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After a hurried summons to the Grand Lodge in Absalom, a quick conversation with Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva, and a wet, stormy trip across the Inner Sea to Andoran, the small, warm Pathfinder Lodge in Augustana is a welcome break from travel. “I can’t believe we are wasting our time on this matter,” says Caudron Wallace, the venture-captain of Augustana as he paces the main hall.
“Frankly, I want as little to do with it as possible, so I’m passing it on to you.” Wallace nods toward a door at the back of the room. “The vagrant through there was found collapsed on our front steps gripping a wayfinder of all things. We still don’t know who he is. Talk to him, for the tale he tells is amazing if true, and then come back here.”
Alissa Moldreserva leads you to a room at the back of the main hall, to a small sitting room with six comfortable chairs and a few book
-shelves filled with the latest Pathfinder Chronicles. An old, withered man sits in one of the chairs, half-dozing when the you enter. His skin is shockingly pale and his features are sharp with high cheekbones and
a jutting chin. Despite his incredibly filthy visage, matted white hair, and infirmity, when he awakes and regards the group, he does so with a look of absolute, confident superiority.
“My loyal subjects, welcome! I know that some of you might not recognize me in my current state, but it is truly me, Gandros, the long-lost Prince of Augustana. I have been in hiding since the untimely death of my father, the Emperor, preparing for my return to glory."
Looking over towards the VC, you share a look of skepticism, but allow the man to continue without saying anything.
"Unfortunately, I bear ill news. The army I have been gathering in the otherworld has been infiltrated by agents of our enemies. When last I called my forces together for inspection, dark assassins attacked me
and I barely escaped with my life.”
He takes this opportunity to roll up his sleeve and reveals a series of recently inflicted claw and tooth marks on his right forearm. He then launches into a breathless retelling of how he came to be in the Lodge, without pause or acknowledgement of interruptions.
“I fled back through the magic portal to this realm. Grievously wounded, and with the assassins in close pursuit, I leapt into the dark river. I floated past the Almsman’s Sanctuary, but couldn’t climb out of the water. I did manage to grab one of the bridges, but a plank fell in with me. I held on for dear life and continued to drift downstream. I went over a waterfall and then emerged in the lake of ships and crawled to shore. Augustana has changed since I last walked my city’s bright streets, but I managed to find this house, bearing the symbol of my father’s empire.” He holds up the wayfinder hanging from a chain around his neck.
“I knew I would find help here! If you remove the threat from my kingdom below and help restore me to my rightful place as Emperor of Andoran, I will grant you any boon within my power!”
By this point, the man's story has gone from amusing to you honestly questioning what in the various hells has the Society dragged you into.
Using the Pathfinders coded form of double speak and coded hand signals, she makes a few comments, while secretly imparting to you that she will speak to you alone shortly.
"We know that His Highness is still fatigued, but he is willing to answer any questions you might have if you speak quickly,. . ." and under her breath adds a suggestion for dealing with the obviously mad man ,"and respectfuly."
As you begin to ask a question, he man stands indignantly, "Stop! You are addressing the Prince of Augustana! Show your lord the proper respect and dignity. It seems you lot have failed to heed the instructions of etiquette, or failed to have received them. Either way, when you address a king, take a knee. Introduce yourself and lineage. Offer your nation of origin, and make your requests. There, now begin once more."
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A Tiefling man rises from among your ranks in simple yet well-tailored clothes beneath a fine chain shirt. Ignoring the wearied man as one might a chittering bird in a windowsill, he turns to address his fellow pathfinders. "Andoran has been under Common Rule for a while now. I doubt the People's Council would be pleased by this man's claims, even if they could be confirmed."
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On the trip out, the shaven-headed, heavily-scarred-and-tattooed, muscle-bound half-orc mercenary had turned out to be a half-way decent traveling companion in a blunt, rough-necked sort of way. Introducing himself simply as 'Mors, from Magnimar', he'd been relatively quiet except to throw in a few sarcastic or off-color remarks. He'd only taken a bit of coaxing to get to help with physical labor, and he seemed to have a pre-existing relationship with the lanky Tiefling (Thaddeus) ... which exhibited itself most often as friendly, cutting banter.
And—standing here in the Augustana Lodge—as the strange 'prince' talks through his unlikely-sounding story, Mors looks on with a slightly skeptical look on his thick orcine features.
"Uh..." he mutters in response to the request for pedigree. And while Mors doesn't drop to a knee, his tone is respectful. "I'm Mors Buolgun. Gutter rat from Magnimar." His spiked armor creaks as he shrugs, "I wouldn't know etiquette if it bit my ass."
"What's the otherworld?"
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Thaddeus looks to Mors in mild irritation, mumbling to himself. "I don't know why he insists on learning their names... those others never lasted long enough for it to matter, much. Oh, very well - if the society would have us humor a madman, so be it."
