Another day, another mission for the Pathfinder Society. The Master of Spells Sorrina Westyr has invited you to a mission of some kind. You've heard rumors about it helping the Plane of Earth but that's about it.
On the door to her office it reads, Please enter on October 10. At least some other Pathfinders are here early.
You hear some kind of dull noise. You hear it again. And again. And again.
”dance! Dance! DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! The scene fades in and you see many people banging their tankards on tables. You’re in some kind of cafeteria.
The men and women here are clad in various suits of armor, all bearing the same symbol: some kind of gem pattern. The armor is worn, clearly used in many battles. Some are singed slightly. In the center of the room is a man with slate-gray skin, dancing as hard as he can. It’s clear entertainment isn’t his strong suit. The crowd cheers anyway, they are too drunk to care.
The scene pulls away from the mess hall, and pans across a rocky field for maybe a kilometer or two. Two figures, cast in shadow against the night sky, are at some kind of obstacle field. One of the voices, an elder female, shouts at the young male. ”No, put the rocks higher. Higher! I need them to fall when they start climbing, not before. If they pass this course it’s coming out of your hide!”
”Please Captain! I understand!” The male cries out, fear evident in his voice even as he struggles to lift the stones.
”Good.” As the woman turns around, a nearby torch lights up her mouth long enough to see her grin from ear to ear.
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As the party continues to rage into the night, a lone half-orc/half-nagaji warrior strides into the doorway, opening the room to the chill from the outside as the flames and heat from the raucous drinkers seems to warm the newcomer.
"Greetings, fellow warriors!" yells the scaly fighter clad in iron and holding a longspear in his hand.
A cheer goes up as Durandal finds a seat next to a pair of dwarves. "Greetings, stout smiths. Your kind is very rare in Tian Xia, but your ancestors' weapons are treasured. The Great Chieftain's tri-point, double-edged greatsword was crafted by the legendary Golden Anvil smith, Zakiro. It is an honor to drink ale with you." Durandal says with great sincerity as he takes three mugs of ale from a nearby waiter and places two before the dwarves.
"I am Durandal! Descendant of Caburak! Bul'tar!" he cries out as he downs the ale with the dwarves.
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"'Ey, pass me sum of that ale," a halfling says, his wolf's paws padding along the the floor of the busy cafeteria. Damien stands about three feet tall from toe to head, though he'd firmly have you believe your vision must be failing if you ever called him short. Mounted atop his faithful companion Ruby, he's only half that, yet he's well armed - a halfling-sized lance is strapped across his back, along with a strange sling taped to a stick. Damien's hair is tossed back in a messy golden nest, and his face has smudges of dirt and dried food. He seems to care little. His wolf carries a leather satchel wrapped into her collar.
"Yeah, that's the stuff! Damien Marx, at yer service. Marx gonna give it to ya and all that. Jus' got outta trainin' with some initiates, and now I'm even better at handlin' ol' Ruby here!" The wolf snarls at him.
After what seems like months, the door clicks ajar. You all enter the office.
The courtyard outside of Sorrina Westyr’s office is a tribute to the element of earth. Large, dark boulders jut from a carpet of smooth pebbles. Wild flowers and moss spring from the cracks between the stones. The Master of Spells’ slate- gray skin seems to blend into the rock she lounges on in the sun-dappled courtyard, her face upturned to the cloudless sky. Sorrina stretches luxuriously before turning to smile.
“Enjoy the open air while you can, Pathfinders,” she says. “You are to be among the first agents sponsored to explore the planes—the Plane of Earth, to be exact. Reyshal ik Jalman, the Society’s contact on the Plane of Earth, recently alerted us to a rare opportunity. The Sultana’s constant war with the City of Brass means the shaitan empire needs more soldiers, and they have begun recruiting off-world mercenaries to train alongside their military. That’s where you come in.” Westyr leaps to her feet in a fluid motion, pulling an amethyst crystal
wrapped in copper wire from her pocket.
“Please travel with Reyshal to the Opaline Vault. He can pull some strings to get you in with the mercenary company known as the Ungrounded. Complete the basic training and prove to your superiors that the Pathfinders are useful allies. Reyshal and I believe that working with the Ungrounded will lay the foundation for an alliance with the Peerless Empire. What’s more, this is an excellent means for you to establish your own professional credentials and connections.” Westyr pauses to brush a fallen leaf from her hair. “I’ll contact Reyshal as soon as you’re ready.”
