Campaign Log -- Day Nineteen

The 25th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The party has decided that their current priorities are to figure out what to do with the spit and, more importantly, decide how to annoy people during the curfew. While Makpov rests from his visit with the ambassador, Quimarel and Tamarie discuss.

Quimarel OOC: Set phasers to tickle-tickle-tickle.
(Listening to this now, I wish I’d suggested “set phasers to ‘I’m not touching youuuuuu!’”)
[References to Community, Reading Rainbow, Wishbone, and the Venture Brothers inexplicably follow. Audio seems to suggest that Makpov’s player is using her phone to screen episodes of Wishbone -- I, who never saw Wishbone as a child, suggest that whoever came up with “reenact classic stories but with a Jack Russell terrier” was very stoned.]

Tamarie suggests “have a twork¹-off at the dance hall, or kill somebody.” Quimarel notes that these are very disparate options.

A couple Diplomacy rolls above 20 allow Tamarie and Quimarel to gather some useful information. I am briefly confused by the fact that Pathfinder doesn’t have a separate “Gather Information” skill. It seems that:

• Lord Noroiras has moved the curfew two hours later -- “until the moon is about there.”
• People are very concerned and deeply confused about the “blood note”. There are some conspiracy theories floating around, most of which are attached to the Kech or the recently-freed humans.
• The population of the town think the blood note is a sign that everything is about to go horribly wrong.

Tamarie thinks that if she leaves a couple more blood notes, people will assume the existence of a “masked avenger”. Skepticism is expressed around the table. Quimarel suggests mixing Makpov’s saliva with the blood in order to make these experiences more surreal, and Tamarie makes an Alchemy check… 3. Her concoction won’t stick to the wall properly; it’s like writing with water and food dye.

Quimarel OOC, apropos of nothing: Do gnomes wear shoes?
GM: Um… I suppose they can go barefoot… but there are no gnomes in town.
Quimarel OOC: Whatever the… you know… things…
GM: Goblins?

It is established that goblins tend to not bother with shoes -- or, at least, not the poverty-stricken goblins that make up most of the population. Quimarel wants to try spreading hallucinogenic saliva on floors, to see what happens. A random die roll reveals that only the nicer buildings have proper floors at all, rather than packed dirt.

Tamarie decides to just leave some “normal” blood notes around town. She goes back to the wall of the governor’s villa, and repeats her previous procedure. (Stealth: 19) The table conversation veers wildly off track again…

Quimarel OOC: The Tongue-Mother! Bow before the Tongue-Mother! You laugh now, but three or four campaigns from now, you’re going to use it.
Tamarie OOC: Next week. Next week we will fight the Tongue-Mother!
GM: I don’t take requests ever since [Hiddlebatch’s player] asked to fight Hester Prynne last campaign.²

Tamarie decides that the obvious progression from “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” is to make sure someone dies during the day. There is some discussion on how this might be done, wherein Tamarie suggests she use her “Dust Form” ability to make someone sneeze to death.

Tamarie: And then I’ll die from being inhaled.
Quimarel: Then we can brand a sun on their face.
Tamarie: What, with my knitting needle?

Quimarel then adds that since the flag of Capra has a sun on it (a decision made just now, at this table, based entirely on the fact that her player felt like she remembered that being the “logo”, and we agreed it felt thematically appropriate), branding a sun onto their faces might have additional symbolism, what with Noroiras being a Capran protectorate.

Quimarel: If we burned that sigil into the flesh of your murder victim, that might link it to the governor.
Quimarel OOC: We’re taking a turn into serial killer territory here.
GM: And you two aren’t even the Evil party members.

Tamarie is plotting to leave one more blood note, and then a body. Quimarel decides to consult with her to make sure she doesn’t kill off anyone important. Tamarie suggests the innkeeper, Drugoz, but Quimarel thinks he needs to stay alive “for now”, because she has “plans for him.” Discussion continues in a somewhat hesitant, confused manner.

