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You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place, an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge, a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency. “Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage. “Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on . . . The bartender is a woman by the name of , a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from. . . oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
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A tall woman steps into the sparse light, eager to prove herself further to the Society. Light glinting off the hilt of a great sword over her shoulder, she nods solemnly, yet has trouble hiding disappointment from her features.
"Of course, Captain - you can't obtain this parcel without risking your cover. We'll deliver this item; and I hope you'll keep us in mind if any more... stimulating missions arise?"
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An eager-looking young Vudrani man follows the tall Kellid woman. Nearly everything about him, from height to skin color to clothes to way of standing, is in sharp contrast to the northern woman.
He seems ready to fish some coin from his beltpouch until the Venture-Captain reveals his prank, and the olive skin youth barks out a rich tenor laugh. "This is a most excellent joke you have made, honorable Venture-Captain!"
But his mirthful tone is quickly consumed by rapt attention as he listens to the given mission. As Dreng finishes up, the young man's foreign features turn pensive.
His large, dark brown eyes follow each speaker as they respond, from the small Halfling to the two towering warriors. Then he pipes in, "And, Master Dreng, if it does not offend, what is the parcel we are to bring you?" His crisp, measured speech is that of someone not native to the Taldan tongue, but well-tutored. "Is there any particular care we should be giving its transportation?"
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Raman raises a palm up to catch the drizzling rain, a mischievous smirk on his face. ”I would counter to you that this work is, indeed, wet.”
His features return to sobriety as his hand goes back into a pocket, ”You retain your free agency, do you not? If you believe this work is beneath your station, then do you not have the choice to refuse?” The mischievous glint returns as he cocks his head to the side, ”Or perhaps our esteemed Venture-Captain takes you for a woman or messenger boy." He gives a quick shrug of his narrow shoulders, "Mysteries abound.”
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Waiting for responses from Dreng, Raman grins back at the gnome. ”Where are my manners?” He presses his palms together, fingers up-right in a formal position and dips a quick bow to everyone assembled.
”एक हजार आशीर्वाद,” he chimes in Vudrani to each person individually, then switches to Taldan. ”A thousand blessings ... to each of you, fellow pathfinders. I am Raman Sanjihartna, of far Vudra.”
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Raman eagerly takes the halfling's hand, giving it a quick shake as he seamlessly switches to the halfling tongue ... which he speaks with a casual fluency.
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With a large grin on his face, Retty turns to Raman,
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Raman continues the discussion happily, regardless of the cold mist .
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His large, dark brown eyes follow each speaker as they respond, from the small Halfling to the two towering warriors. Then he pipes in, "And, Master Dreng, if it does not offend, what is the parcel we are to bring you?" His crisp, measured speech is that of someone not native to the Taldan tongue, but well-tutored. "Is there any particular care we should be giving its transportation?"
Aeilín ignores the gibbering pair as they converse in a foreign tongue, instead looking to the Venture Captain for further details.
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"Ah, those are all most excellent questions. Ones I'd expect from such aspiring Pathfinders." he says with a quick, but honest smile.
"Sometimes you need more than magic to remain unseen. This disguise serves its purpose and lets me pry secrets from loose lips better than any magical enchantment. Right now, I’m following up on a group operating out of this district that I believe to be associated with the Onyx Alliance… it’s a bit of a long story, but sufficed to say, this disguise is quite important to my investigation."
"But, before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine."
"For starters, it’s one of the most important establishments in the history of the Society. From those old walls, the first Pathfinders met to discuss their adventures across Golarion. Back then they weren’t even called Pathfinders! Nowadays the bar is almost an official Pathfinder saloon, where agents of all varieties go to meet and share tales."
between Adolphus and the owners of the Wisp was never disclosed, but it is said that some of this gold came from the same fortune that Adolphus used to found the Pathfinder lodge in Quantium.
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Raman turns to the group, considering for a moment before his voice takes on a lecturing tone.
”From what I can recall of my studies and conversations on the tavern called the Wounded Wisp … it was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another.”
He pauses, inventorying his various relevant points to discourse upon, ”Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders such as Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.”
Once more he lapses into a momentary silence, his hands clasped behind his back in a classic orator’s pose as he finishes out what he can remember. ”Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles.”
His impromptu lecture concluded, the young Vudrani man gives a small, ernest grin as he looks at his teammates for this assignment. ”I for one am excited about this endeavor. How exciting to see one of the very establishments in which the beginnings of our shared society took root and flourished. Sometimes, the end goal is far, far less important and educational than the path taken.”
