Starting a thread for the game-to-be...
|
A tall (are there any short ones?) female elf walks into the room, playing a piccolo.
She's not great at it. But hey, she tried!
Ignoring her ostentatious hat and gaudy entertainer's outfit, you also notice the symbol of Shelyn hanging off of her waist.
She mumbles "Stupid piccolo" before noting everyone else. "Evarice Bue, reporting for duty and ready to punish some evildoers. Or, whatever we were going to do."
|
A slightly stocky man with close cropped graying hair, nice clothes, and a cane tips his hat.
"I appreciated the performance, miss. It is certainly better than I could muster. I am even more appreciative of your attitude towards evildoers. A lady after my own heart."
He removes his hat, and says "Name's Dupine. August Dupine - but my close associates call me Gus. Glad to make your acquaintance."
|
|
Trotting into the room is a young gnome with red hair. He wears a wide-shouldered wizard robe of purple trimmed with yellow stars. On his head is a decorated leather skullcap, and in his hand is a slender rod with a steel ball on one end that he holds like a fashionable cane. "Greetings fellow Pathfinders!" He says, dropping into a performer's bow. "Titus Willoughby, entertainer and magician extraordinaire! Did I hear music coming from this way?"
|
A tall, almost gaunt elf strides into the room, his bright eyes, sharp nose and grim jaw lending him the air of a bird of prey which has smelled something foul. He is dressed in the traditional elven robes of Kyonin.
He regards the gnome, with his robe of stars and the elf with a lump of bread (!) stuck in her instrument and sighs. The people one must deal with in order to support one's research, he thinks. Standing aloof, he awaits whatever assignment will earn him the right to some decent laboratory time.
|
|
The loud clanging of armor precedes Quinn's entrance. Bedecked with a wide and winning smile, he raises his hand to hail the others that have been waiting.
"Greetings all! It is wonderful to be gathered together with all of you here! I am Quinn." He circulates around, giving everyone the warmest handshake they've ever received.
He notes the piccolo in Evarice's hands. "Oh, please - I apologize if I interrupted your performance. Please continue."
|
|
Maranax regarded Quinn's outstretched hand with all the enthusiasm he might show had the paladin extended him a gasping fish.
Feeling at last the force of the man's personality, he extended a thin-fingered hand with ill grace and placed it in Quinn's allowing it to be shaken, then quickly withdrew it behind him where he surreptitiously wiped the hand with a silk handkerchief.
After some idle chat and music, the door opens to the small waiting room where you are all sitting and... appreciating Evarice's piccolo work.
A grim looking Galtan man bows, and gestures to the office beyond.
"Venture-Captain Moldreserva awaits..."
As you all usher into the room beyond, you recognize Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva, a fiery red-headed woman who climbed from the depths of Galtan revolution to become one of the Society’s finest (and most well-connected) venture captains
She stares down her hawkish nose and sighs.
“I ask for the best and they send me you. Lucky me."
After seeming to sigh, she contines.
"The Society’s best contact in Osirion, Grand Ambassador Dremdhet Salhar, informed me this morning that his lovely Chelish wife, the Lady Anilah Salhar, was kidnapped and sold into slavery."
Moldreserva pauses a moment, searching your faces to gauge your response.
“Normally, I wouldn’t care a bulette’s eyeball about who was or was not enslaved in Absalom, but Salhar is the Society’s best avenue for acquiring all of the necessary official paperwork to make our frequent delves into the tombs of Osirion cheap and legal. This is a relationship we want to preserve and since the Ambassador made it clear that our status is in jeopardy, I’ve been instructed to send our best agents to find her and return her safely to Salhar."
Once again, Moldreserva pauses and scans the lot of you.
“I guess you’ll do."
