You crossed a painted line in Kaerys with the wrong warrant in your pocket.
Session I
Read after you have found your place
The empty span.
This page carries everything that is shared before play, and nothing your character has to discover at the table.
SystemPathfinder 2e Remaster
StartLevel 5; full gear seized
RegisterLethal, fair, consequential
MissingCapture and transport only
You remember where you came from, what you did, who mattered, and the person you decided to become. The gap covers capture and transport. You cannot yet measure it: somebody has moved you a long way without giving you a trustworthy clock, horizon, or port call.
Nothing earlier belongs to anyone but you. Your GM can offer fragments and contradictions at any time, and cannot declare your character’s former loyalties, crimes, relationships, or identity without you agreeing to it first.
You may separately invite one deeper blank. That is an opt-in collaboration, never a surprise, and you can withdraw it later — including after it has already come up in play.
Before the blank
Choose your last clear memory.
Make it ordinary enough to feel stolen. Take one of these, rewrite it, or bring your own — the only requirement is that it be an ordinary workday rather than a turning point.
You watched the Hall’s queue form before dawn and recognised somebody in it.
You heard a lift matrix begin to sing, and knew who would be blamed for it.
You promised to meet someone at the low docks. You do not remember arriving.
You received a letter under a seal you thought had gone with the war.
You watched two berth clerks argue over a schedule older than either of them.
And then
There is a clean edge where memory ends.
You wake in clothes that are not yours, in the hold of an airship you have never seen. Your gear is gone. Three other prisoners are waking beside you.
You cannot see a horizon. Used meal trays are stacked by the hatch, the uppermost still warm; none accounts for a time you can remember. The people operating the ship are neither pirates nor a navy. Beyond the bulkhead, they murmur a brief prayer before the next tray comes through. The deck barely trembles. No boiler shudders, and nobody is shouting corrections.
The turn, when it comes, is beautiful.
You know enough about the world to count how many shouted corrections that turn should have taken. You hear none.
The folio ends here
The next fact belongs to the table.
Places, people, and disputed truths enter this record after the party has met them. Bring the rest yourself.