He dips his head at Dreng and begins moving towards the Wisp, ”This is indeed a first step worth taking on our journey as Pathfinders.”
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Waiting for responses from Dreng, Raman grins back at the gnome. ”Where are my manners?” He presses his palms together, fingers up-right in a formal position and dips a quick bow to everyone assembled.
”एक हजार आशीर्वाद,” he chimes in Vudrani to each person individually, then switches to Taldan. ”A thousand blessings ... to each of you, fellow pathfinders. I am Raman Sanjihartna, of far Vudra.”
"Well I guess I might actually get to kill someone after all."
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"Well I guess I might actually get to kill someone after all."
Raman pauses briefly in his march towards the Wisp to look back at the elf in disbelief, then he holds his hand up to his ear, his voice pitched to carry to the group in general. "Do you hear that, my friends? The wind blows most hard this morning. But fear not, it is only wind."
Then he continues his walk.
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Mahd sticks his chest out and plex his pecks looks a t Aeilin and winks.
"Do you hear that, my friends? The wind blows most hard this morning. But fear not, it is only wind."
"I think the wind is about to blow the scrawny elf away - that, or it's some sort of... seizure." Dismissing the elf's convulsions, she matches step with Raman, heading toward the Wisp.
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Says in Orc, "scared little weakling boy"
"Master Retty, let me tell you about my older sister in far Vudra. She has a cute, tiny little girl for a daughter. She loves this daughter, but the little girl has a bad habit of throwing tiny little temper tantrums when she does not get what she wants. It is quite infuriating for a child, but can you even imagine what such tantrums must look like from an adult." He flashes a grin at Mahd, "Ridiculous, I know, but one wonders."
He continues walking towards the Wisp.
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"Well I guess I might actually get to kill someone after all."Waiting for responses from Dreng, Raman grins back at the gnome. ”Where are my manners?” He presses his palms together, fingers up-right in a formal position and dips a quick bow to everyone assembled.
”एक हजार आशीर्वाद,” he chimes in Vudrani to each person individually, then switches to Taldan. ”A thousand blessings ... to each of you, fellow pathfinders. I am Raman Sanjihartna, of far Vudra.”
Well I hope that someone is a Demon or some other outsider not even close to human or some construct or a kobold, or a giant classified in the bestiary, because that make them less human...oid He included the oid part 2 seconds later to let people know that elves, dwarves and other humanoids are about as human as humans, and didn't feel like naming every humanoid race. He makes sure to let people know that certain race belong and certain races do not. He is all serious when he says this, but says the "in the bestiary" part like it is some kind of joke to him.
He then continues on with all seriousness Though I prefer to fight defensively, as much as I want to annihilate certain races, and certain creatures, especially supernatural ones that could bring death, looking for them could get yourself killed, but if they come to me, wanting to hurt me, then yeah I'm going to defend myself.
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Says in Orc, "scared little weakling boy""Master Retty, let me tell you about my older sister in far Vudra. She has a cute, tiny little girl for a daughter. She loves this daughter, but the little girl has a bad habit of throwing tiny little temper tantrums when she does not get what she wants. It is quite infuriating for a child, but can you even imagine what such tantrums must look like from an adult." He flashes a grin at Mahd, "Ridiculous, I know, but one wonders."
He continues walking towards the Wisp.
Mahd Huff, looks away and says
"Huh, your sister should beat her daughter more often. You humans are to soft on both your younglings and your women. Some times I wonder if it's because your so similar. I had done that the Shaman who raised me would have beaten me thrice over."
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"Well I guess I might actually get to kill someone after all."Waiting for responses from Dreng, Raman grins back at the gnome. ”Where are my manners?” He presses his palms together, fingers up-right in a formal position and dips a quick bow to everyone assembled.
”एक हजार आशीर्वाद,” he chimes in Vudrani to each person individually, then switches to Taldan. ”A thousand blessings ... to each of you, fellow pathfinders. I am Raman Sanjihartna, of far Vudra.”
Well I hope that someone is a Demon or some other outsider not even close to human or some construct or a kobold, or a giant classified in the bestiary, because that make them less human...oid He included the oid part 2 seconds later to let people know that elves, dwarves and other humanoids are about as human as humans, and didn't feel like naming every humanoid race. He makes sure to let people know that certain race belong and certain races do not. He is all serious when he says this, but says the "in the bestiary" part like it is some kind of joke to him.
