Pathfinder

[Kiwi]

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Kirin Grenadine: A story to sing about


It was a long time ago, the story was sad,


A story of a young elf, and of her dad


A half elf girl orphaned as a babe and taken in by a man


Foran Grenadine, a brewer, fathered her when no one can.


The years went by, and Kirin had a great life,


No sadness, no bother, no strife,


When she blossomed as a woman, she helped around in her town


She was popular throughout, from the upper district down.


Then one day, Foran fell ill, and took to his bed


Kirin had to find medicine, or the man she grew to love would be dead.


She tried to find odd jobs, but the money was still tight


But Kirin did not give up, she knew for her father she had to fight.


All of the sudden, she came across a lute,


At first she thought, performing would be moot.


But anything for her father, she will do it


She quickly learned to her surprise, she said to herself, "There's nothing to it"


One strum she plucked, one song she played,


Till then, the lute on her back it did stay,


The money came in well, and it came in fast


Suddenly, the illness her father had become a thing of the past.


Kirin discovered her newfound gift, and she wanted more.


She decided for herself, she wanted to explore.


With her lute, sword and money to get by


With a teary wave, she said, "farewell, my village, Goodbye


Foran Grenadine, her father would not be ever more proud,


His daughter will soon attract lots of crowds.


He let her go, to become all she be be,


and thus ends the tale of Kirin Grenadine.

 

[Coin]

FITAVIXIAN JUNT MIVYAKUILON:


"Yes, yes, yes. This will do. No."





https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1WtjRGnefF-2sb0Wqef0mQBGKMKy_iisbHhxIEmzAIGI/edit?usp=sharing


Fitavixian “Fiva” is a hermit by nature and alchemist by profession. He is often very unpredictable and spontaneous in behavior, thanks to being impartial to socializing whilst growing up. Despite being frail and gaunt in appearance, he is surprisingly swift -- due in part to his constant use of volatile mutagens which alter his physical being on the natural level. Many believe that his overuse of mutagens also add to his quirky personality. Fiva seems to have no qualms in killing the innocent or wicked and no particular reason to healing and saving the wounded and sick. When prompted, Fita will choose not to interact socially with others but will if absolutely required.


In the current day, Fita brews potions and elixirs and sells them to the sickly and injured in the town for extra gold to buy more alchemical ingredients.

 

[KamiKahzy]

So I think maybe we should start keeping a log of things that happen in our sessions here for posterity. I'll go ahead and start with our first entry into these, our "Chronicles of Broken Paths."


The story begins in the town of Newbreos, a newly formed human settlement on the northern end of the kingdom. Still developing, yet lively enough for it's relatively fresh state. The local tavern, coined the Dragon Fang Inn, is performing business as usual. Many unique characters grace the bar floor, each in their own way.


A large, jolly man of uknown years sings and sways from the effects of his drink. His features are obscured by his helmet and armor, and despite it's spiked appearance it's clear this man is one of the cloth from his fervent sermoning throughout the night. His voice is loud and carries throughout the hall, enthralling some while annoying others. Yet he cares not, as a fire is in his soul and his belly, and so he follows the subtle suggestions of the spirits he imbibes.


At the bar sits a gaunt, twitchy man of unknown years as well. He might have appeared younger were his hair were not the tangled, singed, oily mess indicative of his profession. A few flasks hang at his belt, the viscous material within swishing with an unknowable function. The man smells of chemicals, poisons and embalming fluids, and is currently busy discussing a price for a powerful liquor with the barkeep. Progress is impeeded by his erratic speech and crazed mannerisms, causing the barkeep to flex his strength through his bouncers.


In the corner sits a stout dwarf, uncommonly fair in features for his kind. He swigs from a tankard as he oggles the women of the tavern, haphazardly considering his next conquest. A rifle rests against the ruddy table, while a shepherd patiently begs for scraps at his side. The barmaids eye this dwarf with lingering disdain, as he's already managed to acquire a lackluster reputation in the few short days he's resided in town.


Beside this dwarf sits a strange being indeed. Ratfolk aren't especially rare as their caravans pass through town regularly enough, yet this one sports a stark white coat and milky pink eyes. An albino, and a sickly looking one at that. He sits at table, nervously scanning the crowd for danger while passing sideways glances at his companion. He fidgets with his small mug of ale, hoping beyond hope that his dwarven friend won't cause another scene and get them thrown in the town stockades. Again.


A few newcomers arrive at Newbreos in short order. The first is a young, half-elven maid, bright eyed and full of abandon. A lute is strapped to her back as her hips sway in the moonlight. She draws the gaze of many men as she makes her way to the Inn. She's had a long day, and pays perhaps too much for a glass of 'fine' wine. She seeks only adventure, and may soon be granted that.


A young man enters town next, this one with curiosity in his eyes. He carries a spear yet clearly lacks a soldier's stance. Those who peer closely might see a spark in his eyes, a faint hint of the magical energies surging within. He is green, yet determined to reach his goal. He makes his way to the Inn as well, and immediately hails the barkeep. It is not refreshment he seeks, but information. Clues to a lost heritage, and a family he never knew.


The final newcomer is another half-elf, a maid as well but one with far less mirth in her gaze. She strides purposefully towards the tavern, ignoring all who hail and greet her. A bow is strung across her back and a knowing look sits in her eyes. This is a woman of the wood, a being of nature and the hunt. She enters the tavern and hails the barkeep, also looking for information. A quick resupply and then she leaves, a shade on the wind to never be known.


The night carries on with great banter and boasts within the tavern. But the festivites are silenced as a man rushes inside and slams the door behind him. A single word is uttered before he falls limp from exhaustion, "Bones!" The tall, drunken man rallies the tavern and picks those he deems capable. Many join willingly, but a certain white ratfolk harbors serious doubts. Still he joins, and outside the tavern stands a monstronsity of bone and sinew. A creature hobbled from the remains of different species and sent upon the town for reasons unknown. The party fights with sword and spell, bow and bomb. The creature is hardy, but the heroes are strong. The beast is crushed beneath the drunken paladin, and the night becomes peaceful once again. But as the beast dies a message is sent to the minds of Newbreos' liberators. An ominous missive of doom and death for the town, and possibly the kingdom at large.


The man who lead the charge gathers the heroes at the inn to discuss events. He proposes a campaign to rid the town of these monstrosities before they become too great to resist. Many agree and join the group readily, but the ratman still has his doubts. It takes some convincing from his dwarven companion but eventually he agrees to assist the campaign. The group rests and restocks before gathering at the southern gate to assess their destination. A dark, ominous tower looms in the far distance. Their landmark, their goal, their destiny.