore."

The Black Prince laughs, thumping a gauntleted hand upon his breastplate

"No more, fool wench! For Tar-Baphon I fight,
This charnel ground serves now as hearth and home
And sobs of mournful widows my delight

So ready for the felling of thy virtue's tree
I know no rest, till I have won the field
Should Lord Aroden weep ten thousand tears
and cry the earth away, I will not yield! "

The two charge, and Sachni can hear the voice of Sir Landran rising above the melee. "And thus, spurred on in defense of land and all she loved, the good Lady Iomedae took her trusty sword and ran the grave-cursed Knight of Death clean through!"

The drums hit their crechendo, the stage-blade goes through the Prince's armor. A moment's silence, as he falls to the floor and lies there, unmoving. Then the trumpets sound, and the crowd stamp their feet, and throw fists in the air in jubilation

And a bitter taste enters Sachni's mouth.

It's wrong. The Eighth Act was supposed to be about redemption. That was the whole point of it. Iomedae convinced the Black Prince to move on from his bitterness and anger and accept that his vengeance was fruitless, she didn't just kill him. There's regional variance, in some versions he falls upon Iomedae's sword in an act of suicide, in others his spirit simply leaves his body upon realization that his existence is a cursed one, but this isn't anything close to any official version of the story. Sir Landran has taken a parable about mercy and understanding and turned it into a simple call for the destruction of the undead.

And that was the point. As best as she can remember, the Eighth Act is the one story in the cycle that touches on those themes. Landran's removed compassion and mercy from the story of his goddess in order to turn the entire epic into a patriotic rallying cry against the undead. Against Geb.

It works like magic. The crowd are still cheering and whooping and applauding rapturously: the righteous end of a reanimated villain is an easy path to the heart of a Nexian crowd. But that doesn't change the facts: Landran is preaching against peace and understanding with Nex's neighbour, just a few weeks before the Seven Veils Festival is supposed to begin. He's working to undermine the unity Sachni is here to foster, and he's lying about his own faith to do it!

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Sorry for not giving you the chance to make a Religion check - wanted to start things with a bit more of a bang, so I handed you the info gratis through Makrish.

Elizabeth
Ack! Arrrgh! Damn the Founder's Shiny Globes!

This thing is far too tight. It takes Ell a second to catch her breath, after the assistant finishes fastening her outfit's final clasp. The price of fashion, presumably. She glances around the room as she steps out from behind the screen. It screams age and stature: dark wooden cabinets filled with artifacts she couldn't begin to identify, surrounding a proud circular table that bears the crest of Nex. Graven pillars in each corner with arcane runes worked into them, and walls bedecked with paintings of Oeinopon's most revered ancestors. It's exactly what she thought the Guild Council room would look like.

Kinda a shame she doesn't really have a chance to walk around and examine everything. She can barely walk, dressed like this.

If Master Alchemist Borume recognizes her discomfort, he gives no sign of it. The spindly old man man glances up from his notes for just a fraction of a second to confirm that Elizabeth has indeed donned the dress as instructed. A nod is the one indication of success Eliie elicits from the lord of the city before he returns to his notebook: flipping over several pages as he speaks.

"Now, to review protocol for the reception this afternoon."

Soon enough, Borume has found the relevent pages. He glances over his spidery handwriting just once before beginning Elizabeth's review. "I will take the lead, welcoming each guest as they arrive at the Guildhall steps. You are to curtsey to each one in turn, and present them with the correct gift. Geb, Alkenstar, Jalmeray and Absalom." With each quickly fired off name, the Grand Alchemist points to one of the four relics laid out on the table - a golden pyramid sculpture, an elm wand with a spiral carved into it, a hefty looking tome bound in green leather and a harrow deck. Given the darting movement of his hand, it seems clear Borume hasn't bothered to put them down in order for her. Before she can ask for clarification, the guildmaster continues. "Then we shall board the carriage together, myself and Geb first, then the Starrite and the Jalmeray girl, and you at the close, following the Pathfinder."

Of course. Follow his lead, stick to the rear. It's not even like she gets to actually be important. She's set dressing for the ceremony. This is probably not something Ellie wants to do, she's a scientist, not a courtier! But when you're the most destructive alchemist in Oeinopon, the Guild of Chymestry has a fair amount of leverage. She could've said no, but then she'd have been thrown out of the guild, and more importantly, her lab! She might have lost access to that wonderful lab, full of aqua regia, bismuth, quicksilver, cinnabar, saltpeter... and forget about any chance to join a proper expedition to visit distant lands and harvest exotic regents.

Borume finally looks up from his notes. His eyes are narrow as he addresses his subordinate. "While we are in transit to the hall, you may make light conversation with the ambassadors, but you are prohibited from talking about your work, mentioning any current incidents within the city or asking any kind of probing questions. Is that clear, Miss Sprocket?"

Spoiler

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Add 'Fancy Dress' to your inventory, Digo! I'll give you some latitude in describing it so long as it's hard to move in, it's supposed to look good and was made by a proper dressmaker, but the designer wasn't interested in any kind of practicality or comfort. Ellie might not have chosen it, but since you're her player, I don't want her to be stuck in something you'd outright hate.

Belignabo
"Lay-dies and Gen-tle-men! Gather round, and you'll see something never seen before! Something... spectacular."

There are dozens of street corner-performers and hedge wizards plying their trade in Oenopion: using flashy magical displays to lure in a crowd, then sell them 'genuinely magical' nicknacks. This stall, Master Zalenko's Curios and Conjurations, has set up on the street corner - stalls full of tiny metal dragons, music boxes and talismans piled together higgledy piggledy. But center of the display is Zalenko himself, a something covered with a sheet of red cloth, and his new assistant. A gnome by the name of Belignabo.

Zalenko takes the foreground naturally. He looks every inch the wizard - a long flowing robe, a pointed hat, a regally curled black beard and a twinkle in his eye. But what made the man is his face paint: a white coating with black spikes ringing the edges of his face, as if he were something unearthly and foreign. Between his looks and his patter, he's already attracted quite a crowd.

With a flourish, the strange wizard pulls back the red cloth, revealing what appears to be a human sized mannequin, made of some strange grey substance with an androgynous looking white facemask. It shines under the morning sun, each articulated joint visible. But beneath the shoulderblades, at the knees and near the neck, a tangle of wires can still be seen. To one side, on a small subtable, sits a faintly glowing amethyst. Zalenko's voice booms out across the crowd. "Behold! A porcelain doll, but one that could once move, talk, feel. Far more elaborate and delicate a creature than the hulking slabs of flesh golemcrafters of today content themselves with. But should we let this ancient art, this gift from our beloved Archmage, fade away?"

"No!" cries the crowd. Zalenko stamps his staff, and a shower of brilliant white sparks arise from it as he raises the implemented into the sky. "No indeed! Today ladies and gentlemen, you will witness a craft reborn! Through painstaking research and much pondering of the secrets of magic, I, the great Zalenko, have almost finished the laborious task of restoring this doll to working order! Today, that journey ends! Today, we make history!"

Zalenko knows what he's doing. The onlookers cheer, stamping their feet and crying out "History! For Nex! For the Arclords!" Zalenko smiles, watching over them all beatifically before gesturing to his side. "Now watch, as my assistant Belignabo adds the final touches to the work, repairing the last of the joint-mechanisms before installing the power gem. In just moments, we shall restore this creation of days long gone to life and glory!"

The crowd whoop and cry appreciatively, clearly excited for whatever was about to happen next. Zalenko steps back, but not before whispering in Belignabo's ear. "You're up, kid. Make this look good, and I'll take you on as my apprentice here and now. Consider this an early Abjurant Day trial."

Spoiler

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*twiddles fingers* Now, I'm going to let you try to make it work. But I'll need an Arcane check.

That said, I think it's time to introduce a houserule of sorts! PF2 like most d20 games gives the GM authority to declare circumstance bonus or penalties. I give bonuses for cool descriptions. Not on every cool description, but if the moment seems meaningful, dramatic and fun, if it's got pizazz or just wowed me as a reader, I'm happy to nudge the dice a bit more in your direction.

Or to put it another way, if Belignabo can convince me he's good enough to pull this off, he's half way there.

Zarrachia
Goopy is moving hesitantly through a pen, circling a disk of specially prepared basalt. The little ooze slowly works his way towards it, gently running against the fake-coin's edge to test it. Then, with an enthusiastic burble, the little ooze lunges for the rock, burbling happily as it starts to dissolve the treat.

Fitzig Scribins, a former slimehand, laughs at the sight. The old halfling gently places a gloved hand down, letting Goopy shift along and around his fingers, before rising back up and shaking his head at Zarra with a grin.

"Little fellow's fine as can be. Healthy, good appetite, fine consistency: nothing to suggest axiy or polybia. He must've just been worried about something." That leads to an uncomfortable silence, as the older halfling's smile fades away. Oenopion oozes can, according to local folklore, see the future. People put some stock in the mood of the Great Pit, but even your pet slime being worried is a bad omen - it may have seen some bad fate approaching you. Fitzig coughs. stroking his small silver beard, "Probably just these damned fireworks. I swear, kids these days. Someone set one off too close to your place and it spooked him into wanting to snuggle up with you. Bet you a silver you ain't got Two Fistfuls of Trouble headed your way just yet."

