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"Just 'nother town in Numeria Ah recon. Nothin' worth gettin' 'xcited 'bout, although Ah'm mighty curious what we're going up into the northlands 'bout. Nothin' but trouble up there. Demons, dragons and weird juju, even by my standards, Brigh keep us safe" casually replies the scruffy-looking woman, signing herself quickly. "Ya don't have 'nother them Mwangi fruits there on ya Sparky?"
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Eadie wanders over wearing a bewildered expression, like a homely extra from a tweenage drama play that's blundered onto the set of an Alkenstar Western.
She wears black full plate, with a heart-shaped key embossed over her left breast. She twirls a golden cape about her shoulders which features expertly stitched appliqué of a fiery angel, golden key, antlered longbow and blood-soaked rose. Her gauntlets and matching great helm are currently tied loosely to her pack.
"Nothin' but trouble up there."
“Oh, goodie!” She *claps* her meaty hands together. “I LOOOOOOVE TROUBLE.”
The warrior’s clear blue eyes inspect each of her companions’ faces from very close range.
“Don’t know you. Or you. You kinda talk funny, are you from Taldor?”
Eadie looks to be trying to remember something, before she adds. “I’m Eadie. Can I call you ‘Jez’? Why’d you call him Sparky?”
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"Ah'm a "she" Sparky. And nah, Ah ain't from Taldor. Ah'm from Alkenstar. Dunno why Ah called him that Tigerlily. Seemed t'fit."
Realizing she has not introduced herself yet, the woman tips her hat. "Jezabel P. Skythe. Pleasure t'meet y'all. Ah'm a mite forgetful of names though. Nothin' personal. Ah'll take one o' them things if ya got a spare. And yeah, go ahead an' call me what you want, just don't call me late fer supper."
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Trundling along with the group on the road to Chesed is squat, red-skinned man. He wears what might once have been a resplendent gold enameled full-plate, but the rigors of being a Pathfinder have taken its toll on it, and it has several dents and scratches marring its former beauty. Hanging from his neck is a golden key, quite like Eadie's, but octagonal rather than heart-shaped. He has an intense look in his eyes, and an air of absolute certainty about him. During the trip north, he has stopped by several minor road-side settlements to provide council and adjudicate disputes between the locals.
When the party nears the Numerian city, he speaks with a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
"I look forward to our visit to that lawless place. Abadar's long arm will reach it, if they want it or not."
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“Ah'm a "she" Sparky.”
“Me too!” Eadie lifts both arms, placing her palms on either side of her head as her mouth hangs open.
“WHAT'RE THE ODDS!?!”
“Dunno why Ah called him that Tigerlily. Seemed t'fit.”
Eadie stares at the gunslinger for longer than is polite before stating quite eerily. “I know just what you mean.”
I don't sparkle.
“Well you are a halfling not a dhampir.”
You want one? They're kinda addicting for some reason...
“A banana? For free? Is the Archbanker Abadarian?”
She stops suddenly. “He IS, isn’t he, Desmond?”
Eadie holds out both hands. “Gimme, gimme… YAY! Thanks, Tigerlily. I understand these are popular in the Blakros Museum’s canteen.”
⚿⚿⚿⚿
Eadie is uncharacteristically quiet and formal around Desmond.
If pressed she says simply. “My mother was a paladin of Abadar. She entered the Master’s First Vault, so I could enter this world.”
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A tall Osirion man, wearing the elaborate ceremonial garments of a priest of one of the older gods of his country, shuffles along with the others.
A talkative sort, most of his words come out as small pieces of knowledge that seems more appropriate to a classroom then walking through the wilds of Numeria. He seems to take a great deal of pleasure in new things and postulating the meaning of them to anyone who cares to listen.
"The country hardly seems lawless." He offers, thoughtfully. "Given the proximity to the Worldwound, and the abundance of divine forces that stage to resist that place, would think the law would be in abundance."
He ponders thoughtfully for a moment before adding. "Though perhaps that is the issue... too many laws."
He shrugs slightly, clearly less interested in politics than more esoteric knowledges.
He would have introduced himself as Doctor Menes Strang.
