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The Mole
The governor of Aspice Consortium is one freakish deviant. He runs the organization like it should be run; well organized, disciplined, and with clear objectives. There is a clear reward for success, and the penalties for failure are always very clear. However, his diabolical mind cleverly wades into chaos like mine never could. How he guessed, no not ‘guessed’- calculated that we would be defeated by this rag tag group is amazing in itself. I mean, we’ve never lost or failed an assignment. Our group leader, may Calistria receive him with open arms, completely disregarded what the governor predicted. He believed the governor was just trying to motivate us. Fortunately, I was present when the governor gave the orders. I heard how he predicted we would fail and that this time it would be OK to fail. Somehow he knew that we would have an opportunity to infiltrate the group by simply surrendering. I thought him out of his mind, and planned on taking the customary suicide path, but it dawned on me at the crucial moment, that the Consortium probably would not resurrect me if I did not follow orders. Besides, orders are orders, so I surrendered. Now I am a semi-trusted member of their group. It just may be that the other 3 got off lucky by dying. These guys are nutters….

I think that my attempt to warn them away from going after some sunken gold led the group to accept me more as a member than a prisoner. I’m glad it was the cat that got snubbed. He was disturbing. Hell, he was downright scary. It was like having a vicious carnivore around you, knowing it was going to strike, but never knowing when. And his eyes <shudder>, they always seemed to be on me. It was like he could see through me and was just waiting for the right time to gut me.

I can’t wait until we get there. As soon as we do, I’m gone. I just need to report back and I can leave this crazy band of nutjobs behind me. For now, I’ll just try to stay alive and play the part of just another nutjob.
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Ruthless Honor
It is getting tougher and tougher to keep my fur looking immaculate. The hairless pinkies like to poke fun at my pruning, but if they would spend 1/100 the time I spend keeping clean, they wouldn’t smell so bad. They really smell. I think that is why we can never surprise an opponent….. However, what they lack in hygiene they make up for in shear grit. They’re a tough lot, and there is no one else I’d rather have to guard my back…except for my father.

I certainly would not want to cross this lot. Seeing Cazadores slit that bandits throat was mesmerizing. I was both horrified and exhilarated. The detached brutality of his action was completely unexpected, and it did not seem to bother the rest of the group at all. Chilling….

I finally encountered a pinky I found attractive, and she even smelled decent. Her scent was a cross between the bark of an alder tree and broken grassweed. She was clearly a person of nature. She could even commune with animals. Her raptor friend was quite impressive a specimen, even if he was a little dimwitted. His loyalty to the lady spoke mightily to the caliber of person she is. No beast as great as this raptor would ally with anyone less than amazing. I never thought I’d say it, but if not for Purra, my mate to be, I might be inclined to chase this pinky.

She did get a little animated about the mine. And rightly so. There were some serious nasties in there. My leg still hurts from when one of them ambushed me. It was an acid based undead creature. It hid in the ground water and as I passed, it ripped into my leg. Despite the risk to their equipment, my little tribe came to my rescue.

We also came across a manifestation of very dark magic, a huge blue orb. This orb was bitterly evil, and spewed undead like a fat man with food poisoning. It even had a champion, some dire zombie with blue skin. The new addition to our little tribe proved himself when he took down this hideous being with one, all-powerful blow. It was amazing to see.

Turns out that the blue zombie was actually the raptor lady’s father; well, his body. We found her locket on the foul being. In stark contrast to the bloodletting of the bandit, Cazadores insisted on returning the locket, even though it was out of our way. I guess ruthlessness and honor CAN coexist. Cazadores is quite a complicated being. Turns out that his sense of honor paid a dividend as the raptor lady was so pleased that she took time to help us scout through the region, saving a couple days time.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.
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Tracking the Hunted: Feeling Alive
It seems we've appeased the Gods and have begun this trek to a golden city. I am still unconvinced, we seem to be going into this blindly without any real evidence. Although the Pathfinder society has sponsored us and seem to be enthusiastic about the prospects, it would be easier and much more profitable going to the mines of Bandu Hills and raiding the Deeptreasure Mining Company.

