Having a name for our group leads to suggestions on how we can leave our mark whenever we perform a good deed, so the people will recognise our acts. 'As we are called the Lights of Westcrown', Skelra says, 'let's leave a candle behind'.
'Personally, I prefer the other suggested name, Children of Westcrown. We should leave a baby behind. At least that way it won't get blown out by the wind.'
'Or we could compromise.'
'And set fire to the baby?'
We find ourselves recruited in to the resistance, after an innocent dinner date ends with us being chased through sewers by the local military force. It turns out, however, that they are not so much resisting the political power as intending to sway the populace with good deeds and kind words. We've more found ourselves recruited in to the Girl Guides.
Whatever the agenda we have been recruited for a reason, being the most competent adventurers the group has and wanted for our skills and capability. A longer interview with us probably would have been a good idea, but we've both been forced together now. So the group provides the direction, and we drive them towards it. But they seem a bit hapless currently, causing Ganelon to wonder 'what are we going to do with this rabble? Beat them in to some kind of order?'
'Is that our paladin talking?', asks Skelra, concerned about possible alignment issues. Besides, the group is probably less coordinated than usual only because their leader has been captured on trumped-up charges, and are currently looking to us to concoct some kind of plan to rescue him. A few idle thoughts are thrown around until Skelra has the idea that 'we could wait until he's executed, then raise him as a zombie'.
It's an interesting thought, particularly as no one will likely be guarding his grave, and even Ganelon has to admit that it's the best idea we've had so far, although I point out that it's probably because it's been mostly him talking so far.
Janiven, second-in-command of the Lights of Westcrown, as we have dubbed the group of Girl Guides, tells us that Ariel, their leader, may be moved as early as tomorrow. As it is currently the evening it doesn't give us much time. 'We can sleep tonight and start tomorrow', says Ganelon.
'Start what?', Brennan and I ask in unison.
'The rescue plan!', apparently, our paladin either not realising we still don't have one, or under the impression that we're going for the zombie option. We should probably stay up a bit later.
Elves are different in Pathfinder. I don't know how we missed it last week but our elven companion is over six-feet tall, which I would say is uncharacteristically taller than the humans but apparently it isn't. Elves are tall now.
It's possible that we didn't notice the elf looming over us because they are modelled in part on the night elves in World of Warcraft, adding to their height with extended ears, much like tall buildings fake it with aerials and transmitter towers.
The height being augmented by the elf's lugholes is a reasonable assumption and, with the player of the elf carelessly absent this week, he gets renamed. And so we come to have in our party the ranger Afutavere, ranger and fiend of animals.
We are still in the sewers and being guided hopefully to safety by our new acquaintance. 'Let's continue to stalk through here quickly', suggests our paladin, Ganelon.
'Technically, we can't stalk quickly', I reply, dangerously close to turning in to Bernard Woolley. Having to make stealth checks changes the subject quickly enough to let me off the hook for now. We are all moving pretty quietly, except for our man in shining armour, Ganelon clanking his way down the poo-stained stones.
The stealth checks are followed by perception checks. 'What do we hear?' asks Ganelon.
'You, you noisy bastard'. We have no idea if the Hellknights are catching up with us or not, which is causing some consternation amongst our group. We are running blindly down dark and smelly sewers, not even knowing how safe our destination may be.
'Are we going to have to fight the Hellknights?' asks our wizard, Skelra.
'No, we just have to run', bard Brennan says, 'and only Ganelon will have to fight them', pointing out the disadvantage of being the only party member in movement-restricting armour.
I'm sure the paladin's okay with standing his ground in the name of goodness, though. But it doesn't come to that, as a torch light ahead indicates movement towards us. The ranger and I sneak ahead to try to get some element of surprise on whoever is coming up to the junction, but instead the three Hellknights round the corner and get the jump on us.
The first Hellknight swings at me with his longsword and hits me hard. I'm still standing, but only long enough to take an attack of opportunity at the second Hellknight trying to get past me. I am able to disarm him of his longsword but the strenuous action is enough to cause my injury to knock me unconscious.
The first real encounter of the adventure and I am unconscious and bleeding to death before the combat reaches my order in the initiative. This is becoming a habit. Luckily, I have hardy companions to stay by me, Ezio the ranger saying that 'I don't want to move away from Ur'thwrm Jim, he's dying', although I'm hoping that's not because he wants to apply a coup de grace.
Disarming that one Hellknight turns out to be a good manoeuvre. Being unarmed causes him to back off, a second is feared by our wizard, and the third now standing by himself is soon killed by the party. Ezio shoves a healing potion down my throat and I jump up and roll through poo in time to see the unarmed Hellknight cut down, leaving us alone again. We move on.
