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You find yourselves gathered in the cramped office of the Cassomir Lodge. News papers, reports, and chronicles are riddled everywhere, in a very messy state. Venture Captain Hestia, a petite, raven-haired, black-eyed Taldan beauty, paces frantically back and forward.
Prior to your arrival, weeks ago, countless kidnappings were occurring all over the city. The Pathfinders pursued the case in the absence of authority action. Rumors spread that the kidnappings was due to a bunch of rogue cultist who worship Groetus, but later on it was learnt that the Derros was funding the transactions.
“I am perplexed. A new kidnapping spree plagues my beloved city. It seems our citizens make easy prey to those who profit from such exploits. While this disturbs me, I am more troubled by reports that some of those kidnapped return to the city as undead monsters who accompany this Cult of Nature’s Cataclysm plague, a plague that I can’t seem to excise from my beloved city.
“This ends now! For a third time we battle Groetus-worshiping dogs and there will not be a fourth!” Taking several deep breaths, Hestia regains her composure. “I am sending you to Swift Prison to interrogate a cultist we captured who was trying to kidnap a local engineer. Meet my man Garver out front—he’ll take you in to see the Nature’s Cataclysm fool. Find out where the other cultists hide, where they’ve taken their recent victims, and how they’re turning them into skeletons. Free as many Cassomir citizens as you can—the good publicity never hurts. Any questions?”
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A man stands with a duster and a hat tilted down over his eyes, a unseen wind ruffling the bottom of the duster at all times. He chews methodically at a toothpick that jaunts out of the side of his mouth, and if the outfit didn't claim him as a gunman, the musket strapped to his back certainly does. He is fairly old, a gray stubble almost blending in with the grey skin of a Sylph.
Names Harry, Most folks call me "Hotshot". Can't say I'm much of one for talkin', should just let me put a bullet twixt his eyes and be done with it. But ya want broken bones, I can do that. I'm ready to make a move when you folks are.
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Haliban is a heavily scarred Garundi man with a gruff manner. He's wearing a mithral chain shirt, a buckler, and has a well made bow over his back.
And for some reason he is wearing some incredibly fancy boots lined with gold and silver filagree. Feel free to roll appraise if you would like.
*nods to the group*
"Name's Haliban. I'm not a fan of kidnapping. When you say interrogate how far are we allowed to go? On a scale of threatening to tell his mom and seeing how much we can carve off and still leave him able to talk?"
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Lounging in one of the chairs in the Captain's office is a tall, bronze skinned man with golden blond hair tied back and immaculately trimmed. His keen blue eyes are locked on the Venture Captain as they receive their briefing and once done he looks around the room. Powerfully built, Marius has a well-wrought Greatsword of Cold Iron sheathed and balanced next to him and wore the Golden Parade Armour of the Knights of Lastwall.
At his feet is a powerful White-furred Tiger with black stripes, a fierce look in their eye as it glares at the gathered Pathfinders with a low growl.
"Greetings friends!" the man says easily, "I am Marius Reinhart the Second, of Kenabres. This is Curze, don't mind him."
Marius then turns to the Captain. "Where's Cassomir? I find the name familiar. And what do we know of this strange cult?"
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"Indeed," the immaculately-dressed elf speaks up. "I've heard the name Groetus in passing, but I can't say I know much. There are a great many deities in Golarion whose names don't mean much to most."
Mūn is outfitted in finely-made clothing mostly in silvers and blues that match his hair and eyes. They are cut in the latest fashions; he clearly cares quite a bit about how he looks. His eyes do drift to Haliban's shoes; a flash of jealousy can be seen before he looks sharply up at the man's face.
"There will be no carving, don't be absurd. Even if that kind of interrogation weren't simply detestable, you'd never be able to believe anything he said. Cut a man's flesh and he'll admit being the Thrice-Blessed Emperor of the Mana Wastes."
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Hot shot shakes his head.
Can't make heads or tales of the nonsense myself. Groetus is the god of the end times. He's the moon that floats outside Pharasma's boneyard, and when Pharasma judges the last soul on Golarian...
He makes a small "Exploding" motion with one hand.
Or something like that. Whatever it is, generally most scholars agree it's gonna be bad. I could never understand why anybody worships the dang thing. At least Asmodeous promises to give ya your metaphorical sack of gold, even if it is cut with copper, but a moon god who's only promise is he's gonna destroy everything? Right up there with people who follow rovagug. Ijits, the lot of them.
He spits to the side in annoyance.