As we set out we came across an indigenous female riding a dinosaur. She spoke only polyglot, so I was the only one able to communicate with her. She kept telling us top go away go back to the road, it was unsafe, and dead people where inside the salt mine. After some more conversation, if that's what you could call it. She gave us a little more information and allowed us to pass unmolested. We came across, the foreman's quarters and entered. Finding a warning in the foreman's journal.

We proceeded into the mine and no sooner did we enter 40' the water that flooded the room erupted, engulfing the Snaggletooth. The monstrosity tore into him although we were able to hack it apart it damaged our weapons and armor in the process. We made our way further into the cave and were ambushed by some type of undead creatures, that burst out of the walls. We did make short work of them and found a lock box in an abandon camp. We headed in deeper, and were greeted with a minor cave in, that two more of these monstrosities caused. I jumped out of the way and immediately skewered one with my glaive. The room was filled with salt dust and we couldn't see 5' in front of us, but we rolled over them. After regaining our orientation with these things slain. We headed deeper into the tunnel and found the blue orb the foreman's journal. Immediately, the paladin was confronted by some humanoid. We assume it was undead, but I must say what ensued next was nothing less than epic. In one fell swoop, the paladin smite the beast, with one blow.

Words can only do so much to describe such a glorious blow. It was so beautiful!! Much like when I slit the thugs throat. He had it coming, they should have known better to try to shake down my companions. As he kneel there trying to convince us he didn't know where the stash was. Ahhh. The feel of his hair in my hand as I jerked his head back. The look of shock, as he realized I was giving no quarter. The terror in his eyes. The feel of my blade slide across his neck. The smell of his bowels empty as his throat emptied. The last look on his face as I delivered him to the void. What a wonderful moment, a precious slice of time, the feeling of being truly alive.
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Strange Lot
These pinkies are a strange lot. I cannot believe that they choose to cram themselves into such crowded, filthy conditions called a city. Is their need for mass social interaction so great that they would rather suffer in this filthy arena than live in a peaceful, beautiful wilderness? Or is it just laziness. Or do all pinkies possess a subtle state of insanity? They would benefit greatly by being separated into small functional tribes because the pinkies in this city clearly do not get along. There is a constant state of strife within the city, only the inhabitants refuse to acknowledge it for what it is, war.

Today was a prime example of the insanity that permeates the fabric of pinky society. One faction provided false information to another faction precipitating an attack on a completely uninvolved faction. I purposely did not say innocent faction because there is no such thing as innocence in pinky society. (They really are an atrocious race.) The faction that was duped into attacking the wrong enemy chose to do so by taking hostages. Their intent was clearly to kill and or torture the hostages. Their cause was just, they want to outlaw slavery, but their methods insane…. But what else could I expect.

I cannot wait to return home to my tribe. I almost left for home yesterday, but there is too much at stake. If my small group can find the lost city, there might be great artifacts from our ancestors. At the very least, we might find historical records. Maybe even before the time of these smelly, hairless baboons called humans….pinkies.

There are a few individuals who have risen above the afflictions of their birth. Those in my group are the only humans I have met that have transcended the foul limitations of their race. Based on my observations, they might be the greatest of their race. This group constantly surprises me, especially Elben. Never have I seen a human that could match my physical skills. He is quite impressive, he can even keep up with me climbing; a feat that I still cannot fathom. His sense of loyalty is nearly as great as his physical prowess. When I was faced with a superior foe, he charged to aid me. Without his aid I would likely have died because the foe was somehow magically enhanced, otherwise I am certain that would have dispatched him without difficulty. Despite the fact that this foe was clearly enhanced, Elben charged in with complete disregard for his own safety. He focused on disrupting the foes efforts by engaging in close combat. He purposely drew the foe’s attacks to himself, allowing me to attack without risking injury. A truly selfless act. I believe the others in our group would have acted in similar fashion, even the taciturn dwarf.