We would move on, but the paladin wants to see what the Hellknights were carrying, checking out their longswords and admiring their armour. 'A paladin looting the bodies of the dead?!' cries our wizard, himself a necromancer.
'No!' says Ganelon, although there is little more rationalisation for his desecration of the dead. And his god doesn't seem to like his actions here either, because when the feared Hellknight returns, bringing some friends, Ganelon spends most of his time face down in the poo, stumbling and slipping as he tries and fails to keep his balance in the sewers.
The rest of us do a better job in the second fight. I stay alive and disarm anyone who comes close, and Brennan uses his whip to good advantage by tripping the Hellknights. The disarmed and prone Hellknights provoke attacks by trying to pick up their weapons or stand up, are easier to hit when lying on the floor, and barely tickle us when not wielding longswords. The fight against four goes better than the fight against three. It goes to show how important it can be to control the field. Or the stream of poo, whatever you happen to be fighting in.
There's another purple shrieker ahead of us. The giant mushroom gets its name from the shrill noise it emits when it detects movement nearby. I have no idea what evolutionary purpose this serves, but if it shrieks the Hellknights looking for us will have a good idea which direction we're moving in.
We can't move in to melee to cut down the shrieking mushroom, but most of us have ranged attacks that we can use. We're relying on the ranger, adept with the bow, but the wizard, bard, and paladin all step forwards to help. Coordinating their attack, on the count of three all four characters use their weapon of choice.
The bard's whip lashes forwards and strikes the shrieker!
The paladin throws a knife that sticks directly in to the purple mass!
The wizard's crossbow bolt thuds in to the mushroom!
The ranger doesn't know which end of an arrow to hold, and it clatters ineffectively down the sewer!
The purple shrieker we attacked stays quiet, its life essence drained by the three hits, but the second, unseen shrieker around the corner is startled by the arrow skidding past it and lets out a high-pitched noise, a bit like the squeel of our ranger when he fumbled his attack. Still, at least we have three competent members of the party when we need to rely on ranged attacks.
Our initial meeting with a government antagonist is going well, being fed and all. Of course, it can't last, and a young lad pounds on the door and, when our host Janiven lets him in, looks petrified as he tries to speak. 'They've got Ariel! Um, Aryel? Air... How do you pronounce that? Anyway, they've got her!' It sounds serious.
In fact, it's even more serious than it sounds. The lad was followed by Hellknights, and none of us want to stick around to find out if they live up to their name. Luckily, Janiven has an escape route planned, and she leads us in to the kitchen and down a trapdoor, throwing a tanglefoot bag behind her to slow down our pursuers.
Down in the sewers, Janiven pulls out a sunrod to light our way, to the astonishment of Brennan Fin, a bard who was expecting only a light dinner date this evening. 'In one encounter she's already blown more than any first level adventurer!'
'She can't have blown more than our elf friend here, and he's only first level.'
A new setting, a new adventure. Five of us have been separately summoned to meet with a woman about overthrowing the city's government, and we all meet for the first time in a derelict inn. A couple of us expected more than ourselves to be present, others are surprised not to be alone, but we are all thrust in to the same room for the first time as strangers.
Our host greets each of us before heading off to the kitchen. 'Excuse me a moment', she says, 'I have vegetables to attend to'. It's clear we are supposed to go around the room and introduce ourselves when she leaves, but I can't help but reach for my D20 like I'll need to roll initiative soon.
'I am Ezio, private dick', says one of our number, finally breaking the ice.
'Pleased to meet you, madam', replies the paladin.
'No, I am an elf.' I may be needing that D20 after all.
In a passionate fury, Ulbrexis couldn't help but reveal himself to Assod Moria, leader of the Broken Chain organisation, in the middle of the previous fight. Now we face the consequences of being party to this supposedly dead mutant sympathiser.
The local arbiters demand we hand over Ulbrexis to them on a death warrant, but our own arbiter has other ideas, Matthias being well aware that the death warrant has been signed off and is no longer valid. It's probably for the best, as thousands of serfs have come from the mines and their homes to see if the rumours of the return of their previous, benevolent baron are true. They are quite in awe to see Ulbrexis again.
Although the local authorities are backing off, even if they are unsure to do so, the Royal Scourge are more adamant about us letting them take Ulbrexis away. They have heard the rumours of his survival themselves, spread during the couple of hours we spent being dug out of a partially collapsed mine. And despite the leader of the Scourge being fazed by us revealing ourselves as agents of the Inquisition, he repeats his demand again for Ulbrexis to be handed over to them.
