Finding the Spark (Pathfinder 1E Quest)

11th of Rova 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

"I know little of the ordering of this world under the sun, but this much is certain, no warrior of sense nor chief given even a modicum of wisdom starts a fight with the iruxi, for they will end it. An inquisitor of the land you so hate and servant of their hateful gods, gifted an idol of power and mastery over stirges, died for the folly of attempting to make pawns of Gorok's kin. Do you think that was happenstance?"

Akorian Bluff: 1d20+17 = 31(Success)

"Bluh," the captain's eyes snap to yours like you had just threatened a curse of want onto his kith and kin. "Didn't mean ta set you off."

Gorok pauses, though his tail is still sweeping the planks in small swift twitches. He was not in the mood for more babble.

Luckily that does not seem to be what's on offer. Your improvised retort seems to have startled some sobriety out of your host: "Look, if you were a tribe of wild elves or something I'm sure one of the town councils around Darkmoon Vale or in the Verduran Forest would be fine giving you whatever land you could carve out from the trees and the damn sprites, but most folk don't know an iruxi from an ifrit. You need to prove yourself is the point. No one's gonna want neighbors who can't hold their own against beasts and bandits, which your folk certainly can from what I'm hearing."

"Who's to judge how much proof is enough, those that profit in the proving?" Gorok asks, cutting to the heart of the matter as swiftly as ever he carved through the hides of hellhounds.

Mayhap if he weren't so lost in his own glass the captain could have come up with a satisfactory answer instead of doing his best impression of an eel out of water, gasping and flickering.

Caulker Recovery (Diplomacy): 1d20+6 = 8 (Failure)

"During the Age of Enthronement, the wandering Varisians started to settle the lands in the shadow of the Hungry Mountains," Mina intones, something learned by rote and ill-fitting to the harsh duergar tongue. "But good land was scarce for the Kelids and Sarkorians who dwelt atop the high hill forts, so they raided and took from them heavy tribute more than the Road could provide. But on that Road there came a boy, short of stature but long of sight and deep of wisdom named Soividia of the Ustav-kin and though his people had less than even those who came before he inspired them to band together against the Kelids and their thirsting spirits, he made war upon the shaman-king Vogax, claimed his head and dragged his holy stone into the heart of his new capital which he named Ardis. The Kelids curse his name and when they yet lived the men of doomed Sarkoris did much the same, but those people of the wide Road who settled in the land under his rule took his name for his own and we honor it." She turns to look at Gorok, looking at once bashful and out of breath from all the history. "Whether they have scales or not, newcomers have to prove themselves often in the blood of common foes. It's the world we all live in."

Mina Knowledge (History) (DC 20): 1d20+11 = 30 (Success)

Iolda looks like she is about to say something about the matter, but thinks the better of it, taking a long draw of her oyster stew.

As for the iruxi, though they pass from anger to bemusement to cautious acceptance. While you would not call the remainder of the meal companionable, you've had worse. Caulker manages to explain the precise process of setting up a stead-hold and incorporating a new village, and from the looks of things Gorok does not find it too onerous, assuming these 'local officials' and 'traveling judges', chiefs and dancers as the People would put it, are indeed willing to act with good will.


13th of Rova 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)

It is, Gorok later says in confidence, better than the edge of wood-cutters axes or the spells of their dark master. So at least he hopes and so do you. The night is not as bright as the ones which had come before, but mayhap the future is instead. So it is that you are left contemplating the waves and trying to guess at the confidence of the 'seven days to Augustana' which Menkir had prophesied. How confident could anyone be of a journey's length at the mercy of water and air both?

Perhaps you should have paid more attention to the others on deck instead of the water, or perhaps you are just unlucky to have been looking at the wrong patch of the stuff. The first sign you get that something is amiss is silence creeping up behind you, and then out of the corner of your eye you see your shadow outlined in pale green light.

Akorian Perception (DC 14): 1d20+ 8 = 9 (Critical Failure)

You snap around to see the whole of the crew stopped in place, staring glassy-eyed at the squat green-scaled amphibious figures, streaming out the water. The light flows with it, ripling acros the scales, twisting and becoming a taste you've never sampled.

Akorian Will Save (DC 15): 1d20+4 = 14 (Failure)

In an instant it is gone, shadows rushing in from nowhere like being doused in cold water. Without words a voice speaks, Sirim: "See to yourself, shadow seer. Ceratioidi are abroad this night and they will make shark bait out of all land dwellers who intrude on their domain if they have their way."

Only then do you notice that the strangers are armed with spears of horn and bone, their seeming leader sporting a staff of oddly colorful stone that it had been to using to direct the warriors to stand half by the clump of sailors at the fore of the ship and half outside the door of the aft cabin, at least until the darkness came, now they are all converging on you. At least the lights make them easy to count. There are only ten of them in all, but then again they hardly need numbers when they are facing foes who will not raise weapons in their own defense.


In darkness you weave a glamor, just as spears start to prod at empty air. Sharp keening cries issue from mishapen mouths, giving you a far better sight of the razor sharp teeth than you ever wanted. Moving with as much stealth and silence as you can you head towards the back of the ship and away from the comforting but inadequate comfort of the darkness. In haste you weave shadows of your own, sending them searching not for a foe nor some treasure, but under the door to warn the others. Alas, you cannot move the twisting shaows well enough to write, nor can they make a sound, but maybe...

There, the otyugh hide feels just as blistery and sticky under distant touch, tear that out and the reek is sure to wake Mina and likely some of the officers as well.

Mina Spellcraft (DC 18): 1d20+10 = 26 (Success)

The leader of the fish-men screeches something, tendril light bobbing wildly above his head and the others start to approach the sailors again, their intent as clear as it is bloody... just as the door to the cabins slides open to reveal a seemingly empty passage. Pouring your thoughts through ancient silver you feel a mind there just as you hoped, Mina. Wrapped in her own glamor, fragile as fungus wood chared black, a single spell will have both of you revealed.

What do you do?

[] Attack the fishmen, there is only three of you counting Sirim, but all of you are hidden and the sounds of battle are sure to draw the others
-[] Write in battle plan

[] Try to get below decks to find the others, it is too dangerous alone. Let the foe have their first stab at the sailors

[] Write in

OOC: Welp, that armor finally paid for itself somehow.