The rain has not let up for days, a constant drip and drizzle, working it's way into your cloths and belongings. The Goring Boar Inn is the one saving grace of Golsifar. Your team trickles in one at a time from the far points of the map. There is still another day until mid month so your team takes the opportunity to rest, relax and get to know each other.
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A large and impressive man enters the room. He shakes his cloak at the door then hangs it on the wall.
His clothing is workmanlike and practical, and well tended. Though unarmoured for now, armour plating and shield alike are strapped to his pack.
Hearing the fledgling conversation he joins the group. He clicks his heels with a formal precision, though the effect is more of a wet clap than a 'click'.
I am Luccinus de Concorezio. I am here seeking members of the Pathfinder Society. Forgive me but your conversation seems to indicate we have a shared purpose.
The words and the apology are formal and polite, but without warmth. A formality to be endured or adhered to.
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"If you are seeking them, then you have found at least one. Perhaps more." A man, shorter and slimmer than most, walks through the door. Water puddles on the floor as he flips back a sopping wet, simple brown cloak. He has shoulder length brown hair tied back in a ponytail.
"Kargen Hapspring. I'm a member of the Pathfinders." He extends a hand and you can see part of a tattoo on the inside of his right wrist. It looks like the head of an arrow.
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Shortly after Luccinus a seemingly serene man enters the Goring Boar Inn. As he takes off his wet leather poncho, you can see a tabbard with the symbol of Sarenrae on it. Underneath shimmers some armor with hexagonal iron plates sewn together on a leather tunic. On his back is a big backpack and a heavy wooden shield, on his hips a belt with a scimitar and a morning star, over his shoulder he wears a bandolier with a holy symbol of Sarenrae attached to it.
As he becomes aware of you he says:
It seems this deluge has washed up some other travellers here. When i look at the lot of you, you might just be the people i am searching for, although we are only due to meet tomorrow. I am Zacarias Omoroi, priest of the Dawnflower from Magnimar. At your service.
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Entertaining several other pathfinders in the far corner of the room is Janiya. She appears as a bronze-skinned goddess in the guise of a human form. Her dark velvety hair ebbs along her soft supple flesh accentuating her rhythmic movement in between hard bodies. Her stark emerald eyes dart across the room falling on Hawkren, a familiar face that she briefly encountered met in the ranks of an Andoran faction assembly.
Janiya draws a fine-edged blade and begins to perform a ceremonial sword dance.
She brings the point of her rapier to the onlookers' skin, teasing them with mortal imagined wounds and her intimate approach. The seemingly alluring human female ends abruptly falling on her hands and knees and speaks, her hair tossed strewn across Hawkren's feet.
Hello. I don't believe we've been formally introduced. My name is Janiya Sandborn. We share a common interest...
The sultry woman smartly raises her head to greet the half-elf's eyes.
FREEDOM! Smiling with confidence.
Janiya awaits for a response from the crowd, even though she has done better.
The late afternoon flows into the night. The ale is respectable but nothing to really write home about, but it is cheap and abundant, and the best you will get here. The locals have become enamored with Janiya, but few of the dirt farmers have the stones to look her directly in the eye much less make a clumsy attempt at conversation.
An hour after dark, two fur cloaked humans enter the Inn. They both wear leather armor with black metal plates sewn on the forearms, chest, shoulders and other strategic areas. Despite the wet weather and mud the armor has a worn but carefully maintained look and strangely enough is completely dry.
One of the new comers has a pink jagged scar that runs down his face. He sees the table of pathfinders, says something to his companion and heads your way. As he gets closer you can see the pathfinder insignia on his armor, similar to yours but somehow...older looking.
"I want you to think on this...
IF! You serve the Society faithfully for decades.
IF! You continually face harrowing dangers that haunt your dreams.
IF! You place yourself at the beck and call of your unseen masters and never question why."
His companion joins him. He is holding a bottle of distilled spirits, whiskey to be exact. The scarred man uncorks the bottle and takes a long pull from the bottle.
"You will one day be called to ride for two days strait to some po-dunk little town, to send a bunch of brand spanking new recruits on a meaningless errand."
He takes another long pull from the bottle.
"Your mission is simple. All you need to do is travel to Railford, find the son of Iodon Railford and convince him to let the Pathfinders use part of his distillery as a lodge. We have finances, we can protect him, and if nothing else, we can help him honor the work of his father, who after all, was one of us."
Yet another pull from the bottle.
"That is all the information that..."
He begins screaming at the top of his voice.
"FAT BASTARD gave me."
He gestures wildly.
"Ride with all haste he said...Like I have nothing better to do... It was MEEE!!! I killed the werewolf, it was MEEEE!! Laying in the snow with my belly ripped open, MEEEEE!!! That FAT BASTARD was in Absalom!!! I WAS IN THE SNOW WITH ALL MY DEAD FRIENDS!!!IN THE SNOW RED WITH BLOOD!!! MEEE!! NOT HIM!!!
