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, the Wounded Wisp! 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 about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
Dot
|
A tall, lean figure—draped in a long northman’s cloak that clings wetly to broad shoulders—drifts through the drizzling rain. A soaked raven rides along, intermittently and ineffectually shaking rain from its feathers. The man gives little mind to the bird.
As he takes the final few long strides up to the venue, details emerge. First, a sense of cold accompanies him, and a fine mist struggles to rise from his exposed skin, dissipating quickly in the incessant rain. His size and blunt features are Ulfen. His heavy clothes, leathers, and weapons are Irrisenni. And as he stops to look around, lifting a hand to pull back his hood, ice-blue runes are revealed on snow-white skin. Pale, ice-colored eyes scan the meeting spot, then bore into the beggar.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
For a few heartbeats, the northman just watches the beggar. Then, without comment, he pulls back his cloak, revealing a battleaxe and morningstar alongside his belt pouch, into which he reaches to pull out a few silver.
When Dreng reveals himself, the northman lets his cloak fall back into place, giving the shorter human a frown. ”Venture Captain Dreng,” he responds neutrally in Irrisenni-accented Taldan. ”Well met.”
He turns to give the other assembling Pathfinders a reserved nod. ”I am called Ísvindur, though some call me Svin.”
He notes the map, then looks back up at Dreng. ”A package? Of what?”
Dreng smiles a mischievous smile at Isvndur's question.
"Oh, the contents of the package will reveal themselves in due time," he says. "All in due time!" he repeats with a glint in his eye.
|
|
"Another trivial vexation from the life of a mad man. When will the trumpet of our destiny ring out, overpowering this trembling trombone?"
Chortles' flashy clothes sogged with rain water but his constant smile and dry jovialty radiated warmth.
"Yes, bring it back to me," he responds to Isvindur, though his eyes remain fixed firmly on Chortles.
"Tongues are looser around the poor, and a beggar needs no magic to make himself invisible. But I'll probably be warming myself at the lodge shortly, so just find the madman there," he adds.
|
Just as everyone is about to head to the tavern, a slender elven woman rushes over to the corner. Her clothes appear to be of fine make, and a faint waft of perfume lingers over her. Her pale skin and complexion contrasts with her dark raven hair and extremely fine features.
"Apologies for my tardiness" She says as she attempts vainly to avoid being soaked by the rain. Her voice is soft and melodious. "My name is Sara. Well met to all of you."
The tavern's location is fairly easy to make out, and it's not too far.
"Well, if you don't have any more questions, off with you!" the old Pathfinder says. "My good friend Heryn Gale should be working the bar at this very moment, and will have the package for you."
|
The blonde elf spares Sara as much of an appraising glance as she had Svin, a crooked smile creeping onto her face. She rolls her eyes at Chortles' breathless proclamation, then says to the other Pathfinders gathered with her, "The Wisp has a long history with the Society's original members, even before there was a Society. I really rather doubt there are flesh-eating termites anywhere near the place."
She shakes her head to answer Dreng, then motions vaguely in the direction of the Wounded Wisp and begins walking that way.
"Once you arrive, just tell ol' Heryn that you need Dreng's package, he'll take you right to it," Dreng says.
With a smile, the old man nods, spins on his heel, and begins to stumble ahead in the rain like a drunken beggar.
The party, with the curious instructions from the Society venture captain, departs towards the Wisp. Ansha seems to be the only recruit with even a basic knowledge of the Pathfinder's origins, and leads the others straight to it.
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.
Heryn Gale works the bar of the Wounded Wisp, catering directly to those sitting on stools while simultaneously preparing drinks for those at tables and coordinating the wait staff. 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.
Having recently completed their Confirmation, the Pathfinders instantly recognize Janira Gavix, their halfling Confirmation leader, sitting at a table entertaining new recruits.
A Keleshite man who is clearly a devotee of Sarenrae sits at another table enjoying his meal.
Two half-orcs, a male and female, sit at another table trading crude jokes.
Sitting at a table with a book is the military historian Yargos Gill.
|
|
"Welcome gentle patrons! My colleagues and I are here to whisk away your ailments in joviality! Including dance", Chortles bows to Sara, "music and story! Tip your matron well for this will be a night to remember!"
Chortles unslings his "axe" and strums an introductory chord. "Have you heard the tale of the ravished maiden and her heroic flesh eating termites? The tale begins in this very establishment on a night blustery and chill as this night..."