The venture-captain pauses dramatically, as if to allow the boldest member of your group to ask a question.
|
|
Dupine shakes his head. "Slave trade is an ugly business, full of brutes. Right then - what do we know about who took her? Clearly, if Salhar knows that she was sold into slavery, he must know more. Who did the selling and/or buying? Can we ask Salhar questions, or do you have am alternate contact? Or are we on our own to delve into the underbelly of society?"
Moldreserva almost looks surprised to be the recipient of such an appropriate question and gives August the briefest hint of a smile.
“Salhar hasn’t sat idle since his wife was taken — his own agents are prowling the streets and dug up one possible lead."
Once again, the Galtan pauses for dramatic effect.
"A one-eyed Andoren, a grit junky named Fredrik, is known for selling or helping to sell nobility into foreign markets that desire house slaves. Being enormously illegal, this trade makes Fredrik a fair bit of coin that Salhar’s agents assure me all go straight into the pockets of the Second Chance, a grit den dockside in Puddles."
She does not pause this time, but quickly continues to sum up the briefing.
"That’s all I have to get you started. Go quickly. The fate of our Osirian exploits is in your hands.”
|
|
At first, Titus was pleased to see another redhead in the room, and was considering the display of a magic trick to pull flames from Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva's hair. It was a trick he often performed upon himself, and it usually got applause. But as he listens to the mission briefing a growing trepidation settles over him. When she pauses for a response he stifles the urge to gulp and is thankful when August takes the lead.
Kidnapped nobles? Slave traders? The Puddles?
This was not how he imagined his first mission for the Pathfinder Society to be. Instead of exotic locations and lost treasures he was being asked to go drown himself in the worst part of Absalom.
He thinks about the information given to them and tries to recall anything further.
|
|
Evarice frowns upon hearing the task at hand. Whatever jovial attitude she had in the waiting room is replaced with a serious, all business look. "We'll find Fredrik. And then we'll find Lady Anilah Salhar. You have my word." Evarice turns and heads off immediately, not wasting any time.
...okay, she spends some time changing into her green-dyed studded leather armor and getting her longbow, glaive and longsword. She spends some time in Absalom, asking around for Fredrik's wareabouts and his most recent sales.
|
|
August Dupine tries to recollect anything he can regarding the history of the slave trade here in Absalom.
Coming up with nothing, he joins Evarice's lead, and puts his ear to the streets to see what he can find about the current location of this Fredrik, the grit trade in general, and specifically the Second Chance.
No two batches of grit are exactly the same and therein lies the danger: everyone has a different reaction to grit. For some, it induces intense, horrifying hallucinations; for others it causes a dangerous numbing of the nervous system; and still for others it can cause furious, physical rage.
No one survives long as a grit addict and its addiction is one of the hardest to break. Grit is incredibly expensive, which often results in grit addicts committing ever increasing acts of violence to get the money they need to buy more.
Evarice and August don't turn up a whole lot of promising information about Fredrik's activities, but they do pick up a couple tidbits about the Second Chance that he's supposed to frequent in order to fuel his grit addiction.
They learn that the Second Chance is a one-room, run-down tavern turned grit-den located dockside in Puddles.
The owner, a Keleshite named Elo, forbids all weapons in his establishment, likely because those who partake of grit are often wildly unpredictable and prone to violence. He takes this ban very seriously and is known to sick his guard dog Slobber on anyone who enters the establishment and breaks this one golden rule.
In addition, one drunk Alkenstarian stumbles ahead and mumbles something about grit... how if you really want some, all you gotta do is shoot shomethin' in th' head...
He stumbles away mumbling something about weapon cords and double-barrels.
|
|
Maranax has little patience for what he sees as the non-elven institution of slavery, but it is the threat to Osirian ressearch that motivated him.
"We must have those permits," he said, speaking for the first time. "The ambassador's good will is vital to our research. Lead on to this no doubt charming establishment."
|
|
Finally he talks...and it's about the Ambassador's research, not his kidnapped wife.