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The faint scent of smoldering beeswax lingers sweetly beneath the smell of burnt coal permeating the simply furnished common room. The modest decor of Tymon’s Pathfinder lodge allows it to masquerade as a boarding house above Smine’s Weaponworks, the most popular blacksmith shop in the city. Below, the cadence of hammer striking anvil rings clear as apprentices toil to meet the demands of gladiators, warriors, and adventurers alike. Heavy footfalls thump up the stairs, and the door opens to reveal a sturdy dwarf, clad in a thick leather apron and covered in soot— Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine. His sentences are short and staccato like the sounds from the forges below. “Aha, good! Asked for some veterans, looks like I got’em, so I’ll be direct. We’ve found another piece of Sky Key—rather, found someone who knows where to look. Seems the favors we did in Mendev are paying off. Some dwarves there, they came forward with information—good, reliable information about a community in Chesed.”
He pauses for a moment as if awaiting a reaction. “In Numeria,” he adds. “I’ve pieced together some histories. It all seems legitimate. Looks like the eldest prince from Jormurdun went that way. He settled down, had kids. Our contact, Ingret Jor, is his great-somethinggranddaughter. We’re betting she inherited more than just his good looks.”
Smine takes a moment to start pulling a hunk of bread and a block of cheese from a cupboard as simple refreshments. “There’s a boat for you at the docks. Plan’s to get you up to Chesed, find Ingret Jor, and make friends. Friends talk. Of course, your friend gets to talk about the Sky Key. Chesed dwarves are pretty close, though. You’ll need to make sure you’re good friends, or at least be her friends’ friends. We dwarves like anyone who has dwarves’ best interests up here,” says tapping his head, “And here,” he says with a hand over his heart. “Chesed’s a free city in name, but the Black Sovereign and the Technic League own it. Probably already watching Ingret. Learn what you can. When you know where the key is, go get it. Nice people got it? Play nice. Off in some ruin? Go be Pathfinders. Technic League’s got it? Well, make sure that doesn’t happen.”
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A tall, broad-shouldered half-orc listens attentively as Venture-Captain Smine lays out their mission, a small smile curling the corner of one scarred lip as he notes the halfling doling out bananas. Small, red-tinged eyes flick alertly around the simple room, briefly studying each of his fellow Pathfinders. When mention is made of Jormurdun and the Sky Key, his eyes narrow as if in anger and he grunts softly, apparently recalling something unpleasant.
"Seems like nothing but trouble comes from the bits and pieces of that thing," he says in a voice deep as storm-tossed waves, his massive hand lifting as if of its own volition to his left shoulder, where the hilts of three heavy, curved swords can be seen, their pommels molded in different shapes to make them easy to distinguish in a hurry.
The well-armed half-orc introduces himself brusquely, ”I'm Mohok. Spent some time in Jormurdum. And Mendev too, though I wasn't overly welcome there - too much orc for their taste. 'Course, I got thrown out of Belkzen for being too human, so go figure.” Mohok’s mottled green skin stands in stark contrast to the jagged blue tattoos that cover his face, neck and arms. He wears a finely-crafted steel breastplate over a worn, tattered jerkin of some indeterminate dark shade. A large raven, glossy black, sits on his shoulder, grooming its feathers fastidiously, seeming to pay no mind to what goes on around it.
"So we're to make friends, are we?" he asks, casting his eyes around the room at the burly lot assembled, and not a dwarf among them. "We'll see about that. But I'm good at finding things, at least."
Mohok tears off a chunk of bread and, drawing a sharp knife, cuts several slices of cheese for the company before nodding in thanks to Smine. "And you say the Technic League is in the mix too? I've run across them before, in the Mwangi Expanse. What can you tell us about them?"
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"Nice to know all that terrible business in Mendev is proving fruitful." Dr. Strang says, nodding slightly. "Nasty business that. Been there twice, neither overly pleasant."
"Doctor Menes Strang." He adds, by way of introduction. "Scholar mostly. Luckily I have all these folks to keep me safe." He waves absently at the rest of the Pathfinders.
"So this dwarvish friend of yours... why would the Technic League, or the Black Sovereign, be watching her?
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Holgarin frowns a bit and nods before responding. "The Technic League...Dangerous. Dastardly. Cutthroat. That’s on good days. Very secretive with lots of wizards. Long on ambition, short on morals. They’ve been studying the Silver Mount and other things that crashed on Starfall. Really don’t like other people snooping—especially Pathfinders. In fact, Pathfindering’s illegal—punishable by death. How’s that for tyranny?”
He grins wryly but becomes serious again once he realizes nobody else is laughing. “Anyway, best to lie low and not make a ruckus. Unless you have to. As for Ingret, she runs a tavern on the east shore slums. Earns her a lot of coin and respect. That sort of work also makes her too public to hide a secret well; she's going to be tight-lipped. No love of strangers asking questions.”
