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A somewhat frightening figure enters the waiting area, looking around uncertainly. Though Ferabras feels he is good at heart, he knows to keep an eye out for any who might judge him on his appearance. He looks as much demon as human, and that has caused trouble many times in his life. Though he’s built much like a normal man, his crimson skin is criss-crossed with dark scars and strange, slender horns protrude from the top of his head. He keeps his sinuous, barbed tail tucked self-consciously close to his back, and his hands seem to move constantly, as he balls them into fists to hide his long, black claws, then opens them again for fear that he looks threatening standing there with his fists clenched. He wears a suit of well-made banded mail, and small shield hangs at his shoulder. Protruding above the other shoulder is a great, black blade.
He nods politely at the other Pathfinders in the room, laying his hand on the table, where a bit of dirt from his finger leaves a small dot on the polished wood.
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Sitting cross legged on a pillow, and rummaging through his backpack is a white and red haired man dressed in a red and black robe. Quietly muttering to himself over and over again as if he were looking for something, or to make sure that he has everything needed for an adventure. When he looks up, his yellow eyes look slightly glazed over before brightening once more, as he starts to go through his pack once again. "Krestin thinks he knows where he puts the bottle now!" After a couple more second, the pale man manages to bring out a bottle of Oldlaw whiskey, and places it in one of the side pouches of his pack. "There, now bottle won't hide from Krestin!"
Nodding triumphantly, the man leans back and starts to look at everyone with interest. Taking notice in the red man, the sorcerer points at Ferabras while tilting his head. "Why do you look like that? Why do you have sharp fingers? Want some whiskey?" Krestin asks in quick succession.
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Ferabras considers how to reply to what seem like well-intentioned questions, then says, in a deep, sonorous voice, "I have the taint of the Hells in my blood, and it causes me to look like this. My fingers are 'sharp,' as you say, for the same reason. As to the whiskey, why yes, I would like some, thank you." As he says this, his face is crossed by a grin that, in spite of the sharp, gleaming black teeth it reveals, is surprisingly warm and engaging.
Hesitantly extending a powerful hand to Krestin, he says, "I am Ferabras. And you?"
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Taking the man's hand in both of his, Krestin shakes vigorously, then goes back to his pack, pulling out the bottle he was previously looking for. "Krestin is what Krestin is called. You have special blood, like Krestin, but different! Old world and undeath flow in his veins, but fear not! Krestin doesn't like to hurt friends, unlike tricksters and shamblers," the sorcerer explains. After finding the bottle of Oldlaw Whiskey, he hands it to Ferabras and smile sheepishly. "Sorry, but no cups. Pack's too heavy if cups were in it."
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Soran strides into the waiting area, dressed in the drab colors of nature, and a worn green cloak billowing behind him. A well made, if not worn, pack hangs from his shoulders, and attached to it are quivers. Lots of quivers. There's even a quiver attached to each hip where a sword would be. A rapier sits behind one of them, almost an afterthought. Two bandoliers cross his chest, with an assortment of vials and a wand in the holsters. An extremely well made composite bow is in his hand, the wood an almost ebony sheen, and the metal parts all blackened to match.
His eyes gleam with an intelligence one wouldn't expect from a woodsman, and he takes a quick stock of the room before leaning against the back wall. He rests his bow beside him, and pulls a grease paper wrapped bundle of what smells like smoked jerky from a pouch on his belt.
A sly smile creeps across his face, and he holds the bundle out to Krestin.
I'll trade you, a piece of this for a drink of that. After the mission I just got back from, I could sure use it. It's only smoked quail jerky from the Laughing Lizard. They sure do know how to prepare it though. Best damn meat this side of Absalom.
He doesn't seem at all fazed by Ferabras' appearance. After Krestin takes a piece of the meat (if he even does), Soran offers the bundle to Ferabras as well.
Well met. I'm Soran. Judging by your possesions, you're the sort I like to do these kinds of missions with. You try to keep em off of me, and I'll try to put 'em down before they get to you.
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Krestin's eyes seem to dart to Soran's hand as he mentions the jerky, then back at the man's face. "Krestin can have it, err, some? Fair trade for meat, and whiskey with new friend! Come, come and share!" He motions for Soran to join the sorcerer and Ferabras with the bottle of alcohol, and hopefully some sweet tasting meats.