Possibly. But Zarra doesn't remember any fireworks last night. She glances around, instinctively turning to her environs. Fitz's home is outside of the halfling neighbourhood: this is Briarby, close to the heart of the city. Each house is its own unit, with grand balconies, wrought iron railings, and imposing gargoyles towering above Zarrachia and her old friend. The handful of passersby she spots all wear fine robes and gowns: not a one returns the halfling's gaze. She can make out the spires of the Guildhall rising over the rooftops, but only just. It's all too easy to worry when surrounded by those with more power than you: the magically potent families here have influence that runs across the entirety of Oenopion.

But she's being irrational, surely? She's got no enemies plotting against her, right? Right?

Adria
It's tough doing Serenae's work in a city that doesn't worship her, doesn't respect her, and doesn't even seem to know the name of the goddess of the dawn. Having almost no money and hailing from the enemy state doesn't help matters one bit. But Adria's made some progress. She's been able to work with the Church of Pharasma to offer her services as a temple healer to those in need of treatment, and the priests there have afforded her a bunk in the temple dormitory until she's able to find somewhere more permanent. It's a little morbid, living in the house of the Lady of Graves, but the acolytes are friendly at least.

Adri is on her way back to the church after a round of ministrations, walking the cobbled streets of Caibius to see if any of the workers there required healing or her counsel, when she hears the sound of giggling children. Soon enough, perhaps half a dozen youths emerge from a sidestreet, most in the embroidered tunics and leather boots that marked them as highborn.

"Run! Ru-uuun! Else she'll curse you with the wasting!" a girl calls out. Behind them, Adria can now make out a figure chasing after the group. She's clad in dark grey hemp robe, with a hood too tattered to protect against the wind. Something seems strange about her skin - it's whiter than even the bleached flesh Adria can recall from the vampires of Geb. The pallid beggar-woman raises a hand towards the youths, imploringly.

"Give that back! Please? It's mm-mine. You stole it from me."

The youths don't seem to take that too seriously, chuckling at the reprimand, though they have come to a halt across the street from their accuser. One of them, a young boy with the swagger of a leader, steps forward to shake his head. He's clutching a hefty looking tome, red with faded golden trim that looks like the Nexite coat of arms, "Nu-uh! It's only stealing when it's from people. You're not people, lady. You're just some dead thing, or a golem or sommit. Prob'ly stole it yourself. So if I can grab it..."

He holds the book aloft as a taunt, smirking at the strange woman. "I can keep it."

Raka
It's been a surprisingly good day for Raka thus far - the gate guards didn't seem at all surprised to find a goblin pulling a merchant's wagon and were only too happy to let her into Oenopion. She's set up her cart in a nice-looking part of the city, made a few sales of spark-wine and rainbow rockets. Not the sort of thing Alkenstar was really looking for when they gave her the licence, but she'll be able to buy a meal tonight. It could have been far, far worse.

And then he comes, staggering out of the alley.

The man is human, she knows that much. He doesn't look like any of the humans she's seen before though, his skin is darker yet his hair is silver-grey, pulled up into a sort of tail and there's lines around his face. Between his hefty leathers, and the blade at his belt, he looks like some kind of warrior but he's moving slowly, disoriented.

He falls to the ground just as he reaches the street, hitting his head on the side of Raka's stall. A leather strap snaps, and some strange object clatters away, beneath Raka's wears before she can get a good look at it. With the man right before her, Raka can see the bloody wound his leathers had largely managed to conceal. The stranger looks up at her, eyes going wide when he realizes what he's looking at.

"Gggg-goblin?" he mutters. He doesn't sound scared. More confused. He meets Raka's gaze, as he drifts out of consciousness, leaving the goblin with a simple two word question. "Why... monkies?"

[Syless]

For a follower of the sun goddess, Adria's spent far less time in the sun than she'd like. Being able to wander around in the daylight and wear her holy symbol of Sarenrae publicly is... still a refreshing experience. She's immensely grateful to the Church of Pharasma for taking her in, but she's hoping she can one day start her own congregation, found a proper temple... but for now, she has a much more limited plan. Do what good she can, where she can, with the blessings she has.

She sees the highborn children mock the pale woman. While classism abounds everywhere, it's the rare sight you wouldn't see in Geb- you wouldn't know if someone that pale was some manner of undead, and no parent would let their children antagonize one... She hates seeing petty cruelties like this. Children shouldn't be like this, they need to be taught to empathize with everyone... it doesn't matter who or what the woman is. She takes a deep breath, then confidently steps forward in front of the child. "Is that how things work? If something is stolen, then it's fair to be stolen? Well then... there's two ways this goes. Either you admit it's hers, and give it back, or you refuse, and I find a way to steal it. Simple as that."

Internally she's panicking. This can go wrong in so many ways. Their parents could be nearby and angry. The beggar could be a thief. What she's planning might be considered assault. But she has to try. She can't just let petty cruelties go ignored.

[Xacha]

Zarra slipped on her special alchemist gloves before scooping up Goopy. Just a precaution, really; Goopy hadn't accidentally tried to digest her in months. Still, when you're dealing with an acid-producing creature that is apparently feeling nervous, you'd best be careful.

Like many pet owners, Zarrachia was convinced that her pet had special perceptions. Why, just last week the little pudding had spat a drop of ooze at Thom Bogtoes when he'd shown up to take Zarra on a date. Given how badly that date had gone - seriously, who orders the garlic sandshrimp on a first date? - Zarra was sure the cute little ooze was trying to warn her. But what was Goopy tying to tell her now?

But she shook her head and tried to banish the worries. Her natural sunny disposition wouldn't let her stew on such matters. She tried to give her old friend some coin for services and basalt, but he waved it away with a laugh. A follow-up offer of a bag full of her homemade fig rolls went over better.

With Goopy burbling happily in the crook of her arm Zarrachia sets out for home. Nerves made her check that the government-issue shortsword was still strapped to her back. Normally it was just a part of her customs agent uniform, but right now she was grateful for its weight.

At the last second she turned off on a side street rather than take the busier main street home. If someone were stalking her she'd have a better chance of spotting them without the crowds.

[Anyr]

Sachni wandered aimlessly through the city. Aimless wandering was a rare luxury for her. She could let her feet go where they pleased. The cubical snacks she'd bought proved delectable. She devoured them as she weaved through the crowds. So many people! Sachni was almost overwhelmed by bizarre sights and sounds. No wonder, then, that she latched onto something familiar. In the park, some knights were performing a play she knew. The munching monk paused to listen.

The verses evoked pleasant memories. Makrish loved regaling her with tales from dusty tomes. He had a real talent for academic pursuits. Too bad he was supposed to be a warrior. Instructors tried so hard to train him in martial arts. But her brother was happiest among the written word. Maybe he could become a warrior thespian, like these knights. Sachni appreciated the air of authenticity in their stage fighting. They put on a most enjoyable performance...

...until the finale. Then it all came crashing down. Sachni grimaced openly. This variation went far beyond a local quirk. It was a betrayal of the play's spirit! She couldn't allow this to stand. Whenever she or her sisters fumbled a kata, they got corrected: Thus helping them become better people. The same (Sachni assumed) must surely apply to actors. Sachni waited for the crowd's applause to die down. Then her voice pierced the aftermath.

"I'm afraid that's wrong!"

She spoke in the same manner as her teachers: Politely, yet unyieldingly. She wasn't trying to humiliate the actors. She just wanted to set the record straight.

"This tale is about the miracles that Iomedae performed to earn divinity. Killing the Black Prince would have been skilful, but not miraculous. The Goddess did something far greater than that: She redeemed him! His black heart was pierced by her virtue; Not her sword. And in doing so, she proved herself worthy of rising above mere mortals."

[Estralita]

Raka

Raka supressed her irritation at the man's words. Whatever he thought of goblins, he was still clearly badly wounded and needed help. And she was guessing there was a person or persons who needed stabbing. Who might hurt even more people. One thing she was good at, and another she was... less good at.

Raka needed to fulfill her purpose, and hope others could fulfill theirs. "Hey! This man is wounded! Someone help him!"

She had to admit, she was itching to get back to her real work.

She ran to the mouth of the alley, looking for any sign of the cause of the man's injury.

Spoiler: OOC

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So, do I roll a Perception check to look for clues? Or an Intimidate/Diplomacy to get the man help while she does this?

[Gwynfrid]

The feisty young gnome springs onto the stage, his eyes twinkling in excitement, a bright smile across his round, beaming, mustachoied face.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! All of you who have come from near and far!" Belginabo stops, and drops a deep, exaggerated curtsy, his copper-red hair nearly sweeping the floor.