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Still pacing the room back and forth, albeit at a slightly slower pace, she attempts to answer your questions. "The suspect, he’s a bit… unstable, but when he’s lucid he provides good information about the cult and their plans. He could potentially provide us with future information and serves us better as an ally, alive and unharmed.
And then looks in a funny way to Marius, "You're standing right in Cassomir my dear agent, a simple city that thrives of trading. And our sylph here is right, Groetus is only concern about the end of days, he wishes for the world to end, and the same can be said about his cultist."
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Marius at least had the decency to blush somehwat as the Captain made her reveal. Left hand stroking Curze's thick fur, he frowns as he feels odd shapes beginning to form underneath, yet mentions nothing of this yet. He had no more questions to ask until they had more information anyway and was happy to wait for their late arrival.
In the meantime, the Squire of Lastwall examines his travelling companions to soze them up and get a feel for them. The man seemed to be showing off some boots, whilst they had to elemental-kin and a well-dressed Elf. No outright thugs and some know-it-alls, shouldn't be too bad.
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"Stable? If we had the answers we needed, I would not be fielding agents like yourself to meet the man." She speaks, in a serious manner, running through papers. She then looks at the group, "Well? Are you going to stand there? Unless you have any more questions, I suggest you make haste. Lives are at stake!"
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Marius shrugs elegantly and nimbly hops to his feet, taking a moment to affix the well-oiled scabbard of his Greatsword over his right shoulder. shrugging until it sit comfortably, the black iron hilt resting in easy reach. With a click of his fingers, Curze stretched languidly and rose smoothly to all fours, another soft growl leaving the tiger's lips.
"Well, I am ready to be on with this. In my father's name I pledge this crusade of yours." Marius replies, making his way out of the room with an easy grace.
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Mūn nods, making his way towards the door. When the group gets out to the street, they find a fine-looking bear lounging near the door; Mūn scratches her behind an ear. "Thanks for waiting, Selûne."
"Well," he says to the others, "we should make our way to the prison. Reese, you seemed like you had a hint of where it is; do you want to lead the way?"
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The captain relays to you the direction of the prison, it's not difficult to get to, and soon the group makes their way towards the prison.
Swift Prison’s prisoners must pay fees for lodging and favorable treatment. These payments even include a “chains tax,” requiring a prisoner to pay 5 sp each month to avoid being shackled. Swift Prison has an unusual policy in which non-violent criminals who pay for the privilege are allowed to roam the streets surrounding the prison, so long as do not cross the invisible boundary known as the “Rules of the Swift” (which is what the prison calls the invisible boundary that surrounds the prison). Prisoners who cross this boundary are put to death when recaptured—very few have broken those rules in the prison’s history.
The wardens of the Swift are notorious for allowing unusual privileges in exchange for exorbitantly high sums. Prisoners who pay these extortions earn the right to reside in one of the Swift’s private apartments. Rich prisoners may also purchase the “Liberties of the Swift,” the right to walk the prison grounds and surrounding city streets freely. Wardens of the Swift are often replaced after being caught abusing their posts for personal gain.
Those unfortunate souls too destitute to pay often find themselves locked in the Swift’s cellar begging cells. If they are unable earn enough money to pay for their release by begging, they typically succumb to disease. The inmates call these dank cellars Stavian’s Fair.
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"So, this Swift Prison is an unusual place... for any place but Cassomir, I imagine. The prisoners can basically pay for special treatment in many ways--up to and including free roaming of the streets around the prison itself. If they can't pay for better treatment though, they have to beg, and if they're not successful at that, they'll basically rot in the dungeons below."
"I wonder where our mark is within the prison--how privileged he may be. It may behoove us to bring some coin to help him buy favors, that could encourage more sharing of information with us."
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"With the prison being so lucrative I wonder just how guilty the prisoners truly are. And I would imagine using subterfuge to trick someone past these “Rules of the Swift” is an easy path to a successful murder. I don't like the sound of this place, It doesn't sound like a legitimate prison."
Haliban deftly avoids stepping in the more unpleasant things you find on a typical busy street.
"The mention of undead and disease concerns me as well."
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Reese nods to Mun, then sets off confidently. Along the way, he sings a marching ditty to liven up the journey.
"Do not go meekly into that hard fight,
Your rage should burn and rave, and dragons slay;
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might."
"Though brave men at their end know death is right,
Because their swords had fought so fiercely they
Do not go meekly into that hard fight."
”Brave men, the last fight won, crying at night
Their shoulders slumped, strength waning and hair gray,
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might."
”Mad men who cut and stabbed the corpse in spite,
And learn, too late, they too are something's prey,
Do not go meekly into that hard fight."
”Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might."