At this point you can hear a pin drop. The scarred man is breathing heavy through his mouth. He takes yet another pull from the bottle. He takes another deep breath and you are sure he will go into yet another tirade. The scarred mans companion puts a hand on his shoulder and they both turn and walk away.
"I, will be in the corner getting piss drunk, if you have any further questions."
He announces in a sarcastic, daring manner.
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"Either get them more drunk or sober them up and see if they tell us more. Right now that's damned little to go on."
Travel to Railford, and find the son of Iodon Railford. Kargen sighs. "I guess that's not too hard. But convincing someone to give over their property to the Society...more difficult, especially if it's a working distillery."
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Janiya stands as her long bountiful hair cascades of her chain shirt armor. She has no reservations exhibiting her womanly endowments; her breasts round and firm. Easy examination reveals her areola under her sheer silken undergarment are sized perfectly to appease even the most lustful supplicant.
Janiya acknowledges Hawkren with silent nod of her eyes and saunters her way to the table sitting the two human messengers.
Good evening, gentlemen! I am Janiya Sandborn, in the service of the Society and Andoran. Gathering from the appearance of your gear and insignia, you are both seasoned veterans.
Would you be so kind to share more information about our mission? Who is the son of Iodon Railford? How are we to identify him? I am humbly imploring you share any more information that would aid us in this matter.
Janiya examines the two drunk humans and verity of their claim of being Pathfinders.
The bottle is more than half empty when Janiya approaches the table. The drunk Pathfinder looks at her for a moment. Then says,
"Rookie, are you deaf or just stupid? I was ordered to deliver you a message and it is delivered. I have never even heard of Railford."
He wobbles slightly as he stands up from his chair. He yells,
"Who in this s#*+ hole of a town has even heard of Railford, or Iodon Railford? Not me!!!"
The bartender says, "Iodon Railford is dead. Been dead for a few years."
The drunk Pathfinder spins about, points at the bartender and says,
"Well, go talk to him then and leave me the hell alone!!" His companion starts to laugh.
"Sure the bartender says. My old man used to buy wine from Railford. One of my 1st real jobs was going to Railford and picking up the casks. About 6 years ago there was a really big flood and the Themis River overflowed its banks, even changed it's course. Now what used to be the Railford vineyards is just a swampy mire, prone to flooding."
The Bartender pours himself a mug of ale and sits down on a stool. he continues,
"We never bought all that much wine from Railford, but after the flood He could he could barely even fill our orders, so I started getting it in from Cassiomer. Then about two years ago, Becher Railford shows up with a load of whiskey. Becher is Iodon's son. So I started buying a half dozen or so cases a month. I think he was selling most of it down into Oppara."
"Anyway, last shipment was six weeks ago. But the weather has been pretty crappy, gets like this in the late fall. I would expect Becher's men any week now."
"Any thing else you wana know?"
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Luccinus, disgusted by their lack of manners, if nothing else thinks, What a fool - I am half tempted to knock him out with a chair if not for the claim he had taken on a werewolf... even so, there are limits.
Barkeep, you seem well informed, is there any one who may have left messages with you against the arrival of guests?
The bartender seems to shrink a bit as the dark shrouded Half-Orc approaches, his body language is fearful.
"Well, i don't know about that. I hope he comes sooner, rather than later. I have one case of bottles left, then I'll need to order more from Cassiomer, or Oppara, its more expensive from them."
The bartender says to Luccinus,
"I have some letters but none of them are for you. Most of the post comes through the general store, but Vicers is real good about bringing me mail that is marked care of the Goring Boar. I give him a free tankard for walking it down here."
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Slightly repulsed at the rangers' apathetic attitudes, Janiya leaves the travel weary pathfinders to themselves. Hearing most of the information transpired between the group and the bartender, she interjects.
Did you say Cassiomer? ...and/or Oppara? Do you have a sole supplier there? Perhaps, some treachery is involved? I just want to eliminate any possibility that the problem is not close to Becher's home.
To Luccinus:
Vicers owns the general store, he has a little of everything, including some basic weapons and armor pieces. He sleeps in his shop, and is never to tired to make some gold. Just go bang on his door until he wakes up, or see him in the morning.
To Janiya اللبن والعسل Sandborn:
"Miss, as long as people are buying drinks. I am real easy to get along with."
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Luccinus goes to stomp off and bang on the stores door, allowing the two sorry excuses for pathfinders to calm down.
His knocking is loud and insistent but does not devolve to banging or hammering.
Upon someone opening the door...
Apologies for the hour but I must be off at first light and am need of supplies...
A portly halfling opens the door, he is sleepy but very polite.
"Yes Sir, Vicer's and Son at your service, Sir. What can I get for you this evening?"
A young halfling about 10 years old walks sleepy around the corner. He uses a ladder to light some fuel lamps. Slowly the small general store is illuminated. The bartender was correct, this store has a little bit of everything. After all the lamps are lit the halfling boy stokes the fire in the pot belly stove in the center of the store. And sets a kettle to boil.
Would you care from some tea? Vicer's asks you?
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That would be appreciated.