Matthias rallies the serfs of Ulbrexis's old barony, shouting 'who here is willing to defend your returned master?', and the crowd surges forwards. The Royal Scourge are jostled and a shot, intentional or otherwise, rings out. Ulbrexis is winged, the shot hitting his arm, and the mob turns nasty. The Scourge are immediately engulfed by serf bodies, even their autoguns not being a defence for the sheer weight of the crowd baying for their blood, and the unit is ripped to shreds by tooth and nail.
Without us even drawing a weapon the Royal Scourge meet a grisly end. 'But we still get the XP, right?'
The mutants have fled back through their entrance tunnel, a mundane explosion collapsing it behind them. I throw the gibbering wreck of Matthias over my shoulders and head for the nearest tunnel to escape the blast of the supernatural bomb that has been set and has already melded in to the rock. Dariel and Mordecai run down the same tunnel to avoid the blast, and we find ourselves temporarily trapped as serfs toil to remove the fallen rocks amongst the rest of the devastation.
There's only one thing to do. Mordecai uses his psyker powers to cast 'forget me', a potent power that compels a target to forget he ever met Mordecai. If only it were a permanent effect, but anyway. Determined to see his power succeed Mordecai rolls 4D10 to try to exceed the psychic power requirement, which he does, but the risk of piercing the warp is realised, a 9 appearing on one of the D10s. A roll on the perils of the warp table thankfully produces a miniscule roll of 14, and all that happens is the air feels a bit frosty around our psyker.
Undeterred, Mordecai offers to heal Dariel, who was harmed during the battle with the mutants as they planted their bomb. 4D10 are rolled and his healing power is successful, this time with no 9s in the result and no harmful side-effects. Mordecai heals me next, again rolling 4D10 without any fateful 9s cropping up. Our party is back almost to full strength. It's not enough, though.
Mordecai is adamant nothing should threaten our party whilst we are vulnerable in this partially collapsed mining tunnel, us being acolytes of the Inquisition and the most capable four people on the planet be damned. He summons his power once more to create an inspiring aura. But this time the 4D10 produce another roll of a 9, and the subsequent D100 roll is a mighty 96, meaning we move from summoning a peril of the warp to a greater peril of the warp. And if that weren't bad enough this second roll is even higher, a 98 resulting in Mordecai becoming a demon host!
A demon host is almost the worst possible result, the psyker opening a rift that lets a demon possess him which then wreaks havoc until destroyed. Killing the demon can normally only be achieved by killing the host, and the situation looks dire for all involved.
Help arrives in the form of a GM veto, however, and he ret-cons the use of the psychic power when he realises that he has to roll the stats of the demon host himself, which looks like a lot of work and would disrupt the flow of the game. And also because he realises that, in the absence of the player of the psyker around the table this week, I've just been rolling pyschic powers continually until something bad happened. What a spoilsport.
Some intelligence gathered potentially gives us the location of the next Broken Chain strike. We head there with a team of local arbiters to reconnoitre the scene, looking for any suspicious activity or packages. Our few hours of investigation don't turn anything up, but the intelligence proves to be correct when, from out of nowhere, mutants burst out of the tunnels and spread panic. And one of the larger mutants runs towards the middle of the site with what looks like a bomb strapped to his back.
We leap in to action, drawing weapons and engaging the mutants. A solid hit from Dariel against the mutant with the bomb doesn't seem to do much, his metallic body negating much of the impact. 'But surely he's limping', says Dariel, hoping to have slowed his progression, 'now that I've shot him in the... arm'. Apparently not.
Meanwhile, our old enemy fear rears its head again. Not only does the sight of the heretical mutations instil some ingrained panic in to us, but a psyker creates a fearful aura, one that Dariel cannot help but stare at. He is shaken to his core.
'I have to make a willpower check at -30? That puts me on 5! I have zero chance of making that', he says. Technically, that's a 5% chance, but he fails. Matthias isn't doing any better, his mind struggling to cope when getting close to the metal mutant. He rolls a mighty 80 on his fear check, easily failing, and the several degrees of failure making the consequences potentially worse.
Matthias uses a fate point to try to convert his 80 in to a more favourable result, sadly instead getting a 94 on his second roll, which he must keep. That extra degree of failure then adds to the almost-maximum 99 he rolls on the fear table. Unsurprisingly, he goes a little bonkers for a bit.
I am not coping too well with a man apparently made of metal and, when sighting him with my hunting rifle, am transfixed by the abomination. The only acolyte unaffected by the horrors around us is Mordecai, and if that weren't bad enough he is nearest to Dariel's random nutjob shooting, making him prime target. And the bomb has been planted and set. The fight could be going better.