"This man we likes him too. Offers trade of meats for drinks, is fair... He is now friend too!"
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Ferabras takes in what is happening, the acceptance of him, the interest in him, even this fellow Soran saying that Ferabras brings value to the situation, and his ferocious-looking smile grows. ”You Pathfinders amaze me! How much you’ve seen, and how accepting it makes you, at least most of you,” he says. ”Special blood indeed, Krestin.” He’s not quite sure who the ‘tricksters and shamblers’ are, but he’s not about to question this new ‘friend.’ Raising the bottle, Ferabras take a healthy slug of the whiskey, his eyes popping a bit as he realizes just how strong it is. ”Whoa!” he coughs, ”not exactly used to that stuff.”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and cleaning off the mouth of the bottle with his sleeve, he passes it to Soran, saying, ”I’m glad to hear you say that. I take a certain satisfaction in keeping my companions out of harm. And it doesn’t look like you’ll run out of arrows. Why so many?”
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Soren smiles wryly at the comment on his arsenal.
Well, I'm not sure I'm allowed to give out the details, but there was a mission I was in recently where we encountered a foe we could barely scratch. We spent an eternity whittling him away, only to have him escape at the last moment, rendering our efforts completely wasted. He was a foul thing, too. The world would have been better off had we been able to take him out of it. Afterward, I did a bit of research on such creatures and what their weaknesses are, and made sure I can exploit them. We were lucky to make it out alive, against that beast. I won't lose a fellow Pathfinder to such a thing in the future.
He draws on the whisky, and slightly grimaces in a good way as it goes down.
Ah, yes, that's the stuff.
He hands it back to Krestim and inquires
What of you my friend? Why did you join this society, so far from home?
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The musician starts softly singing a tune, which by no means has any affect on the current grouping.
"A tiefling, a caster, and a slayer are here,
Awaiting their three other chums to appear.
Oh, when will they join them to take on this quest?
To visit a city and partake of their test?
If only they knew the dire trouble in store
They never would be a Pathfinder, no more!"
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Taliesin Staccato enters the room elegantly. She is impeccably well-maintained and clean. Beautiful beyond description, she examines her nails as if bothered by all the details of a Pathfinder mission. She wears new, form-fitting studded leather and carries a mithral buckler carved in a flower motif. An elegant banner hangs from a finely-crafted longspear she carries nonchalantly.
She looks at the frightening paladin with some measure of concern. Scary! I hope he's on our side!
She sighs and then she stands before the group. Like the lighting of a torch, she is suddenly cheerful and diplomatic.
"We are about to embark on a courageous mission, fellow Pathfinders! We shall discover the villainous ne’er-do-wells, punish most justly the perpetrators of evil, and finally return home with valor to receive the cheer and adulation of all!"
As she finishes speaking, she unfurls a banner of the Pathfinder Society, then curtsies with a flourish.
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Krestin, distracted by both of the bard's in the room forgets to answer Soran. As soon as the first bard stops singing, the red and white haired man starts to clap with exuberance. "Krestin likes the music voice and the pretty talky lady!" Remembering himself, and the questioned asked earlier, he turns back around and looks up at Soran. "Krestin left home because it was boring, and heard about Pathsearchers. It was said they discover ancient things and maybe magic too. Plus, short dark gnome friend joined months ago. He's a lawyer now."
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Ferabras chuckles softly at the musician's song, and then at the beautiful bard's declamation, and comments, "I thought great songs and speeches were written of brave deeds after they were accomplished. If such things happen even before we set out, this mission may make all our names. I would like to be sung of as a good man, one day. "
He introduces himself to Taliesin, then listens quietly to Krestin's exuberant account of coming to the society.
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A rowdy dwarf enters the tavern and it's clear that this isn't his first tonight. Smelling of ale and other unmentionable things he makes his way to the nearest bar stool. Noticing the others he grins like an idiot while appraising each.
A Devil-spawn, 2 Huemie and something that's trying to look like one. Well isn't this interestin.
"Well isn't this a sight, I am thinking annoder round of the good stuff will be necessary for this trip." Craggor pauses to order himself a brew then turns back to the party. "At least one of yeh is good for looking at. A bit tall for my tastes, that's fine though. My height does come with some great views to."
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"Good day. My name is Lini and this is my companion Droogami. Like many here, we come for stories and drink."
