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You are woken from your slumber to a loud pounding at your door. Still half asleep, you ask who it is, and begin o stumble towards opening it. "It's, ah, . . . apprentice Cheele, <sir/Ma'am>. I, . . . You are wanted at Venture-Captain Adril Hestram's office, urgently."
You can hear the fear in the novice's voice, and ask what time it is, but your question remains unanswered. You may recall such days, being new to the whole Society fad, (or my not), and conclude that, the message delivered, the novice has fled to continue his duties and avoid your irritation for being awoken.
And it was a good dream, too, as the final memories of your sleeping mind's wandering fade from memory, <unless your an elf :)>.
Unsure just what that was about, you get dressed, and gather your gear, just in case it's a mission. Part of you begins to worry that it might be that fiasco for three days ago, that one you where sure no one knew about, coming back to bite you in the rear. But, calming yourself, everyone makes mistakes, right? And no reason to be worried, well, until there is a reason to worry. Right?
It takes you a few minutes, but once you are ready, you make your way to his office, only to find him, not there.
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A tall man of Tien heritage steps forward. He nose looks like he has been in one bar-room brawl too many, and he moves with the rolling gait of someone who has spent much time at sea. Both arms and legs are massively muscled. To be honest he looks a bit more like the type of person you avoid in an alleyway than a pathfinder.
"Captain San, I can explain..." he starts, then looks around the office - realizing there are others present who were perhaps not involved in the misunderstanding from a few days ago, and the captain missing.
He bows to the half elf.
"Greetings. I am Yoshi Masaso. An explorer of the world, from far Tien."
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The lithe elf hops out of her bed and becomes a flurry of activity. Mission time! Oh, wait, no, what if he found out? Nah, he couldn't have...could he? In moments, she is packed for travel, racing down the halls and gliding to a stop just outside the door. "Ser Captain! I can explain! Oomph!" She steps through the door, and runs right into a tall, bowing man, apparently of Tien heritage.
"Hey! Why are you just standing...wait, you're not the Captain..."
Realizing her lack of manners, she quickly steps to the side and looks around. "Name's Mirima. Where's the Captain?"
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Yoshi looks confused. "Greetings Mirima-where's-the-captain."
He looks closely, his mind ticking over slowly. "No! I am Yoshi, not not-the-captain."
Light dawns.
"Oh no, I mean yes. I mean I'm not the captain, and neither are you." The big man flexes his hands, as if he'd kind of like to break something but is resisting the frustrated impluse to do so.
"So you too have something to explain to him?" he looks around the room. "I feel like I am back at school, waiting for the sensei"
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Standing at around 6ft 6inches is a fierce-looking half-orc wearing scale mail armour and armed with a several weapons, but the ones that stand out the most is a great sword slung on his back and a punching dagger already in his hand.
He stares at the group with a single eye, the other covered barely by a patch, revealing what was probably once a horrific wound. Besides the many usual aspects of his race with the green skin, pointed ears and a pair of jutting teeth, he has unusally blond hair that doesn't appear to belong or fit his look.
Marked on his armour is a crude symbol of Gorum and there is a odd feeling of judgement as he looks at you, as if he can stare into your soul. He finally speaks after taking in this situation.
"This better not be a waste. Gorum demands battle and bloodshed." he states to the half-elf, letting him know that he is equally irritated if this was going to be somekind of game or test.
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Mirima stares at Yoshi, and begins to giggle. "You are right, I am not the captain, and neither are you." Suddenly, she wipes the smile off her face and steps in close to the muscular Tien man. "What have you heard? Who did you hear it from?"
At the sound of a new voice, she turns her attention back to the others, ignoring the Tien man before getting a response from him. She studies the half-elf and the half-orc, each as imposing as the tall muscular man who obstructed her entry. "Hmm, I seem to be in the wrong room. Who called the brute squad?"
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"The Captain?" offers Yoshi, with a totally straight face.
"In answer to your previous question, I heard he wanted to speak with me, urgently."
As for the two half breeds, Yoshi eyes each up carefully. After sizing them up for a few moments he adds "Gorum may have to wait a little bit. I am pleased to find myself in each of your company though. Trouble alone is always worse than trouble with companionship."
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Mirima stares at Yoshi, and begins to giggle. "You are right, I am not the captain, and neither are you." Suddenly, she wipes the smile off her face and steps in close to the muscular Tien man. "What have you heard? Who did you hear it from?"