Tamarie: It doesn’t need to be anyone specific. Just some townsperson.
Quimarel: Nobody important.
Tamarie: Even a traveller.
Quimarel: Someone staying at the Broken Stone. Maybe we could even arrange for them to die in the inn…
Tamarie: Yeah…
Quimarel: I like the idea, but you need to make sure you have a way out.
Tamarie: Are there windows?
Quimarel: There are windows, but remember how well that worked out last time. And I will need to be far away.
Tamarie: How many people are there in the inn today?
GM: [sound of die rolling] Eight, including Drugoz and two bar-wenches. Five various travellers are staying there, not counting the Kech.
Tamarie: Could we just kill one out back? Leave him by the inn? It’s going to be hard to get into the inn, kill somebody, get out, and not be noticed.
Quimarel: Especially in the daylight.
[There is a long pause as the pair of them contemplate this problem. Several minutes go by.]
Tamarie, after her player has been staring at her character sheet for some time: Oh -- I can be invisible!
[pause for laughter]
Tamarie: Wait… no, I can disguise myself. And change my voice. And turn into dust.
Quimarel: Are any of those travellers roughly the same size as Tamarie?
GM: [sound of die rolling] No -- all five are members of a halfling trade caravan.
[pause as we look up the precise limitations of disguise self; Tamarie can make herself one foot shorter, which is tall for a halfling but not completely unrealistic]

Tamarie leaves another “blood note” and then, at Quimarel’s suggestion, uses some scrap leather from her tailory to practice carving sun sigils. She also mixes up a disguise self extract.

Not long afterwards, a tall (but slouching) male halfling is walking to the inn with a bouquet of roses -- Tamarie having noticed that she can change items she is holding as well, such as… a dangerously-sharpened knitting needle. (Disguise: 36) (S)he slips into the inn, up to the floor with the rooms for rent, and listens at the doors (Perception: 20). She hears some high-pitched snoring behind one of them, indicating a halfling taking an afternoon nap. Unfortunately, this all goes wrong when Tamarie tries to pick the lock. (Sleight of Hand: 6, Stealth: 7) Behind the door, she hears a halfling wake up and groggily snort. “Whuzzit? Huh? Whassgoinon?”

Tamarie opts for a different approach and knocks. “Housekeeping!”
“Who is it?”
“I have a delivery… from downstairs.”
A sleepy-looking older halfling opens the door.

Tamarie, OOC: STAB.

Luckily, four damage is enough to overcome an elderly first-level commoner’s hit points, and he collapses on the ground, bleeding out. Tamarie pushes so the body falls into the room, then takes some time writing “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” and carving a sun sigil. She then casually walks downstairs and out the back door, where she turns into dust and drifts back towards the Squirting Squid as quickly as possible.

Shortly afterwards, they can hear a lot of shouting down near the inn. Looking from the brothel, the party can see a lot of commotion from near the inn, and the guards arriving to look at the body.

GM: They kind of prod at it a bit, because they don’t have modern forensic techniques.
The party go on another round of Gather Information, to try and discern the town’s reaction. The townsfolk are, understandably, quite concerned. Furthermore, they seem to be trying to ascribe some sort of deeper, conspiracy-related meaning to all this.
Quimarel OOC: Aren’t goblins kind of prone to paranoia?
GM: Very much so. They are convinced that every other species is envious of their natural gifts, and allied against them to make sure that they have to live in crappy settlements like this one.
Quimarel OOC: What do they make of the fact that it’s a halfling death and not a goblin death?
GM: They’re kind of confused about that. Traditionally, they don’t get along with halflings, so they’re thinking, “maybe he’s on our side…”
Quimarel: The next death needs to be a goblin.
Tamarie: We’re already planning another one?
Quimarel: In for a penny, in for a pound. Of death.
GM: “A pound of death”?
Tamarie OOC: A pound of blood.
GM: That’s a lot of blood.
Quimarel OOC: You’re a lot of blood.

Quimarel goes back out among the people, and pretends to be aghast at all this, “clutching her pearls”. [Out of character, Tamarie and Quimarel suggest, via gesture, other things Quimarel might be clutching.] Quimarel makes it known that she is increasing security at the Squirting Squid, because if it could happen at the lovely Broken Stone, it could happen anywhere. She makes a very good show of being concerned but trying to keep a positive outlook so it doesn’t interfere with business.

