Hey, thanks for coming back. You are about to
listen to the second of our adventurer introductions,
this time focusing on Taz, the party's homegrown
pyromaniac genius. Well, he thinks he is anyway.
I guess we'll see how things go. We just want
to say that we appreciate all of the support
we've gotten during the first two weeks of this
release. You know, it is, uh... Not always an
easy thing to do something like this, to put
yourself out there kind of in a way that maybe
isn't always comfortable. But the feedback and
listens we've received have really validated
that we think we're doing something interesting
and cool and worthwhile. We hope you do too.
Anyway, without further ado. Meet Taz. We fade
in. A large, red -faced man in second -hand armor
can be seen dragging the body of a small goblin
from a thick wooded area toward a clearing. A
ragged wound in the goblin's neck still pumps
warm red blood, leaving an erratic map of their
path. Out of breath, the man with the red face
stops, laughs to himself, and flings the lifeless
form of the goblin forward. He continues into
the clearing, and as he walks, we see the goblin
once more, tossed onto a stack of other corpses,
the bodies of his friends and family. The wound
on his neck pumps no more. Not much treasure,
though. Another man calls out. This man is darker
in complexion, balding with a scruffy beard.
Around them, we see a village made of small huts,
a couple of longhouses. The construction is rudimentary,
though solid. The arbitrary architecture of the
buildings suggests a type of civic mania. Some
homes are adorned with feathers and horns from
wild creatures, while others feature spikes,
hanging strings of teeth, and others still are
tattooed by carvings, shapes of animals and goblins
and gods alike. etched directly into the pillars
and framework of the homes. In shape, they're
only constant as a sense of universal social
disdain for utility. Some homes are sloped, some
are domes, some are boxes with pitched roofs,
but the majority of them are fashioned as pentagrams
or interwoven tunnels or into the shape of animals
into whom one's mouth one would crawl to enter.
Several others feature another. Less appealing
entrance. Keep searching, keep searching. Boss
will be cross. We can't come up with more than
this. The large red -faced man lazily tosses
a few gold coins into the air. Boss can go to
whichever the hells he chooses. Don't know why
we followed him out here anyway. Not even sure
how he got to be in charge. The dark -haired
man calls back, approaching a small hut. It is
less manic and thoughtlessly constructed than
the others, though its strange geometry unsettles
the eye for reasons that are not immediately
apparent. He reaches his hand for the door of
the hut and opens it. An explosion booms through
the wilderness around, and a crimson and black
vortex swirls violently to life in the sky above.
From the surrounding woods, hundreds of birds
take flight. Calling their alarm in a confused
clamor, they burst from the treetops like a swarming
black cloud whose pieces move in ways which are
erratic as they are certain. Instinct -driven
panic. Our gaze returns to nothing but the burning
hut, blackened grass, and the charred skeleton
of the dark -haired man. Taz moves from the backside
of the hut he used to call home. He knows all
of the houses in this part of town by memory,
and he's able to use his strange construction
to find hiding places as he works his way towards
the forest to the south of the settlement. What
in the hells was that? A thin man with a handful
of facial scars bellows, stumbling toward the
skeleton of his late colleague. The red -faced
man jogs around one hut and arrives nearly simultaneously
as the man with the face scars. Though the fire
is out, Both stand on opposite edges of the streak
of burnt grass. I don't know. Didn't think goblins
could do something like this, honest. Maybe the
boss set a trap trying to catch one. Maybe he
forgot to undo it. Oh yeah? Like he caught this
one? The scarred -faced man says, kicking toward
the charred skeleton. Boss wants to work him,
not roast him. I don't think it was him. Once
Taz makes it to the forest, He's going to find
a path that he can take without too much difficulty
that isn't a trail. Once he's about 100 yards
away, he'll bury a charge that he's prepared
and set a long fuse. As soon as it's lit, Taz
will start moving through the underbrush as quickly
as he can, trying to make it to the opposite
side of the village. The common house is there
and the largest building in the village. If there
are survivors... Taz hopes they're being held
there. The atmosphere booms again as a pillar
of black smoke rises from the forest. We cut
to the men in the village. Each of their attention
is pulled toward the source of the noise. Several
begin running immediately. Others appear confused.