"Behold! It is my immense honor to present to you - TODAY! - the incredible discovery that the Great Master of Mysteries, the Mage renowned across the whole of Golarion - ZALENKO!" A flourish of his lanky arms and a bow in his prospective master's direction underscores the name... "...brings forth into the world!"

Purposefully, he walks towards the doll. The human-sized figure towers over his three-foot-two frame. "Look at this marvel of the arcane arts! I shall now... Bring it back to LIFE!" He begins to fuss around it, touching this way and that, in all sorts of mysterious manners.

It's at this point that a golden-furred ferret bolts from the backstage area and runs straight towards the young apprentice. "NOOO! You little horror! You'll ruin everything! This is the most delicate, precise mechanism! It's FRAGIIILE..." Belginabo tries to catch the animal, who easily dodges his flailing hands, and starts to run circles around the mannequin and the gnome, who desperately goes after him. The ferret makes a mockery of any attempt to grab him, as he performs a series of impressive pirouettes and somersaults in the process, to the amazement and hilarity of the audience...

Finally, Belginabo stands, looks firmly at the crowd, and claims loudly: "ENOUGH! You pest, begone! We have had it with your interference!" He turns towards the animal, presently busy rolling on his back and scratching his belly in the most undignified manner. With a great show of hands and a few mysterious-sounding words, Belginabo points a finger, and a long ray of flame shoots forth at the animal. The crowd gasps, but the little ferret rolls to the side at the last second, and runs at top speed to the back of the stage, dropping out of sight.

Spoiler

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This is a comedic Performance, supplemented with a Produce Flame cantrip, to impress the crowd and hopefully make them laugh. His Fascinating Performance skill feat might come into play on one of the audience's members?

(1d20+6)[23]

The gnome produces a bright red hankerchief and mops his brow, sweaty from the exertion. "That's it! This is serious magic we're performing here! We can't possibly tolerate..." He pauses for a moment, muttering under his breath and comically shaking his head.

"But NOW! The time you have all been waiting for! Now, the power of the great Archmage, the work of the great ZALENKO, shall be revealed for all to see!"

Solemnly, he walks to the table, and reverently takes the amethyst between two fingers to place it in his outstretched palm. His voice lowers to a near whisper as he presents it to the audience. "This is the source of POWER that we need..." He turns to the mannequin, and has to rise up on the balls of his feet to reach a small compartment on the back of the doll's head to insert the gem inside.

Spoiler

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Now would be a good time for a decent roll, because his talent for the arcane doesn't quite match that of his display

Arcana (1d20+4)[24]

[Inspector Valin]

Adria
To the children's credit, most of them do seem chagrined when Adria steps forward to reprimand them. They may not know the symbol of Serenae, but they understand the weight of adult authority all too well. There's a lot of shifty glances exchanged, a fair amount of fidgeting and uncomfortable looks. The bulk of the little mob look like they'd rather melt away than continue this conversation. The girl who'd cried out earlier steps forward, putting a hand to the leader's shoulder.

"Farrah, maybe we should just let her keep it. It is hers. She might be weird, but she's still a person, right? And I think this woman's a priestess: she could probably curse us like Uncle Sabra can!"

The boy seems unfazed by this revelation about his friend's uncle. Instead he shakes his head at the girl, before turning his attention back to Adria. "Nuh uh! I'm not afraid of curses. And lady, have you seen what's in this book?"

Farra flips the book open, and starts turning through the pages rapidly. Adria's only seen them a few times, but she recognizes the combination of formulae and diagrams as arcanist-like. She can recognize the spark of excitement in Farrah's eyes as the boy expounds on the obvious. "It's magic. Real magic. This is a spellbook, like the ones Mom and Dad use! And you want me to just leave it with her? Some old lady who probably doesn't know the first thing about wizardry?"

This theme is starting to win the children back to Farrah's side. The group looks less worried, they're standing taller, echoing their leader's glare at Adria and the grey lady. The boy doesn't seem to be playing to the crowd though: his eyes haven't left the spellbook, even as he waves at the stranger with his off hand. "Magic's supposed to be used! You don't just leave it lying in the street with some beggar-woman. If I had a book like this, I could... I could..."

He trails off, fixing Adria with a wounded, wrathful look. He's let more slip there than he'd meant to.

Spoiler

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Diplomacy Check if you want the book without just taking it. And if you can guess why Farrah wants the book so badly, and confront him with it, I'll add one degree of success - fail into success, success into a crit. I'll accept a Religion roll in the OOC if you're blanking on the point, it's a very relevant skill here.

Raka
Her brief search of the alleyway is perhaps mixed. There's no immediate sign of an assailant, but Raka can spot a faint meandering line of dark red specs, leading deeper into the city. She can probably follow the injured man's trail, and find whatever nasty thing'd done this to him.

However...

The crowd do not exactly seem overly eager to help Raka by tending to the wounded man. A few passers by exchange sidelong glances, but quickly hustle along. Most of them don't even seem to notice him lying on the ground. The one being that seems to register Raka's cry, she can't spot at first. A few strange clanging sounds are easy to miss in a busy street, but they soon draw closer and louder. Then Raka feels the tap of metal on her shoulder, coming from above.

Looking up, she sees some strange towering nightmare creature, almost four times her height. Its body is made of steel, a set of four long thin limbs affixed to a barrel-like chest, and there's no apparent head. A ring of glass piping runs across the torso, and into a series of tubes and vents across its arms and legs. Strange fluids cycle through the machine's veins, blue, green, yellow; it seems to change almost by the second. Each of its fingers ends in a long, near impossibly thin spike - while the fingers themselves look more like vials than any digit Raka would recognize

The strange thing stops in front of her. Raka can feel that it's looking at her, even if she can't make out any eyes on the whatever-it-is. The voice seems to just sort of emerge from the creature's torso, sounding a little like a trained bird as the words start to run together. "What-seems-to-be-the-prob-lem-ci-ti-zen?"

Zarrachia
Zarra's decision to duck down the alleyway may seem capricious, but it's rewarded when she hears a loud exclamation coming from the area right outside her front door. And with a high pitched, naisally whine that certainly doesn't sound like it came from a halfling.

"Oh, may I lay a thousand nights with Urgathoa, she was just over there! Where's she gone?"

Peaking out from her street corner, Zarrachia can spot the gathering that's seemingly congregated around her front door. About nine souls in all, with three seeming ringleaders. The first, who is the one she just heard swear on the goddess of undeath, is - Garresh? She knows the blue scaled lizardman - he's from Trismere, deals in alchemical components and high end fireworks. He's a reliable customer come festival season, generous and friendly and usually gives Zarra something for the halfling kids to use in their Evoking Day displays. Today though he's standing outside her house, flanked by two humans in dark grey robes, carrying staves. This may be the first time Zarra's seen Garresh scowling. He looks... unhappy. Maybe even scared.

The dwarf standing with him offers the poor lizardman a slap across the shoulder. "Eejit! It prolly wasn't 'er. Not all 'alflings look the same, ya' know?" It takes Zar a little thought to place this one, but then she remembered. Durgen Zalt, from Alkenstar. One of the few farmers who can make ends meet in the Mana Wastes: he'd brought a few barrels of fungal wine and frozen steak through a couple of weeks back, along with a hefty amount of gold. Flanking him are two young dwarfen ladies, with impressively braided hair and Gunworks patterned rifles. Zalt's daughters.

"And just how many of them are blond haired, carrying a pet ooze, and wearing the tunic of a gate guard?" sighs Kato. An animal dealer from Kibwe, he brings a whole heard of Mwangi animals west to Nex through the Ndele Gap every Neth. His backup appears to be... a pair of majestic looking lions, their pelts glinting in the sun. Kato allows himself to stroke the mane of one as the group continue their discussion, unaware of Zarrachia watching them for the moment.

[Xacha]

"Lizards and lions and dwarves, oh my ..." murmured Zarrachia.

For a moment she was torn. Her mother would saunter up to the assemblage and rely on brazenness and charm to get her through. On the other hand, her father had always insisted that "when trouble is brewing, a halfling's place is somewhere else."

It was the mention of Urgathoa that did it. Zarra was a little shaky on her theology, but she'd never heard of anything good coming from drawing the attention of the Mistress of Maggots. Anyone invoking that name aloud - in the streets of Nex no less - was up to nothing good.

Zarrachia slipped back down the alley as quietly as she could. With the festival shops open, perhaps she could find a nice concealing robe to go over her uniform. And then a quick stop by the alchemist/hairdresser Lorean. She was suddenly itching to be a brunette. And perhaps a new bucket for Goopy ...

Spoiler: Rolls

Show

Stealth (Sneak): (1d20+4)[11]
Deception (Disguise, AKA Impersonate a tourist): (1d20+6)[26]

[DigoDragon]

Ellie Sprocket, Alchemist

---

"Is that clear, Miss Sprocket?"

"Yes, Master Alchemist Borume," Ellie responded. "Regale the gifts, stay in the rear of the procession, only minute small talk." She attempted to curtsy and found it to be harder than a steel ingot to do such in this cursed garment. Ah, fashion must equate to torture in upper society. She repeated the instructions in her mind; The envoys Geb, Alkenstar, Jalmeray and elm wand are to be given the gifts of a golden pyramid, cinnabar with a spiral, a hefty Absalom, and... um. Yeah, this was all serious bismuth. Heh heh.

