The Shackled City - Golarion Prelude

[Dragonwriter]

Marcus slides his arm through the loops on the back of his shield and tightens the straps, securing it in place, then draws his longsword. "If anyone's got a necklace they don't mind shining, cast your little spell on that. If we need to go dark, tuck it into your shirt." He nods as Nia hauls the flour sack around. "Couldn't hurt if we run into more of those color-shifters. Flour should make them a little easier to see - which happens to be why I asked about flour, in case any of you were wondering. When you see a man standing on his tiptoes with bulging eyes and a face that's practically turning purple, but no rope or hand is at his throat, then you need to make that hand and the attached attacker visible. Even if it's just by revealing their footprints."

Marcus steps over to the hole, ready to follow a short distance behind Svexyn. He shrugs at Caytis's words. "Couldn't hurt. But I've got a feeling we might need you as rearguard more than up with me."

 

[ahayford]

The party adjusted their gear and prepared themselves, each in their own way, to delve below the city. Each one had heard tales of monsters, the very stuff of nightmares, that live in ancient caverns below the earth. The gnomes foreboding tale of an abandoned city of lost magic only adds to their trepidation. Why did the vanishing happen? Where did the lost disappear to? What was responsible for forcing thousands to abandon their homes? And more importantly...was it still down there?

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The spiral staircase continued for what seemed like miles. Val shook his head to shake off dizzyness as the monotony of turning left for an eternity took its tole. Wilbur’s light cast a soft white glow down the hallway, revealing the continuing artistry of the masonry. Despite the beauty of the stone work, relics of the people that had used this stairwell to flee their homes can be found every few steps. Step...Step...Step...Some shattered crockery where a widow had dropped her husbands urn. Step...Step...Step...An old rag doll that escaped the loving grasp of a child....Step...Step...Step...A broken steamer trunk, its contents no where to be found.

Finally, after what seems like ages, the tunnel hits flat ground, and opens into a large hall. The Ceiling reaches up over 12 feet, which for a city of gnomes and dwarfs, seems towering. Unlike the beautiful, almost too perfect, masonry that led here...this room has been carved expertly from the living stone. It has a very organic feel to it, almost as if it were the inside of an earth burrowing creature’s den. The floor is exquisitely carved, much like the stairs, and a gear shaped door covers a passage on the far side of the room.

The walls themselves have been covered, floor to ceiling, in brightly colored graffiti. Some of the work would pass for masterpieces in any nobles gallery. Some are but the inspired scribblings of a child. The gaily painted walls contrast with the refuse that liters the hall. Again, the cast offs of desperate refuges cover the floor: thing either too big or too heavy to take the rest of the way out of the city.

Despite the disheveled appearance of the wall, an object in the middle of the room cannot be ignored. On a small round dais, shaped like a flower bed, a tree of tarnished silver appears to grow from the earth. Its branches are mostly barren, a few blackened silvery leaves dangle from some of the lower branches. On the earth below the tree, a carpeting of small blackened lumps of metal resemble the fallen leaves of a sick tree. On the lower branches, several ugly dark flowers can be seen sprouting from the silver wood. They seem to be made from some kind of oily dark metal. Despite their metallic construction, they seem to produce a foul perfume, like rotten garbage. Hanging from the branches you see several strange items, strung like ornaments on a tree. A string of teath, a bloody spear head, some kind of tribal fetish, a piece of dirty cloth....the items are all seemingly worthless bits and bobs.

Wilbur focus’s his light on a fresco built into the floor in front of the tree. It depicts a gleaming silver tree at the height of spring, leaves hanging heavily from every branch. Flowers of every color and shape imaginable adorn it like gems in a courtesan’s hair. Beneath it are the following words.

“A community depends on the gifts of all its people to grow strong. Give of yourself to Jzadurine, and she will welcome you. Jzadruine draws upon the abilities of all her children to make herself strong”

 

[Maidhc O Casain]

As the small group descends into the gloom, Valinnan's strange golden eyes take on a slight glow. His sight easily pierces even the darkest of the shadows that envelop them.

The young priest grows more and more glum as the descent continues. When the stairway opens into Jzadurine's entry hall and he takes in the beauty and destruction, he feels his eyes grow moist. After a moment of silent regard he shakes his head sharply, willing the doldrums away, and speaks. "Well, something's taken up residence here that surely doesn't belong, and gone out of their way to put their own foul stamp on the place." He looks around carefully, mindful of their foes' ability to blend.

 

[ahayford]

The cavernous hall leaves little room to hide. The groups light sources play a variety of dancing shadows across the painted walls. The various cast off items create an army of phantom creatures that dissolve when directly faced with your light. However, you believe that you are alone.

 

[jkason]

Caytis Maggerin, half-elf magus

Caytis considers the tree.