A few hours later, after they have had lunch at the brothel, Tamarie heads over to reopen her tailory, since she needs to have some actual income. There is some discussion of Tamarie making tearaway pants for Makpov. After Tamarie has been working for a brief time, one of the wenches from the bar shows up. This is Yona Tribe Muck-Laugh, the goblin that Hiddlebatch scared witless the night the party broke into the Intelligence Corps HQ.

Tamarie: Can I help you?
Yona: You know, I saw the funniest thing today.
Tamarie: Uh-huh…
Yona: Around the time that someone killed that halfling, I’m pretty sure I saw someone turn into dust and fly away.
[A brief discussion ensues out of character, regarding how many people know Tamarie can turn into dust (“Nobody! Who would know that?”) and whether it would be too suspicious to kill Yona as well because she “knows too much”.]
Yona: Now, I’m sure you know why I’m here.
[The remainder of this conversation is peppered with Tamarie’s player complaining that she is “too pretty to go to jail”.]
Tamarie, worried: Why?
Yona: Do you know how someone can turn into dust? I hear you know all about magic stuff.
Tamarie: The technical term is “alchemy”; I use it for my job.
Yona: But do you know how someone could turn to dust?
Tamarie: No. Do I look like a witch? [Bluff: 21]
Yona: Oh -- that’s a shame. I really thought you could help.
Tamarie: I could help you get some new clothes.
Yona: No, I don’t think I can afford that right now. But if you happen to come across anything --
Tamarie: I’ll let you know.
Yona: I guess I’ll try and find someone else to ask. But you’re the only person I know who does magic stuff.
Tamarie: The only other person who does magic stuff would be Hiddlebatch -- that strange priest on the edge of town.
Yona: The guy with the butterfly wings? The person I saw looked nothing like that.
Tamarie: Who knows what Hiddlebatch can do?
[Discussion ensues on what to tell Hiddlebatch’s player when she gets back -- “While you were gone, we framed you for murder.”]
Tamarie: I’m not saying he did it -- I’m just saying I know a guy who does some magic things.
Yona: I will go check that out. Thank you.

The session ends with Tamarie holding her knitting needles and singing “My Friends” from Sweeney Todd.

---

1 Spelling intentional -- previous jokes have established that, in this world, this dance form was invented by orcs.^↩

---

2 During the previous campaign, Hiddlebatch's player and I were in the same study group for Qualifying Exams, and one of the many books on our list was The Scarlet Letter -- and during the studying, she suggested that the party should fight Hester Prynne. I designed a setting-appropriate Hester -- a goblin with a bloody rune carved into her face, living outside of the city of Barlgilton with a half-fiend toddler -- but by the time the group was able to reconvene, the players had forgotten all about that conversation and just ignored the encounter altogether. This ended up having far-reaching consequences in the campaign world: the child grew to adulthood and has brought the Cult of Mephistopheles to a position of significant power in the area. The players will encounter this later in the campaign when they travel to Barlgilton.^↩

Campaign Log -- More Day Eighteen

The 24th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The party is preparing for their audience with the governor.

Quimarel decides she should bring some sort of gift or tribute, and reflecting on what little she knows of the governor’s tastes [Knowledge(local): 8] decides to just bring him some of the Kech emeralds. The tiny infodump that Knowledge check got her consisted entirely of:

• Bertrand Stenholt, Lord Noroiras, is in charge of the town and surrounding countryside by order of Autarch Adamantia I Ravensblood.
• There’s no Lady Noroiras (at least, not since his mother gave up the title)
• He’s never visited the Squirting Squid.

This is enough, however, for Quimarel to include Makpov in this venture as her “sexy bodyguard”.

Tamarie: If you need me, I’m outside writing a blood note.
Quimarel: WHOSE BLOOD? WHERE DID YOU GET THE BLOOD?
Tamarie: Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it. But I’m ready.

[At this point, the game is derailed for several minutes by the players talking about “Welcome to Night Vale”, which Tamarie’s player has recently listened to.]

