The following morning, Argor awakes and looks out the window. He spots Mr. DaLuca tending to some shrubbery in the front lawn, and smiles to himself, knowing that finally this place would be a place fit for someone of his qualifications. He turns and walks to the center of the room, and uses his magic to cleanse himself as well as his clothes, and to tidy up the room. Not that he was trying to spare the maids any work, but he would just rather not have them tinkering around his chambers more than necessary.
He then turned and looked in the mirror to make sure he was appropriately prepared to venture out, and nearly jumped back when he was reminded of his newest manifestation of the serum. Once he regained his composure, he stared at his reflection for several minutes, disgusted at what he had become. He reaches over and grasps the mask and gloves from the top of the dresser and puts them on, and then levitated his staff to his hand and said, "Come along, Arctyryx. Lets see how the place improved."
Argor makes his way down the upstairs hall and down the stairs, appraising everything as he goes. The maids and Ms. Legrand had done their work well, so it seemed. The place appeared spotless at last, and the smells coming from the kitchen were equally as pleasing to the mages senses.
He passes by the two maids setting the table for breakfast, and halts one of them as they carry a fourth plate out. "Ma'am, I will continue to take my meals in private. I believe I shall dine in the study this morning, however." He then continues on his tour.
As he enters the den, he spots Ms. Legrand and nods a greeting her direction. She was an attractive specimen of the half-elven form, the elven heritage providing a welcome respite to the mutations that were overtaking the group of Pathfinders. He also took note that she has yet to correct him...
"Quite well Master Constantine, thank you. This really is a lovely residence. With the proper care I hope you'll feel the same." She follows him into the study. Looking around she says, "I can't wait to see these shelves filled with books." She hesitates for a moment, quirking her mouth. "I don't want to presume, but...speaking of shelves. How do you find the furnishings here, sir?" She is undoubtedly referring to the antiquity of the pieces.
Argor responds to the lady matter-of-factly, "Regarding the manor itself, I agree, it has much potential, and I am impressed with the way things are coming around thus far. The furnishings were provided by the Society. I suppose they were part of the original acquisition of the place. I believe that, in time, I shall replace them for something more...appropriate for what I have in mind for the estate. But yes, I agree with you, this library is in desperate need of being stocked."
He then has a seat on the couch in the den and says, "Tell me, do you simply enjoy reading for the pleasure of it or do you find a particular subject interesting to study?"
"To be honest I mostly enjoy novels, and the Pathfinder Chronicles. Though I also enjoy reading Erastil's holy text and sometimes books about Absalom. I moved here a decade ago, but there's still so much to learn about the city! You're...you're a wizard right?" Jannicke guesses, looking at his staff and robes. "You seem to be very well read yourself, sir."
Knowing that his simple prestidigitation was still in effect from earlier, Argor holds out his closed hand, and slowly opens it, willing into existence an image of a rose the shade of a setting sun. Before she can try to touch it, it bursts forth into a dozen butterflies composed of arcane energy that flutter about her as if she were the center of a vortex, before one by one winking out.
"Indeed, a wizard I am. And yes, I have studied many subjects, read many Chronicles, as well as several novels myself."
Jannicke smiles as the rose appears, and then giggles when it turns into a bunch of butterflies. "Thank you, that was nice. Do you have any specific requests for books? I could attempt to procure them for you."
~~~~TIME WARP~~~~~
The rest of the week flies by, with the Pathfinders getting to know their new house, new staff, abilities and gear. Exactly a week after their triumph over the Silent Tide, another messenger in Society livery shows up at the door to their house. In a case of deja-vu he delivers the message, "Venture Captain Adril Hestram requires all of you at the Grand Lodge immediately."
After gathering their things and making any quick preparations, the Pathfinders make their way the short distance across the Foreign Quarter to the Grand Lodge. They pass through the massive, familiar gates blazoned with the symbol of the open road and follow the messenger across the campus. He leads them to a room and asks them to wait inside. They take seats in the small chamber around a darkwood table. Various trophies gathered from across the face of Golarion hang from the walls. A monkey-shaped mask with a serpent’s tongue glares out from the center of one wall, a strange halberd with gold rings piercing its thick blade and dragons carved along its haft hangs opposite the monkey mask. Finally, after an annoyingly long wait, a huge bearded man wearing creaking leathers marches into the room. He looks at each of the Freaks, as if he were appraising a handful of gemstones freshly pulled from the earth, and nods curtly. They know him as Adril Hestram, a longtime Pathfinder and rumored to be the unwitting architect of the famed Katapesh slave riot of 4702. Adril’s physique puts most half-orcs to shame.