A forest gnome orders a cup of black tea and bowl of milk for an accompanying snow leopard.
"Keep alert Droogami. You may rid this lodge of its pests. Your milk will ready when you return. Halflings are NOT your prey."
The small feline silently stalks around the rooftops and grounds searching for rodents.
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Taliesin laughs as her companions bombard her with questions.
Responding to Soran, she says "No, I have been on a couple of missions already. I have been part of groups investigating a fallen fortress, kidnapped slaves, missing Pathfinders, and of course completed way too many miscellaneous errands to count!"
Turning to Krestin, she says "I like you, too! I think you are just too cute! Perhaps I will have to keep you when we are done here!"
To Ferabras, she says "It is true that tales are most often told after the adventure. But on this occasion, I can tell enough about my companions that my foresight is in a heightened state. I already know that only great deeds can come from this group, along with success and glory. You should also know that I am not much of a combatant myself. But I will contribute in many ways. I know a little about everything, have a way of getting what I want, and can throw around a spell or two. Don't worry...I'm here to make all of you look good. Just look to me, and I'll make you the best you can be!"
She smiles warmly at the dwarf. "I'm used to it. Just keep your hands to yourself!" she says with a wink.
She also welcomes the gnome to their group.
"I am ready when the rest of you are!"
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A winded messenger shows up at the door, and hands Soran a worn and much traveled backpack.
Here you are Mister Fletcher. The item you wanted is ready. I'm glad I made it in time! Whew!
With barely another word, he takes off again, leaving Soran to himself. The archer smiles, mutters The Exchange does come with its perks..., and then starts unloading his traveling pack, and many of his quivers, into it. They seem to disappear into the depths of the backpack, and when he's done, only his bow, three quivers, his bandoliers (complete with flasks and wand) and his rapier remain.
I had found this a while ago on a mission, but The Exchange wanted to look it over first, and renew some of the enchantments. This'll help out a lot with my ammo.
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Krestin tilts his head at Taliesin's comment."Krestin doesn't know what lady means by keep. He is person, not a thing." The kitsune seems confused rather than insulted, as he doesn't understand the joke. After a few moments of listening to everyone, the sorcerer begins to go through his things one final time, while muttering as what goes where.
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"You seem to have had a cheerier time of it than I," Ferabras says to Taliesin. "My first mission was a long and arduous one, exploring the ruins of an accursed tower. I came within a hair's breadth of dying, but was fortunate enough to survive, to continue to try to do some good in this world." His grin reappears, once again a blend of toothy ferocity and a certain animal magnetism, and he says, "If you're able to make me look good, Taliesin, you are talented indeed. As you've likely guessed, my role on most missions is to slay whatever evil presents itself, and protect others."
When Soran receives his backpack and touts the benefits of The Exchange, Ferabras' grin fades somewhat. "I serve the Silver Crusade, who have taken me in and supported me, so that I can do my best to fight the evil that besets this world."
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An attendant comes to fetch you and ushers you into a cramped room with various markings all over the floor and ceiling. As the door is closed behind you, an attendant steps forward, mutters some words, and makes a motion of his hand. Green lights and ethereal leaves float and swirl around you. They grow brighter and brighter until they flash a dazzling light before you.
When your eyes adjust, you are standing in the middle of a wooded courtyard. The air feels different: cooler, humid. Another attendant bows before you and asks that you follow.
He leads you to a newer building. Going up a flight of stairs, you are led to a room through a large door.
In this sizeable office, an elf is waiting for you behind a desk. His green and brown garb show that he would likely be much more at home in a forest than in this office. He pours over a few missives, looking back and forth between two in particular. Behind him, a large great horned owl sits uneasily on a perch near an intricate longbow. The elf looks up at you.
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“Welcome to the Verduran Forest, Pathfinders. I am Samhain Galanodel, newly appointed Venture Captain. Thank you all for coming. If you do not mind, I will skip straight to the point. The Society has recently begun courting a small town called Kassen, a hamlet in the northern region of the Fangwood. As a show of good faith, we need some newer agents to go through… well, a bit of an initiation.
“Every year, a select few people of the town make a pilgrimage to a nearby memorial where a flame burns perpetually. They take some of the fire and bring it back to town to supply their light and warmth. Occasionally, they send a group of young adolescents to do the task as a sort of rite of passage into adulthood. It is a great sense of trust placed on these hopefuls, the fire which forges their men, you could say.
