Crimsonthrone

Pathfinder Chronicles: Curse of the Crimson Throne
This is for the Pathfinder Chronicles campaign setting's Curse of the Crimson Throne Adventure Path. This will chronicle each volume in detail from a player perspective.

useful links:

[ http://www.pathfinderwiki.com/index.php?title=Main_Page]











































Players upon the Stage

 * Jul - Raven haired enigma try to break free from her dark destiny.
 * Camlo - Quirky troubled scholar.
 * Riff - Kept the shark well fed... Soon to be dead.... Scrambled in the head... :(

Something Fishy....or Weevils On The Brain
Pop goes the Harrow card. It flew the coop right out of my special book. Sproing! How? How? How could that have gotten there, but there it got. Now ring-a-ding in the dark. Open the door, creeeeak. Booo! Scary door opens and in I went. That infernal card pushing and nudging my mind into the small house. My body followed, can't help it, have to follow. MMMM... weevil bread tastes good in the dark. Not so sure about the ....aaah! That's one big hammer! Can't be, can't be, I can't be a nail. We must hammer the right nails....into their coffins. But not tonight. Who's that? Feet but no body, curtains don't breathe. Another cutpurse, sneaks in through window and runs out of doors. And a pretty gypsy, they all like to dance. Must not dance on the cards. Fate will get torn, the Harrow happen for a reason, and the world tells their tale. Draw the cards! Draw your own card. Sketch your own destiny on a tablet of time. Must use a fine brush, can't be hurried. Juggle the brains and play the game. Off we go, into the dark. I will sing and dance a jig. Can't swim with sharks, let the hammer swim. Can't nail down sharks. Teeth too sharp. Splashing let's go for a dip. They look blue. Let's go back. Back to sleep, I don't much anymore. The hammer sleeps. He groans and grunts, and I'll tell him a long story while he sleeps. Children's tales always end in a crush of bones. Back to the fishery, the wreak of death and fish. In and out, they break doors and slide windows. Up and down. Bad news for children. The hammer has found a nail. The door swings open when the hammer bleeds its splinters. Into the house. Slip and slide with bad doggies. Slit and slash his neck. Was she singing or dancing when she cut? The dog will not get up. It must play dead now. Good dog. Spiders. Little spiders crawl. And bite. The hammer falls, but doesn't sleep. We should go. Never know. Which floor will fall or which ship will sink. The cards know. They draw this picture and I will paint it. Paint by numbers, one two three.

Dear Diary,
''In These Pages I Chronicle Trails And Blows of My Web of Darkness Called a Life. Herein I will leave a testament to my life stroke by stoke and blow by blow as I truly recall. --Jul Mortiswind''

Waking: These cozy dark chains have shackled my true self long enough. My mourning and apathy have cost me many things but most preciously sands from the hourglass. If I allow the shadows nibble away at me I will soon remain naught but a broken shell. The puppet master who makes me dance merrily will soon find this little marionette has grown claws and will find me climbing their tangled threads to cast them down to the stage for all to see.

Morn: Whoah! Staying in this house has began to erode my sanity. My library suddenly seem to have been neatly cataloged and put to right as if I had been visited by an obsessive devilish librarian in the night. I cloaked myself in shadow and stole around the house hunting this deranged obsessive school marm. What right has she to destroyed my carefully flung stacks of books. As my stalking progressed through the house and I came back upon my starting point, the study...? Curse my crazed cranium, all the books were back I left them last night! ...an illusion has been woven? ...a fey was messing me? ...someone has cut my goodies with something nasty? Hmmm... My stash! My feet pounded back up stairs drawn by that dark siren.

Good, the last of my little specimens are swirling in their beckoning vials, nestled in their snug bag. Huh? They seem to have acquired a strange new blanket... :) A harrow card.  Of course.  My Varisian godmother has tied my fate to that accursed deck.  I should not speak ill of her though, Blind Nell and Devon were the only people to ever treat me well in this world.  Now one is dead and the other is missing. The peacock card? Huh? No idea. I need to go back to the theater and get my reading, the Varisian cleaning lady will know.

First a little stress relief... This was my last hit, I should go hit the streets while my willpower lasts....

Hitting the streets ...