Pathfinder Society: The Mists of Mwangi

Uzumaki

Uzumaki

Just bein' ahwnist
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Feb 4, 2013
It is a bitterly cold Absalom night. It was only an hour ago that you were sitting in the comfortable office of Adril Hestram as he made clear to you the Society's reasons for throwing your lives away so casually.

“The Blakros Museum is cursed," he explained "Some unexplained darkness has descended upon the place and those who enter are drowned with evil and left raving through its halls, overcome with something bestial and wrong. The curator, Nigel Aldain, is an old associate of the Society, though he chose to leave our organization some years back after a... disagreement.” Adril pronounced this last word as if remembering some distasteful incident from his youth.

“Nigel has long denied the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s considerable collection of relics and scrolls, even using his extensive contacts to nab several excellent finds right out from under us... he always did have a nose for the hunt." Adril smiles a moment before regaining his composure "Whatever is past between Nigel and the Society, he needs our help now. Perhaps if we can come to his aid, he may think on rejoining the Pathfinder Society, or at least offering to share his discoveries with us.”

“Apparently the trouble at Blakros Museum began this morning, shortly after a wayward Pathfinder named Lugizar Trantos returned to Absalom after months spent in the Mwangi Expanse. Supposedly, instead of coming straight to the Lodge to report in, he went to Blakros, sold his finds to Nigel, and then disappeared with a considerable sum of gold. Our sources tell us Lugizar was much changed by his time in the Mwangi... gaunt, wasting and distant, a shell of himself. Whatever he brought back with him, we believe it is the cause of the Blakros Museum’s ills. Root it out.”

The Venture-Captain handed you a map of the museum, and impressed upon you that time was of the essence. Of course it wasn't so pressing that you didn't have time for whispered conversations with discreet messengers, Society politics being what they are. Check your PMs for faction missions.
Blackros_Museum.jpg

An hour later, and here you all are far from the comfort of the lodge, in the cold of the night. The Blakros Museum rises into the sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in two. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within.

What do you do?
 
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Commander Stryker is basically a marine, with a short dark hair that isn't going bald and a dark goatee. He's super buffed like a pussy magnet, but not in a homo way. He saunters over to the doors and draws his tactical scythe in his left hand and his handcrossbow in his right hand.

"Okay soldiers, we all know that every mission could be our last, even if it's our first. And I've got a bad feeling about our first mission. Because it's this one."
 
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Asta stood there with her arms crossed. Standing at 6'2 and thin as a rail, her mother always called her a "Willowy Beauty." The compliments always rang hollow, as her form was a reminder of her indiscretion. He blonde hair was cut short, Asta never had much use for long hair, got in the way when you were hiking in the thick woods in the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Her passion was nature and she is often thought to be a Druid, but her human father insisted that she study as a Cleric, just as he was. He may not of been her biological father and he was as hard as any Ulfen man, but he did what he thought was best for her. The strangers around her were new to her, but this was not unusual in the Society. She just hoped they would not get her killed. She darted her green eyes at the strange human and wonder, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?"
 
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Dira was never one to panic, even when faced with a cursed building. Standing at 3'3 and possessed of broad shoulders, he stood out in the rag-tag group like a sore thumb. After all, a dwarf paladin was about as rare as a drow paladin. None of that would likely matter anyway, considering the circumstances of the group being at the museum.

He had a jagged ungroomed blond beard that cascaded down from his chin, that coupled with his wide variety of equipment gave him the look of a homeless hoarder. Of course, he wore and carried a wide variety of equipment in preparation for his first assignment with the society.

Pointing at Stryker, he made his thoughts on the human's dynamic entry perfectly clear.

"You, sir. You are clearly insane if you think you're going to charge into the place and take all the glory, without leaving anything for me."
 
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Grocknog glanced over the building with a cocky, amused look on his rough, scarred face. The barbarian's heavily muscled body stood at 6'0, and he carried a tattered backpack filled with equipment. His years of fighting, looting, and killing had given him a face like a cutting board. Of course, due to his half-Orc heritage, he was never much of a looker in the first place. He slicked back his black mullet and scratched his rough, stubbly beard as he spoke aloud to no one in particular.
"Hah, museum think it can scare Grocknog? Grocknog is no afraid! Grocknog will smash puny demons inside building like they were commen bandits and eat their delicious brain goo. Stryker, you go first."
 
As Stryker approaches the door the silver mist continues to billow forth, wafting around what is basically a marine to no obvious ill effect. Whatever it is, it isn't a contact poison.
 