"I don't have a lot of sentimental things..." he mutters, then bites his lip, thinking. After a moment, he tears a small strip from his jerkin and creates a makeshift necklace from it and a platinum coin in his belt pouch. He hangs the creation on one of the tree branches.

"When in Jzadurine, yes?" he says by way of explanation.

[sblock=mini-stats]Caytis Maggerin
HP: 10/10 AC: 15(19) AC(T): 12 AC(FF): 13(17)
(values in parenthesis with Shield active)
Init: +02
BAB: 00 CMB/CMD: 00/12 ACP: -1 ASF: 00 Spot: +05

Conditions: None
In Hand: Quadrens

Saving Throw Total Base Mod Misc Special
Fort: 03 2 +1
Ref: 01 0 +2 -1*
Will: 03 2 +1

* -1 Reflex (Wyrm Blooded trait)
** Conditional: Immune sleep, +2 vs enchantments, +4 vs acid

Weapon Attack Damage Critical Special
Quadrens +2 1d6 19-20/x2 1 pt bleed on crit
Quadrens, Spell Combat +0 1d6 19-20/x2 1 pt bleed on crit
Composite Shortbow +2 1d6 20/x3 Range 70 ft.

* Conditional: +1 attack with Arcane Pool enhancement.

Arcane Pool: 4/5 remaining

Spells Prepared:
* 0 Level (3): Prestidigitation, Detect Magic, Light
* 1st Level (2, DC 15): Shield, Shield[/sblock]

 

[ahayford]

Caytis hangs his coin upon the tree and bites his lip expectantly.

Unfortunately, his efforts seem to go unrewarded...as nothing appears to happen.

[sblock=ooc] A society built by artists, sages, and craftsmen, does not necessarily value currency...but rather what each member of the commune can contribute to the whole. Perhaps something that reflects your true nature would get a better reaction[/sblock]

 

[jkason]

Caytis Maggerin, half-elf magus

Caytis frowns. On a whim, he pulls an arrow from his quiver and rests it across two branches, though his expression makes it clear he doesn't expect much...

[sblock=ooc]Caytis doesn't really have much of anything on his equipment list that he can do without. I suppose I could retcon in some kind of family jewelry, but I thought that might be going too far in terms of liberty taking.[/sblock]

[sblock=mini-stats]Caytis Maggerin
HP: 10/10 AC: 15(19) AC(T): 12 AC(FF): 13(17)
(values in parenthesis with Shield active)
Init: +02
BAB: 00 CMB/CMD: 00/12 ACP: -1 ASF: 00 Spot: +05

Conditions: None
In Hand: Quadrens

Saving Throw Total Base Mod Misc Special
Fort: 03 2 +1
Ref: 01 0 +2 -1*
Will: 03 2 +1

* -1 Reflex (Wyrm Blooded trait)
** Conditional: Immune sleep, +2 vs enchantments, +4 vs acid

Weapon Attack Damage Critical Special
Quadrens +2 1d6 19-20/x2 1 pt bleed on crit
Quadrens, Spell Combat +0 1d6 19-20/x2 1 pt bleed on crit
Composite Shortbow +2 1d6 20/x3 Range 70 ft.

* Conditional: +1 attack with Arcane Pool enhancement.

Arcane Pool: 4/5 remaining

Spells Prepared:
* 0 Level (3): Prestidigitation, Detect Magic, Light
* 1st Level (2, DC 15): Shield, Shield[/sblock]

 

[ahayford]

[sblock=ooc]I was thinking something that reflected your past or skills...maybe a fragment of your spellbook? (paper folding?) Or perhaps a fragment of your armor....although on second thought, perhaps the other item crafted of your tunic meets that requirement...hmm...I might retcon that failure if you don't mind. Thats what I get for posting in haste at work.[/sblock]

 

[ahayford]

As Caytis places the ornament upon one of the branches of the tree, it begins to writhe and shift with growth. Small, silvery leaves burst from the the branch. A small bud forms at the end of one of the branches. As it grows larger it begins to softly with a pale green light. Small, square shaped thorns erupt from the surface of the branch near the maturing bud. With a buff of glittering pollen, the bud opens revealing a polished obsidian snap dragon. Veins of green impurities highlight the flower’s surface.

As Caytis watches, a sense of welcome peace washes over him. For a brief moment, a bright blue sigil flashes on the back of his hand and then disappears as quickly as it came.

 

[Fangor the Fierce]

Svexyn looks over the place with a little bit of trepidation. Once Caytis tests out the tree, Svexyn knows that the other items are poisoning it. "The creatures now here are poisoning the tree. What was once vibrant is no more. If Jzadirune is the place that I heard it was, then it might be best to release this poison, and make sure this place knows we are purer than those now here."