“Welcome back, friends. We have a serious problem. Skelg the Ripper came to Absalom one month ago. Like many Ulfen warriors he joined the Longaxes, the Taldan Emperor’s personal guard whose duty it is to protect the embassy and Taldan visitors. Skelg also dropped a hefty sum of gold to purchase a manor in the Ivy district, something a Longaxe isn’t paid well enough to do. It is widely assumed that he brought most of his wealth with him from the north—a rumor I know to be true."
"It seems that Skelg also brought a curse with him. In his letter to me, he speaks of lying abed in this miserable summer heat dying from the cold. Neither physician nor priest has been able to cure his ailment, and there are no signs of disease or poison. Of course, for such a man, there is no greater dishonor than to die in bed instead of in battle."
"Normally, the Pathfinder Society would monitor these events and let the authorities deal with them. However, there are three factors that have drawn our interest. First, Skelg is himself a member of our Society and has asked for our help. Second, he is a personal friend of mine, and finding a sparring partner as worthy as Skelg to replace him would be a trying task. Last, he claims that artifacts of great power are involved, and that we may be able to recover them for the vaults of the Grand Lodge."
"We view this situation as having enough importance to assign you to investigate it. Go to the home of Skelg the Ripper, learn what you can, and do your best to help him. If you find an item that is somehow connected to the curse, either retrieve it or glean as much information as you can about it."
“I trust there are no questions?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Argor listens to Hestram lay out his request, and it becomes evident to him that this is simply a personal request from the Venture Captain, not some "mission," as they had been led to believe. However, Argor was intrigued by the mention of powerful artifacts. Even if he couldn't keep them himself, recovering them should allow him access to study them.
"And where, exactly in the Ivy District, does this Skelg reside?"
Captain Hestram sighs, "Skelg lives in Greydog Manor on Parkview Street in the Ivy District. You really ought to keep up with current events if you want to get anywhere in the Society."
"How long have you know this Ulfen? How did you meet? What more can you tell us about him?" the deep gnome's small, thin voice comes from a shadow.
"Yes, perhaps my time as a Pathfinder and a conjurer are best served memorizing the names and addresses of the three hundred thousand residents of this city. I shall take your suggestion under consideration..." Argor retorts to the smug answer provided by the Venture Captain.
For the rest of the week, Cladissa made several more trips to the shops to swap out her clothing in favor of lighter and airier fabrics. Her changed fashion was in no way a new statement but only a practical consideration that it was hot, and her new fur required some adjustment. Furthermore, the more she ventured out, the more she realized the rather cosmopolitan and jaded Absalom citizenry could care less whether she sported a tail or not.
She also found herself preferring to prowl about at night. She took long naps during the hottest parts of the day, and spent much of her nights slinking about in the garden or in and around the neighboring district.
She greets the messenger without the trepedation the first time around. Though her heart pounds with the thought of another mission, she surprises herself when she realizes that she's actually rather excited.
After exploring the small waiting room thoroughly, she paces a bit to pass the time. When Hestram arrives and looks them all over, she shifts uncomfortably and again feels the changes she has undergone. She fidgits under his gaze.
Regarding questions, she has one. Is he expecting us?
"How long have you know this Ulfen? How did you meet? What more can you tell us about him?" the deep gnome's small, thin voice comes from a shadow.
"He's a fellow Pathfinder, and a mighty Ulfen warrior. More than that is none of your business and won't change your mission," Hestram replies to the shadowy gnome with a bark of impatience.
For the rest of the week, Cladissa made several more trips to the shops to swap out her clothing in favor of lighter and airier fabrics. Her changed fashion was in no way a new statement but only a practical consideration that it was hot, and her new fur required some adjustment. Furthermore, the more she ventured out, the more she realized the rather cosmopolitan and jaded Absalom citizenry could care less whether she sported a tail or not.
She also found herself preferring to prowl about at night. She took long naps during the hottest parts of the day, and spent much of her nights slinking about in the garden or in and around the neighboring district.
She greets the messenger without the trepedation the first time around. Though her heart pounds with the thought of another mission, she surprises herself when she realizes that she's actually rather excited.
After exploring the small waiting room thoroughly, she paces a bit to pass the time. When Hestram arrives and looks them all over, she shifts uncomfortably and again feels the changes she has undergone. She fidgits under his gaze.
Regarding questions, she has one. Is he expecting us?
"Maybe not you specifically, but he's expecting Pathfinders, yes." Hestram says to Cladissa. He crosses his arms over his chest, and gives them a "Well, will that be all?" look.