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Asta recalls what she learned of the religious practices of the Mwangi Expanse, and how it might pertain to the situation at hand.

Much of the Mwangi’s darkest interior worships a demon lord named Angazhan, who is described in the Book of the Damned as a thing of primordial darkness, a foul-breathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. The jungle is his beating heart.

The Gorilla King’s dread city was founded hundreds of years past by cultists who bowed to Angazhan. It is said they captured the souls of monkeys in the wood-grains of strange idols called Tik Taan. The monkeys’ tormented spirits became the slaves and playthings of Angazhan, who murdered their playful whims and replaced them with a deep-seated hate and wild madness. These Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of anyone who spends too long in their presence.

The cultists who created the Tik Taan were hunted by a brave tribe of the Mwangi called the Jambala Jaeg. The Jambala Jaeg created ritual knives, crafted out of bone handles and obsidian blades, to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan. Legends speak of the deadly mists of the Tik Taan, ill humors that invade men’s hearts by seeping into their mouths. Anyone wearing a scarf or other protection against the airborne menace is immune to its effects.
 
Dira strides forth into the mist, making sure to adjust his beard along the way. It is very clear to him that it's a trap, yet he still charges into the mist with his greatsword drawn.

"I fear that Stryker has led us all into a trap with his entrance. Get ready for anything."

Keeping secondary objectives in mind, Dira ponders his next actions carefully. It is very clear that the mist is being used to conceal any potential foes, therefore his unique talents will come quite in handy. His hands grip the hilt of his greatsword tight as he waits for a foe to appear, grinning manically all the while.

All the while, the mists seep into his mouth..
 
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Dira charges past Stryker and through the doors, breathing deep of the blasphemous mists.

Will save 17.

The unshakable, stone-like faith of the dwarven paladin is too much for whatever demonic foulness pollutes the air of the museum to overcome. The dwarf takes a few more deep breathes as he looks around the Atrium. Besides the eerie mists partially obscuring some decorative pillars, he sees nothing but a single hallway stretching east.
 
Astas palm hits hits her forehead, "They are going to get me killed." As she gains her composure, she calls out, "You bilthering idiots, get back here or that mist will ruin you! You need to cover your mouth and nose, heck, your ears while you are at it!" Asta covers her mouth and nose and moves in to inform the idiots.
 
It's a simple matter for Asta to tear off a piece of her cloak and fashion a make-shift covering for her mouth.

I will also point out that Stryker hasn't breathed in any of the mists, he was just outside the door. It would only have affected him if it was a cloud of acid or something, since the clearly-gay cloud was touching his body.
 
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Dira charges down the hallway, putting the Greatsword back onto his back and breathing a sigh of relief. He makes a quickie prayer to Torag, thanking the Father of Creation for his right to live another day.

Hearing Asta, he shout backs a quick response at the top of his voice.

"Emaciated Ulfen, that would been handy to know 2 seconds ago."

He walks over to Stryker, hoping that whatever may be in these mists has not effected the brash human. If so, there are always ways of administering a final mercy...
 
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(I just realized I have no idea how to make blue text lol)

"You would of been told, had you waited."
 
It's the A with the underline right beside the Bold, Italics and Underline buttons.
 
Cassidy Northcott was quite late to the scene and admittedly she realized her folly when she finally laid eyes on her assigned companions. While she was quite obviously a tiefling, as suggested by her black horns, eyes, and matching scaly tail that whipped around behind her, she looked like an average human otherwise. Her skin was a dark olive and clear aside from a light freckling at the tops of her cheeks and her brown hair was tied and braided, going down just past her shoulders. She clutched her scizore tightly in one hand as she went forward, coming up behind Astas. She growled under her breath as she shouted towards the entrance, "What the hell are you all doing? Come back!"

Cassidy rolled for intimidate: [7, 3] = (10)

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4547392/
 
The fact that the Pathfinder Society has rules against killing fellow agents takes some of the sting out of Cassidy's threat. Still, it might serve to step out of the demonic mists anyway.
 
"Ok, all we have to do is cover our mouths with a bit of cloth and we should be fine." Asta turns to the Teifling. "Please do not threaten people, I understand I may have lost my cool but we must....*stress sigh* work withe these people to get a job done." At this point Asta turns to the rest of the party and says, "Are we in agreement?"

Asta rolled for Diplomacy: 17

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/search/1448097/
 
There's no point in using social skills against one another. That stuff is settled purely by roleplay.
 
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