Knowledge (Geography or Local)
Knowledge (Arcana or Local)
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Eadie has heard good things about Holgarin Smine and is pleased that the rumors appear to be true.
“Have your little birds told you anything about Ingret’s interests? What about her desires or needs? Maybe we could bring her a gift or do a service for her.”
“You’ll need to make sure you’re good friends, or at least be her friends’ friends.”
“So if we crash-and-burn with Ingret, her friends might make a good Plan B?” Eadie nods. “That makes sense. Is there any info about who her friends are?”
The warrior repeats the mission as she understands it. “Be nice to Ingret so she tells us where the Sky thingie is. Then go get it and kill everything that gets in our way.”
Eadie nods once more looking satisfied. “Oh, one last thing … Are you the VC Smine that makes cool weapons for Field Agents? I’m thinking a falchion might be too hard for you to make though.”
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"Unless the people in the way are her friends Tigerlily. We don't need to go 'round causin' mayhem for no reason" interject Jezabel politely.
"Ah've heard a thing or two 'bout Chessed. Big place. Big money 'round there too. It's one of the last stops on the way ta killin' demons so the locals make sure the crusaders don't leave too encumbered with coin. Mighty charitable thing indeed."
Jezabel pauses, racking her brains before shrugging. "Punishable by death huh? Guess Ah'm gonna need a smidge more ammo" she comments with a chuckle.
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"All I know about the Technic League is they used to be a kind of secret society," Mohok offers. "They're always hungry for more power, and they figure the best way to get it is through magic and Numerian technology. Which is why I started carryin' this adamantine sword, after a couple of run-ins with their damned robots."
He scratches his massive head with a beefy finger and squints his eyes in thought, considering what he knows of Chesed before saying, "I been through that city once or twice - heading to Mendev and gettin' out of there. They say the Black Sovereign is in charge of the city, but it's on a pretty long leash. 'Course, they pay for that freedom, in gold, to both the Sovereign and the League. That means buyin' anything in Chesed costs ya - a lot. That doesn't sit well with a lot of folks, and the longer the crusades against the demons go on, the more crusaders are showing up on the front lines with empty pockets and crappy gear - doesn't make 'em too helpful in the fight, ya know?"
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"So what you're sayin' Giggles is that we better buy what we need here. And what we need is adamantine" says Jezabel pensively. "Venture-Captain, y'all don't happen t'have a little starmetal laying 'round here? Gonna need some bullets made." She pauses to do some quick math. "'Bout 50. And gonna need them wrapped in an alchemical cartridge."
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Holgarin looks at Jezabel and thinks for a moment before responding. “Getting Ingred to talk will be a matter of earning her trust, not just making it worth her while. She won’t trust just anyone, but she’ll trust her friends. Find who they are, and be their friends. They can vouch for you.”
He then looks over at Desmons. “Plenty of like-minded folk in Chesed. Look for community leaders who care about the dwarves’ lot. Brissa Klygvauther comes to mind; she’s earned a lot of respect, what with being the high priest of Abadar inna city made of coin. If you see her, give’er my regards. Not sure of any feuds. Other than th'League of course."
He adds, almost as an afterthought “There’s also a fellow—Vel Bindergorrp—got a salve and tonic shop. My sources say he’s done alright by the dwarves. Bit of an eccentric one, but trustworthy.”
He then removes a tile from the floor at his feet, revealing a book which he offers to the group. He quietly replaces the tile and lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. "This book is a copy of A Thread of Silver, a very valuable text and one that the Technic League takes great pains to keep from falling into anyone else’s hands. The book contains detailed field notes about dozens of Numerian crash sites and other points of interest in the region. This is a copy the Pathfinder Society recovered from the Technic League at great cost. It is yours to use for the duration of their mission."
A Thread of Silver is a dungeon guide (Pathfinder Player Companion: Dungeoneer’s Handbook) to numerous crash sites in Numeria. The original was stolen from the Technic League, and the organization has hunted down anyone who has acquired a copy since. The book’s contents are not perfect, but they are reliable enough to offer considerable insights. Rules for using a dungeon guide are summarized here.
A PC can consult A Thread of Silver whenever he enters a new room or section of a Numerian crash site. Consulting A Thread of Silver takes 10 minutes. The GM then secretly rolls 1d20 and adds the book’s accuracy modifier (+7 for A Thread of Silver).
