Taking a Stab At Pathfinder Infinite (Would You Like to See More?)

As a lot of my regular readers know, the Pathfinder Infinite platform came online in late 2021. And at the time I said I had a couple of ideas I'd like to publish on it assuming progress was made regarding the ugliness that had come to light regarding Paizo's treatment of workers. And since Paizo's employees now have a union, and the company seemed to support rather than fight those efforts, I figured it was time for me to make good on that tease I'd put out.

And though 150 Sights To See (And Rumors To Hear) in Absalom dropped this past weekend, I wanted to pull back the curtain a bit to let folks know what's going on, and how they can help keep the wheels moving.

Because I can't do this one alone.

Before we get into the nitty gritty this week, don't forget to sign up for my weekly newsletter to get all my updates right in your inbox. Also, if you've got a bit of spare cash that you'd like to use to help keep the wheels turning, consider becoming a Patreon patron!

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Do Readers Want Me To Add More To Golarion?

In case some readers are confused, I'll catch you all up to speed. Pathfinder Infinite is a community use platform that lets independent and 3rd-party creators make content set in the world of Golarion (the base setting for the Pathfinder RPG), and which uses Paizo's intellectual property (as long as the project obeys all the appropriate rules set forth by the company). So rather than just making generic content that could be used with the Golarion setting if one wanted to (like my supplement 100 Random Bandits to Meet), or creating content that uses the Pathfinder rules system but which is part of an independent setting (like Gods of Sundara for my Sundara: Dawn of a New Age setting), I can just explore parts of Golarion that I enjoy, but which haven't gotten the attention that I feel they should have.

Like this one.

My supplement, 150 Sights to See (And Rumors To Hear) in Absalom is actually the second Pathfinder Infinite supplement that's been released by Azukail Games. The first was 100 Rumors and Hooks To Hear in (or About) Magnimar, and it came out a few weeks previous. However, the issue that we've run into is that neither of these two supplements has been a particularly noteworthy success. In fact with slow sales and the cost of splitting profits for the community-use platform, it seems like Pathfinder Infinite just isn't a great investment when taking these two products as examples of what one can expect.

However, I didn't want to just shrug my shoulders and walk away. As someone who contributed to Paizo products in the past, I felt this would be a solid opportunity to get some of my own ideas out for the setting that I'd never had a chance to before... but for that to happen, I need the folks out there playing these games to come along for the ride.

Because on the one hand, it's possible there just aren't a lot of people playing Pathfinder anymore. On the other hand, it might be that there are lots of players, but they don't use the Golarion setting for their games. It might be that the type of supplement just isn't what folks want, and they'd prefer something more mechanical like fresh archetypes and prestige classes, modules to play through, or lists of world-specific NPCs they might meet while traversing the setting. Or maybe there are a lot of GMs out there who want lists of weird sights and side-quest worthy rumors, but they'd prefer to find them in Varisia, or Ustalav, or one of the other nations or cities we didn't actually cover yet.

There's a lot of possibilities here, is what I'm saying.

So if you're reading this, and you would actually like to see me put out some stuff for use in Golarion proper, there are two things I'd like to ask you to do.

- Leave a comment (either here or on social media) with the kind of supplement you would be most interested in seeing in the future.

- Help boost the signal on 150 Sights to See (And Rumors to Hear) in Absalom and 100 Hooks and Rumors to Hear in (or About) Magnimar. Consider sharing them on social media, or getting copies for yourself and leaving reviews once you've read through them.

The reason I'm asking my readers to do this is, first of all, I want to make sure that folks get the content from me they want. All that talk about following your interests and drive as a creator makes for good sound bites, but at the end of the day I want to make sure there's actually a desire among my fellow players for the stuff I'm putting together. Secondly, the best way to get my publisher to agree to let me keep going down a particular vein of content is to prove there's a paying market for it. They want to sell copies, I want to sell copies, and if the stuff we produce for Pathfinder Infinite just stalls out and doesn't sell, then the company just won't sign off on further Pathfinder Infinite projects in the future.

Most products on Drive Thru RPG don't even sell the 50+ copies you need to hit Copper status, let alone the 100+ copies you need to hit Silver status, but I've had a really good track record with my Azukail Games releases. I feel confident in saying that if we can push one, or even both, of these supplements up into Copper territory, that would be enough of a sign of gamer interest to get approval for at least a couple more ideas.

So if you're not done playing in Golarion yet, and you want to see what dark corners of the world I'd like to explore, take a few moments and help me spread the word so we can build up some momentum!

Like, Follow, and Stay in Touch!

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday. To stay on top of all my content and releases, make sure you subscribe to my newsletter at the bottom of the page!

Again, for more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, and stop by the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio. Or if you'd prefer to read some of my books, like my cat noir thriller Marked Territory, its sequel Painted Cats, my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife or my latest short story collection The Rejects, then head over to My Amazon Author Page!