As I sit here reflecting, I realize that the chance to discover our lost histories are not the only reason I chose to stay, this small group of people have earned my loyalty. Just maybe, this is what my father wanted me learn; there are individuals of substance in even the most decrepit of races.
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Quest of Growth, Shattered
Afforded his first opportunity to rest since his shipwreck 2 weeks earlier, Shere’ Khan lounged in his makeshift bed and reflected.

A lot had happened since he was sent on his Growth Quest, and none of it planned. His father, Shaka’ Khan the Great Master Chief of the 7 tribes sent him out into the world to gain experience and wisdom. Shere’ Khan would need it when the mantle of Master Chief passed to him. The intent had been to go to a big city and experience that form of life. Though his father would not admit it, Shere’ Khan knew that an extended stay in the city was only intended to make him appreciate tribal life even more. Unfortunately, the ship never made it to the city.

One minute Shere’ Khan was eating the dinner in the main hold of the ship, the next minute he was waking up on a rocky beach strewn with wreckage. He was completely alone and every inch of his body ached. He felt even worse than when he ran the gauntlet of adulthood. Usually, the clubbing was applied with restraint, but being the Master Chief’s son and heir, restraint was not a consideration. There were even several blows to the head. Head shots were always prohibited but some were overly zealous, caught up in the moment.

A small grin reached Shere’ Khan’s lips as he thought about the concern on Purra’s beautiful face as she tended to him after the gauntlet. He could still the smell jasmine in her fur. She was perfect in every way. If, no, when he returned he would perform the bonding ritual with her, and he would bring her father the greatest gift of bonding ever seen in the 7 tribes. He didn’t know what the gift would be, but he would know it when he saw it.

However, he would first have to escape this cursed island before he could perform any tribe ritual. Between poisonous reptiles, cannibals, flying carnivores and limitless undead, merely surviving was nearly impossible. Shere’ Khan had survived so far by staying high up in the trees, but hiding in the trees did not allow for eating and sleeping.

Shere’ Khan had nearly decided to risk all and steal from the cannibals when he saw some pinkies stage a diversion so they could do the same. To his surprise, the pinkies did not steal food. Instead, they stole equipment. Seeing the success of the small tribe, Shere’ Khan followed them. They seemed to wandering haplessly. There was no rhyme or reason to their actions. Listening in on one the campfire discussions, Shere’ Khan learned the location of a hut. Taking the risk, he got close enough to view the map, and steal a few morsels.

Striking out in the grey light of dawn, Shere’ Khan made for the hut. He had little trouble finding the hut, but hopes of salvation were quickly dashed. It would provide little more than shelter. There were no equipment or supplies of any kind. However, it seemed like a likely place others would visit, so Shere’ Khan setup a pad hidden in the rafters. When others did come, he would simply pilfer some supplies.

On the fourth day he saw the same set of pinkies that looted the cannibal camp. They were trudging across a grass field. Shere’ Khan thought he had been spotted, but the pinkies just continued on their haphazard trek. Later that same day, their haphazard trek led them to his hut.

Sneaking in to take a better look at their supplies, Shere’ Khan did something he hadn’t done in 8 years, he slipped. The jig was up. But thinking fast Shere’ Khan pretended that he wanted to make himself known.

The pinkies looked pretty roughed up, and a little depressed. Shere’ Khan quickly learned that one the pinkies had just died. Despite their sadness, the furless pinkies offered Shere’ Khan food. And not just any food, they gave him the greatest of all spirit foods, Kingfish. The pinkies simply call it shark.

When the pinkies asked Shere’ Khan to join them, he intended to just tag along until he saw an opportunity to escape, along with some supplies. However, he quickly realized that despite their ugly furless skin, these pinkies were an honorable clan. Just as Shere’ Khan was contemplating whether or not stick with the little clan for an extended period, it happened. They made Shere’ Khan a formal member of the clan by giving him a weapon. And not just any weapon, it was the greatest blade Shere’ Khan ever beheld. Accepting the weapon would mean Shere’ Khan pledged his loyalty and even his life to the clan. As much as he wanted to avoid the obligation it carried, he could not refuse; for he knew that this sword was the Gift of Bonding he would give Purra’s father.
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Game Master:
Pathfinder Core Setting (1st)
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