The GM then compares the result to following table. If the check matches or exceeds the DC, you gain information about the room’s original purpose, how to disarm a particular mechanism, or where a particular corridor leads. If the check fails by 4 or more, you get no information. If the check fails by 5 or more, you get information that is instead inaccurate or dangerous in some way (for example misidentifying the location of a trap).
If a PC referencing A Thread of Silver has ranks in Knowledge (engineering), he can also attempt a DC 25 Knowledge (engineering) check. If successful, the book’s accuracy modifier increases by 2, and the PC cannot receive inaccurate information from the book while making that inquiry.
A PC can also reference A Thread of Silver when performing a Disable Device check to disable a technological trap or a Knowledge (engineering) check to identify a construct or technological item. This check takes a minimum of 1 minute to complete, but the PC temporarily gains the benefits of the Technologist feat. If the PC already has the Technologist feat, he instead gains a +4 bonus on the check.
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Mohok slowly turns his massive head back and forth, even tipping it to one side a bit, looking first at Jezabel, then Eadie, then back at Jezabel. "Giggles?" he rumbles in some confusion, his nose wrinkling briefly as if he's sniffing for an explanation to this peculiar moment.
He gives Eadie another long, slow glance, then shrugs and says, "Tiger lilies are pretty. And giggles seem fun, though I don't know how to make that sound."
Extending a ham-sized hand to Jezabel, Mohok's face breaks into a unsightly grin as he introduces himself all over again, his voice as deep as boulders rolling in a storm-swollen river, "Nice to meet you, Trigger. I'm Giggles. That's Eadie, er, Tiger Lily."
As he speaks, his attention is caught by Eadie's blade and he adds, "Speaking of names, my swords have names too. Sheila Heidmarch told me once to use my best judgment for how to solve a problem – so this sword is Best Judgment." As he speaks, he lays his fingers on the diamond-shaped pommel of one of his falchions. "My skymetal one is Sound Judgment, and my old iron one is Poor Judgment, ‘cuz sometimes that’s all you’ve got. Yer sword got a name, Tiger Lily?”
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Raising an eyebrow and looking at Jezebel he responds. "Whaddya think these books grow on trees? Dont. Lose. It. If that's all, I can secure you passage on a boat that leaves tomorrow morning."
Jezebel, you have no problem making your ammo purchase, along with anyone else who has any purchases to make before the trip up to Chesed.
~~~
The trip takes you downriver to Kallas Lake and then up the Sellen past Sevenarches and Hajoth Hakados to eventually reach the Lake of Mists and Veils. The journey is punctuated by several failed pirate attempts to board the vessel, but between the crew and adventurers of your caliber, the ship was never in any real danger. At long last, your river cruise comes to an end. Mighty Chesed stands proudly where the headwaters of the Lake of Mists and Veils flows into the Sellen River. On the western bank, the spires of the Cathedral of the Lawgiver and those of the council offices tower above the opulent estates of merchant princes, and the clamor of the wealthy patrons of the luxury markets mingle with the cries of excitement coming from the arena. Across the river, the east bank sits in comparative squalor. Short mud-brick and wooden hovels crowd together in rundown blocks. Filth-lined streets occasionally give way to a morass of poorly drained night soil. Yet everywhere one looks there are people—nobles and ruffians, humans and halflings, crusaders and merchants alike mingle in the markets. Shop stalls and vendors set up on every street corner give the illusion that the city is but a single, extended bazaar.
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“Oh, those names are clever, Mohok.”
She draws her own backup cold iron falchion from its sheath on her left hip. The blade being nearly as big as she is.
“Seems I’ve got Poor Judgement too … at least that’s what the Master of Swords says.”
“Yer sword got a name, Tiger Lily?”
“OOH, OOH! I know this one!” Eadie nods her head rapidly like a clockwork dog.
“I adventured with an Iomedaen Inquisitor who told me the Inheritor is the ‘Sword that Shines in the Darkness.’”
“So I call mine the ‘falchion that chops up bad dudes in all lighting conditions!’”
☀⚔☀⚔
Eadie turns to the paladin. “Do you want to pay your respects to High Priest Klygvauther, Desmond?”
"Can we get ice cream first?"
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Dr. Strang glances at his companions, who all seem in good spirits, with a wry smile.
"If what Mohok told us the other day is true, then the first casualty of this mission will probably be your coin purses if snacks are your goal."