At the sound of a new voice, she turns her attention back to the others, ignoring the Tien man before getting a response from him. She studies the half-elf and the half-orc, each as imposing as the tall muscular man who obstructed her entry. "Hmm, I seem to be in the wrong room. Who called the brute squad?"
Davor stares at the small elf for a few moments before his expression softens for a moment.
"If this is a mission, we 'Brutes' are the only ones standing between you and whatever creature might want to rip your pretty little head off, young lady." he states with what seems to be a clumsy bow.
"The Captain?" offers Yoshi, with a totally straight face.
"In answer to your previous question, I heard he wanted to speak with me, urgently."
As for the two half breeds, Yoshi eyes each up carefully. After sizing them up for a few moments he adds "Gorum may have to wait a little bit. I am pleased to find myself in each of your company though. Trouble alone is always worse than trouble with companionship."
Davor nods to agreement with the Tian man.
"Wise words." he mutters as waits for the captain who summoned them.
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Paranoid about such things Hisao scouts the place carefully and only appears suddenly behind Mirima after the other occupants have started speaking.
He's a slim man of lithe build, somewhat taller than average, with light brown hair and dark darting eyes. These are his only visible features as he keeps a dark bandana wrapped around the lower half of his face. Even still his Tienese origins are plain to see. Only someone very unfamiliar with the people of the continent would think that he and Yoshi are from the same region however, and Yoshi is obviously not Ninja, which makes Hisao a lot more comfortable about entering the office..
He is dressed in dark garb that seems both form fitting and loose at the same time. On his belt hangs a sharp looking and exotic short blade accompanied on the other side by a decidedly humbler looking mace, both are attached to his belt by weapon cords. A black bandolier stuffed with potions and flasks wraps across his chest from left to right.
Switching to Common to be polite he continues.
You seem somewhat like a monk... but... you do not have the same air he says curiously before turning to acknowledge the others in the office with a nod.
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Mirima looks toward the half-orc with a scolding face and is about to make a scathing retort when she suddenly jumps in surprise.
"Hey! Don't go sneaking up on people like that!" She studies the newcomer most carefully, and obviously compares him with the three others currently in the room. "Hmm, which one is not like the others..."
She suddenly grins happily. "I...smell...a...mission!"
She starts humming offkey and looks for a nice open wall. With a quick chant and a gesture, she begins weaving colors onto the makeshift canvas. One can barely make out hints of the three hulking figures and two lankier figures before them, as if in a portrait. In a moment, she straightens up and steps back. "There, a memento for the captain."
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Yoshi flexes his arms.
He bangs his sailors outfit, and there is the distinctive ring of a chain shirt underneath it.
"I left Quain to travel the world and see more of it. The life of a sailor I found to be highly suitable. But now I find new lands, and a society of explorers. It is good."
He admires the painting for a moment.
"Nobody has ever painted me before." he says, bowing to the elf.
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As Sylphy arrives on the room early, and after seeing the diferent reactions of her companions, and been this her first mission. she will not know what to say, and would nerviously play with her short white hair near a wall as she looks around the room.
When the ninja appears suddenly in the room she will take some distance from her companions.
And after a while will ask Mirima: "Sorry, but do you know why have we been called here?"
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Mirima cocks an eyebrow at the clearly daft half-orc. "Don't be silly. I'm the painter who joined the society." She leaves that for the fierce Gorum pleaser to work out while she looks over at the inconspicuous woman playing with her short white hair.
"Hmm, you are definitely NOT on the brute squad." The elf studies the lady half-elf, trying to figure out how to add her to the masterpiece for the captain, when she catches Sylphy's question.
She points to the tall Tian man just as he bowed to her. "He is in trouble. That's why we're here."
Then, Mirima grins as she leans in towards Sylphiette, and whispers something to her in elvish.
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A tall Garundi woman with a devilish grin enters the room covered in scarves and veils. Through them you can see markings on her back that resemble the mask of Nethys. She looks around at those gathered.
Well, none of them were involved so it must not be about that... she thinks. Must be a mission. I hope they're competent.
"Hello," she says, her smile softer now. "It appears as though we will be going on a mission together. It should be... interesting."
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Suddenly the door opens, and the VC steps inside. He looks each of you over for a moment before heading to his desk and beginning his speech.