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Rise of The Runelords Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower

After uncovering a cult of madmen, and finding their leader was a prominent judge in Magnimar, our heroes might be in hot water. If they can stop the cult's plans before they come to fruition, though, they may find themselves on the right side of the law when all is said and done. Can they do it in time?

If you're just now joining us, here's what's happened up till this point.

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

So what do our heroes do, surrounded by bodies and spattered with blood? They do the natural thing, of course... seek out the mayor.

A Moment of Your Time, Lord Mayor?

Leaving the scene locked behind them, our heroes made their way into the more opulent district of Magnimar's social "servants," including the offices of the Lord Mayor. With a few deft words from Zordlan and Zhakar, they quickly found themselves standing in front of the jovial, though perplexed, mayor. Curious as to what would prompt such a motley band to be standing in front of his desk, he lit his pipe and asked them the nature of their business.

Please, make yourselves comfortable in my humble offices.

In response, Zordlan produced a letter found among Judge Ironbriar's possessions. A letter specifically mentioning that the Lord Mayor was the next target of the cult's assassination plans, and that they have a means of tracking the head of the order and preventing their attempt on the mayor's life. All he needs to do is to provide Zordlan and his companions with a writ, and to give them the next day or so to handle this problem for him. No city funds need be accepted, no questions need be asked.

Though he blustered about protocol and procedure, such things seemed much less important when it was his own life on the line. Providing the writ, he left with the group, taking care to avoid windows as much as possible while informing his secretary he was going to call it an early day. Appointments should be moved to the following morning, pending the outcome of a matter of importance.

Into The Shadow, as The Pigeon Flies

With the mayor's endorsement, the party returned to the mill. The machinery was silenced, and no recently resurrected men leaped at them from the shadows. Above the room where Ironbriar's cooling corpse sat in a drying puddle of its own blood, there was a coop. Taking a bird, the party gently carried it down to the street. Then they mounted, and released it.

Fly, you glorious plot fowl!

The pigeon made its way to Underbridge, fluttering onto the top floor of the leaning tower that nearly pressed up into the underside of the Irespan. A rickety and uncertain structure, there was no telling what awaited them inside... or even if the building itself would withstand a battle in its upper stretches. Though there was a gate on the ground floor, that seemed too obvious. There was a window half a dozen stories up, but even from where they were they could tell it was barred.

Drawing a wand from his bandolier, Zordlan crouched and tapped Bostwick's feet with it. Zhakar drew the dull gray longsword from his hip, and handed it to his small-sized companion. Bostwick scrambled up the wall, with a knotted coil of rope at his hip. Though the bars on the window were firmly stuck, the adamantine blade sliced through them like spun sugar. Bostwick slipped through, secured the grappling hook, and tossed down the rope.

Keeping an eye on the roof, as well as on the street, his companions followed. The stairs sagged beneath Thok's weight, and they quickly staggered themselves out wider to reduce the stress on the wood. With a flight or more of space between them, and lightly armored as they were, they managed to begin the ascent with relative stealth.

When one of the bells fell from the tower, clearly aimed at two of the companions, that was when they knew the element of surprise had been lost.

The Lady of The Tower

Though the ascent was dangerous, all of them gained the top of the tower without injury. They found themselves face-to-face, so to speak, with more of the faceless assassins they'd squared off with back at the Foxglove town home. The creatures fell without so much as a cry, twitching as their ichor dripped through the floorboards.

Past these guards the heroes found the second coop of pigeons that had been sending messages... and they found the individual behind the assassination attempts. It was not exactly what they expected.

And who are you to enter my domain?

The creature that signed itself Xanesha on its letters was curled round a plinth, looking down on the mortals who had tracked her to her home. She did not ask who they were, or why they had come to her. Such things were beneath her concern. She merely lashed out with her magic, intending to slay those who thought themselves her equal.

Thok leaped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sinuous movement of the matriarch, and the way her armor seemed to glide with her. Zhakar raised his right arm, shielding himself from the worse of her spell. As arrows flew, and Zordlan slipped another wand from his hip, it was Bostwick who leaped onto her perch. With a focused shout, he drive his fist into the creature's side just below her armpit. Her breath caught in her throat, and the wicked-looking spear tumbled from her grip. She fell, stunned, to the ground.

It was their chance. Zordlan rushed forward, snatching the spear from the ground and hurling it over the side of the tower, his hands stinging from even that brief contact with the weapon. Thok charged forward, his spear leaping into his hand as he drove it into the creature's flesh. Zhakar wasn't far behind, his short blade slicing into her side. Then, just as it seemed she might rise, Bostwick leaped from above, slamming into her, leaving her stunned once more.

Before she could rise again, the light in her eyes was doused by cold steel.