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Durandal frowns at the Master of Spells. "Mercenaries?" he asks with disdain evident. "I cannot speak for my fellow compatriots, but I chose to work with the Society, not sell my sword to the highest bidder." he says, upset that this is the first mission he has been assigned.
"An adventure to the depths of the Plane of Earth is quite the experience, but this mission..." he says, questioning his own decision to join.
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As Sorrina speaks Herman nods his head as though he understands more of what she is talking about the he does. The Plane of Earth? I guess that is better then going to a plain of fire.
"I am not sure what exactly I signed up for. So far I was sent to deal with some machines so I guess this makes sense as well."
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"Wuts wrong, Doorandull? You don't wanna go to tha Plane of Earth? Hmm..." Damien shrugs at Durandal, running his hand through his golden hair and parting it messily to one side. "Never been ta any plane before, other than the one we're in. We're in a plane right? I don't really get it. Ruby, whattaya think?"
The wolf looks up at Damien with her head side ways and eyes wide.
"Ya, didn't think so. Well, from what I heard back at home, this Plane o' Earth is made up of a tunnels and caverns. The plane itself is alright for halfling.. and human life, but there are common dangers! Like cave-ins, poisonous gasses, and pockets of molten rock near its border with the Plane o' Fire. Let's be careful, 'n get sum of that anti poison juice."
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A sylph walks up. At least, it looks like walking, but upon examination, it's hard to tell if he truly is even making contact with the ground as he moves. Winds, unfelt by others on this breezeless day, swirl around the aged man, making his long, grey hair and beard stay in a state of somewhat constant motion.
"I recently participated in a large mission for the Society that had me encountering some creatures from the Elemental Plane of Earth. Didn't visit it, but from what I've learned, Damien, you're exactly right." He whispers something sotto voce, and a small bat crawls out from within the sylph's beard, quickly taking flight and circling the group before returning. "I'm Robyyn, and this is Ayrii. Ayrii is essential to my magic, so I wanted to make sure that the introduction was made. He often stays in my hair or beard, but I didn't want you to be surprised."
"Anyway, in addition to what Damien pointed out, we should also know that this plane is normally populated with crystal dragons, earth elementals, mephits, oreads, shaitans, xiomorns, and xorns. I wouldn't be surprised if we encountered at least some of those on our way."
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A black haired woman with brown skin stands at attention during the briefing. Her thickly braided hair is pulled back together into a large ponytail. Her green and brown cloak mostly conceals a shirt of shimmering mithral chain and ends at the top of her leather boots. Prominently displayed across the cloak's shoulders is the holy symbol of Erastil. All of her equipment is incredibly well maintained and clean, with the exception of her bow, held within the quiver on her back, displaying dark dirt stains on one end.
"Ma'am, I shall do my best to bring honor to the Society," she states. Not my first choice, but there are always lessons to be learned. To the others, "I will add that the Opaline Vault, also known as the Rainbow Metropolis, is the capital of the Peerless Empire, and a planar hub for entertainment and trade. Sultana Ashadieeyah bint Khalid rules from a gem- studded palace. The Vault’s diverse population includes a small percentage of noble shaitans known as pashas, as well as dwarves, elementals, elves, and oreads," she recites encyclopedically, obviously proud of herself. Those lessons with Grandfather always find a way to be useful.
"I am ready to leave as soon as my compatriots are."
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In response to the halfling, Durandal shakes his head. "I don't mind exploring a new plane." he says plainly. "However, I don't like the idea that we are now being sent to join a mercenary group that I know nothing about..."
"My personal honor reflects on my family and my liege; I will conscientiously maintain my reputation for the sake of theirs, even on the battlefield." he says reverently, quoting a scripture of the Empress of Heaven. "Unless these mercenaries value honor, I can not lend them my blade to butcher and earn coin."
"Reyshal has given me his word that none of you will be sent on the frontlines. The Plane is relatively peaceful." Sorianna leans back. "Perhaps you would like to ask him directly?"