”And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go meekly into that hard fight.
Rage, rage with glorious and righteous might."
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After some time collecting a little bit of information, you immediately make ways to the Swift Prison, through the busy streets of Cassomir. The journey is uneventful save stepping in some puddles.
Swift Prison’s formidable gates loom over those who pass beneath them. Out front, a gilded statue stares uncaringly at those who serve time beyond her sentry-like gaze. The wrinkled, dirty faces of Cassomir’s prisoners are briefly illuminated behind the bars of the ground floor begging cells. Their pathetic drone as they beg for coppers fills the courtyard in front of the prison.
Hestia’s man, Garver—a tall Taldan man with a slim physique and plain peasant’s clothing—approaches. “You made it. Good. Follow me.” Garver turns and enters the prison, marching through myriad hallways that twist and turn and finally end at a plain but thick wooden door. Garver produces a key and says, “Our captured cultist enjoys visitors, and if you like his work, it’s all for sale.”
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Striding along, his sword loosened in its scabbard in case they were ambushed, Marius kept his eyes peeled for signs that they were being watched. This prison was like none he had ever come across, knowing only the Bastion of Justice in lastwall, which was an impressive fort but not a city. His heart went out to the beggars, and Marius dug into his pouch, scattering coppers away from their group. It wasn't much, but it might pay to have some of the beggars on their side.
Greeting their man warmly, Marius had to snap his fingers to call Marius from pouncing on a beggar getting too close. "Charmed. Has he said much to you? The Venture Captain knew of only vague notions."
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The jailer gives a light hearted chuckle, "He's name the crazed painter for a reason. Unlike most people, due to his insanity, we keep him far below away from the rest. Fortunate for us, that means the paintings just go to the upkeep of the prison, since he ask for nothing really. And no, we have not been able to reason with the poor fool." He continues to fiddle with his keys as he attempts to open the door.
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"Meh, no one visits. No one buys the paintings. I'm not really sure what he paints, it's quite dark inside there." He responds as he opens up the door.
Garver then leads you through the door and down several stone steps into a dingy, shadowed room with three cells. Garver gives the two guards there some coins and they head back up the stairs, closing the door behind them. In the center cell, covered in paint, a man dressed in torn beggar’s rags, his feet shackled to the floor by a 3-foot length of chain, throws color onto a dirty canvas. The man stops painting when you arrive, looks through the bars, and exclaims with a toothless grin: “For you, my master, always for you!” He then lays the painting atop a small pile of recent works and sets up another blank canvas, madly attacking it with his brush.
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Ordering Curze to stay outside and guard the cell door, Marius' nose crinkles as he steps into the prisoner's abode and the stench of human sweat, paint and madness. The Crusader shook his head, he could never understand the insanity involved in 'end-of-the-world' cults, life was a battle and to fall was to lose. He shakes the thoughts loose as he examines the paintings haphazardly stacked.
"Yes Quite. Now, how are we to get answers from him? The Captain was clearly uninterested in us tearing them from him."
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And here I was envisioning a pampered prisoner painting landscapes in the light of a delicately curtained window. I should have known better. That would be agony for this kind of cultist, I suppose.
Mūn turns his back to the cultist, and pulls out a wand, which he attempts to activate on himself.
This spell augments your diplomacies. While under the effects of spell, you roll two dice each time you make a Diplomacy check to change a creature's attitude, taking the highest roll. If this results in a roll low enough to reduce the creature's attitude by a step, that creature gets some clue that you are manipulating it with a spell. Alternatively you can cast this spell before making a Diplomacy check to gather information, gaining a +5 competence bonus on the check.
Unfortunately, he can't quite make it work. He looks over the others, and his eyes alight on Reese. In a whisper, he asks for her (his?) help. "I bet you know the workings of this wand. Can you please cast it on me? Feel free to take a charge for yourself, too."
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"Gladly, Mun." Reese accepts the wand, then gracefully weaves it through an intricate pattern, before brushing the elf's lips. Mun's mouth glows golden for an instant, then fades to normal.
Turning to the prisoner, Reese introduces Mun. "As you know, our Master is quite busy. But he has not forgotten you, and asked me to introduce to you his most trusted assistant."
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"And so."
Mun steps to the bars, and looks through at the painting. He seems to consider it for quite a while before speaking again.
"I... we... need your assistance. Things have not gone well, and we need to know where we can find the other cultists... and the intended victims." He inclines his head, and gives the painting another glance. "If you can tell us these things, you will be treated quite... appropriately... indeed."
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The painter finally heeds your greetings and he approaches the bars, you soon realise he isn't yet conscious, but still in a somewhat semi lucid state.
