A Symphony

Ariva led the group from the inn to the waterfront. She would run ahead a dozen yards or so, her charcoal coloured fur almost disappearing in the now dark Magnimar streets, then turn her head and wait impatiently for her slower two legged companions to catch up. Eventually they ended up back at Kyver’s inlet and the Seven’s Sawmill. Yola restrained Ariva – held the dog back from charging right in the front door.

The mill was a wooden building perched of the edge of the inlet. It was four stories high, with an undermill below that which housed the water wheels that drove the mills clearly audible from within. Light shone from the upper story windows. A dock or gangway ran around the outside of the mill, and led either to the main doors on the ocean-side of the building, or to a rickety staircase leading to the undermill and the slowly turning water wheels.

***

Malvick awoke, the first cut catapulting him from the familiarity of his uncle’s dreamland cabin to the reality of a bright room, too warm, with the smell of sweat and greasy lamp oil in the air. His ached – he tried to roll over but the ropes binding him to the table held him back. His stomach roiled - he tried to vomit but the gag in his mouth turned it into a choking gurgle.

“Great Father Skinsaw!” a voice from somewhere above him intoned, “accept this sacrifice in your name…”

That didn’t sound good. Malvick’s wits were returning to him, and he rolled his head from side to side, trying to gather more information about his surroundings. He did not like what his eyes were telling him. All around the table to which he was bound stood men cloaked in garish crimson robes. Their faces were covered by leather masks painted with insane, leering grins. They rocked gently back and forth and chanted under their breath as their leader, behind Malvick and out of his sight, continued his sermon.

“With this man’s death, all his future deeds are undone, and the threads of his destiny severed – stolen away to further the inscrutable plans of our lord Norgorber!”

Norgorber?!? That was really not good. He was in the clutches of a cult devoted to the god of poisons, secrets and murder. The leader stepped into view. He wore the same robes as the others, but his mask was a stitched spiral of leather. Black hair cascaded from behind the mask, and a gleaming war razor was gripped in his hand. Ironbriar’s chilling voice came from behind that mask as he leaned in to Malvick’s necked chest with the razor.

“Let his death be a monument, and his screams, a symphony.”

***

Throughout the campain I’ve struggled with how to impart background information to your characters without me having to type out long blocks of text that you guys may or may not be interested in actually reading. I’ve found a new resource that might help with the problem: The Pathfinder Wiki! Whenever campaign specific references to places or people come up that your characters should at least have a passing knowledge of, I’ll link it to the appropriate wiki entry. For example: Norgorber.