They are led to speak to Lord Noroiras. Guards shepherd them through the outer walls, through a nice fancy garden -- 

Tamarie OOC: Through the walls?
GM: Through a gate in the wall.
Quimarel OOC: Oh, I was imagining just Kitty-Pryde-ing in -- “That was a power I didn’t know I had!”
Tamarie OOC: Welcome to Night Vale… 

-- and into the governor’s villa, where they are led to a moderately fancy audience chamber.

Quimarel: Ah, this is moderately fancy.
GM: Well, he’s a lord, but his lands consist of pretty much this little town and some outlying farms, and it’s not exactly an old family.

Lord Noroiras looks down on them from… not exactly a throne, but a nice chair on a raised dais. He’s a fairly young human -- late 20s, early 30s -- with expensive-looking clothing and a goatee. There is brief confusion among the players about him being human, but they are reminded that, in-character, they would know that Noroiras’s status as a Capran protectorate comes with a governor from a noble Capran family, all of whom are human. The audience proceeds:

Lord Noroiras: Madame Smith, what can I help you with?
Quimarel: I’ve come to inquire about this new curfew that you’ve enacted in the town.
Lord: Ah, yes. Based on my perfect wisdom.
[suppressed laughter from the out-of-character peanut gallery]
Quimarel: Yes. Unfortunately, as I do not share your perfect wisdom, I was hoping you could tell me the cause behind it. Surely, with your perfect wisdom, you must have had numerous reasons to enact a curfew.
Lord: I did. 


[long pause, as Quimarel waits to see if he is going to elaborate on that][laughter from the peanut gallery]
Quimarel OOC: We stare at each other for ten minutes. “Well, that’s all fine.” 


Lord: As you have noticed, we have had a great deal of crime during the night lately.
Quimarel: Little bit.
Lord: And it occurred to me that if all the people and valuables were safely inside during the night, it would be harder for criminals to do crime to them.
[Makpov attempts to wave seductively -- he rolls an 8, and the Lord is unimpressed.]
Quimarel, quietly: What?
Quimarel, normal speaking voice: What kind of crime was going on?
Lord: Oh, there were thefts, and assaults, and… oh, I don’t know. The captain of the guard told me all about it. It was quite a mess.
Quimarel: Yes, I remember hearing something about the Intelligence Corps.
Lord: Yes -- there was a, a, theft most foul. Of some sort.
Quimarel: And for that to happen while the Intelligence Corps was there -- 
Lord: Right. And did you notice that it happened during the night?
Quimarel: I did. And you’re entirely correct about crime being more prevalent -- I mean, just the other day, I myself made a citizen’s arrest.
Makpov, whispering to Quimarel: What if, instead of putting curfew on the night, he just got rid of the night? 


Quimarel OOC: How crazy does he seem?
GM: Not that crazy; he’s arrogant and kind of clueless, not mentally unstable.
Quimarel OOC: All right, I can work with that. 