Once your preparations are complete, the Master of Spells uses a short copper wire and a piece of amethyst. They go up in a puff of smoke, and she whispers, “Preparations are complete. We are ready.”
The boulder opposite Sorrina Westyr’s seat ripples like water. What appears to be a towering stone statue of a muscular man clad in gold-lacquered armor emerges from the stone. He bows dramatically to the Master of Spells.
“Well met, Trail Seekers,” he grins wryly as Sorrina frowns in irritation. “Of course, I mean Pathfinders. Just a jest between friends.” The shaitan steps forward and inclines his head in a shallow version of the bow he just performed for Sorrina.
“I am Reyshal ik Jalman, humble servant of Her Radiance, Ashadieeyah bint Khalid, and sworn ally to the steadfast Master of Spells. Today I am honored to escort you to the Opaline Vault, the glorious home of my ancestors. I hope that together we can cement the bonds between our peoples, dear Pathfinders. But first, please, introduce yourselves!”
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Damien gawks in amazement at the "magic trick" performed by the Master of Spells, his excitement reaching a zenith when the lumbering man steps through the stone. "Now that's cool! 'Ey there Mr. Rayshool, I'm Damien Marx from Qadira, this 'ere is Ruby. She keeps me safe at the cost of nothing but berries 'n goodies. Ain't that right, Ruby?" Pulling a sack from his backpack, Damien tosses a few dried raspberries on the ground. Ruby leaps at them, gobbling them up in seconds. "Thought so," Damien beams.
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"Reyshal ik Jalman, it is an honor to meet and travel with you," Xabala replies, returning the bow. "I am from Kibwe, in the Mwangi Expanse. I under the tutelage of Erastil and my Grandfather, I have spent my life combating the demons within the jungle to contribute to the ongoing safety of the city."
Reyshal nods as the party introduces themselves. "Many of you express interest in the Opaline Vault...Prepare to be amazed, friends."
Once the pleasantries are complete, he asks everyone to stand in a circle and join hands. You feel a sense of vertigo and a tugging feeling in your stomachs.
A spinning tunnel of shimmering crystals gives way to the inside of an immense geode, a cavern so vast that the walls and ceiling appear as a distant night sky. Multicolored twinkling lights hang in the air like stars, painting shifting auroras across the geode’s walls. At the heart of the city, radiant spires of gold and platinum emerge from a churning lake of liquefied gemstones, connected by soaring bridges. “Welcome to the Rainbow Metropolis,” Reyshal whispers.
You are about a 2 mile walk away from the city. Reyshal is an excellent guide, preventing you from getting lost. He mentions a few of the more interesting landmarks: the Peerless Embassy that hosts diplomats from across the universe. The Slab, a mile-long barracks that hosts most of the sultan’s shaitan army.
”Welcome to the Outer District.” Reyshal gestures to the various buildings, many of which are indigenous to the Material Plane. ”Many offworld residents move here and try to earn the pasha’s favor with a combination of diplomatic and business favors.” He brings your attention to the many flags, banners and coats of arms displayed prominently on the buildings.
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Robyyn can't contain his joy at the amazing sights in this place. His eyes are wide in wonder, and his gaze moves furtively across the landscape, attempting to see it all if he possibly can.
"I can see why!" Robyyn blurts when Reyshal points out the cluster of off-world homes that have been transported to this glittery wonder.
His sense of wonder quickly cools, though, when he notices a specific flag. He immediately points out the serpents of the Aspis Consortium flying above one of the buildings.
"Reyshal; what are the Aspis doing here?"
"Aspis?" Reyshal raises an eyebrow. "I don't know about them. It sounds like you don't like them too much." He coughs. "As long as they follow the law, they are allowed here."
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"This is incredible!" Xabala says as she takes it all in. With such wealth, they must have many means of combating demons at their disposal. This training may be even more useful than I previously expected.
"Reyshal ik Jalman, what can you tell us of the training we will be undergoing? Additionally, are there any laws that we may not be aware of that would be prudent to observe during our stay? I have no desire to impose upon you or your people, intentionally or otherwise," she explains as she continues to stare in awe at the beautiful colors and designs. Grandfather would love it here. I shall discuss it with him when I return.