Argor rises and says, "I have no further questions. However, I do ask that you keep in mind, Venture Captain, that should we be able to lift this...affliction...perhaps you should treat us with some respect for helping you in such a personal matter, despite our rank within the Society. We offered you no disrespect upon arriving to receive this 'mission,' yet have been greeted with curt words and harsh temperament since we arrived."
With that he turns and walks out, not waiting for a response from Adril.
Hestram sighs again. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just worried about my friend. I'll owe you guys one, despite, your neophyte status if you can help Skelg."
Cladissa lingers after Argor storms out. We'll help your friend, she says softly, then she slinks out the door with the rest of the group.
Hrimnagel pads out behind Cladissa. "Yes, friends are precious," he says from the doorway to signal that he's left the office.
Grommuk's eyes glaze over, much as they often do, when too many words begin flying about the room. A man is sick and they don't know how to fix him. The dull orc isn't sure why they would be able to help where other healers have failed, but that's likely because he tuned out the second half of the conversation. His mind returns to the delicious breakfast he had consumed that very morning. Many of the initiates within the Grand Lodge would tease Grommuk about his heritage, claiming that orc flesh shared much in common with that of a swine. Ultimately, they wanted to convince him that the bacon he consumed with reckless abandon was truly orc meat. He never cared, even if they were speaking truthfully. Bacon was f*#&ing delicious, and well worth cannibalism.
It takes a moment for Grommuk to realize the others have already left—nearly fifteen seconds. He shares a flat and awkward stare with Hestram for several more seconds before abruptly blurting out "Grommuk going to leave now. I hope Skelg not die." Then the brute turns and lopes out of the room after the others.
As the others catch up to Argor, he turns his head to speak to Cladissa.
"I suppose we impressed the Venture Captain so much in our rescue of Yargos and saving the city that we earned the right to do his menial, personal tasks. And what, pray tell, does he expect any of us to do about this? Not one of us is a proper healer, despite the restorative magics at our disposal."
As Grommuk thuds his way up behind them, Argor says sarcastically, "Perhaps Grommuk can squeeze the illness out of him."
Hrimnagel does NOT catch up to Argor and instead waits for Grommuk who he attempts to keep up with, whether the orc realizes or not.
As the others catch up to Argor, he turns his head to speak to Cladissa.
"I suppose we impressed the Venture Captain so much in our rescue of Yargos and saving the city that we earned the right to do his menial, personal tasks. And what, pray tell, does he expect any of us to do about this? Not one of us is a proper healer, despite the restorative magics at our disposal."
As Grommuk thuds his way up behind them, Argor says sarcastically, "Perhaps Grommuk can squeeze the illness out of him."
Cladissa visibly bristles as she turns to Argor, her yellow eyes flashing golden in the sun. I happen to have read many texts on anatomy, disease, poisons and injuries, and have some practical experience in treating the same. So perhaps Captain Hestram knows something you do not. Or perhaps he feels that the cure for this particular ailment is arrogant disdain for all around you.
The words flew out in a torrent, and when she finished, a hand flies to her mouth in horror. I'm sorry-- she starts, glancing frantically about as if looking for a doppelganger who had stepped in her place for a moment. That just came out... I didn't mean--
Argor's smile was hidden beneath his mask, though it is likely his eyes would betray his glee at seeing a spark rise up in Cladissa, if they weren't completely black.
Rather than respond with anger, as one might expect, Argor simply continues the conversation in a cool, collected tone. "So tell me, Cladissa. What did you glean from those texts that may shed a light into this particular affliction that not even the doctors and clerics at the cities disposal were able to uncover?"
He stops in the street, and turns to face Cladissa directly. "Do not mistake my callousness towards the incompetence of the Venture Captain, or that of our companions, for that matter, for disdain for 'all around me.' I simply speak the truth. While you have studied these things, you are still, in fact, not a proper healer. Neither is Hrimnagel, despite his ability to cast a curative spell here and there. If he were, I would wager he would have tried to use his talents on his good friend Grommuk during our little escapade into the Puddles. Grommuk is better at breaking bodies than mending them, that much is for certain. And I, despite my profound knowledge on many obscure facts, have not practiced any healing arts. I am as incompetent in the matter as the rest of us, and I am not embarrassed by that fact nor am I foolish enough to think otherwise. I mean no insult by pointing out our deficiencies. It is important we are aware of our weaknesses if we are to function as a team. If the others would get on board with that concept, we'd be better off." He glances back over his shoulder in the direction of Grommuk and Hrimnagel.
He then resumes walking, offering his arm to Cladissa as a show of no ill will. Whether or not she takes it, he continues speaking. "As for an apology, there is no need, at least not with me. I think it is important that we speak our minds and are honest with each other. And it pleases me to see you come out of that shell of yours. You are the only member of the catfolk species I have ever observed as having one." He gives a playful prod with his elbow at his poor excuse of a joke regarding her transformation.
