I forgot a few things, which suggests that I wasn’t on the ball as I think I was:
1) You are coming from Eleder going to Kalabuto. Sorry, Rolland, you were right and then we convinced you that you were wrong. I knew Eleder was involved somewhere, I just wasn’t sure what the other city was called. The Shrunken Head – to answer your question very late – is a tavern in Kalabuto.
2) Ben and Noe I had a card for you and I forgot to give it to you.
3) Rolland, I had Tupperware for you and forgot to give it to you.
4) Who went to speak to the old lady and who just enjoyed the shit out of some dancing. I know for sure that Percy went dancing because Percy had no idea what was going on until someone had to stop him from dancing.
Rolland also didn’t know how much XP he had received for some session ages ago. I think everyone is doing pretty well with this, but if you want, I can start keeping a better track of that stuff and record it. It’s usually something I have to tally at the end of the night (because that way if you ding, you can update your character before we play again) rather than award at the start of the next session. It seems fitting that you are given XP at the end of the session, any other way seems heretical. However, it is also the phase of the evening that we are all less likely to get our addition correct. I dunno, if it becomes more of a problem, I’ll start using the Paizo session tracker sheets.
Anyway, the session after the break (clickbait!) will blow your mind or at least (apologies to those concerned) suck it clean out of your skull!
On deck for this session:
Percy: Dancing like there’s no tomorrow!
Floki: The Waffle-Evil Ranger!
Malicia: Barely leaving stealth to socialize!
Dellen: Seriously regretting his decision to rejoin the party, which we kind of glossed over!
Nobody: All his bullets have ‘Aunt Chumplug’ carved into them, just in case!
We left the party on the far side of the Salt Mine, with N’Kechi having brought the oxcart through, proclaimed the trail good and with Athyra making camp. The party settled into a beautiful evening staring out over the moonlit savanna that lay before them and picked whatever chunks of salt remained in their stinging wounds and scratches.
The next morning they set off, N’Kechi reading the landscape in consultation with Athyra who seemed to know the area well. Progress was swift and they descended the low hill the salt mine had deposited them on and made their way into the seemingly endless grasslands. The first thing that struck the casual observer was the overwhelming amount of game that seemed to exist, always just slightly too far away to be seen distinctly. Antelopes by the hundred, from heavy Wildebeest to slender gazelles, moved across the grasslands among flocks of resting or ground dwelling birds. Floki was keen to kill some of this stuff to take as trophy, by N’Kechi cautioned against killing during the day, as the evening was the less disruptive time of the day to kill as everything else would also be killing each other. Kill now and you’d attract the savanna’s dogs and N’Kechi seemed keen to avoid them as he regarded them as amongst the most dangerous of scavengers. Paths seemed pretty easy to find and the landscape was mostly flat, so they made good progress.
Nobody got to fixing his gun from the various Mended parts, while Dellen fixed up his Morning Star, good as new. Percy had plenty of chances to commune with his goddess as the sun bore down on them through the day. By the time the sun started to set, however, distant campfires could be seen. Traffic on the roads this side of the Bandu foothills was not uncommon – metals, precious stones and minerals were carted off by merchants, but that trade attracted plenty of other, less savoury characters, who were often quite happy to cart off the merchants and their wares. Curious but cautious, Malicia went ahead as scout, creeping through the grasses and slipping from short scrubby tree to short scrubby tree.
When she neared the camp, after what seemed like an age of careful sneaking, she saw a collection of different tents. All in good condition and some opulent, there were numerous different styles. Every once in a while a number of guard-looking guys would circle the tents, blethering amongst themselves. Malicia’s Tengu ear holes are attuned to picking out interesting languages and she could hear Common, Polyglot and Vudrani as well as other exotic tongues spoken by the wandering guard patrols as well as in the hubbub of the camp. The tents were ringed, more or less around the area of the campfires, with wagons and carts located between the tents. Malicia slipped closer to get a view of the inner circle of activity, but a voice cried out in her direction in Vudrani. A man stood up on a wagon seat and peered into the darkness near her, calling out – to her? to his buddies? – Malicia wasn’t about to find out and she began slipping back into the darkness of the savanna. The man was joined by others who wandered out from camp a little before returning, apparently none too worried at having something sneak up to their camp.