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"What's a pasha?" asks Durandal, unsure what is going on with the radiant city.
He looks around in disdain as the city seems to be more ostentatious, than practical, which violates his orcish nature. "We should go meet those soldiers in the Slab. I'm sure they will be very willing to treat us to a spar so that we can prove our worth." Durandal says whole-heartedly as Reyshal leads them by the embassy.
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As for the Aspis, Durandal chimes in. "Who are these Aspis folks? Evil or just someone you don't like Robyn?" he wonders, thinking about where this mercenary company is residing. I hope they are staying somewhere less... colorful.
"Should we be off to find these Ungrounded?"
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"Ya, this place is pretty awesome," Damien swoons from atop Ruby. "Could get lost in here if ya aren't careful. Hypnotized, even. Look at those colours..." He stops at the edge of a bridge and looks up into the massive cavern. "Definitely gunna have to get a sketch of this place before we leave, eh, Ruby?"
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Robyyn falls back a bit to walk with Durandal. "I'm surprised to hear you ask; I thought all Pathfinders knew of the Aspis Consortium. They have long been... well... enemies of the Society. There's no better way to put it, really." Robyyn shrugs his shoulders at this simple summary. "They harry us at every turn, trying to disrupt our activities and discredit our agents. They are involved in many activities that the Society would never condone and actively fights against, such as slavery and the drug trade."
He eyes their banner with concern. "I shouldn't be surprised to see them out here. With good luck, they'll mind their own business. But--and in this way they are very much like us--they never mind their own business."
"I won't be teaching you. I'm your 'in' to the Ungrounded."
Reyshal leads you to a windowless building, 20 feet high. Banners bearing the company’s sigil, a crossed scimitar and spear on a field of yellow, mark the main entrance. ”This is called the Ungrounded Barracks, dedicated to… unconventional solders. I will bring you to the training captain’s office.”
A heavy wooden door opens to reveal an immaculate office barely large enough to house the writing desk and bookshelf within. The unpainted stone walls are devoid of windows or decoration. A stern, middle-aged human woman with darkly tanned skin and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair sits in a rigid pose behind the desk as she studies an open ledger. She lifts her chin and glares at the open door.
Reyshal produces a paper-thin chiseled stone tablet and hands it to the human woman. She spends a few minutes studying the page, looking up to frown at you. Finally she exhales and thanks Reyshal. ”I’ll begin accelerated training immediately. Thank you for bringing these… Pathfinders to me.” Reyshal nods, gives you one parting bow, and leaves the office. ”Good luck, Pathfinders. Captain Othis will get you up to speed.”
He leaves and closes the door. Captain Othis crushes the note with her hands, leaving a pile of stone chips. “So, you think you have what it takes to be Ungrounded?” the captain bellows, circling the PCs combatively. “I’ll be the judge of that. You look softer than night soil to me. Your friends in high places won’t help you when you’re down in the trenches, or when there’s an efreeti scimitar at your throat. Now, get out of my sight. Your trials start tomorrow. Dinner is at six o’clock sharp. If you’re late, you can starve.”
Captain Othis stomps her way to the door and yells outside. ”Dell! Dell Darkblade! Get over here!” An oread walks into the room. ”Take this fresh meat to the meatlocker. I have more important things to do.”
A young oread warrior hustles up to the door, short on breath. "Yes... captain. Right this way."
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Used to this sort of treatment, Xabala stands at attention as she listens to Captain Othis' words.
"Dell, it is nice to meet you and thank you for taking the time to show us around. My name is Xabala," she says as she extends a hand towards the oread. "What can you tell us of the training we will be undergoing? And perhaps where the Mess Hall is?"
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Robyyn snaps up quite sharp and straight. He's never known any military order or had that background, but everyone knows the image of a soldier snapping to attention, and he mimics it to a tee. It's only after they're all dismissed and on their way that he relaxes a bit and realizes how strange it was.
"That was odd. What is this assignment about anyway? I didn't realize that the Society was signing us up to join a foreign military company. Can they even do that?" He continues on with the others, hoping that he hasn't just been conscripted. Best to just follow along. For now.
Dell Darkblade maintains a hurried pace as he shows you around. He nervously shakes Xabala's hand. "Y-yes, hello there. We're not going to ship you to the frontlines or anything."