“Friends! Did the Master send you? Yes, he must have. Praised be he who ends the days! Do you seek my secret? Soon enough—but in return I ask something from you. You must give it to me as I need it to complete my collection.” He points to two paintings hung in a shadowy corner of his cell. A third canvas hangs next to them but is blank. “If you go outside this very prison you’ll find a statue covered in gold. You may have already seen her! Describe this statue to me in exquisite detail and I will tell you all I know.”
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Mūn tries to recall the statue the man mentioned; he will describe it to the best of his ability. "The statue is cold, and uncaring. It keeps watch over all who enter or leave the prison with its sentry-like gaze. It gives the sense of feeling nothing for you or your concerns or situation; it only cares for the prison."
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Hotshot chews at his toothpick and speaks.
Not quite right at all I think. It's dead. It never once had life. A sculpture tried to put some life in it, and failed. Instead, all they captured was the dead of metal. The gilding on it is like putting a whore's makup on a hog, it doesn't even serve it's intended of hiding the dead metal under it's shine. The gilding will fade away, melt down to nothing, and it'll be nothing but dead metal once again.
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"Indeed, I remember passing the statue, but a servant of the master deserves more than hazy memories. I shall be back shortly."
After several minutes, Reese returns and closes his eyes before speaking. "The golden statue rests on a stone base, and is taller than me by a couple feet. It is of a short haired girl, probably Taldan. Her robe is open at the top, revealing the top of her hourglass figure.
"Beneath her feet is a set of smashed scales, and her robe is decorated with pale moons. And her face is as cold and uncaring as the moon."
to describe it
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The crazed painter looks confused for several minutes as he is told description of statues that do not exist, until Reese delivers the correct description.
As the description is provided, the painter seemingly ignores the lot of you but continuous furiously painting the blank canvas on the wall, splashing paint wildly about his cell. Upon completing the painting, he brings the painting into the light. It shows a very twisted perspective of what Kazmoro described. The once-beautiful statue stares back transformed, her visage twisted into a demonic snarl. Short humanoids with large, black eyes torment cowering prisoners in the painting’s background. Brandishing a radiant holy symbol, a lone figure fails to fight them off.
The short humanoid creatures upon the painting are clearly Derros
The Lone figures seems to be a depiction of Aroden based of Taldan Lore.
The moon iconography in the painting belongs to that of Groetus.
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Mūn finally notices the moon iconography that shows up in all of the paintings. "Ahhh, we both are fans of the pale orb. To gaze up on its soft white light, and feel its bestial call. It is a wondrous thing. It's actually how I chose the name I travel under."
"Anyway, I believe you were going to share some information with us...."
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Stood watching, Marius would be the first to admit that nothing said by this crazed cultist sunk in. The others seemed able to appease him at least which was good, but the Crusader of Kenabres was a simple man and that's how he preferred it. Though spying the torturing of the prisoners he frowns deeply.
"Could it be those Der things are torturing the prisoners here? A grain of truth in his ruined mind?" he asks unsure.
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In respond to Mun, "Painting speak, painting answers all!" He proclaims joyously spinning himself around before bringing forth the other two paintings on the wall into the dim light of the room, clear enough for you to study it.
The second painting depicts a stately, white stone building. Three-foot-tall bas-reliefs circle the building’s outside walls at ground level, though they are warped and twisted in the crazed painter’s art. Derros stand atop the hall’s steps and seem to punish criminals—all of whom are wearing the robes of Taldan government officials. At the southwest corner of the building, the bas-relief glows a bright white. The same lone figure from the other paintings attempts to sooth a group of frightened children by playing a flute— the notes are actually painted above him on the canvas.
This is a representation of Cassomir's imperial Hall of Records.
The third painting depicts the northeast retaining wall upon the sea. It shows dozens of angry derros smashing brightly-painted urns against the retaining wall, while the same lone figure from the other paintings frantically attempts to push down an obviously barred door in the middle of the wall, presumably to escape another group of menacing derros that seems to pursue him.
This is a representation of Cassomir's ruined Quickfall Abbey.
"Yes. Yes. Painting tell you. Master is in Crypt of Fools! Deep below Old city. Find master!"
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As the second and third paintings are brought forth, Marius shrugs again as the mad depictions are lost on him. They were supposed to interrogate the man, but he gives his answers in picture? He hoped the Venture Captain knew what she was doing and was pondering the possibilities when his comrades reveal the locations.
"So, the cult lies below the city and we have two leads." Marius mutters. "Nonflute here i'm afraid."