At least she could remember to just stay in the back of the procession and remain quiet.

"I will be of no trouble today."

[Inspector Valin]

Sachni
The crowd... do not react appreciatively to Sachni's correction. The festive atmosphere of a few seconds before evaporates into a stark silence, as all eyes turn towards the monk. The band have come to a halt, even the actors are glaring at her. Strangely, only Sir Landran seems to take this well. The knightly narrator laughs, smiling at the monk before shaking his head. "I think I know my own faith a little better than you, ma'am."

There's a chuckle from the audience. A little of their hostility seems to ehb. The foreign knight clears his throat, stepping forward to answer this challenge before the crowd. "Lady Iomedae was merciful. On occasion. But first and foremost she was a goddess of war! She fought to drive back the Whispering Tyrant, to save lives and defend the people that mattered to her."

Landran is clearly warming to his theme. He raises a gauntleted fist, his voice growing louder, "Can we do less than that? With the Tyrant returned to the world, and the ghost king marshalling his forces, we can't afford to fret over peace and civil interests. We must be ready for war! To defend our lands with steel and holy light, just as Lady Iomedae once did! As her goddess, Arazni, once did!"

The crowd is cheering once again, louder than ever before. This has gone from play to proselytizing, but nobody here seems interested in objecting. Even the homunculi band have kept up their backing music, flaring the trumpets to accompany the people's jubilation. Seemingly unfazed by it all, Sir Landran reaches a hand out towards Sachni.

"What do you say, ma'am? Do you disagree?"

Belignabo
The crowd are putty in Belignabo's hands. They laugh and gasp and cheer just as he wants them to. The back and forth with Hexizkakus has them in stitches with laughter. And when he inserts the amethyst...

There's a click as it slots into place. For a second, Belignabo can hear nothing: not the crowd, not Zalenko, not even the slightest rustle of the co makes it to his ears. Then with a THOOM, the gem's light intensifies, its radiance growing blinding. Belignabo can't help but shut his eyes, yet even through tightly closed lids, he can still make out the light of his work growing ever stronger. Plus Bel can hear a rushing sound, as though a wind had picked up, even though he can't quite feel it against his hand.

And then... it fades. The rushing stops. The little pateres and breaths of Oenopion come back. And when he opens his eyes the doll is sitting upright, glancing around at the onlookers with now open purple eyes.

"Where... am I? What is this place?" the doll asks, its voice strange, lilting and soft.

"It worked?" Zalenko seems... surprised. Bel notices the mage's hand resting against a wand at his belt, as if he'd been ready for... something. Now though, Zalenko is striding forward, staff raised and his painted face wreathed in a massive grin. He holds one fist up to the skies, and with his other hand clasps Bel's, bringing it up there with him. "It worked! Ladies and gentlemen, have you ever seen such a wonder? Behold, the craft of the Great Zalenko, and his worthy apprentice, Belignaboo!"

The crowd are stamping their feet and cheering "Za-len-ko!" "Za-len-ko!" "Bel-ig-na-bo!" Even the guard patrol watching over the display have gotten swept up in the spirit, and are joining in the excitement of it all. A rush of people make towards Zalenko's mercantile offerings, where his raven familiar Buckby is already in place to oversee sales. The master mage starts to follow them, clearly revelling in the moment. The doll meanwhile, still very confused by all of this, turns its attention to the closest figure to where it stands. Namely, Belignabo. "Could you please tell me what exactly is going on?"

Zarrachia
Maybe it was the scent of Gloopy. Maybe it was just chance. Maybe she hadn't prayed to Chaldira Zuzaristan recently or something. But an instant before she pulls away, one of the lions makes eye contact with Zarra, and she can swear she sees a glint of recognition in its eyes.

The beast roars, startling the merchants and their guards. Kato is first to react, on his feet and gesturing to the others. Zalt and his girls follow, the twins checking some mechanical detail of their guns before falling in. The two mages with Garresh look to the trader: the lizardman seemingly needs a minute to steel himself before sighing and giving a nod of ascent, joining his hirelings at the rear of the now advancing party.

The hunt for Zarrachia Marns seems to be on.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Athletics to try and outrun them, Acrobatics to try and make some distance through fancy footwork. I'll need one successes worth of lead before I allow you another chance to hide.

Assuming you don't want to just wait and see what they have to say?

Ellie
Borume looks Ellie over, sceptically considering the junior alchemist before finally nodding his head, and starting to walk towards the door. Yes! She's gone a whole conversation with the master of the city without him berating her for anything! No stupid fault or mistake for the old man to get angry at!

And... he's just turned back to Eliie, waving a hand to the table.

"Now, demonstrate the order of gifts for me, please."

Spoiler: OOC

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Retroactive Perception check

[Anyr]

Landran was certainly passionate. Sachni could empathise with such fervour. For all her monastic discipline, she too felt the thrill of battle. When next she spoke, it was as a fellow student of war.

"Sir, I'm a soldier as well. I've sworn an oath to fight for my country. It's true that, some day, you and I might be forced to defend our loved ones. Perhaps we'll even end up fighting side by side."

Then her voice hardened. The teacher had returned.

"...But talking of the future won't change the past. Iomedae did not slay the Black Prince. That truth is recorded in a thousand tomes. Should anyone here visit a library and check for themselves, they will not find your stage play on the pages. They will find the truth.

I can respect your desire to fight. But please, admit that it is your desire. Iomedae chose a different path."

[DigoDragon]

Retroactive Perception check

Perception (retro): (1d20+5)[21]

Ellie looks at the table and tries to move the objects in the right order. She points to each object. "Geb, Alkenstar, Jalmeray, and elm--I mean, Absalom."

[Estralita]

Raka
At the approach of the...thing, Raka's hand instinctively went to her sword. Every instinct was telling her to smash the thing before it went on a rampage.

But... In the whole of this crowded epicenter, it(they?) was the only one to actually react to the problem. That was worth something in Raka's book. " This man needs a healer! Do you know how to help him? OR know someone who does?"

[Xacha]

Two blonde-furred feet flew down the alleyway.

Zarrachia knew that side-streets during festival season were not the place for flat-out running. Fortunately, her father had always emphasized knowing your territory. "Run smarter, not harder," he'd said, or something like that anyway.

Dodge to the left, juke to the right, go under the loaded wagon - a halfling specialty - and then, if she could slip through the crowd around the local tavern, she could slip down into the poorer section of the quarter. Lots of nice winding streets to get lost in back there. Lots of junk to hide behind.

"Whattaya say, Gloopy? Think we can show these merchants a side of Oenopion that doesn't make it into the guidebooks?" Gloopy bubbled happily. It must be nice to be an ooze sometimes.

[Spoiler=Rolls]
Acrobatics roll
(1d20+4)[12]

[Inspector Valin]

Sachni
The knights stand there as Sachni continues her retort. The one playing the Black Prince is about to step off the stage, but a tap on his shoulder from Landry stops him. Instead, the Knigt Commander jumps from the platform, striding forward to meet his accusor more directly. Sachni too gets a better look at the lying potentate - from his impeccable red goatee through his twinkling blue eyes all the way to the scar that runs across his throat and the muscles just visible at the joints in his plate armor. He may not have been born to it like Sachni had, but he's still evidently a warrior - heart and soul.

Though those things seemingly have a very different meaning to a Knight of Lastwall.

"So. You're sticking with this, are you?" Landry hisses in her ear. For the first time, looking straight into his eyes, Sachni sees a furious burning wrath from the northman. He knows full well that she's right, and being exposed is frustrating beyond measure to the knight. Before she can react further however, Landry has stepped back, addressing the crowd once again with his familiar tone. "You're really going to call me a liar in front of all these fine people?"

A chorus of disapproving murmurs rise up from Sachni's fellow park guests. "Shameful!" "How rude!" "Typical monk for you." Landry spares Sachni an ever-so-brief smug look, before returning to his proselytizing ways. "Before my proud nation fell to the undead scourge..." The audience erupts in boos, as the homonculi string upon their viols in a melancholy chord. Landry waves a hand to quiet them all. "Before that fateful day, we had rules for that kind of thing. Those who would accuse a Knight of Ozem of dishonesty and perfidy would be asked to back up their words with steel, and a duel to first blood."

The knight serving as Iomedae has ventured behind the stage, and now returns with two blades. Long, hefty swords - matched, and each bearing the crest of falled Lastwall. She comes to a halt before Sachni and Landry, bowing and proffering each of the pair a blade. Landry takes one, though for the moment he does not draw it, instead running his hand across the familiar sigil in the scabbard's hilt. "Of course, this land has different laws. But I doubt either of us wants the other's head. This is a chance to show the people of Nex what the honour of a Knight means! Or... for you to prove your point, I suppose." He turns to the crowd, raising a hand, "What say you all?"