"Seems a very poor location to be in need of anything."
"I very much doubt that my lord Anubis has any followers here, so a visit to Desmond's house of worship seems a decent place to start. Abadar's faithful are likely to have their fingers in many pots throughout this city."
He looks around with interest, though its hard to tell exactly what he's finding interesting.
"I wonder if we'll see the fog." He muses, to no one in particular. "I hear its quite something to see, though perhaps not the right time of year."
"See little enough of such environmental phenomena in Osirion."
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The Cathedral of the Lawgiver is equal parts house of worship, bank, loan office, and fortress. The outer walls still bear the scars of Numeria’s violent not-so-distant past. Guards in shining mail patrol the towers’ parapets. Crowds of people move from stall to stall, jostle for better positioning, or clamor for the attention of the gold-and-silver robed Abadaran priests who pursue their duties with all the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Bargains are struck, deals are made, and the worship of coin continues on.
A female dwarven high-priestess presides over this cathedral and greets you all curtly before moving on to adjudicate deals and bargains throughout the church.
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Desmond will fill out the proper forms (signed in triplicate) to petition an audience with the High Priest with the efficiency of one who has done this many times before. While the party waits, he'll catch the attention of a lesser acolyte.
"Fellow banker, what can you tell me of the economic opportunities here in Chesed? Apart from the obvious sky metal trade, of course. I have many contacts down south, who are interested in expanding their trade networks."
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Eadie essentially stays out of the other Faction members’ business, but does offer some moral support.
She flicks her golden cloak over her left shoulder, so its Abadarian patch is prominently displayed.
She runs the chain of her clockwork key through her fingers, bowing and quoting platitudes from the Book of Numbers respectfully to any passing priest or paladin.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words form a binding contract, Tertiary Executive Assistant and Keeper of the Key to the Stationery Cabinet.”
“Don’t work harder or smarter, Senior Vice-Uberbanker. Just find dumber customers.”
“The Banker’s been rich. The Banker’s been poor. Rich wins.”
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Desmond is able to very easily get the attention of the high priestess who is quite easily attracted to the prospect of a new business transaction, and noting Eadie's knowledge of their way of doing things, decides that you are most definitely worth her time.
"Good afternoon, I am Brissa Klygvauther, high priestess of this establishment. I've been told that the Ifrit here has a business proposition for me. Trade in Chesed has not been conducted by the Book of late, and Abadar would certainly smile upon opening new avenues of trade. Between the Technic League bullying residents of Chesed and more and more cutthroat merchants finding loopholes to operate nearly tax-free as they channel goods to the fight in the worldwound, this church has found itself more and more at odds with our current established arrangements. What can you do for us, and from where do you hail friend...?"
She lets the sentence trail off, obviously expecting introductions.
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As Brissa approaches, Eadie *gasps* takes a knee and bows her head. She has never heard of, let alone addressed an Abadarian priest of such high rank!
She outranks Archbanker Tuttle of Korvosa by the GDP of Isger AT LEAST!
“Eadie Navhelan, late of Korvosa, Varisia, Most Resplendent and Grasping Bankrupter of Nation-States.”
“This pauper was once a Girl Fireday and Fetcher of Coffee (Instant) Fourth Class, in the Golden Vault of that fair city.”
“Both my late mother (Level 1 Paladin) and aunt (Senior Underbanker’s Clerk and Winner of the Monthly Golden Ball and Chain Award SEVEN times) were both in service, but have long been authorized access to the First Vault on Axis.”
“Between the Technic League bullying residents of Chesed and more and more cutthroat merchants finding loopholes … What can you do for us?”
Eadie dares to look up at the High Priestess for a split-second. “After receiving seasonally-adjusted, weighted average grades of D-, E+, F and an unprecedented H(!) on my last series of Peformance Reviews, I was encouraged to consider an alternative career to clerkship.”
“I chose the sword – well falchion actually (cos ‘falchion’ sounds so badass), thinking bodyguard or debt collector might better serve civilization's needs. It sounds like you might have an opening for someone with my skillset and experience.”
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"Jezabel P. Skythe, late o'the grand duchy of Alkenstar. And Ah don't have the slighest inclin' 'bout what she done said. But sounds like Tigerlily wants t'help y'al out. And that she's darn good with a blade. Ah figure you'll find out where she fits in to your machine here. Oh. And in case you were wonderin': Ah shoot stuff. Loudly Jezabel adds in turn.