Quimarel: Yes, I made a citizen’s arrest. I encountered a man… stealing.
Lord. The horror. Was it during the night?
Quimarel, dramatically: No. It was during the day.
Lord: My word.
Quimarel: Exactly.
Lord: What about implementing a curfew during the day as well?
Quimarel: I think it would be very difficult. As it is, the businesses are struggling. When people can’t move around at night, they can’t do their business; this is a town that thrives in the dark.
Lord: That sounds… unsavory.
Quimarel: Have you seen the town, sir?
Lord: Lots of mud huts and little goblins, right?
Quimarel: They like the dark.
Lord: Well, we’re bringing the light of reason and civilization. The light of culture and justice.
Quimarel: Plenty of culture can take place in the dark, or at least in dimmed light.
Lord: What sort of business are you in -- I’ve heard that you hire out maidservants, or something similar?
Quimarel: Along those lines. We provide various entertainment services for travellers.
[Makpov winks and wags his tail.]
Lord: Like juggling.
Quimarel: Sometimes.
Lord: My word. And you can’t do this during the day?
Quimarel: Well, by the time most people are through with their daily activity and looking for some entertainment, sundown has already arrived.
[Tamarie’s player makes an off-color comment about juggling balls at night]
Lord: Perhaps we should put forth an initiative encouraging people to rise earlier to complete their daily business.
Quimarel: We could try, but you know how people are. They’re very set in their ways; it’s difficult to uproot an entire culture like that. Also, if they arise earlier, there will be no light for them to do their business by.
Lord: Well… not that early. Look, it may be difficult for you Northern types to uproot an entire culture and bring it to the light of reason and civilization, but the enlightened humans of the South have all been educated in the finest institutions.
[As the above was said, the table gradually collapsed into laughter again -- it is possible that colonialism is inherently ridiculous.]
[Makpov makes another attempt to seductively wink at Lord Noroiras, with not much more success]
Lord: So as you can see, in our perfect wisdom, we have brought the light of culture and reason to these heathen Northern lands.
Quimarel: You keep saying “heathen”...
Lord: Not in the sense that I disagree with their religious practices -- it’s more of a heathen aesthetic. They just kind of look heathen.
[Tamarie’s player is offended on behalf of her character’s culture]
Quimarel: I agree that this town could use a little bit more culture. And to this end, I would love to have the workers at my, ah, place of business perform for the community. Unfortunately, as you know, the best time to do that is in the evening, when everyone is prepared to relax and thoroughly enjoy such a display of culture.
Lord: Perhaps we should declare some sort of resting period in the middle of the day for cultural purposes.
Quimarel: This is getting complicated.
Lord: You think that, because you lack my perfect wisdom.
Quimarel: It’s entirely possible.
Lord: Our audience is coming to a close; I have other appointments. However, you have made some good points. [Diplomacy: 24] So, in my perfect but nevertheless mutable wisdom, I will discuss with my cabinet the idea of perhaps moving the curfew to later in the evening. Perhaps we could standardize some height of the moon when everyone has to go inside… though it’s easier to do sundown.
Quimarel: Perhaps. Also, I know that you in your perfect wisdom do not often spend time with the less cultured “heathens”. I’m sure their, um, babble must seem very boring to you -- 
Lord: While there are many schools of thought that say a king should walk among his subjects, I was not educated in that school.
Quimarel: If you ever want to know how your subjects are likely respond to your perfect wisdom, I would be more than willing to offer my services. I am very well-versed in their behaviors and their patterns. I know how they think, and I am able to articulate it to you in a ways that might make more sense than their own… babble.
Lord: It is true that I often have difficulty understanding what the goblins are talking about.
Quimarel: They can be very difficult -- if you need a translator, I speak Goblin, as well as Gnoll, Halfling, Elvish, whatever you happen to need.
Lord: Does this help you with your maids-and-jugglers business?
Quimarel: It does.
Quimarel presents her gift, which Lord Noroiras appreciates, and is politely dismissed.

As Quimarel and Makpov were meeting with the Lord, Tamarie was leaving a “blood note” on the outer walls of the villa. When they go to collect their party member, they find the words “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” painted in blood. There is confusion, both in and out of character, as to where the blood came from. 

Tamarie OOC: Don’t worry about it!
Quimarel OOC: Not what you want to hear from your blood supplier!

It is apparently very neatly painted, though Quimarel deems the kerning to be “a little off”. Luckily, nobody noticed Tamarie doing it [Stealth: 21]. Tamarie suggests this should be the group’s slogan, which meets with blank stares.

There is a brief discussion on the previous plan to aerosolize Makpov’s hallucinogenic saliva, which the party deems “a side project”. Makpov is offended by this, as he claims to have already gathered five buckets of saliva due to frequent hydration. Quimarel suggests they store it in jars so it doesn’t dry up.

GM: Where are you keeping five buckets of saliva?
Quimarel OOC: The usual place.
Tamarie OOC: With the blood.

It is decided that they will put it in some empty containers from the brothel’s small bar area, and store it in the cabinets with the other drinks, but clearly labelled “Hyena Spit: Do Not Drink”. A reference to “Arrested Development” follows.

Quimarel gets the group together to summarize what they know.

Quimarel: The dude is clueless, but he mentioned his advisors. [OOC] Who are his advisors?
GM: Technically, he mentioned his cabinet. You don’t know that he wasn’t referring to furniture.

Quimarel happens to know [Knowledge(local): 18] that a few second and third children of minor noble houses also live in the governor’s villa -- people who have similar education, but are not going to inherit any lands -- and they may well serve as advisors. At this point, a random die roll [1 on a d10] determines that none of them have ever visited the Squirting Squid or met Quimarel. This is considered a dead end.