The cheers are deafening. The crowd's irritation at Sachni has been surpassed by the excitement now on offer with the idea of a dual. The people sitting by Sachni nudge her, gesturing forward, clearly thrilled at the prospect of whatever's about to happen.

Spoiler

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Hope this is okay. If you want to try and gain control of the crowd's reaction, I'm going to need a social skill roll, unless you can come up with a plan to turn them around another way.

Ellie
The wand for Absalom, pyramid for Geb, deck for Alkenstar and tome for Jalmeray. Just as Borume had indicated. The Master Alchemist blinks, and for the first time, Ellie feels she's seen him honestly surprised by something. The old man looks at the relics a second time, then back to Ellie, then at the relics once more. He finally closes his eyes with a sigh.

"You think you're smart, don't you? Just because you were lucky enough to guess it right."

"Am I interrupting something, Borry?" a voice comes from the door. A man with pale skin and a leather jacket worn above a robe strides into the room, smiling at Borume. The old alchemist bristles visibly at the manner of address, but sighs, "Just... preparations for this afternoon." He glances to the young lady at his side, and the jacket wearing pale foreigner before him. He waves a hand as his form of introduction. "Ambassador Karja Masari, of the Kingdom of Geb. Miss Elizabeth Sprocket. Junior alchemist"

Ambassador Masari grins at Ellie, a grin that reveals a pair of sharp pointed fangs. He offers a hand. "Charmed, Miss Sprocket. Always a pleasure to see a new face in this dusty old hall." He winks, offering the girl a whisper as she shakes his hand. "Nethys knows, I've gotten tired of Borume over the years."

Spoiler

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Depending on your reaction, I may require a will save.

Raka
The metal thing seems to have heard her. Its torso swivels in place, legs and arms bending backwards in a strange, insect like way as it turns its attention to the fallen warrior.

"He-does-app-pear-to-be-in-jured."

The metal whatever-it-is clearly knows how to state the obvious. All the same, Raka can almost hear its chest puff up as it speaks again, "I-am-equ-ipped-to-pro-vide-medi-cal-aid-in-eme-er-gen-cy-si-tu-ati-ons." There's a brief fuzz sound from somewhere within that torso, and the ichor of the giant starts to flow bright blue. It bends down above the fallen warrior, studying him more closely, bringing those pointed hands towards the wound.

"How-ev-er." It seems the monster is growing reluctant. Or perhaps simply embarrassed. It pauses before continuing to explain itself, as if trying to find the right words. "This-man-is-not-a-res-i-dent-of-Oen-o-pion. Mas-ter-Bo-rume-re-quires-a-fee-to-pro-vide-treat-ment-to-out-sid-ers."

Of course. The behemoth shifts, bringing its torso down next to Raka. With it this close, she can make out a slot in its chest just big enough to fit a coin. The creature speaks up once more. "Please-in-sert-three-sil-ver-pie-ces-or-fo-reign-eq-uivi-lent."

That's as much money as Raka earned all day! She has it still, on her cart, but if she pays up she's out of food for the night! All because this 'Borume' has ordered the iron thing to make outsiders pay for its assistance?

[DigoDragon]

Ellie
The wand for Absalom, pyramid for Geb, deck for Alkenstar and tome for Jalmeray. Just as Borume had indicated. The Master Alchemist blinks, and for the first time, Ellie feels she's seen him honestly surprised by something. The old man looks at the relics a second time, then back to Ellie, then at the relics once more. He finally closes his eyes with a sigh.

"You think you're smart, don't you? Just because you were lucky enough to guess it right."

"Am I interrupting something, Borry?" a voice comes from the door. A man with pale skin and a leather jacket worn above a robe strides into the room, smiling at Borume. The old alchemist bristles visibly at the manner of address, but sighs, "Just... preparations for this afternoon." He glances to the young lady at his side, and the jacket wearing pale foreigner before him. He waves a hand as his form of introduction. "Ambassador Karja Masari, of the Kingdom of Geb. Miss Elizabeth Sprocket. Junior alchemist"

Ambassador Masari grins at Ellie, a grin that reveals a pair of sharp pointed fangs. He offers a hand. "Charmed, Miss Sprocket. Always a pleasure to see a new face in this dusty old hall." He winks, offering the girl a whisper as she shakes his hand. "Nethys knows, I've gotten tired of Borume over the years."

Spoiler

Show

Depending on your reaction, I may require a will save.

Ellie was a little surprised at how well she guessed right. "Well, I... did learn from the best."
Lying through her teeth. It was really just a random chance of probability with limited information gleaned from the names of the guests and the purposes of each object, but blind luck was easier to say in conversation.


Ellie blushes and offers her hand for the 'protocol'. "Likewise, ambassador." He has fangs? Why is that? Oh! perhaps a mutegen used... no wait, he is not likely an alchemist. Oh, maybe he's part creature of a sort? what's his blood type?

When he whispers his comment about the alchemist master, Ellie could not help but giggle a little. She tries to keep it quiet.

[Anyr]

Sachni stared down the approaching knight. Both he and the crowd were clearly out for blood. Well, that was fine. Sachni hadn't expected a positive reception. She was just fulfilling her duty. She waited patiently for Landry to finish ranting. He once again appealed to aesthetics, rather than reality. She couldn't help but pity him. As she replied, her expression had a hint of sadness.

"What a strange custom. 'Back up their words'? 'Prove my point'? The truth is the truth. Even if you beat me to a bloody pulp, the Heavens won't move an inch. Iomedae redeemed the Black Prince. Neither of us can change that."

This lesson had been drilled into her, early and often. She'd been quite an egotistical child. Sachni still took great pride in her skills. But these days, she'd learnt to accept things as they were. Landry had yet to do that. He accepted the ornate blade offered by his subordinate: As if it had the power to alter his fate. Sachni made no move to take a blade of her own. Instead, she carefully set aside the snacks she held. Then her stance subtly shifted.

"Still, I rarely pass up the chance to test myself. The matter of your false play is already settled. But what say we have a sparring match? If you manage to beat me, perhaps it'll help ease the pain."

Sachni wasn't an idiot. She knew she might lose this duel. She also knew that the outcome didn't matter. So why not gain some combat experience? Sachni stepped forward, into the makeshift arena.

Spoiler: OOC

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Sachni enters Tiger Stance. I hope that it's okay to do that before the fight starts. It seems akin to Landry taking a weapon.

Initiative: (1d20)[18]

Since the stat used for initiative can vary in 2e, I've just rolled a straight d20.

[Syless]

"Farrah, is it? Farrah. Is this what your parents would want? I know what day it is. But this isn't how it works. You can't just steal power. You're not a-" She hesitates. Does she want to convince him, or does she want to be more honest? ...maybe there's a middle ground. "If you think power is the most important thing, no matter how you get it, are you really any better than the Blood Lords? Than all their followers in Geb?"

She turns then to the beggar. "Do you know the magic in this book? There might be a compromise where everyone wins. Would you be willing to teach this child, if he returns your book? At least a little lesson? Perhaps if you prove yourself as a tutor, his family can sponsor you to help him."

Spoiler: OOC

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Diplomacy (Farrah)- (1d20+5)[16]
Diplomacy (Beggar)- (1d20+5)[10]

[Gwynfrid]

Belginabo's elation knows no bounds. He feels like he's ten feet tall. IT WORKED! He can't quite believe it. The cheers, the crowd going crazy, the looks on all those people faces, the thundering applause brings him back to reality. He made it! He's now an apprentice to a great arcane master!

... Then the doll speaks, in a calm, reasonable, if bemused tone. Belginabo is speechless. He was about to follow his new master and go help customers, but instead he turns to the magical contraption he just reanimated. "Er... Whaaat?" He stands there open-mouthed, the opposite of the glib crowd-pleaser he just proved himself to be a minute ago.

"Could you please tell me what exactly is going on?" The... thing says. It doesn't just speak. It's polite. This detail is what finally shakes Belginabo out of his stupor.

"Er... Hum... Well, to be honest I didn't expect you to have a mind. Heck, I didn't expect you to even work! At least, not this well! Er... Sorry. I mean no disrespect. Sir." It dawns on him that the mannequin, whatever it is that gives it a mind, might not appreciate the manner of its awakening. His first instinct, in any normal day, would be to claim having nothing whatsoever to do with the situation. But the applause still rings in his ears, and his pride at his fresh success gets the better of him.

"It was me who woke you up, Sir! Just like that! On my first day! I'm a wizard, you see!" This might be too light an explanation, so he elaborates.

"So... Er... How can I explain... It's a bit complicated. There was this doll. Mechanical, mind you. But Master Zalenko - that's him, over there, being congratulated by this half-elf in the red jacket... Master Zalenko found it. He studied it, and said it was animated. Once. Long ago. But he, er... well, he said he could revive it. I mean, you. Revive you. He gave me the magics to do it, you know. So, er... I did. I hope you like it! And, you see, all these people... They're very impressed. With the magic. And with you, for sure! I mean, it's really fantastic!"

He pauses, looks at the mannequin quizzically. "Er... And... In fact, where to you come from really? Er, I mean, originally?"