”You’ve seen the Captain’s room. She’s in it for most of the day except for dinner and when she goes to sleep.”
”There is the Mess Hall, they are preparing dinner. There’s plenty of room to sit down as most of the troops are deployed.”
”That is the Training Yard. It’s more of a stadium, where you can sit on the raised viewing stands and look at the recruits on the ground level.”
”And here is the Bunks, where we reside. And here… is your room.” Dell Darkblade opens the door. The previous inhabitants left in a hurry, and it’s a complete mess. It looks like there are only 5 beds to sleep on, and none of them are dressed properly. ”Oh, this won’t do… the Captain hates messes. She’ll demerit you to the ground if you mess up too much.” He bows to you and leaves. ”See you at dinnertime.”
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Durandal looks about the room and begins to clean his sleeping area, choosing the bed closest to the door. Dropping his pack onto the bedside table, he proudly surveys his new living quarters, thinking about how this reminds him of his service to the Clan.
"If we are going to make a good impression, this should all be cleaned." Durandal says as he remakes the bed to the standard of a soldier from the company to which he was assigned in Tian Xia.
"Additionally, I am uncertain if sleeping on the floor is advisable. It might be better to double up on a bed." he says, flexing his stocky frame, which clearly takes up the entirety of the bed. "Damien and Gili are relatively small, perhaps you can split the fifth bed for now until we can procure a sixth." he adds as he finishes dressing his bed, utilizing Prestidigitation to clean the entire area around his bunk.
If the others don't work on cleaning their bunks, then Durandal won't push the matter, but he will tidy up the common area of the room with Prestidigitation as well.
Once he is done, he checks to see if dinner is ready. "I'm starving, let's meet the other Ungrounded and eat our dinner."
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Robyyn, still a little confused and not quite comfortable with the whole situation, still commits to playing along, at least if only for now. Since the expectation seems to be that they keep a tidy room, he will work on tidying up his own space.
His bed lacks the crisp detail of Durandal's, but it is reasonably made, and everything is reasonably clean, and put away.
"If it's so important to the Ungrounded that the sleeping areas be kept tidy, why do you think the room was so messy when we got here? We should ask Dell or the Captain about the prior occupants here when we see them."
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Filthy! Who would show guests to a room like this? Grandfather would never have accepted anything like this. Xabala claims the bed furthest from the door and will clean everything in her area up. "Durandal, would you mind using some of that magic on my area too? Erastil has not seen fit to grant me such an ability."
With her task completed, she turns to Robyyn. "I suspect some sort of test. This may be the first trial of many we will face. The Captain did not appear pleased to see us, or that this arrangement was even made. I would not be surprised if we are to be set up for failure or otherwise thrown to the wolves. We should remember to work together and represent the Society as best as we can," she says resolutely.
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"Who you callin' small, Doorandull?" Damien smirks at the half-orc. "Ya, ya, no problem. 'Ey Gili, I 'ope ya don't mind a little fresh um, mornin' glory ta go with yer breakfast," he snorts, hopping off of Ruby and tying her to a bedpost. "... If ya know what I mean." He nudges the grippli in the side.
"Ms. Kibwe over here really takes cleanin' seriously. I mean, ya just gotta pick this up, put it over here, fold this..." Damien shuffles from bunk to bunk, tossing sheets on beds, folding up clothes, and using Ruby's tail as a feather duster. "See? Good as new!"
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"Alright, alright, miss! I git it!" Taking Xabala's words seriously, Damien drops Ruby's tail and continues trying to fold the sheet in various ways. Despite his determination, his attempts are mostly in vain, and he soon ends up tangled within the mess. "Um, I think I'll just leave this ta you guys..."
The party spends time cleaning up the room, some faster than others. Herman is certain there is nothing out of the ordinary in this room.
It’s dinnertime, and the smell of roasted potatoes wafts through the Mess Hall. As you approach the line, a group of seasoned warriors approach you and block access to the line.
One of the warriors, a lean half-orc, laughs. ”New recruits? Ha! I guess you don’t know of our tradition here: new recruits entertain us for the rest of the night. If you won’t party with us, you won’t fight with us!” The rest of the soldiers in the room cheer and bang their mugs in unison. ”DANCE! SING! STORY! DANCE! SING! STORY!”