Shaking off his dark mood, the Tiefling forces a hollow cheerfulness into his voice. "I am Thaddeus, hailing originally from Cheliax. I would like to know where a... man like yourself obtained this wayfinder. An odd thing, even for a prince to carry."
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I'm sorry I forgot my manners. as Mandower bows. I'm Mandower the barbarian at your service. . .
With another look of indignation, he stops you there, "My Prince. "I am Mandower, my Prince. And I am at your service, my Prince." Now try it once more.
"Uh..." he mutters in response to the request for pedigree. And while Mors doesn't drop to a knee, his tone is respectful. "I'm Mors Buolgun. Gutter rat from Magnimar."
"Stop. We are growing irritated. You!" pointing at Mandower, Servant. Yes, you. I have a task for you. One of the highest import. You are hereby name my royal, uh, my royal, . . . etiquette. Henceforth, it shalt be your job to instruct all of those on the proper ways of addressing their Lord."
"I am Thaddeus, hailing originally from Cheliax.. ."
Suddenly "the Prince of Augustana looks at Mandower, waiting as if waiting.
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A primitively dressed elf sweeps a mocking bow. "I am Mahd, noble sir(sarcastically) and If you would like my help I would start by reminding you that one should be slightly more polite, and definitely less demanding of someone he or she is asking a favor of. A strong leader takes what he wants and doesn't waste time quibbling about names, like some spoiled brat."
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A gnome goes to one knee with a flourish. "I am Leb Unin, my Prince. I was raised here, but I have been away for quite some time myself."
"We find it in our power to act as thine patron, little-one. And count our wisdom and strength heightened for having such a worthy warrior united to our cause. How may your Lord aid you, Sir Leb of Away?"
A primitively dressed elf sweeps a mocking bow. "I am Mahd, noble sir(sarcastically) and If you would like my help I would start by reminding you that one should be slightly more polite, and definitely less demanding of someone he or she is asking a favor of. A strong leader takes what he wants and doesn't waste time quibbling about names, like some spoiled brat."
Not entirely sure if the lunatic understood the sarcasm or not, he does seem to find this "offering" at least acceptable, and perhaps even a compliment?
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Mors grunts at the exchanges then shakes his head, shooting a helpless look over at Thadd.
Mors drops to a knee, "Your ... Highness ... the question is what can we do for you? We've been told ta'get to the bottom of your sto– ... uh ... of the truth behind these assassins in your army. How should we go lookin' into it? Ya know ... If it pleases the prince."
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A small halfling suddenly makes himself noticed, walks up to the raving man, drops to one knee, and quickly speaks, "Hi! My... um... Prince... My name is Retty, hailing from the great city of Magnimar, just off the Varisian coast."
He starts to stand up, then remembering his "manners" covers it by switching knees, "I've never heard of this "otherworld" place you speak, but judging by the scars and wounds on your arm, would it be safe to say the assassins were more "otherworld-ly" than human?"
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"We find it in our power to act as thine patron, little-one. And count our wisdom and strength heightened for having such a worthy warrior united to our cause. How may your Lord aid you, Sir Leb of Away?"
"I appreciate your kind offer, my prince, but I am unsure of what I need at this time. As my friend here," he waves towards Mors, "said, we were sent here to aid you."
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Standing regally, the Prince of Andoran addresses you all as if you where his court, "My loyal subjects. I have called you here so that you, . . ."
Suddenly VC Alissa Moldreserva steps forward, and quickly bows, "My Lord, if you would allow me, I have made a plan to win your kingdom back. Um, I mean, if it pleases you." She adds that last bit through clinched teeth.
He agrees, and she takes you back to another room, to discuss things in a more serious, and sane way. "My diviners say that there is some truth to his story. There has never been a Prince of Augustana, nor an Emperor in Andoran, but the old fellow has a surprising amount of knowledge of the pre-revolution noble families of the city. He may be the lost scion of some noble line. If so, he’s fallen far. From the filth and stink on him when we found him, we’re fairly certain he’s been living in or near a sewer. The wayfinder is also a mystery, but for now, it makes him one of ours."
"However, I’m more interested in his supposed gate to the otherworld. If it exists, I want to know about it. Implausible as it may seem, I’m certain that his injuries were caused by otherworldly beings. We must take the possibility of a portal seriously. I don’t want to dirty my hands with this, but you don’t have that choice."
"Retrace the old man’s path through the sewers. The Almsman, whom he repeatedly mentions, is rumored to be an eccentric priest who runs some sort of hidden beggar’s sanctuary in the sewers. He may know where our prince’s portal is, if you can find him. But be warned; a local gang calling themselves the Steel Wyverns claims the sewers near the Almsman’s Sanctuary as their own territory.”
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"My diviners say that there is some truth to his story. There has never been a Prince of Augustana, nor an Emperor in Andoran, but the old fellow has a surprising amount of knowledge of the pre-revolution noble families of the city... The wayfinder is also a mystery, but for now, it makes him one of ours."