Spoiler

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Should that be needed: Diplomacy (1d20+6)[20]

[Inspector Valin]

Zarrachia
Gloopy's happy burbles grow rapidly faster and higher pitched. Looking to her side Zarrachia sees what her ooze has noticed, and her heart almost skips a beat.

The lion has tilted its head to the ground, its eye level with the halfling and her pet. The beast is looking right at them.

She's about to roll out the other way, when she sees two sandled feet step into view. "Going somewhere, Ms. Marns?" Kato calls with a chuckle. Zarra's utterly surrounded now. The other two merchants file into the alleyway, along with their bodyguards. The halfling who'd been tending the cart takes one look at the impromptu squad, and bolts for the safety of the inn. Zalt takes a knee before the cart, the better to address Zarrachia with. The dwarf is grinning like a cat who got the cream as he looks down into the halfling's eyes.

"Dere ain't no way oot of 'dis, lassie, sew get yer sorry behind up ere. We caught ya oht, an' naw is time fer ye ta do wroight by us."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Yeah, you have no idea what he's talking about. And it's not just because of the accent. You can try a Society roll for it, but the DC to twig what's going on is 20. This may call for some fast talking.

Ellie

Spoiler

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To be fair, Ellie made the roll - she was able to follow. Borume just didn't expect her to: he made his gestures hard to follow intentionally to try and catch her out as not paying attention, and he's kinda a sore loser.

A worthy will is not quite enough to render Ellie's giggle inaudible. Ambassador Karja keeps a good poker face, just raising an eyebrow and letting a little spark of mirth across his eyes. Borume glares between the two suspiciously, but seemingly lets the incident pass with a snort as he returns to his notebook. "I need to go see to the rest of the arrangements for tonight. Ms. Sprocket, entertain the ambassador for now, as best you're able. Masari?

The unspoken question cuts like a chill wind. Karja sighs, "Yeah, yeah. If she has marks on her neck when you get back, you can fine me fifty gold or something. Satisfied?" Borume doesn't look exactly satisfied with that answer, but he seems to accept it: nodding after a brief pause and leaving the room.

At last.

Karja removes his jacket, hanging it up over a portrait. He takes a second to be sure that it's the current Grand Alchemist he's obscured, before taking a seat at the table. He glances up at Ellie, "So. You're the one Borume selected for this shindig tonight?" The Gebbite rests his booted feet upon the council table, leaning back in the chair with a relaxed look. He chuckles at his new companion, "Any idea why he picked you, Zabby? Kill his favorite 'monculus? Blow up his flowerbed?"

Sachni

Spoiler

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I'll say perception for initiative, so final result of 21 for Sach!

(1d20+13)[15] for Landry

Sir Landry doesn't bat an eyelid at Sachni's refusal of a blade. He takes three steps back from the Jalmeran, enough to give the two some space for this confrontation. "It may not settle anything for you, monk. And yes, it proves nothing. But it's a question of honour now. And the honour of the Knights of Lastwall..."

His blade erupts in a shower of golden sparks, to the delight of the crowd. "... can not be broken!"

Adria
The pale woman bristles at this. She steps forward, glaring at Adria "You - you can't be serious. To get back what's mine, you'd have me... this spoilt, good for nothing brat isn't fit to..."

She stops. Turning, Adria can see Farrah's face. The boy has turned his face away from the two women, and has his eyes firmly shut to try and hide the growing tears, but has stepped forward and is holding the book out towards the beggar woman. "Pp-please?" he mutters.

Everyone is silent in that instant. The beggar seems taken aback as well. Finally though, with an irritated tut, she nods. "Fine! Fine. I'm not going to put up with you for long, but I'll go over Thaumaturgical Precepts and some Applied Conjuration. Once a night until the eighth, starting at sundown, in your house. It'll be enough to help you find an apprenticeship at least."

That seems to be enough for Farrah. The boy nods repeatedly, almost pushing the book into the befuddeld woman's hands. The young man looks between her and Adria, not quite sure what to say, and not wanting to make a fool of himself. Finally he settles on a "WHOOO!" and starts running towards the Guildhall area, his friends chasing after him. The prospect of wizardry finally being within his grasp has outweighed any remaining social anxieties for Farrah today.

The pale woman sighs, pulling her hood back to reveal a bob of dark red hair. "Thank you, priestess. Really. You give good counsel. I'm sorry for snapping at you, and the boy." She takes a second to return her spellbook to a pack on her back. She lingers, looking down at it while thinking back. "I... used to be a teacher, once. I think I lost the knack somewhere along the way. I never used to let children get to me like that. Or maybe they were just better behaved back in my time."

The strange woman snickers a little at that, before offering Adria her hand with a smile. "Call me Miley."

Spoiler

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And I said I'd up this to a crit with the info from the subroll, so here's the rider!

Before the conversation can continue however, there's a small voice coming from somewhere below them. "Excuse me? Ms. Strange Lady? And erm... Ms. Other Strange Lady?"

The girl who'd tried to talk Farrah down is there, pulling on Adria's robe. She looks younger than her friends, definitely less than ten years in all, with her hair pulled back into a braid and a pair of ivory-rimmed glasses over her eyes. She tries to curtsey, though the effect doesn't really work when you're holding on to someone else's robe. "Would you like to come have lunch with me?" She looks back towards the road her friends had run down, frowning. "Mother and father are working, so I'm all alone. Everyone else has to get ready for the reception tonight. It would be nice to have company."

Belginabo
It takes the doll a few seconds to answer. When it does, the tone of its words shifts. The musical tone of them has not been lost, but this sounds more like a sad symphony of days gone by. "Osirion, once. But that was very long ago, during the age of the Four Pharaohs, when their empire blanketed the land. They conquered the Tekritanin League, brought our empire to its apex, to the point we covered most of the land on Garund. When the Four died, things were never the same. I ventured south, to a region that was as far from Sothis as I could manage, where folk were speaking of independence. My friends used to say that a land long united must divide to remain strong. I wonder if that held true."

Pause. The doll studies the still bustling crowd, even as some of them look on at this creation, enrapt at its existence (and not registering exactly what it's saying). "This looks like Garund still. So you and your master repaired my body?" It flexes its fingers, first the right hand, then the left. It turns its wrists, exploring just how much movement remains to it. Each joint functions perfectly, the tiny clink of metal the only indication of their artificial nature. The doll, seemingly satisfied by this, turns back to the being who renewed its life. Its faceplate has shifted into a smile. "Thank you. This is fine work. You are a gifted wizard, little gnome. I am sure you will go far."

Spoiler: OOC

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Bit of a weird stop, but I wanted to give Bel a chance to ask any followup questions before advancing the scene further. It's a Society roll if you want me to break down the context of that whole origin answer for you, DC 15. (Jalmeray is a bit removed from all that, but it's still 'local history' overall.)

[Anyr]

A familiar thrill ran through Sachni. There was a certain magic in the moments just before a duel. Unlike Iomedae's ancient match, this contest was still in doubt. Sachni felt the rush of uncertainty. Was this man an overconfident braggart, who'd soon fall? Or was he a brilliant warrior, who would mop the floor with her? Time would tell. Sachni took a single breath; And began.

The monk's body became a blur of motion. Ki energy accelerated her dramatically. Rather than charging straight forward, she traced a circle around Landry. Then she rushed him from the opposite side of the arena. Her hands struck at him, like the claws of a tiger. She aimed to overwhelm him with a relentless barrage of attacks.

Spoiler: OOC

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Action 1: Cast Ki Rush. Sachni Strides twice around the enemy, enters melee range, and gains the Concealed condition.
Action 2: Use Flurry of Blows.
Action 3: Strike.

Flurry 1: (1d20+7)[8]; Damage: (1d8+3)[11]; Bleed damage (crit only): (1d4)[1]
Flurry 2: (1d20+2)[4]; Damage: (1d8+3)[9]; Bleed damage (crit only): (1d4)[4]
Strike: (1d20-1)[4]; Damage: (1d8+3)[10]; Bleed damage (crit only): (1d4)[4]

All damage (except the crit bleed) is nonlethal.

[Xacha]

Spoiler: Rolls

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Society Recall Knowledge for S&G: (1d20+4)[18]

Meanwhile, Zarachia tilts her head, opens her eyes wide and gives Kato her best "blonde" look.

"Actually ... I believe you're thinking of leprechauns. They're the ones who have to grant a wish if you catch them. I think catching a halfling just gets you an irritated halfling."

Zarra hops to her feet and continues her patter, "But hey, it's festival season, so why worry about who caught who and what the hell is going on. It's time to celebrate magic and wizards and, um, other things like that. I mean, just yesterday I got to see an AMAZING magic act where a wizard pulled a rabbit out of someone's left nostril ..."

... and so on.

Spoiler: Roll

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Diplomacy- Make an Impression (Going for a "friendly and slightly dim" vibe here.): (1d20+6)[12]

Zarra's working from the sound bureaucratic principle that a good line of bull**** will get you out of any problem.