While Quimarel “does upkeep on the Squid”, which Makpov’s player says makes her think of Quimarel holding a squeegee and scrubbing a kraken, Tamarie takes some of the spit to her workshop to construct experiments. It is decided that the primary thing they need to learn is how far they can dilute the saliva before it stops working, in order to make best use of the supply Makpov has bottled. They also want to know if there’s some way to build a resistance to it.

Quimarel also takes some time to be a visible public figure. References to the standard procedure of handshakes and baby-kissing lead her to declare that she is “kissing hands and shaking babies”. This is not taken literally.

In her laboratory, Tamarie has decided that Step One of the saliva project is “mix it with some different things and see what happens.” This goes poorly [Craft(alchemy): 7], and Tamarie wastes a couple hours combining it with other substances more-or-less at random, learning nothing except that mixing hallucinogenic saliva with wood varnish has no effect. She decides to try again and take 20; it takes all day, but she finds a solution in which she can dilute the saliva, producing a liquid that works just as well and dries more slowly, as well as effectively doubling their supply.

In the Marketplace of Rats, Quimarel attempts to gauge public reaction to the curfew [Diplomacy: 13]. She encounters a lot of people who admit to finding it very inconvenient, but is not exactly fomenting rebellion. Eventually, the market clears out and the sun goes down. The party decide to stay in and not cause trouble tonight.

That evening, however, they have a visitor at the brothel. I gather some reference images for this unusual individual.

GM: Imagine this guy:

Tamarie OOC: Oh, no, he can’t come in. 

GM: In these clothes:

[Makpov’s player starts laughing]

Ghoul: Excuse me.
Quimarel: Yes, sir, how can I help you?
Ghoul: I’m here on behalf of Ambassador Gurrigor.
[It has been mentioned before that Makpov is the “favored companion” of the ambassador from the independent town of Mormanori.]
Quimarel: Ah, yes, the ambassador. Do come in.
Ghoul: As you may be aware, there has recently been some sort of police-state, martial-law, curfew business.
Quimarel: Yes, I am aware.
Ghoul: Fortunately, since I am legally the indentured property of Tribe Tomb-Slime, it’s really inconvenient to arrest me. So I have come on behalf of Ambassador Gurrigor to try and negotiate some sort of arrangement, so he can continue to… visit his favorite companion.
Quimarel: Of course. What does the ambassador recommend?
Ghoul: The ambassador would like me to convince you to -- just prior to sundown each day -- send the gnoll over to the embassy to stay the night.
Quimarel: Every day?
Ghoul: Every day.
Quimarel: Well, as you know,we greatly appreciate the ambassador’s patronage. However, losing one of my finest workers for so long every day, especially with this curfew happening…
Ghoul: The problem is, most of the ambassador’s… hobbies… require him to be out during the night. And now that that is not feasible without being viewed as flouting the laws of another town, he finds himself with a great deal of spare time.

Quimarel knows, thanks to a natural 20 on a Knowledge(local) check, that the town of Mormanori is known for its high concentration of necromancers, which actually explains a lot about all of this. If Gurrigor is a practicing necromancer himself, that would definitely point to why he has significant-pause-hobbies that require him to be out and about at night.

She negotiates with the ghoul, and they agree that Makpov will spend two out of every three nights with the ambassador, for a fairly steep price. Before the ghoul leaves, Quimarel asks if he would like anything while he is here, and he walks off with some rotting dire-rat meat from the pantry. He says it is no substitute for human flesh, but Quimarel (taking this completely in stride) says that, tragically, such things are hard to come by here. The ghoul agrees that good human flesh is extremely expensive, and he couldn’t expect her to carry it just for a handful of gourmands like himself.

Half an hour later, the ghoul returns, and says that the terms are acceptable, provided that Makpov wears a certain outfit when visiting. Quimarel and Makpov want to see the outfit first -- it turns out to be a strategically-cut funeral shroud.

Quimarel OOC, laughing: Why have we not had a brothel in previous games?

They accept these terms, and the ghoul leaves.