Still visibly shaken from her outburst, she pinches her brow as she lets Argor steady her. When he refers to her as a catfolk, her head snaps up and she meets his eyes, somewhat confused until she realizes he was trying to jest.
She shakes off his arm and stumbles a few steps until her tail counterbalances her reflexively. Let's just... go, she says at last, while sinking into thought as they begin their walk to the Ivy District.
What's happening to me. I'd never talk like that to anyone before, she thinks, warring mentally with herself. But I've wanted to, another thought creeps in. And so what if I'm changing? Did I actually like myself before? Isn't this better?
She shakes her head and presses her palm to her temple to quiet the internal debate. Debate? Is there, really? She focuses on weaving through the crowds and winding streets and forces her thoughts to the subject of curses and ailments.
The walk north through the Foreign Quarter is pleasant. The weather is hot and sunny, and the streets are buzzing with life. People from every race, nation and walk of life mix in the streets and alleyways of the Foreign Quarter. The wares of fruit, flower and spice merchants lend their scents to the air to mix with the savory aromas of street food and restaurants. The sounds of a half dozen languages can be heard at any one time. Grommuk serves as a very effective path maker, splitting the crowd with his huge bulk and aura of intimidation. Argor is nearly as effective in his black leather mask and robes. Cladisssa seems mundane next to them. Few notice the black cat or shadow that trail them.
They enter the Ivy District after about a half an hour of walking. Absalom's Ivy District is by far the smallest of the city's districts. It derives its name from its tree-lined streets, which attracts a wealthier and more aristocratic demographic than the seedier parts of town located down the bluff toward the harbor. Filled with theaters, galleries,and discrete parlor houses, the district draws an eclectic array of artists, minor nobles and famous actors. The Pathfinders' route leads them down Parkview street, aptly named for its wonderful view of the district's famous park. They pass groves of trees, ponds, and even a topiary menagerie on their right hand side. The left side of the street is lined with expensive residences and upscale shops. The people here are more uniformly human, and much richer looking than those in the Foreign Quarter. After a few more minutes of walking they come to Greydog Manor.
Standing like a tomb in a flower garden, Greydog Manor is easy to find. Six-foot-high walls surround the massive, stone building and an immense iron gate flanked by granite statues of hunting dogs stands open, offering access to the interior. Looking along the street, it is clear that locals give the estate a wide berth. The stone walls seem to give a slight chill to the air, which is not entirely unpleasant on such a hot day.
Argor appreciates the sights of the Ivy District as they meander it's streets. "In time, I will reside here rather than that dump I am in now."
As the building known as Greydog Manor comes into view, Argor pauses and looks over the abode. Noting the open gates, he says, "Well, at least we are expected," before motioning for the gate and walking that way.
Hrimnagel surveys the scene and follows the crew through open gate.
Cladissa's ears twitch as they approach the stone building. She also glances about, staying wary.
Grommuk gives an unappreciative shrug at the massive feat of stonework that stretches out before him. He noisily trods his way towards the entrance to the estate.
The courtyard is cool and shady compared to the street outside. Dead leaves are scattered across the flagstones and the granite steps where two Ulfen warriors stand. Each man wears a chain shirt and a surcoat bearing the Taldan crest and carries the traditional imperial guard long axe.The guards look at you sternly, and one of them speaks. “Skelg is ill. He wants no visitors.”
Argor eyes the men suspiciously, and halts his advance. "That is extremely interesting, gentlemen, given that we are here at his personal request. "
In truth, Argor only stopped so that Grommuk could get between these miscreant guardsmen and himself, as he could tell something was wrong here.
"He has decided he would rather die in peace. Please, leave," the same guard replies. He hand tightens its grip on his longaxe, but he makes no move to raise the weapon.
"An interesting change of heart, considering Ulfen are steadfast in their belief that to die in bed is a terrible dishonor."
Argor's hand falls casually to the scroll case at his side, should these poor excuses of fake guards push the issue to violence.
"I can see you won't listen to me, so I'll take you inside to hear it from Skelg himself. Let me just close the gate since we won't be here to watch, and then we'll take you in to the manor," the guard replies, sounding annoyed. He makes his way towards the gate.
Grommuk's hands have been clenching into ever tighter fists as the small exchange takes place. It's bad enough they had to march through the part of town where everyone has a stick up their ass about an orc in their midst. Being given the run around by a pair of Ulfen dolts gnaws at the orc's last nerve. As the man gives voice to an obvious lie, the last straw is accrued.