“It was nothing, ha ha ha ha, this is my first day of guarding!”
They spent a day travelling ( I think) which brought them within sight of the fringes of the Laughing Jungle, a mass of green to the south that they’d be skirting almost until the get all the way to Kalabuto. They rested and then started another day of travel which quickly brought them within sight of some sort of village. It was a reasonably large settlement for the area, bigger than other villages they had passed earlier in their journey. N’kechi thought this was exactly what they should be heading towards, so on they went.
As they approached, the villagers began gathering near the entrance to the village. They waved and looked happy – nay delighted – to see the party and the women of the village sang a song and a wave of little kids streamed out of the village and danced around the cart, welcoming the party and laughing their heads off. It was a colonialist’s fantasy of how they’ll be received by natives: These people where PUMPED to see the party. Which is weird, because almost no-one is.
The village housed maybe 300 people, many of them children and was partially palisaded on the jungle side, with two watchtowers erected, one of them fairly new. Livestock was kept within the village in pens and chicken runs. The people seemed well fed and healthy. The village elders welcomed the party to humble Sandha and conversed with N’Kechi briefly. They were delighted to have the honour of hosting the party and thrilled at the prospect of a caravan coming to their village. THIS WAS ALL GOING SO WELL!
At least it was, until glancing over the heads of the beaming, celebratory villagers, Nobody caught the sour eye of one old woman, shadowed in her mud hut door way. Their eyes met for a second or two and Nobody had the distinct impression she was giving him the stink eye. She slowly closed the wicker door on him, her eyes rheumy eyes never wavering from his.
Okay, cool idea lady, here’s a better one – said the party – how about we don’t all go in the hut and ambush it, but spread ourselves thinly throughout the village and catch the Chemosit when it goes to the hut? Yeah! So that’s what they did.
Floki and Thrima peered into the darkness, but with no light, weren’t seeing much as they’d like. Malicia (saving the lecture on gun safety until a more opportune time ) and Dellen dashed out into the village’s packed earth central area, the cleric of Desna summoning a Celestial Wolf to help him in this fight. The party converged on the spot Percy had fallen and the Chemosit saw them and bellowed at them, the disorienting sound of a nightmarish predator, resounding across the plains, shaking Nobody, Thrima and Floki, before the bear-ape-asshole turned and fled the village at speed. The party prepared to give chase, their missile weapons of little use in such darkness. Dellen’s wolf and Floki’s leopard gave chase, but as they watched the pursuit, Dellen was viciously attacked from behind, an attack he didn’t see coming. A massive form of fur and shredding claws fell on Dellen and Floki, swiping and biting at them, its back legs hopping up to rake whenever its claws found purchase.
Oh Percy, you had a good run. Somehow you managed to get promoted from familiar to full-fledged player character. Then you survived being marooned on an inhospitable island, fought off some ancient evil, and made it back to the mainland. You learned to dance and enjoy life, perhaps having grown past your misanthropic ways to become a warmer, kinder person.
Then you got yer brains eaten. At least it wasn’t a zombie. How cliché would that have been? And as a cleric with powerful anti-undead powers, it would have been insult to injury. Nope, your killer was an ape-bear, which I bet you didn’t even know existed before the day you took the express train to Saranrae. So there’s that.
There are some rays of sunshine (and I know how much you liked sunshine *sniff*). Our party has less character overlap. We now have one Tengu and one Cleric, removing some redundancy in our lineup. Also, I have a straight-up fighter queued up to replace you, my fallen friend. For the first time since we started Pathfinder, I will be playing a Tank, and may he spill enough blood and gore to please Lady Arradin.
Hopefully, his first task will be turning that fucking Chemosit into a pelt.
Well, shit. Looks like I’m dead.
Thanks for the memories, I guess.
Oh wait, nevermind, those are now being digested by a Chemosit.
ಠ_à²
Well see you on the flip-side suckers, I’m going up to meet Saranrae and feast on celestial eyeballs. I’ll be drinking with Uun, Victor, Corwin, Don and elven Albedon soon. And don’t worry, we’ll save a spot for you.
-P