Janira starts to clap along with Chortles as she beams at his performance. Some of the other patrons seem entertained, as well.
|
Stonetree walks up to stand next to Chortles after his performance and gives him a firm pat on the back "Need to get you some nourishment my friend, hopefully a mouth full of food limits your ability to speak"
Stonetree upon seeing Janira bellows her name and makes his way to her and gives her a giant hug.
|
|
The tall northman follows his fellow pathfinders into the tavern. He gives the place a long look, shakes his head, and follows Ilarien to the bar. As she takes care of business, he turns to lean back on the bar, keeping one ear on the bartender’s response, one on the discussion of Chortle at the table with the halfling, and creating an ever-expanding pool of runoff rainwater on the tavern’s floor.
The bird flaps its wings and hops onto the bar, pecking at a knothole in the wood.
|
|
As Chortles recovers from Stonetree's 'firm pat', Sara leans in close to him, murmuring "You have a clever tongue on you foxy one, but I do not dance on command."
Sara then leans back, causing Chortle to overbalance slightly, and steps gracefully past him to join Isvindur and Ilarien at the bar, nodding in greetings to Janira as she passes her.
Janira hugs Stonetree's leg as the large man gives her a large bear hug, beaming to see the Pathfinders again.
"Are you on another mission soon?" she asks. "Oh, and what do you think of this Sir Reinhart taking the Test of the Starstone? Is he going to make it, do you think?" she adds.
Ansha begins chumming it up with the crowd , while Isvindur and Sara make their way to the bar.
"What can I get you?" the woman at the bar asks.
The woman smiles at the question about the Test of the Starstone.
"You haven't heard? You must be new here. The Test of the Starstone is a test that anyone can take by attempting to reach the Starstone at the center of Absalom. It's surrounded by a large, deadly maze containing traps, guardians and wards. The obstacles change over time, but I know magic does not always working right. Those few who pass become demigods, while those who fail usually die. Although a few have managed to escape, occasionally with great wealth, but no divinity. The first known person to pass the test was Aroden, who did so when he took the stone from the bottom of the sea to the Isle of Kortos in 1 AR when he founded the city of Absalom. Since then, only three of the vast number who took the test have passed: Norgorber, whose life prior to the test is unknown, Cayden Cailean, who took it on a drunken bet, and Iomedae, a worshiper of Aroden who became his herald. Anyway, anyone think Sir Reinhold will pass?"
When asked for the package, she says "Yes, I'm Heryn Gale. I do have the package...I'll show you to it as soon as my replacement comes. Should just be a couple of minutes."
Heryn reponds to Stonetree. "Sir Reinhart of Kenabres - he's some sort of Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north and plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone today. Folks are placing bets on if he succeeds or fails, no doubt there'll be crowds gathered later."
Heryn glances at the tavern's front door.
"And as for my relief... looks like it's here."
Heryn gestures to the Pathfinders to follow.
"Follow me, and mind the stairs."
A set of wooden stairs descends from the main floor to a door, which upon opening leads into this tightly packed storeroom. Barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes are pushed against the walls or under the stairs.
Heryn takes a few steps and then moves out of the way gesturing to a ten foot deep rift that bisects the basement.
"Quake did this back in '98. Haven't gotten a chance to fix it up yet so be careful."
A wooden plank serves as a "bridge" crossing the span.
"I'm not sure if Dreng mentioned this, but his 'package' is actually a bottle of wine. His bottle will be in the southeast corner. It's labeled Rookie's Cl.. a-hem... Brew. Big yellow label. You won't be able to miss it."
Heryn walks back up the stairs, clearly expecting the Pathfinders to find the bottle themselves.
|
|
Ísvindur takes one final drink, sets the mug down and follows Heryn through the back. The bird takes a few hopping steps before flapping its way back onto his shoulder.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, he pauses to look down into the crack, and is interrupted at the revelation that their package is a bottle of wine. He looks at Heryn with a blank expression, simply watching her as she leaves.
He looks at his fellow pathfinders, then shrugs as he tests the plank-bridge.
|
|
Ansha abruptly leaves off her flirtations with a certain human merchant as the party heads for the basement. Following swiftly after them, her eyebrows knit together in thought when Heryn reveals the nature of Dreng's 'package.' Her eyebrows remain knit as the woman leaves, though the elf's gaze now shifts to the crevice bisecting the basement--and the narrow plank that spans it.
"Maybe I'll just wait here," she muses.
|
|
The tall, pale northman watches Sara so effortlessly clear the gap, then looks over at Ansha. Without word, he pulls a coil of hemp rope from his pack, finds a spot to tie it off on this side of the crag, then gets a running start to jump across.
Sliding to a stop, he picks up the end of rope, finds a place on the near side to tie this end ... making a sort of rope-hand-rail for others to use to cross more safely.
Sara easily clears the chasm with her running jump, avoiding the plank entirely, while Ansha looks more hesitant.
Isvindur puts a foot on the haphazard plank. It looks like it could hold, given enough care and slow movement.