What Else Is There?

With the creature that called itself Xanesha slain, and the back of the Skinsaw cult broken, Magnimar seemed safe. The machinations were brought to an end, and the head seemed to have been cut off the serpent, so to speak. But is there more lying in wait for the heroes of Sandpoint? And when it comes, what form will it take?

Tune in for the next installment of Table Talk to find out!

For more of my work, check out Vocal, Gamers, and the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio! If you're looking for some books to add to your shelf, you could also stop in at My Amazon Author Page where you'll find reads like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife.

To stay on top of all my latest updates, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And if you'd like to help support me then Buy Me A Ko-Fi, or go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! Trust me, every little bit helps.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar

The undead plague appears to have been contained, for the time being, but Foxglove Manor is a problem beyond the powers of Sandpoint's heroes to cleanse on their own. They decided to venture south to Magnimar to enlist the help of a priest, but also to investigate the strange letters found in the den of the creature that had once been Aldern Foxglove. Something is brewing in Magnimar... but what?

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

All caught up? Good... now, on with the story...

Corruption in Magnimar

The big city... where the horizon is wide, and the CRs are high.

After a brief stop to let Sheriff Hemlock know what's happening, and to make sure Chikara knows the danger hasn't passed yet, they mounted up for the brief ride south to Magnimar. The city of statues, Magnimar was a place of wealth, sophistication, and history. A place where no one, not Zhakar with his twisted iron gauntlet, Thok with his heavy shoulders and strange accent, Zordlan with his inhuman features, or Mirelinda and her belts of jingling coins drew so much as a second glance from most people.

Which was for the best. Hunters don't want to draw the attention of their prey.

The first order of business was to seek aid from the Church of Desna. Zordlan sought out the church, explaining the esoteric nature of what lurked in the basement of Foxglove Manor. He told them how it had been beaten, but that it would regain its power if it was not exorcised. While he talked with the holy men, Zhakar and Thokk reconnoitered the town house where Aldern had been living for the past several years. If there was going to be a clue about what bizarre scheme the young nobleman had been involved in, that was where they would find it.

Stalkers and Skinsaws

I figured he'd have been able to afford better than this.

Once everyone had come together again, they agreed that the smart thing to do was to breech the estate, and find out what there was to be found out. So, while taking care not to look either too suspicious or too heavily armed, they ducked behind the hedges, and slipped Aldern's key in the lock. As the door creaked open, though, they smelled something. Beneath the dust and disuse there was a sickly odor... something corrupt. Something wrong.

The door had barely closed at their backs when they saw a figure through a doorway. It looked like Aldern, but off somehow; as if his face were covered in mud, or heavy makeup. They had barely taken a step toward the figure, when another leaped from the shadows of a nearby room. It was like a twin to the first figure, but as they looked at him his face ran in rivulets, his features twisting and weeping away as the face sloughed off. Beneath was only a blank canvas of whorls and callouses, breath hissing through the slits that may have been nostrils as it brought steel to bear.

With the second figure rushing into the fray, there was no time to let surprise dictate the battle. Thok had left his spear behind in the close confines of the city, and he drew the hand-and-a-half sword he'd slung from his back, tossing the scabbard away as he traded blows with the melting horror that had rushed him from the shadows. Zhakar batted away the blade from the second creature, the spikes of his gauntlet shrieking as he reached for his short blade. Zordlan danced around the strewn furniture, seeking advantage while staying out of the thing's grasp.

The Faceless Stalkers were more than disturbing foes... if they laid their touch upon you, they could drain away your very life essence!

Her dark complexion going pale, Mirelinda stepped back from the fray, snatching the thin, bone wand from up her sleeve. A flick of her wrist sent jets of fire bursting along the hard knobs of the creatures' flesh, drawing thin whines of pain from their mouthless heads. Steel clashed, and black ichor flowed down Zordlan's blade as it slammed through one of the Stalkers from behind. Before it could turn to take vengeance, Zhakar smashed his fist into the side of its head, his gauntlet crushing the skull into pulp and fragments. Nearby, Bostwick attempted to distract the final foe, flanking it to buy Thok the opening he needed. Thok raised his sword over his head, gritting his teeth as the creature slammed a blow into his chest. He snarled, bringing the blade down and hacking deep into its body. Black ichor spurted, and it fell to the floor, twitching before it died.

Panting and bloodied, the companions paused to listen. No more enemies materialized from the darkness. Communicating in silence, Zhakar and Thok formed a hunter's pair, each covering the other. Bostwick snuck ahead, his small size and light frame making him all but unnoticeable. Zordlan brought up the rear, his rapier idly shifting like a restless serpent as he guarded Mirelinda's back.