Evarice internally debates on whether she should get under Maranax's skin, before pulling the piccolo out of her goofy hat and blowing her troubles away. (She's still wearing that hat?)
"Nope, still need to clean this." Evarice sticks the piccolo back in her hat.
|
|
Maranax said nothing, even managing to restrain his eyes from rolling. Yet his mouth pinched in upon itself as he had bitten into sour lemons.
What sort of elf plays a piccolo? he wondered. Was she raised by halflings? Or by a pack of gnomes still laughing at the jest?
Maranax sighed. I wonder if it is too late to accept that apprenticeship in Iadara? Surely a century of that would be preferable to years of this.
|
|
Upon reaching the Second Chance, Quinn first balks at the idea of handing over his weapons. "Oh, the shortbow you can have - but my sword!? No, good sir... this sword is a cherished emblem of sweet Iomedae herself! As part of my vow to serve the Shining Light, I have promised not to use this fine blade but for bringing justice to the wicked and unlawful. You have my word that I shall not use it except in defense of myself, my companions, or the good and just laws of Absalom."
Quinn leans in and softens his voice in supplication. "Please, look into my eyes. I am not one of the poor souls that seeks out your establishment in order to indulge in the vile grit, or pesh. My brain is not addled by any illicit chemicals and thus, my judgement is clear and true. So please, allow me to bring in my sword, safely sheathed." He again shows off his pearly-white teeth in an effort to win over whoever is in charge.
The five Pathfinders find the Second Chance without little trouble and can hear shouts and heated conversation within.
As Quinn and August press their way through the main doors, they are met with dim light cast by cheap oil lamps sputtering on walls punctuated by painted-over windows.
The Second Chance reeks of unwashed humanity and pungent ash.
Threads of sickly sweet smoke drift like smog from tin hookahs. Ale kegs lurk in each corner, and cheap clay mugs hang from nails on the walls.
The signs of turmoil within are quickly evident.
Standing beyond the main counter, a Keleshite man can be seen holding a bloody scimitar and standing over the form of a crumpled man who still appears to be holding a dagger.
The Keleshite man barely finishes a sentence as you enter.
"And I said, NO WEAPONS! EVER!"
In the center of the grit den, three unarmed men are circling another who sits, arms wrapped around his knees rocking on a table The man on the table appears similar to the descriptions you've had of Fredrik.
In the far back of the tavern, an oversized dog that appears more wolf than dog sits alertly , a single ear pointing upward as it listens to the events in the front of the tavern. Near the "dog" another man lays crumpled, apparently knocked unconscious by fists rather than sword or animal .
There are at least a dozen others throughout the tavern participating in an elaborate, drawn-out brawl , but it seems clear. Fredrik is hunched in the middle of the inn's interior and is beset upon by three grit junkies. And if the Keleshite man is truly the owner, he really means there's no weapons allowed and disobedience is punishable by lethal force.
Initiative:
As the five Pathfinders step in, the Keleshite man glares at you all, but doesn't seem to advance any further. He almost looks with pity upon poor Fredrik as the trio of thugs advance to beat him down.
"Hur hur..."
"I'm gonna crush yer skull..."
"YEAH! What uh, he said..."
Round 1
20 Quinn :
19 Maranax :
18 Evarice :
8 Titus :
4 August :
1 Grit Thugs :
1 Misc NPCs :
1 Fredrik :
Now Up: All the PCs!
|
|
Evarice steps in and is almost overwhelmed by the grit vapors. "Why conquer a country with weaponry when you can trick them with drugs? Quite the pity." Evarice simply shakes her head at the brawl. "There he is."
Quickly identifying Fredrik, Evarice decides to distract the brutes and make herself a target instead the only way she knows how:
That damn piccolo.
That.
DAMN.
Piccolo.
The bread is STILL stuck in there, and this time Evarice just blows into her instrument as hard as she can, scattering bread crumbs everywhere,
|
|
On route to the Second Chance, Titus fills in his companions on the drug grit and the dangers in dealing with those that are addicts.