Some frightened. Taz knows this is his best opportunity
to reach whatever survivors there might be. There's
a part of him that realizes he can escape now.
Make a new life for himself. Find a new tribe.
And if it weren't for his wife and daughter,
he might. But he can't stomach the thought of
leaving them. And so he does his best to sneak
back into the village, hoping that his charge
has drawn enough bandits to the other side of
the village, maybe even into the forest. The
village is quiet now. From above, it looks empty.
But sounds can be heard coming from under a raised
roof, stable -like structure near the longhouse.
When we cut down to it, we can see dozens of
goblins crammed into cages. The bodies of the
wolves who once called it home, filled with arrows
and discarded in a heap to the side. We see the
shape of Taz, hugged to a corner of the longhouse,
trying to keep his eye out for any sign of life,
of a threat or a target. Once he feels safe,
Taz will make his way carefully to where the
sounds are coming from. Although he can't see
them yet, he recognizes the voices and sounds
as belonging to his people. His heart pounds
so hard he can feel it beat in his ears. He's
brave, for a goblin anyway, and the best scientist
in town, but he was never much of a hunter or
a daredevil, especially for a goblin, and the
thought haunts him as he crosses the open space
between the longhouse and the kennels. Taz, what
are you doing here? His wife cries out when she
sees him. She's in the corner of a cage stuffed
so full that there is no room to sit or lay.
Their daughter is standing next to her, turned
into her, face pressed against her mother's belly.
I couldn't leave, I'm sorry, he says. Goblins
are survivors. Survivors in a world hellbent
on killing them, and it is a goblin's duty to
survive, no matter what it costs them. Taz, you
have to leave, right now. She is desperate, searching
the space behind her husband, her eyes wide with
terror and disbelief. Thirty seconds. Taz says,
fumbling through the contents of his satchel.
His fingers are shaking now. He can barely work
his way through the variety of tools, tinctures,
and oils he carries. That's thirty seconds you
don't have, I'm afraid. A new voice, low and
casual, calls out. Only then does Taz become
aware of the shadow that's been cast over him.
The others thought... You might be trying to
escape. I didn't think so. Too much work. Too
many tells. Someone who had time to set that
up. I figured they had time to slip away. Quietly.
If that was their goal. Taz's blood runs cold,
and he stops suddenly, turning to see the source
of the voice. As Taz turns, he sees a tall, slender
human male standing in the empty space of the
stall door. He has exceedingly long brown hair
and wears a long coat, black leather armor beneath
it. He has a large hat with a brim so wide that
it sags at the edges. There is a melancholy to
his eyes and smile that almost served to disarm
Taz. Taz backs up against the kennel, fumbling
now through his satchel. He knows he has another
bomb in here somewhere, but his fingers are slick
with sweat and shaking with panic. See? Folk
run or they fight back, but they don't often
do both. The man moves inside, crouching, so
that he's closer to eye level with Taz. Men like
them, they don't think critically, you see. Goblins
run. That's what they do. And so those men assume
you ran. But I take the world as it comes to
me. Taz manages to find the vial he's looking
for and pulls it from the satchel. He's going
to throw it at the man. even though he knows
he's too close and he can get burned as well.
The man catches Taz's arm before he manages to
draw it all the way back, and the force of his
grip belies his slight frame. Taz cries out in
pain, and the vial falls harmlessly to the ground.
See, I didn't come out here to make a friend.
Look what I found. You and me. We're gonna be
pals. The best of them. Roll Bravely is a fan
production featuring the Pathfinder second edition
role -playing system and is created for entertainment
purposes only. All characters, adventures, and
interpretations of game mechanics are our own
creation and do not represent official Pathfinder
content. Pathfinder and all related trademarks
are owned by Paizo Inc. We are not affiliated
with nor endorsed by Paizo Inc. Game content
may include fantasy violence, mature themes,
and improvised gameplay that may not be suitable
for all audiences. Listener discretion is advised.
Thank you for listening and please join us next
time as we roll bravely on.