They found no more foes, but they did find more papers. Letters written to Aldern, and sealed with a bizarre symbol. Also mentions of what sounded like a cult... and most importantly, a location of where one could go to find more members. People who had dedicated themselves to the deranged worship of Father Skinsaw, and who sought to set a light not just to Sandpoint, but the very foundations of Magnimar as well!

The True Face of The Blades

The clues found in the townhouse pointed to a sawmill on the docks. One that was easy to find, and which was also running with a full crew to judge from the sound. The front door, such as it was, had been locked. There was a lower door, though, and one out of sight to viewers on the street. It was locked, but hammering on it did bring someone.

I am just getting the strangest sense of deja vu here.

The man at the door seemed like a typical, workaday laborer. Shouting over the grinding wheels inside, he demanded to know the business of the motley group of strangers. While Zhakar tried to convince him they were there on behalf of Foxglove, the man simply wasn't buying it. That was when something crawled up Zhakar's spine; a sense of a familiar evil he had encountered before. In that moment, he could practically smell the darkness this man had dipped his soul in; a darkness more than mere, human wickedness.

Zhakar lashed out, driving a blow into the man's mid-section. For a moment he wasn't sure that his senses had led him correctly, but when the man raised his head, a madness gleamed in his gaze; the glazed, feral expression that proved his workman's manner had simply been another mask. He drew a pair of wicked war razors, and with a bloody smile leaped to attack.

The door was a bottleneck, but several more hammer blows drove the man to his knees, and the door was breached. Other workmen had taken notice of the scuffle, despite the noise, and they had taken a moment to don crazed hoods with a single, bulging, red eye. Symbols of Father Skinsaw, jagged and taut, they showed their true, murderous faces of his devotees.

Bostwick dashed over the narrow walkways with no difficulty, his fists smashing bone and bruising muscle as he slipped past the slashing razors. Zordlan contained the walkway, ensuring that the masked men couldn't mount an offense that would overwhelm his companions. Thok drew his bow, ignoring the roaring fury of the gears and sending shafts into any who wore one of the wicked hoods. Several fell into the grinding gears below, gone without so much as a chance to scream.

All The Way To The Top

The workers at the lowest level were far from the only ones in the mill, and all of them wore the same, deranged masks as their fellow cult members. All of them were scythed down, going to see what reward their Skinsaw Man gave to those who had done the dying rather than the killing.

But it wasn't until they reached the final level that they found something truly disturbing. A small room covered in bizarre prayers written in blood, all of them glorifying a bloody-mouthed god of murder. At first the room seemed empty, as well... but just as Thok turned to say there was no one there, something struck him, and sent him sprawling.

Who the hell? Piss off, ghost!

Standing in the room, the curtain of invisibility torn away, was a tall, powerfully-built man. With a gleaming buckler in one hand, and a blade in the other, there is something disturbing in his smile. A glimmering of someone whose madness was no less pronounced than his followers', but simply better hidden.

It couldn't hide from Zhakar, though. Seeing his friend bleeding and wounded, the head of this cult standing over him, a change flickered across his face. Something seemed to fill him, and he rushed forward. There were no battle cries, no threats... just the eerie silence of judgment, and the pounding of his boots.

Zhakar attacked like a man indifferent to his own wounds, as long as he slew his foe. His blade driving like a nail, his arm like a hammer, he plunged in past the man's defenses again and again. The figure's blood ran red, and though the man landed a blow or two of his own, Most of the gouges simply scraped away Zhakar's skin to reveal that smooth coating of steel just beneath. Thok drew himself to his feet, his sword joining his friend's as they backed the man further against the wall, denying him a chance to escape, or a chance to reach their other companions. For a moment it seemed like the cult's leader might try to flee, but then he gasped, and his eyes went dark. Zhakar held him for a moment, then dropped his body to the ground. His black hand was slick with blood, his sword wet from where it had pierced the man's heart.

Zordlan sheathed his rapier, and began a quick inventory of the room as the others regrouped. Zhakar leaned against the wall like a man trying to find his equilibrium after a storm-tossed time at sea, the rents in his skin slowly closing over. Thok clapped him on the shoulder, speaking softly in Hallit before cutting a piece of the dead man's tunic to wipe away the blood dripping from his friend's weapon.

That was when they heard a curse from Zordlan.

The dead man on the floor may have attacked them first. He may have been a madman, and a head of a cult dedicated to murder and torture. He may even have had a hand in the crimes of Aldern Foxglove, according to some of the notes in the bloodstained journal he kept. But he was also a judge, and one of great repute within the city.

Could things get worse for our heroes? Find out on the next Table Talk installment where they face the fallout, and uncover even deeper plots among the spires and shadows of Magnimar!

For more of my work, head over to my Vocal archive, check out my Gamers page, and give some love to Dungeon Keeper Radio! And if you'd like to read some of my books, like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. Lastly, if you'd like to help support me, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi or going to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron. Every little bit helps!