Grit is nasty stuff. About twenty years ago someone in the Puddles decided it would be fun to take barbarian chew and enhance it with alchemy."
As he continues, Titus pulls off his robe, to keep it out of the flooded areas the district is known for, and stows it in his pack. Underneath he wears supple leather armor, more appropriate for the kind of place the group is headed to.
"No two batches of grit are exactly the same. Some chew it, some smoke it, some stick it up their noses. Everyone has a different reaction to it. Hallucinations, numbness, rage, death. It's very addictive and also very expensive and an addict will do almost anything to get more."
At the Second Chance...
"Oh..." His eyes go wide as Titus takes in the scene of violence. Thinking fast he grabs a vial from his belt pouch and holds it up high, fingers concealing the label that 'acid'.
"Did someone drop their grit!!" He shouts.
And prepares to run...
|
|
Dupine steps up to Fredrik (stepping north a bit first to avoid AoOs), and then says "Why don't you fellows pick on someone, well, someone less important to me." He tries to intimidate them into backing away.
Well, that must have come off really cheesy...
So then he just punches the one next to him.
for
for
Quinn wastes no time, advancing swiftly to one of the thugs and sweeping his leg out and knocking the man prone.
Maranax's response is to bathe the two southernmost thugs in horrid flames as both men's eyes widen in panic and they scream bloody murder.
Evarice, bringing her "blowgun" to her lips manages a single note, F-sharp, before suddenly her instrument's volume increases tenfold and a small projectile fires out and hits Fredrik in the forehead.
The grit-junkie's eyes cross and he collapses onto the table.
August, barely able to maintain a straight face, advances and brings a meaty fist down onto the top of a thug's head, who collapses much in the same method as Fredrik, sans breadcrumb.
Round 1 Recap:
20 Quinn : Trips the northernmost thug
19 Maranax : Burns the two southern thugs for 2hp each
18 Evarice : Fires a breadcrumb from her blowgun, hitting Fredrik
8 Titus : Brings an acid to hand, fails to bluff
4 August : Cheeses it up, moves up to SE thug, knocks him out
1 Grit Thug #1 (prone): Stands, punches at Quinn and misses
1 Grit Thug #2 (-2hp): Pats his clothes, advances, swings at Maranax and misses
1 Grit Thug #3 (-9hp): Out of commission
The burnt thug advances and shouts some slurred speech at Maranax.
"You'll pay for theshe burnsh..."
His haymaker goes wide and he nearly lands in the wizards's arms.
The second thug seems to fare better as he is able to stand and he in turn flails wildly at Quinn.
The Keleshite man takes a step forward and points his scimitar at Maranax.
"Hey! None of that fire-magic in here unless you want to donate your head to the Boneyard!"
The Second Chance's proprietor seems serious and like he's quickly losing his patience. Fresh blood drips from his scimitar, and he again glances at the form of the fallen man gripping the dagger.
Round 2
20 Quinn :
19 Maranax :
18 Evarice :
8 Titus :
4 August :
Now Up: Everyone!
Quinn advances at one of the two remaining thugs, grabs the man's head, and introduces it to his knee. The introduction is so memorable, the man collapses in contemplation.
Titus runs up to the lone assailant and feints while Evarice advances and jabs her piccolo into his eye. The man crumples to the ground in a moan.
The Keleshite man with the scimitar sighs, sheathes his weapon, and begins dragging the bloodied corpse to a back alley.
As if his condition were only intended to last until his assailants were bested, Fredrik's eyes dart open, and he rubs the red spot on his forehead where the piccolo-crumb pummeled him without mercy.
Suddenly, he shudders and his eyes bulge as he recognizes his three grit-addled unarmed assailants have been now replaced by five better-armed non-grit-addled potential assailants.
"No, no... N-NOOOOOO!"