[DigoDragon]

Ellie

Spoiler

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To be fair, Ellie made the roll - she was able to follow. Borume just didn't expect her to: he made his gestures hard to follow intentionally to try and catch her out as not paying attention, and he's kinda a sore loser.

A worthy will is not quite enough to render Ellie's giggle inaudible. Ambassador Karja keeps a good poker face, just raising an eyebrow and letting a little spark of mirth across his eyes. Borume glares between the two suspiciously, but seemingly lets the incident pass with a snort as he returns to his notebook. "I need to go see to the rest of the arrangements for tonight. Ms. Sprocket, entertain the ambassador for now, as best you're able. Masari?

The unspoken question cuts like a chill wind. Karja sighs, "Yeah, yeah. If she has marks on her neck when you get back, you can fine me fifty gold or something. Satisfied?" Borume doesn't look exactly satisfied with that answer, but he seems to accept it: nodding after a brief pause and leaving the room.

At last.

Karja removes his jacket, hanging it up over a portrait. He takes a second to be sure that it's the current Grand Alchemist he's obscured, before taking a seat at the table. He glances up at Ellie, "So. You're the one Borume selected for this shindig tonight?" The Gebbite rests his booted feet upon the council table, leaning back in the chair with a relaxed look. He chuckles at his new companion, "Any idea why he picked you, Zabby? Kill his favorite 'monculus? Blow up his flowerbed?"

Spoiler: Rolls

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Society roll to try and be polite and well-mannered: (1d20+7)[26]

Ellie tries to.. erm. She maybe could sit... ah? Ellie tugs her dress up a little in the back and gently sits down on the edge of a chair, doing her best to balance and not mess up her dress. Hmm, curious observation that the ambassador has put his coat over Grand Alchemist Borume's portrait. Perhaps he suspects the Grand Alchemist spies through his paintings?

Wait, marks on her neck? Is the ambassador...? Oh. Ah.

Ellie wibbles a little in the chair. She needs to keep the ambassador entertained, however. "Oh, dear me, nothing like that! Well, I've had a recent string of small, erm, fires in the labs. I've been researching a more efficient compound for breaking down stone. Something that would favorably be useful in mining. But I... haven't found a way to store it safely. Jostling the liquid sets it off, you see. I've been temporarily assigned to book research in the library as of late. Perhaps I was chosen because I was available. Not that book research is any less important than the labs. I just... find it a bit tedious."

[Syless]

Adria takes Miley's hand. "It wasn't an ideal outcome. But I'm hoping in the long run it's better for you- Farrah may be difficult, but I want to see you get back on your feet. No one should be suffering in the street. My other thought was getting him to buy it from you... but I imagine that book has more than just monetary value to you. And while I'm no mage... I imagine casting magic without knowing the basics could go badly."

She then turns to the younger girl and smiles. "I would be delighted to accompany you. Being alone is... being alone is never fun." She tries not to let her own emotions distract the girl. "Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?" This day is looking bright. Hopefully this tone will continue...

[Gwynfrid]

Wow. Belginabo is momentarily speechless. This goes well beyond his experience. While he tries to recall some of the names the strange mechanical... creature... referred to, he answers, reasoning that it could be beneficial to make friends, of sorts, with it: "Garund, yes, correct. Oenopion, in Nex, to be precise. Er... What do you think you'll wish to do now?"

Spoiler

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Society (1d20+4)[11] - all right. Does he at least know where Osirion is relative to Nex?

[Inspector Valin]

Zarrachia
The routine gets a confused look from the lions, but it goes over reasonably well with the help. One of the Zalt girls snickers, and the mages can't bring themselves to look at her, turning away conspicuously. If it'd just been the hired help after her, that might've actually worked!

But there's always a critic, isn't there?

"No! No more games!" Kato stamps his foot on the ground, and the two lions roar, drawing close enough to Zarra and Gloopy that she can feel their breath on her feet. The Mwangi trader glowers at the halfling bureaucrat. "We know you stole from us. Either it was you who did the deed, or you pointed men to our warehouses, knowing full well we couldn't go to the guard about goods that exist in your little 'grey area'. You played us for fools!"

Garresh raises a hand to silence Kato, who acceeds with a grumpy snarl. The lizardman steps forward with a tired look on his face. He really doesn't want to have to do this. "Nobody needs to suffer here, Zarrachia. Just... admit it. Either bring us to where you hid the stuff, or tell us who has it now, and give back what they paid you for it. Then we can try and put all of this behind us."

Spoiler: OOC

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They're all being quite sincere. But yeah, Zarra has dealt with these three in the past, just to be clear, but never did anything like that. (At least, as far as I know? They were just regular traders looking to bring slightly questionable things through her gate, and paid her to help make it happen smoothly.) Would go really poorly for her if people heard this story though - nobody'd ever try and work under the table with her again. And then where would she be?

Ellie
"A mining acid, hmm? Now there's an old dream."

Karja strums his fingers on the table, as though this were a casual conversation in some dinner lounge, and not the seat of power of the industrial heart of Nex. He hums, before offering Ellie a thought, "You considered trying to simplify the brewing process? If you could break it down to the point people at the mine can make it, storage wouldn't be an issue. Ship them the components, they make it as they need it."

He doesn't seem to expect any followup from Ellie on the point - it's just a suggestion, not an attempt to take the reins from her. Instead the strange vampire leans back, looking up at the ceiling for some reason. Ellie can't make out much more than a coat of blue paint over plaster if she follows his gaze. "I'm an arcanist, not an alchemist, bot gotta admit: I always thought the best lab was the field. Trying to come up with stuff while you're exploring strange ruins, or running away from monsters makes you get creative. Heh, we could've used your acid back in Ustalav, when the Whisperin' Way had us locked up, let me tell you Zabby."

Masari chuckles, though there's a bit less humour in it than before. He seems almost melancholy as he looks back to Ellie. "S'pose I'm biased though. Ask an ex Pathfinder where he wants to be, it's pretty much always 'somewhere else'."

Spoiler

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Even without a roll, Ellie knows who the Pathfinders basically are. *cough*

The Pathfinder Society is a globe-spanning organization based out of Absalom, the City at the Center of the World. The membership consists primarily of Pathfinders, adventurers who travel throughout Golarion—usually inconspicuously—and explore, delve, and otherwise experience the lesser-seen parts of the world. They send journals documenting their travels back to their venture-captains, who also assigns them new missions and suggests new places to explore. The most exciting and illuminating of these journals are compiled in the Pathfinder Chronicles, an ongoing series of books that collect the history and mystery of Golarion for its membership and the general public

Sachni

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Yeah, that's not just three misses, that's three critical failures. And Landry got a crit on his first response. Don't like doing a player dirty, but this fight ended up more one sided than I expected.

Landry seems surprised at the sheer speed Sachni's assault comes at. He spins with her, the golden light of his sword meeting the ki of her impossibly swift strikes with a rapid succession of thwooms and sparks. His knights may have been slower, but Landry's faced ghouls and ghasts on the field of battle, slain zombies that stood as tall as a cottage. He meets each blow, one, two, three, before countering with a single skillful thrust.

And just like the Black Prince, Sachni is run clean through by the Iomedean's blade.

It takes the good knight a second to catch his breath. When he does, he nods to Sachni. "Well fought." Oh yes. 'First Blood'. According to the knight's knightly rules, he's already won. Landry manages a grin as he stands, raising his hands to the crowd. "But a Knight of Lastwall's honour is not something so easily tarnished. Whatever you might say, lady monk. Lady Iomedae, and her words, are with me still!"

So runs his mouth, anyway. The crowd cheer, of course. The man who was saying things they wanted to hear won. Beneath the Lastwall Knight's bravado however, Sachni can see that the northerner struck her more deeply than he meant to. He has the grace to look a touch shaken. Without a word, Landry steps forward, looking at his counterpart apologetically. He raises a hand, one that glows with the same golden light as his blade, but it feels different now. More soothing, even at a foot's distance. Landry meets Sachni's eyes, looking for her approval before finishing the healing spell.

Spoiler: OOC

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If Sachni accepts the offered Lay On Hands, she's healed to full. Otherwise, 14 damage from that round. (I'm not 100% sure if I'm incorporating a full Fumble Deck like approach for every fight, but with multiple nega-crits from her and a crit by Landry, it seems appropriate as a one time measure)

And yes, you're welcome to 'it's not over till its OVER'. I wouldn't recommend that option, but it is open to you.

[Estralita]

Raka

This. This was what her tribe had warned about. Not just that outsiders were merciless to their enemies, but they wouldn't even spare basic sympathy for others. Resident or not, goblin racist or not, this man was probably dying, and whoever was in charge of the machine was holding his life hostage for money! Several goblin words for these kind of people sprang to mind, and she fought to avoid spewing all of them at once.

However...

Raka had promised herself that she would be better. Better than outsiders, better than her tribe, better than she had been. That she would do the right thing, defend those in need.

Time to pay up.

And so it was with only a twinge of regret that she tossed the coins to the machine, only stopping to make sure they were accepted, before heading back to the alley.