Slamming his knuckles against the stone pathway leading up towards the manor door, Grommuk interposes himself between gate and guard then points an enormous finger at the face of the Ulfen doing the talking. ""
Argor smiles beneath his mask and says, "I would listen to the Orc, friend. You wouldn't like him when he's angry."
Cladissa's eyes narrow and take a predatory gleam as she leans forward. Cole takes this moment to hiss menacingly.
"Fine you nosy f+&%s, we'll do this the hard way," the guard says. They both raise their axes and tense to charge forward and attack. They begin to shake and twitch and the veins in their faces and necks pulse rapidly as their faces turn bright red.
_________________________________
Initiative
Party 16
Guards 12
Cladissa steps up next to Grommuk and locks her eyes on the closest "guard." She punctuates her baleful glare with a hiss.
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Hrimnagel pads forward confident that Grommuk will dispose of the trash.
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Argor moves at an angle towards the foolish guards, too stupid to realize they are outmatched here. He figures Grommuk would rush the nearest one, so he seeks to interpose the orc between him and the other Ulfen, hoping the orc's strength will dispatch the first foe quickly.
He wills a bolt of acid to launch itself at the nearest one. The acid hits the Ulfen square on the ear, melting some of the flesh causing it to appear to meld together with the man's skull.
__________
The Ulfen ducks just in time to avoid Grommuk's swing. It is a fortunate thing for the northman, as the orc's blow had enough power behind it to cave in his sternum. Seeing his swing miss raises the green brute's ire even further, and he wheels around to correct the error in his first swing.
Cladissa steps up next to Grommuk and locks her eyes on the closest "guard." She punctuates her baleful glare with a hiss. The guard hisses back as he feels dark, invisible arcane energy swirl around him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The shadow that is Hrimnagel pads forward silently, confident that Grommuk will dispose of the trash.
Argor moves at an angle towards the foolish guards, too stupid to realize they are outmatched here. He figures Grommuk would rush the nearest one, so he seeks to interpose the orc between him and the other Ulfen, hoping the orc's strength will dispatch the first foe quickly.
He wills a bolt of acid to launch itself at the nearest one. The acid hits the Ulfen square on the ear, melting some of the flesh causing it to appear to meld together with the man's skull.
Grommuk lopes up to the lead guard and takes a swing at him. The Ulfen ducks just in time to avoid Grommuk's swing. It is a fortunate thing for the northman, as the orc's blow had enough power behind it to cave in his sternum. Seeing his swing miss raises the green brute's ire even further, and he wheels around to correct the error in his first swing.
The two guards see the huge orc as the largest threat, and they act accordingly. The second guard jogs around behind the big orc, while the guard cursed by Cladissa probes Grommuk's defenses with his axe. As Grommuk's head whips to the side to keep an eye on the second guard, the first one makes his strike. With a loud roar, the lead guard whips his axe at Grommuk in a two handed swipe. The heavy blow is headed right from Grommuk's neck, but Cladissa's hex causes the blade to veer violently off course at the last second and miss Grommuk completely. The guard looks confused and very angry. "I'm gonna kill you witch!" he screams at Cladissa.
The second guard also takes the chance to attack, swinging his own axe at back of Grommuk's knee. The axe hits Grommuk's knee, but the joint is so thickly sinewed and covered in the mutant orc's thick skin that the blow bounces off, leaving only a superficial split in Grommuk's skin that doesn't even bleed.
______________________________________
Miss
Miss
Seeing Grommuk become flanked by the Ulfen, Argor adjusts his strategy a bit.
"Clever, for simple minded brutes. Someone along the way taught them some strategy."
He pulls a scroll from the case he had reached for earlier, and recites the incantation as he steps a bit closer to the fight. As his spell work concludes, a wave of color pulses out and washes over the enraged human.
_________
The two guards see the huge orc as the largest threat, and they act accordingly. The second guard jogs around behind the big orc, while the guard cursed by Cladissa probes Grommuk's defenses with his axe. As Grommuk's head whips to the side to keep an eye on the second guard, the first one makes his strike. With a loud roar, the lead guard whips his axe at Grommuk in a two handed swipe. The heavy blow is headed right from Grommuk's neck, but Cladissa's hex causes the blade to veer violently off course at the last second and miss Grommuk completely. The guard looks confused and very angry. "I'm gonna kill you witch!" he screams at Cladissa.
In defiance of his threat, Cladissa cackles in mad glee, again not really understanding the powers she channels but letting it take her nonetheless. She takes another step forward and, noting Grommuk's miss earlier, levels a hex to whither away his defenses.
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