“One of our number,. . . has fallen.” Venture-Captain Adril Hestram lets the grave words hang in the air before continuing. It’s difficult to imagine a large man like Adril defeated, but in light of this grim news his shoulders slump; he is a man who suffered a loss. “Targos Min-Katheer, esteemed venture-captain, is dead. His last wishes are simple: he wants his mortal remains to take one last trip along the Silken Way to his home city of Katheer, there to rest with his ancestors. He was one of our finest and we aim to honor his request. It is for this reason I’ve called you all together.” Adril points one sausage-thick finger at the map on the table, tracing a line from Absalom to the mouth of the Pashman River, then snaking up the river to the oasis city of Lopul.
“Here is where you can gather up his remains and join the silken caravan, one of the only caravans daring the harsh journey across the desert from Lopul to Katheer. This mission is simple, joyride really, but we insist you give it the attention it deserves. A few weeks in the sun, seeing the sights of the desert. A dream assignment.”
Adril has a way of making every assignment sound like a sweet deal, but the last few weeks traveling by boat up the Pashman River and then hiking the short distance to the oasis city have been grueling to the extreme. A poisonous river snake claimed one of your guides; you remember his last gasps well, and how his face bloated to twice its usual size within seconds of the bite.
Before you now lies Lopul, the great caravan city, erected around the crystal life-giving waters of the Pool of Sihbon, the largest oasis for over one hundred miles. Mud brick houses baking in the sun and great canvas tents crowd the central copse of palm and date trees.
Lopul is a caravan-city ruled by the Sheikh Samraf Al-Hadari, humble servant to the padishah emperor of Kelesh. The settlement’s population fluctuates wildly with the comings and goings of trade caravans, but usually has at least a thousand locals and travelers in residence at any one time. Most of the city is comprised of tents and temporary dwellings erected by merchants and caravan masters, with only about a quarter of the city’s structures being permanently built around the Pool of Sihbon itself. Among these permanent structures are a half dozen caravanserai, the fortress of the sheikh, and two score domed dwellings constructed of mud brick. One such dwelling is the former residence of Targos Min-Katheer. All that remains is to collect his body and join the silken caravan.
May this letter find you amidst the darkest delights. Old Taldor and Qadira have long been at one another’s throats like two jackals in heat. We would love nothing more than to see these hostilities continue and intensify. Dark eyes of ours in Qadira report that trade along their Silken Way has been disrupted as of late. Investigate this, and if you find any hint of Taldor’s involvement in Qadira’s recent trade troubles, be sure to gather some evidence of this and bring it to me. It will prove a delightful bargaining piece in future dealings with both nations.
As always you have my thanks, and my most sinful desires. I look forward to your safe return.
Greetings to you and honor to your ancestors. The winds tell me many things, and today they speak of your upcoming assignment in Qadira. You know as well as I the long and bloody history between our people and theirs; however, it is no mission of petty vengeance I charge you with. Irori sees into the past. He is the Father of History. His worship has all but vanished among the Qadirans, though he once rivaled Sarenrae for their favor. Deep in the deserts along the Silken Way trade route lies an old long forgotten temple to his wisdom. I would see it given proper respects. Travelers’ rumors speak of monsters lairing within, befouling the place with their offal. I would see this temple cleaned and restored as best as possible and any unwelcome denizens removed. We simply an allow any more bridges to be burnt and as many allies as we can afford. Do this so that the Society might continue to explore within the area without being marked as outlaws on sight.
Greetings to you and honor to your ancestors. The winds tell me many things, and today they speak of your upcoming assignment in Qadira. You know as well as I the long and bloody history between our people and theirs; however, it is no mission of petty vengeance I charge you with. Irori sees into the past. He is the Father of History. His worship has all but vanished among the Qadirans, though he once rivaled Sarenrae for their favor. Deep in the deserts along the Silken Way trade route lies an old long forgotten temple to his wisdom. I would see it given proper respects. Travelers’ rumors speak of monsters lairing within, befouling the place with their offal. I would see this temple cleaned and restored as best as possible and any unwelcome denizens removed. Do this and you honor the Father of the Past himself — a deed unlikely to be forgotten.
I am pleased to learn your next mission shall bring you home. I miss our golden sands and silken cities with all my heart. Enjoy Qadira’s warm embrace, and know you have my deepest envy. While you are in the satrapy, I have an important mission for you. I have learned that you accompany the remains of a fellow Qadiran Pathfinder named Targos Min-Katheer, a venture-captain who supposedly succumbed to old age. I have reason to think otherwise, and would like you to see if you can discover the truth of his demise. If you find his death was the act of another, you must collect diyya: the solemn recompense. This diyya can be an item of power, or great value. Once recovered, return it to me immediately. Beyond this diyya, there need be no vengeance. What is done is done, but we shall demand payment for it.