I need... a cold iron longsword, another alchemist fire, 2 holy waters, 2 alchemical acids, a potion of cure light wounds, an oil of enchanted weapon, 1 anti plague, 1 anti toxin and an oil of bless weapon and enlarge.
I also hold a 'marker' from the Pathfinder society... would you have a wand of cure light wounds to exchange for this?
The halfling pours a cup of tea. Then he and he boy set about filling the order. Several of the items he sends the boy into the back to get. The alchemist fire is retrieved from an iron and stone locker with a lid that is lifted by counter weights and a windless.
I will indeed accept your marker. I even have a wrist sheath to go along with that if you like.
The road is pretty well marked and muddy this time of year. It takes a good long day to make the trip. I have never heard of much in he way of bandits in this area, we are pretty far out of the way of major trade roads. You really can't get lost. The road is easy to loose, just head west until you run into the river and follow it down stream to Railford.
The bartender shrugs, "That's his business, and none of mine."
The bartender says,
"Yeah, not a lot of traffic between here and Railford. The road just does not get used alot, and parts of it flood all the time. Like I said, if you get lost just head west until you run into the river, it will take you straight to Railford. Becher will often float a wagon and barrels downriver then bring them up through Marley. Takes a lot longer, but when the roads get bad... he says with a shrug.
"I would say that travel around here is as safe as anywhere. Vicer's got attacked by three goblins two years ago. Killed one of them and drove the others away. It is usually pretty quiet.
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Janiya tries to coax an intoxicated patron into a brief rendezvous with her before she retires for the evening; he must be tall, strong, attractive, and very eager. She bids her fellow pathfinders a good night and thanks the bartender for the opportunity to earn some coin.
You, gentlemen, I'll see you in the morning. May you all have pleasant dreams of milk and honey.
In the morning the Bartender has laid out a simple but filling breakfast spread on the bar. He will not take any compensation for the lodging, he states that the two messengers settled the bill in full before they left over an hour ago.
"The scarred...gentleman gave me a bundle of letters to distribute, he asked that you read them before setting out to Railford."
He sets the bundle on the bar and disappears into the kitchen.
It has come to my attention that a battalion of Eagle Knights has gone rogue, likely driven mad by some entropy lurking beneath Droskar’s Crag. While the sad fates of errant do-gooders rarely concern me, there are rumors that one of the survivors remains relatively sane, but has split from the rogue battalion and now lives in relative secrecy in Taldor, at Railford, trying to drink the horrors from his mind. I only need this information confirmed. It is imperative that he remain unaware that we know of his existence.
Sincerely,
Captain Colson Maldris
It has come to my attention that a battalion of Eagle Knights has gone rogue, likely driven mad by some entropy lurking beneath Droskar’s Crag. While the sad fates of errant do-gooders rarely concern me, there are rumors that one of the survivors remains relatively sane, but has split from the rogue battalion and now lives in relative secrecy in Taldor, at Railford, trying to drink the horrors from his mind. I only need this information confirmed. It is imperative that he remain unaware that we know of his existence.
Sincerely,
Captain Colson Maldris
It has come to my attention that a battalion of Eagle Knights has gone rogue, likely driven mad by some entropy lurking beneath Droskar’s Crag. While the sad fates of errant do-gooders rarely concern me, there are rumors that one of the survivors remains relatively sane, but has split from the rogue battalion and now lives in relative secrecy in Taldor, at Railford, trying to drink the horrors from his mind. I only need this information confirmed. It is imperative that he remain unaware that we know of his existence.
Sincerely,
Captain Colson Maldris
Railford possesses secrets of distilling pungent and rare spirits. While these putrid western beverages provide little interest to us, the trade princes believe the distilling techniques used to create these spirits could prove invaluable in the production of tinctures, perfumes, and the preservation of spices, herbs, and other items. We require that you learn all you can about these processes from Becher Railford and forward your findings to us. Let Becher know we are sincere in our desire to bargain with him and if he shows interest, we may even consider sponsoring him for a bit, provided he can build us some of his devices and teach us how to use them.
Sincerely,
Pasha Muhlia Al-Jakri
I require the procuring of a rare and pungent swamp root. There are only a few regions in which this plant grows wild, though quite conveniently, it is native to the very region to which you are being sent. The name of the root is ygrat, though it is sometimes known as Crone’s Tongue. Vintners mash the root into an oily paste used for seasoning wine casks. The locals should know where it’s found, however I need it to be fresh. It has … useful properties that should server our evenings well.
Paracountess Zarta Dralneen
It has come to my attention that a battalion of Eagle Knights has gone rogue, likely driven mad by some entropy lurking beneath Droskar’s Crag. While the sad fates of errant do-gooders rarely concern me, there are rumors that one of the survivors remains relatively sane, but has split from the rogue battalion and now lives in relative secrecy in Taldor, at Railford, trying to drink the horrors from his mind. I only need this information confirmed. It is imperative that he remain unaware that we know of his existence.
Sincerely,
Captain Colson Maldris
"I think I have heard of Crones Tongue, but I really don't know anything about it, sorry."