"Now that is interesting. It might be worth investigating, to get to the bottom of this mad turn of events."
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The Steel Wyverns were once the most powerful criminal organization in the city, but they have been in decline for decades. Now they are a rag-tag gang of thugs and petty crooks. The wyverns prefer to fight with spiked chains, which they call “Wyvern stings.”
The Almsman has recently started providing sanctuary and assistance to the city’s beggars. He is a mysterious figure who wears a mask, but most folk believe he is a priest. Most of the city’s poor do not know where his sanctuary is—those who do know won’t tell.
Utilizing the bits you have gleaned from the Prince and VC, you set of in search of this hidden lair, beginning at the docks, and looking for a suitable sewer entrance. It takes you a few hours, but you finally find what you are looking for and begin to make your way into the dark underbelly of Andoran's sewers.
The sewer tunnels under Augustana are divided into two types, major passages and minor passages. Both types have a single walkway running along one wall (the west wall of a north-south tunnel, or the north wall of an east-west tunnel). The ceilings are generally about 6 feet above the walkways. Minor tunnels have a channel 5 feet wide and 3 feet deep through which effluvium flows. The channels in major tunnels are 10 feet wide and 5 feet deep. Where passages meet, there are usually planks laid across the channels to allow pedestrians to cross from one walkway to the other.
The water in the channel is revoltingly filthy, leaving you certain that should you fall in, you might walk away with any number of illnesses and ailments. The further you go in, the darker it gets, as the sun's rays simply fail to extend in. Your trek in the muck takes you about a hundred feet down a tunnel, before it opens up to the settling pools.
The smell of waste and rot is strong in this large chamber where filthy water flows in a series of cascades between tiered stone tanks. A raised platform along the east wall is connected to the passage’s walkways by several thick wooden planks creating a makeshift bridge. On that platform is what looks to be a makeshift alchemy lab on a rough-hewn table—beakers, glass vials, dirty bottles, and moldy buckets cover the entire surface of the table.
Stepping out into the room, you find three thugs, just as surprised as you are. Two sit bored on the south side of the wooden bridge, fiddling with their spike chains and quietly bragging about past crimes to one another. A third stands at the makeshift alchemy lab, bent over several beakers as he slowly pours two mixtures together. They soon make it clear that they do not like intruders, "You scrubs. Hand over your coin and don't let the door hit you on the way out, or else!".
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Ranged touch attack No Save
School conjuration (creation) [acid]; Level inquisitor 0, magus 0, sorcerer/wizard 0, summoner 0, witch 0CASTING
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components V, SEFFECT
Range close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Effect one missile of acid
Duration instantaneous
Saving Throw: none; Spell Resistance noDESCRIPTION
You fire a small orb of acid at the target. You must succeed on a ranged touch attack to hit your target. The orb deals 1d3 points of acid damage. This acid disappears after 1 round.
It appears I made an error that I rolled the damage roll for my starknife that should have been just 1d3. Would you like to just subtract the 3 from the roll or have me reroll.
Tentative reroll:
P.S. Acid Splash has no splash effects listed.
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Thaddeus moves up and readies against any incoming attacks while Mahd sends over a magically enhanced globe of acid, but misses. Mandower advance on the marauders, and Leb hurls a small vial of viciousness over, dropping one of the thugs one the spot but fails to get out of the way in time, takes the full secondary brunt of the flames.
Unfortunately, (for you at least), two can play at that game and their own alchemist hurls a strange concoction of whatever she can grab at Mahd (and Thaddeus).
Thug 2, badly wounded, rushes at Mandower, hoping for a lucky hit.
ROUND 1
Thaddeus (-1), Mahd (-3), Mandower (-3), and Leb ()
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Thug 1 () and Thug 2 (-7)
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Retty () and Mors ()
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It doesn't take long for you to dispatch the thugs. At the workstation, you find a few small purse of coin, and on a small rack near it , various alchemical substances containing 2 acid flasks,
2 alchemist’s fire, 2 smokesticks, 2 tanglefoot bags, 2 thunderstones, and 4 vials of filth fever tonic. Sitting open on the workbench is a large tome titled "Toxins and Countermeasures}, written by Giacomo d’Enzinas. The alchemical materials on the workbench constitute an alchemist’s lab, plus 240 gp worth of raw materials.
Most of the thug's combat gear is of moderate to poor quality, and nothing really jumps out at you as worth keeping, (spiked chains, a dagger, and leather armors).[I]
[I]There is only one way to travel upstream from here: an eastward-running major passage that exits in the northeast corner. This tunnel runs for a considerable distance before reaching the sewer junction.
Ahead is a junction where a smaller sewer line once joined the main passage. The ceiling of the smaller passage partially collapsed, filling most of that tunnel with rubble. The surface of the rubble pile seems to shift strangely and closer examination reveals thousands of tiny vermin fleeing into cracks and shadows.