He then continues on with all seriousness Though I prefer to fight defensively, as much as I want to annihilate certain races, and certain creatures, especially supernatural ones that could bring death, looking for them could get yourself killed, but if they come to me, wanting to hurt me, then yeah I'm going to defend myself.
"I am not afraid of death, fear is for cowards I was born from blood for blood. Plus, doesn't matter to me I'll kill just about any non-innocent.
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Running down the alley in order to catch up to the group you see a taller broad and thick man in some chainmail armor, but that's not what catches your eyes first. Across his back is a 12 foot long giant great sword that looks like he stole it from a fire giant.
"Sorry for being late friends i had some personal matters to attend to before coming on this great endeavor. It is nice to meet you all i am Thoril, Thoril the Slayer to be exact. I hunt and kill giants."
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Upon hearing about humans being talked down upon by the elf, Mandower pretends to take offense by saying "What" or "what about us humans" every time he mentions the word and makes a face so as not to blow his cover as being a Suli. After all Suli's look close enough to being human that he could pass. Plus as long as he pretended to be offended nobody would know he was a different race entirely.
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The Wounded Wisp is located in the Foreign Quarter district of Absalom, close to the grounds of the Grand Lodge. Despite the light rain, you have no difficulty finding the establishment with the basic directions Dreng provided. Almost every initiate or member has heard of or seen the building at some point.
Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. In the hours just before dawn, the building closes long enough for menials to clean and to give staff a rest. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”— that hangs there during the evening hours.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
The current talk of the bar is that Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone, the legendary trial by which one might ascend to godhood. Making your way through, you see that the tavern is about half full to capacity, with all of the tables occupied, though there are some seats up at the bar.
Making your way there, you begin to take a seat to await a "waitress", and accidentally bump up against an elderly gentlemen reading a massive book, causing him to spill his drink. Turning to you, the bispecled man closes his large and ominous looking tome, and quickly begins to brush off the ale that his just spilled all over his trousers.
"I say. . ."
From the other side of you, seated at the bar, a young girl, no a Halfling calls out, "Can't let that sort of insult stand, Yargos! Teach um a lesson. Summon the great demonwormlich FUEJNUHIUHK!", with a completely humorous and mocking smile.
"Bloody hecks." he says, still trying to dry off the rather embarrassing stain "if they've ruined it", , "it's coming out of your pocket, Janira."
You can clearly tell the old man is not a warrior, and you've never seen him in the Society, but for some reason, that name Yargos, rings a bell from way back. He's irritated, but not truly mad, and kind of comes off more as a grumpy grandfather. On the other hand, the Halfing you do recognize, though probably have not personally met. She is a Pathfinder, Janira Gavix, and credited with helping a fresh band of Pathfinders not long ago both pass their Confirmation as well as discover a rather important find right at the Society's front door.
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"I say good sir. You shouldnt read so much anyway, it always makes my head hurt and i would prefer a training with my sword. Would you like to try it?" On that Thoril draws his giant great sword and tries handing it to Yargos.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"Just like you juvenile delinquents in the society. Can't even muster a "Oh, pardon me, sir", or an "excuse me", but and no, I don't want your, your, . . . your dreadful sword. Blast it all, not you've made me forget what I was going to say."
Popping in once more, practically jumping up to be heard and seen, little Janira, says "Master Gill, they where just about to say they are bumbling fools, and that you are correct, they would indeed be honored to pay for your book to be fully restored, and to refill your flagon over a simple mistake. he he he."
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"I'm terribly sorry for my friends' clumsiness, Mr.... Yargros was it? Some of them are about as dexterous as the proverbial bull in a china shop. I'd be happy to pay to replace your ale, and let me know if your tome needs further attention. Your name does seem to ring a bell though, have we met before?"
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"I never understand these human women --"
"That much is apparent to anyone with ears, elf." Eyeing the rest of the room, Aeilín sizes up the patrons of the Wisp, looking for the most likely signs of trouble. There's always some idiot who feels he has something to prove. The elf continues to jabber to himself. More than one, most likely, and we've enough of that, already.
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Raman is only a second behind Retty, his tone warm and friendly. He nods along with the halfling’s attempts at smoothing over the situation, adding his own support.
”Sincerest apologies, Master Yargos,it was not our intention to bump you or damage your book. This is my first time in the Wounded Wisp, and I must admit to being in shock whilst standing in the presence of a place and people accorded such prestige among our Society. I will, of course, help to purchase you a drink as an apology, and I may know a trick to help with your book’s pages.”