Leaping to his feet, he makes a break for the Second Chance's front door.
|
|
"Where are you going? You have so many questions to answer. It's best for your sake, or you can end up like them." Evarice quickly moves to block the front door.
Her voice is somewhere between contempt for the slave trader and pragmatism. The only reason he's standing is because he has valuable information.
|
|
Evarice watches everyone fall into chaos, but she is particularly perplexed by Maranax's magic. "Fire? Okay, he did say no weapons, but why waste your precious magic here?" she blurts as she closes in to assist Quinn and punch the thug.
"Simple, my dear," said Maranax in an enthusiastic tone. "In the first place, I abhor swordplay. In the second, I have no qualms whatsoever about evocation. Third, magic is never wasted. They were thugs who refused to yield their prey. They burned. I see no difficulties here."
|
|
Quinn gathers up his shield and tries to hold back Fredrik with a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Hey now! We've just protected you from what I think would have been a pretty severe beating from these hoodlums. At the very least, we deserve a proper thanks! Also, as my companion has mentioned, we do have some questions for you. Now, I can assure you that we are not looking to harm you in any way. Now," Quinn tries to turn Fredrik so that he can look Quinn in the eyes, "why don't we find a nice, quiet place - maybe not here - that we can sit down and chat."
Fredrik hestiates only slightly before bolting towards the main doors.
"No way, man!"
Unfortunately for Fredrick, he's still woozy from taking the breadcrumb-bullet to the head, becomes tangled up with some chairs and falls face first into the floorboards.
Quinn and August gather him up and "escort" hime someplace nice and quiet, finding a nice park about a block away from the Second Chance where they sit him down.
"Look, okay. I got it. You got questions, I'll HRGPPHHMACKKK-PFFF-ACCKKGHKK"
Suddenly, Fredrik coughs violently. Red phlegm sprays from his lips and dribbes onto his chin.
"You... AHRRMMHHNN... fellas got any grit?"
|
|
Evarice shakes her head in disgust. "No. I have a better idea, though. You give me an answer, I give you gold piece. You anger me any further, and I throw your grit addled body in prison."
Holding a piece of gold between her fingers, Evarice speaks two short sentences. "Anilah Salhar. Where is she?"
Fredrik continues coughing, but smacks his lips at the glint of sunlight reflected from the displayed currency.
"Anilah... I uhhh..."
Fredik's glazed eyes show he's clearly open to coercsion in his addled state.
"I... I fobbed her off on Pardu. Pardu Pildapush at his office in the 'Pits. Got 'nough gold for all this week's grit!"
Smiling, you can see Fredrik has already managed to lose some of his teeth to his "hobby".
He reaches hungrily for the coin.
"That's all I know!"
These are the windows through which a prospective buyer sizes up future chattel. Between the cage pits and the slave trade, all of Absalom knows Misery Row as the Slave Pits of Absalom.
|
|
"I am aware of that execrable personage," said Maranax.
"Pardu Pildapush keeps an office on Misery Row, the only street in Absalom on which slaves are legally bought or sold. Misery Row is a massive elevated platform running the length of the Coins’ eastern edge. The platform’s base forms a wall between the Coins and Merchant districts. The slavers sunk cages inside the walls, accessible only from the top of the Row and filled with languishing slaves."
"There are the windows through which a prospective buyer may examine future chattel. Between the cage pits and the slave trade, all of Absalom knows Misery Row as the Slave Pits of Absalom."
"A disgusting institution, and one to which I would not be averse causing as much grief as possible."
|
|
"Take your coin. Sadly, you're just the symptom."
Evarice watches as pitiful Fredrik takes the coin and runs back to the Second Chance.
"To think people willingly cut down their short lives for this...No beauty, no justice in it." Evarice sighs.
After Maranax's speech, Evarice nods in agreement. "Let us make haste, then. May we 'accidentally' cause those slavers a loss. Feel free to not-waste your magic there."