“We have convinced them to allow our agents, namely you, to complete this pilgrimage in their stead. This will show we are trustworthy and capable allies.
“You will journey to Kassen at morning’s first light tomorrow. That should give you plenty of time to prepare. We have chartered a boat to serve as your transport to and from Kassen. Now, any questions before you depart?”
The owl clicks its beak impatiently.
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Taliesin smiles broadly, her teeth white and perfectly straight.
"What an exciting opportunity!" she says. "As a follower of Sarenrae, this perpetual flame we will retrieve sounds like it is a mission made just for me. I assure you that we will accomplish this mission and build trust between the people of this town and the Pathfinder Society. Are there any known dangers against which we should prepare?" the bard asks.
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"New people? New places? Krestin will be good, and have fun!" exclaims while clapping. "Pathsearching lets Krestin travel, and see new things. And, and, and..... What is that?" The overly-enthusiastic sorcerer points at the owl. Looking about the room, Krestin's focus goes to the large bird whenever it moves.
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”I would be honored to do what I can to build good relations, Venture Captain, and to bring light and warmth to those in need,” Ferabras says. ”But I am curious about this memorial. For whom does this flame burn? Also, I know the Society often pursues such relationships with a longer-term goal. Is there a particular reason we seek to build good relations with Kassen?”
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The owl clicks its beak and seems to stare into Krestin's soul as their golden eyes lock.
Samhain chuckles at the nonverbal exchange. "That is Civetta, my companion. She is unused to being confined to small rooms for long amounts of time."
To Ferebras, "I am unsure on some specifics of this tomb, truth be told. I know it is something to do with a founding father. As for our motives, a friend for us is one less for those who would fight against us. Also, their position on the Tourendal River could serve us as a good port should we find ourselves going through the Fangwood along that lumber flow."
To Craggor, "The act of bringing the flames is a symbol which is greatly regarded by those in Kassen. By taking on the ritual, we not only show our abilities as Pathfinders, but also a respect for their local views."
To Soran, "By the gods, sirrah, you seem very tense. As if you just encountered a demon straight from the Worldwound! But to the matter at hand, I know little of what this task entails. Better I do not let slip something beforehand that may compromise our position. Or so I am told."
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You leave at first light the following morning. The boat ride is unremarkable.
When you reach the docks, however, you find the town deserted...
As you disembark, the ship's captain hands you a note. "I was instructed to give this to you upon our arrival."
"Pathfinders,
Go to the town square to begin your task."
You meet no one as you move to the square. All of the windows and doors are shut and shuttered.
When you enter the square, the bells atop the Temple of Erastil toll their midday song, echoing throughout the quiet town of Kassen. As the peals begin to fade, the first of the townsfolk make their way into the square, dressed in black, as if attending a funeral. They slowly fill the square, moving quietly across the cold, hard ground, their eyes downcast and mournful. After a few moments, a murmur passes through the crowd as it slowly parts to let Mayor Uptal through. He leads the way with a tarnished silver lantern.
Once he reaches the center of the crowd, Mayor Uptal stops and calls out to the assembled townsfolk. “Once again the winter winds blow through the Fangwood, marking the end of another harvest. There are wolves in the woods, howling at our walls, and serpents in our shadows, waiting to strike. Just as it was one hundred and seventy-four years ago, when Kassen himself left these walls to protect us, so it is today. Where are the heroes? Where are the brave folk that will venture out to Kassen’s tomb and retrieve the flame to keep this community safe for another winter?”
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”So much for getting our questions answered here,” Ferabras says quietly as they step off the boat and enter the deserted town. ”Kind of seems that Samhain must have known something of this, since the captain had instructions for dealing with it. Strange, that they want to build good relations but they don’t give us all the information they have to help us deal with the situation.”
As the bell tolls and the square fills with the dark-garbed townsfolk, Ferabras watches, noting how this day is getting stranger and stranger. However, when the mayor calls for heroes, Ferabras hesitates only briefly, and not out of fear, but concern that he may frighten the locals Nonetheless, he steps forward and, laying a clawlike hand on his chest, calls out, ”We will venture to the tomb and retrieve the flame! I do not call myself a hero, but I will do this thing, to fend off wolf and serpent alike.”