Additionally, there is a disruption of trade along the Silken Way as of late. This proves most troublesome. We have lost several caravans to forces unknown. If you discover who is behind this, eliminate them with extreme prejudice.
As always, your toils shall not go unrewarded, and the satrap praises your noble service.
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Yoshi listened to the captain with interest, perhaps not quite following everything. Still, on the voyage he seems happy enough, scampering around the rigging with the sailors as much as spending time in the cabin with the other pathfinders.
As they arrive at the Oasis he admits "This is even hotter that Quian. " he shows off his cooling Quian tunic. "This design is good for avoding over heating in the hot places."
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"I'm with you, Hisao," Mirima chimes in as she stands in the shadow of the three hulking colleagues. The elf tugs at her new, airy linen robe, hoping to get a bit of air to cool herself. "I have to admit, Yoshi, splurging for this new outfit is one smart idea. I would've died of the heat had I stayed in my old travel wear."
She looks around at some of the gawking passerbys. "Ashia, don't you ever get annoyed at the men staring at you?" The edge in her tone betrays her own annoyance.
Overhead, a hawk circles, having followed the group the entire trip and showing no signs of leaving anytime soon.
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Davor just remains with his usual grizzled looks, more so due to the heat. He glances around at the others who also appear to be uncomfortable apart from a few.
At the mention of people staring, Davor just shrugs.
"I get it all the time. Looks don't hurt." he states simply "If you feel threatened, I can break an arm or two for you." he gives a smirk as he says this. He stares up at the hawk in the air, circling the group.
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"A wise investment Sylphiette. I'm sure we will find a bit of cash to refill your purse. The chance of a caravan not attracting bandit attention this time of year seems slight to me."
The man seems almost keen to test himself against the bandits, and not in the slightest worried by the thought of battle.
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It doesn't take much asking around to find out where to go. The old saying "just follow your nose (and ears)" proves true. A small mud-brick, domed dwelling lies at the end of a humble, sandy street here in the heart of the caravan city. The scent of the nearby oasis still reaches you, and a hive of bees, attracted by the nearby water, hangs from a date palm next to the house. The wails of mourners and cries of women and children reach your ears, and you can see a small crowd gathered outside the house’s single door, its members crying and tearing their garments. Whether professionally hired mourners or sorrow-filled residents outpouring legitimate grief for the loss of a local hero is unclear, but the emotion seems genuine enough.
Knocking at the front door brings an answer in the form of a man in sackcloth with ashes poured over his freshly shaved head. His face is sickly pale under the coating of ashes, and part of one ear if missing. His hands are wrapped in dirty bandages.
He invites you in, but notice that he stays away from you, as if not wanting to even accidentally touch you. Inside, you see a few similarly wrapped individuals that seem to act in the same manner, as well, though the house seems packed with mourners.
Towards the back of the house, standing before a room that is curtained of, stands a man in priestly garb. He wears a death mask, of black leather designed to look like a jackle, and introduces himself as Ben-Garri.
"We are beginning the funerary rites for this towns fallen hero. Please, join the others in honoring him, and tonight, all will be ready for you to take him on his final journey. We think he would have liked that."
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Mirima, sensing the uncomfortably solemn mood, nods instinctively at the man who invites the group in. She falls in line with the ragtag band of adventurers, and greets the priestly man in a similar manner.
Then she waits, and shifts her weight uncertainly, not knowing what the appropriate words or actions should be.
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At the mention of the mother of monsters something stirs in Davor and he has a look on his face of incredible rage.
"LAMASHTU?!" he screams as he's about to reach for his sword, but remembering how they need to make good impressions, stops himself for a moment. "What business do you have here, filthy monster worshipping scum?"
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The high priest seems startled, and tries to calm the crowd before answering. "You are pathfinders, yes. Min-Katheer was a friend to many, and a hero 'round here. He had many friends. We are just trying to give him what he deserves. A parting gift."
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sense motive:
Davor grits his teeth, but realises that making any kind of scene here will just cause trouble for the pathfinder group. He relaxes and keeps his hand off his sword ad taking a glance around the group.
"I will let you conduct your respects in private. Excuse me." he states this, casting a suspecious eye over the priest and then turning back to the group, giving a nod to Yoshi before making his way to the back and chewing his lip aggressively to try and not make a scene. He stops at Yoshi and leans in to whisper something before making his way to support the wall.
"I don't believe he has the best of intentions here, but it will not be wise to do anything. Let's leave him alone for now but if something happens, leave him to me."