No time to wait. She had a job to do.

Spoiler: OOC

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Perception check!

(d20+6)[17]

Also, if you look at Raka's sheet, her gold and feats are accounted for (now)

[DigoDragon]

Ellie
He doesn't seem to expect any followup from Ellie on the point - it's just a suggestion, not an attempt to take the reins from her. Instead the strange vampire leans back, looking up at the ceiling for some reason. Ellie can't make out much more than a coat of blue paint over plaster if she follows his gaze. "I'm an arcanist, not an alchemist, bot gotta admit: I always thought the best lab was the field. Trying to come up with stuff while you're exploring strange ruins, or running away from monsters makes you get creative. Heh, we could've used your acid back in Ustalav, when the Whisperin' Way had us locked up, let me tell you Zabby."

Masari chuckles, though there's a bit less humour in it than before. He seems almost melancholy as he looks back to Ellie. "S'pose I'm biased though. Ask an ex Pathfinder where he wants to be, it's pretty much always 'somewhere else'."

Ellie's eyes light up when she realizes what he is talking about. "Th-The Pathfinders? Y-You? I didn't real... that is..." Ellie wibbles again. Maybe the corset she's wearing has cut the blood flow to her head? She taps both index fingers against each other in her lap. She looks very pensive.

"My recent... erm, lab accidents have had me worried that I will be limited for quite some time in using them. I was thinking that... ah, perhaps if I could travel a field I could gain some experience as an alchemist. At the same time I wouldn't cause Master Alchemist Borume any trouble should something go wrong. But, I've never traveled outside this city and don't know of anyone like... like a Pathfinder who I could get help with my idea. I don't suppose... that you could tell me how one could get started to be a Pathfinder?"

She looks up at him with her big, abler eyes, intently listening to whatever he's going to say next.

[Anyr]

Each and every one of Sachni's blows were deflected. The same couldn't be said of her opponent's strike. She had just enough time to raise an eyebrow, before being impaled. The pain was incredible. She staggered back a step, as the shock rippled through her. Thankfully, relief came quickly. With her permission, the knight's holy light healed her wounds. Sachni took a moment to regain composure. She stared down the man who'd caused her such pain. Then, for the first time, her mouth curved into a grin.

"That was...brilliant! What a strike! Your defence was excellent too! Thank you for this sample of a foreign combat style. It was most educational."

She gave him a bow of acknowledgement. The moment was short-lived, though. She quickly circled back to the original cause of the duel.

"To be clear, you're still a liar. And I greatly disapprove of your methods. But even so, I'm glad we met."

With that, Sachni departed the stage. If her snacks hadn't been eaten by an opportunistic bystander, she'd pause to take them. Then she left the park behind. Oenopion was certainly a lively place. Sachni looked forward to seeing what else it would throw at her.

[Inspector Valin]

Adria
It turns out the girl just wanted the two women to come home with her. She walks them to the more fashionable streets of Briarby, opening the door to a terraces house with a long key she wears around her neck. Stepping through, the pair enter a stone room that looks central to the house - some kind of open book lies on a desk beside a pen, and above them hangs a spiral staircase that seems to slowly rotate, leading up to floors barely visible from this angle.

A perhaps foot tall humanoid with bat wings and a tiny waistcoat comes buzzing in from the landing one above. He bows, "Miss Peridora! Welcome home!" The glasses wearing Peridora returns the bow with a curtsey and a warm smile. "Thank you, Xanthus! Be so kind as to show my guests to the drawing room? We'll be taking lunch there."

The lounge Xanthus escorts you into is tastefully appointed, with leather chairs to rest in, a long table to sit at, a series of cabinets containing strange curios, and bookshelves lining the walls above them. In the other room, you can hear Peridora humming merrily away to the sound of boiling water. Miley sighs as she sinks down into a chair. "This... this is something I could get used to."

After a few minutes, the young lady and the homunculus both return. Peridora carries a tray bearing four cups, and a silver pot with the Nexite sigil on it. Xanthus bears a selection of sandwiches on a small platter. The two hosts insist on pouring for the guests, before each taking a cup of their own. Peri, now at the head of the table, coughs and attempts an adult voice. "In the name of the Great Archmage, I bid you all cordially to enjoy your very fine tea."

Belginabo

Spoiler

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It's due north, the north east point of Garund. Katapesh, a whole other country, lies between you and it. Here. Osirion hasn't had an empire for a long time too - most people these days would call the era of this doll 'ancient Osirion', but it was a thing long ago. Most of Garund outside the Mwangi Expanse was theirs at one point, and Osiriani is still one of the most widely spoken languages in both Nex and Geb. Zalenko was at least roughly right - Nex and Geb are both very old, but the doll is just as old, if not older.

It takes the doll some time to come up with an answer for Belginabo. When it speaks, its words are once again slow and soft. "Honestly? I do not know where to begin. I knew that this may happen to me one day, but to be confronted with a new world such as this is quite overwhelming."

The doll glances once again at the crowd, then looks up, taking in Oenopion's skyline. When it speaks again, it sounds a little stronger. "This city seems peaceful, and not actively dangerous. I will remain here for now, and take some time to familiarize myself with the current state of local affairs. Mostly to ensure I am aware of any active wars or noteworthy political tensions, and make a decision based on that. Does that sound reasonable?"

Raka
Raka's irritation at the strange, money grubbing ways of Oenopion carries her down the trail swiftly. She winds through a maze of back alleys, across patches of soot and over shipping crates. The man had come a long way since he was wounded. But before she finds the end of the trail, she almost runs straight into another inhabitant of the backalleys, moving just as swiftly towards her.

A goblin. This one has ash grey skin, and is perhaps a head shorter than Raka. He carries a crooked blade, the hilt tied to his belt with rope rather than a scabbard. There's dark orange markings painted around his nose: he's a Cindersnout, one of the tribes that lives near Alkenstar, and he has the fancy jacket to prove it. Blue, with golden epaulettes. Though there's something off about that part. The blue's been covered by a hefty splash of something darker, running up the fold of the coat.

Blood. Not just that, the same blood Raka's been tracking, still wet. She can practically smell it on him.

It takes the bespattered villain a second to process who he's bumped into. He looks over Raka's face, trying to place her, assuming even a strange goblin with a different skintone might simply be some member of his tribe he'd forgotten about. As he fails to remember her, it starts to dawn on the Cindersnout why a fierce looking warrior was following the same trail in the other direction. He holds up his hands, backing away from Raka as non-threateningly as he can. "Not... not me! Not my fault! W.. I not kill mask-man!" he cries.

Ellie
"Hah! You wanna join the Society, do ya?" Karja grins, placing a hand to his chest. "Should've known. Less than five minutes with me, and you already want to follow in my footsteps, right?"

The once living wizard snorts, before actually starting to give Ellie an honest answer. "D'pends on how official you wanna be. Properly speakin, a new recruit's supposed to apply to the Grand Lodge in Absalom. Y'll get tested by the three ol' deans: Swords, Spells and Scrolls, an' about three years of training in all the various little bits of an adventurer's life. Then you get your shot at working in your field, with an assigned mission called your Confirmation. Pull it off, you're a full agent - get issued a Wayfinder, a bed at whatever lodge you venture past, and a venture captain to nag you about getting your reports in on time."

"There's ways around that. The Decemvirate can grant a field commission for exceptional results, someone they really want to join the society just gets in like that. The Lodge Masters are willing to be flexible too; bring a discovery in to one of them, they can count that as your Confirmation - if you can convince them you're as good as a trained initiate." Karja chuckles, but this discussion has left him meditative. He returns to looking at the ceiling, though he doesn't stop speaking to Ellie. "Ask me? The biggest part of it all's just having the right attitude. A good Pathfinder's curious as a bug: they want to know more about everything, and they don't stop asking questions just because it ruffles some feathers. You can't train someone to think that way, either they do or they don't. And if you do, that's more valuable than any support the Society'll ever offer you."

Sachni
Sachni's wanderings, with time, take her to the steps of the Guildhall. A relatively humble title for the seat of power of a large city, though that much was likely unintentional. It looks more like the palace of the Thakur back on Jalmeray, multiple pointed towers surrounding a great dome. Even the front door is raised above the ground, requiring anyone who saught the council of the cities government to ascend a flight of smooth cut stairs, all the while looking up at the hall the Guild of Chymestry have built for themselves.

A gathering that's formed in the square before the building however is the thing that catches the monk's eye first. A crowd of very young children, overseen by their smiling parents, stand within a forest of lights. Tiny trees have risen up around them, their boughs level with the young ones' heads, and with leaves coloured purples and blues and reds. Strange animals dart through the brush, and pass around the delighted little onlookers. Sachni can see monkeys with the ears and tails of cats, a bird with the wings of an eagle and the bill of a duck, even a flight of crows with feathers every colour of the rainbow.

There's a gentle cough from behind her. Turning, Sachni finds a woman in a red robe smiling at her, flanked by two colleagues in identical dress. She gestures to the display. "And you, ma'am? What would you like to see?"