If you want to get in the good graces of the company, you’ll have to entertain them.
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Herman nods his head. Bunch of foolishness this is, still best to do something I guess.
He smiles and gestures their greeter to move to the side. "Give me a little room and I will do what I can." Once a path is clear he clears his throat and attempts a handspring form the floor into a full round-off on a table.
If he succeeds he smiles and shrugs at the group. "Best I can manage unless you want to see me shoe a horse."
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Those brutes, I'll show them- Dance, sing, or story? That's more reasonable than barring us from dinner outright, however my talent for any of those options has never been noteworthy. Xabala shifts uncomfortably, the idea of performing in such a way on the spot clearly beyond what she is used to.
She decides to jump in after Herman's gymnastics. "I am from Kibwe, in the Mwangi Expanse. All manner of demonic beasts plague the jungle around my city, and it just so happens that..." Xabala goes on to tell a tale about how the virtues of Erastil's teachings have made her successful in hunting demons and teaching other townsfolk to become more self-sufficient.
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Gili replies to Damian: "I don't mind that, if you don't mind a little moisture. I need to soak the sheets in water before bed."
When they go to dinner and are instructed to entertain, Gili sighs deeply. "I am no singer nor dancer. I have stories but I don't know how much interest they would be to people who spend all their time on dry land." He proceeds to share some anecdotes about growing up grippli.
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Damien whacks Ruby on the back in an attempt to get her to impressively jump from chair to chair.
She leaps up onto a chair, long jumps across two of the warriors' heads and somersaults in the air, tossing Damien some 20 feet vertically and then catching him on her back. "Awright! Awesome!! That's how ya do it, my girl!"
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Robyyn steps forward, having watched the others make their attempts at entertainment. The old man founders to come up with an idea. "I am too old for any physical theatrics, and song and dance was never my thing. Mine is a head full of knowledge and ideas. I will share with you some of what I know."
He motions everyone around to grab a seat. Whether they do or not, he begins sharing the most interesting trivia he can recall about the elemental planes. "I would never presume to teach people of the Opaline Vault about the Elemental Plane of Earth. But did you know, when the four main Elemental Planes were coming into being, they each left residues in all the other planes? You can see, for example, the influence of the Elemental Plane of Air in some surprising ways even here...."
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Durandal watches as his comrades are surprisingly willing to join in the self-deprecating humor to ingratiate themselves to the company of Ungrounded. "Impressive..." he remarks before he sees Robyyn start into a lecture on the four elemental planes. He face drops. "I hope that these guys won't mind the Professor..." he offhandedly says to Xabala.
As the group finishes their theatrics and stories, Durandal gathers several mugs of ale and sets them down in front of the Pathfinders. "Join me in the song of the orc soldiers!" he yells to the company, raising his mug high, stomping his foot to a rough timing. His coarse voice bellows out.
"We are orcs! The mighty orcs!"
"You'll be in trouble if you mess with us!"
"The great warriors have appeared."
He pauses for a moment as he takes a big swig of the ale.
"Humans, get lost!"
"Elves, get lost!"
"Dwarves, get lost!"
"Gnomes, get lost!"
Another mouthful of ale descends down the gullet.
"Pretty women? Warriors have no need for a woman."
"Get lost! We are great orcs, great warriors!"
With the last refrain, Durandal drains his mug and shouts the orcish warcry.
The troops cheer and down some ale as Xabala and Gili recall tales of their lives. Some of the troops quickly shoo of Hernan's handstands. One of the troops looks at Ruby and says "Keep your dog on a leash, I'm listening!", much to Damien's dismay.
When Durandal stands up, grabs some ale and gives a shout, the barracks erupts into song. Unfortunately his final shout isn't as loud as he hoped, and he hears some chuckles from the back.
Nonetheless, the company is in a good mood, and they bang their mugs of ale as they clap and hoot. The half-orc claps. ”My name’s Larssok. And here is some extra ale, on me.” He hands you all an extra mug. ”Welcome to the Ungrounded.”
With food taken care of, it seems like you spent the rest of the day trying to acquaint yourself with the rest of the Ungrounded. But now it’s time to rest...