The guards nods, and the lead one says. "I do not know of you mates. You may enters Crystalcrag. Secure lodging, respect the curfew, and stay out of trouble." With a curt nod, he turns away and the guards return to their patrol .
A few moments later, an elderly oread man with hair-thin cracks spiderwebbing his skin approaches, smiling at the party. He introduces himself, in Common with a strong accent, as Eurdan Stonemantle, the remaining councilor of Crystalcrag. "Please, join me where we can talk in private." He says, leading the party to building that bears the weathered inscription in Terran.
Once inside, he turns and smiles again. "You are not the first foreigners to reach Crystalcrag. We recently had a group bearing strange compass badges." He goes on to describe the party, which meets the description of the missing Pathfinder party. "They are now guests, likely prisoners, of Tygora, the ruler of Crystalcrag."
He shakes his head sadly and continues. "The arrival of the strangers was a minor rallying point for the oreads, but a fellow councilor, Koriath, disappeared without a trace soon after the foreigners were made "guests" of Tygora. I suspect they are all imprisoned." He pauses, taking a breath and waits for incoming questions.
The oread smiles sadly, shaking his head. "No not slaves, not yet.... He then leans back and gives the party a short history lesson on Crystalcrag.
Built over 1,200 years ago, Crystacrag grew slowly into a thriving center of trade and industry in the southern Zho Mountains. When the Zhonar and Zhobl volcanoes erupted, most of the original buildings collapsed, leaving the town devastated. Nonetheless, the oreads tirelessly rebuilt what they could and erected a large crystalline memorial in their main plaza to commemorate their struggle only a year before Tygora arrived and offered magical assistance. In the centuries since, the oreads have grown to accept Tygora’s harsh but stable rule, though only a few generations separate the citizens from their ancestors who survived the volcanoes’ wrath, and the citizens still wistfully remember a time when they ruled themselves. Any substantial show of rebellion leads to brief but harsh crackdowns, and a year ago one of the members of the three-person council—a symbolic but ultimately powerless group of leaders—simply disappeared after trying to win concessions for the other oreads. Its second member Glaheri disappeared soon after the first group of Pathfinders arrived and stirred up trouble.
Despite Tyogra’s forcible adoption and indoctrination of the young ifrits, most of the oreads still regard the fire-blooded soldiers as their children, despite the ifrits rarely returning the fondness. As a result, the oreads are compelled to obey the efreeti queen because of an unwillingness to harm their own families as much as by armed coercion. Trade still continues with several other geniekin settlements spread throughout the region, yet traffic has gradually dwindled as Tygora forwards her plans for conquest and makes her kingdom increasingly self-sufficient. In general, the ifrit soldiers remain in the barracks to the north and only rarely patrol the residential sectors; Tyogra relies on brutal shows of force and the oreads’ quiet industriousness to quash any thoughts of rebellion rather than employing a secret police or other surveillance methods.
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Thanks for share with us your people history. And, if you don´t mind I have some questions for you:
When you talk of the Ifrit Queen, your talking of Tygora, right?
And, you talk about the ifrit as the oread children, you´re talking simbolicaly, yes?
When his curiosity had been satisfied, Artian continues talking about the previous group of Pathfinders.
If the others Pathfinders had been imprisioned we must free them. You should know that when you talk us about them, maybe you want us to free Glaheri too?
But if we free him, your ruler will took this as a challenge to her. And if your people don´t want to fight for their liberty it will only worse your situation.
So, even if I´m grateful to you for helping us, I must ask. What do you want us to do?
The oread nods to Artian. "Yes to both of your questions. Tygora is the Ifrit Queen, and most oread merely view the ifrit as our children."
Turning to Aviendha, he smiles. "If you could secure the release of Koriath, if he still lives, it would be most appreciated."
The oread nods. "Tygora stays in Fury's Hold. I suppose you could seek an audience with her, but I'm afraid you would be overwhelmed and share the safe fate as the group before you. You would be well advised to speak to others and weaken Tygora’s forces first." He then lists several places where you could garner support.
The Fifth Facet is a square, two-story, stone tavern that sits on the main roadway of Crystalcrag. The smell of charred timber and cooked food waft gently out of multiple windows hewn into the building’s facade.
As you enter, many of the oreads watch your group surreptitiously, while others do so with open curiosity. The barkeep waves you over to have a drink on the house. Like many of Crystalcrag’s citizens, he first tries speaking in his native Terran language before switching to Common. "Hello, my name is Delgur. I suspect you are somehow connected to the other group of foreigners."
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Aviendha greets the barkeep warmly "Ah greetings good man, my name is Aviendha. Yes I suppose we do stick out quite a lot. What my colleague means is that we heard that our friends are probably momentarily being held by the Tygora. We spoke with Artian on the case. He suggested that we come round here to meet some like minded as he to support our case before we present it to Tygora. As well as get a feeling for the local politics."
The barkeep nods and looks over his shoulder. "It seems we may have a common goal. I will be frank with you, I am no lover of Tygora. Unfortunately, we oreads are slow to anger and slow to act, so in the meantime, Tygora's hold on us has ever tightened." As the oread continues to commiserate, other oreads begin to make their way over, citing their grievances as cautionary tales, though few are prepared to confront the ifrit queen.
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Hearing the shared grievances of the assembled Oreads promps Zhana to speak with righteous fervor.
"For too long has Tygora been allowed to erode the well-being of the Oread people. Your trade has suffered, your ifriti children have been led astray, and your council has been purged. Only one council member remains and when that member disappears so too does your freedom, crushed by Tygora tyrannical rule."
As she reaches the last sentence, Zhana calls upon Bastet to charge her words with fury. Zhana's eyes flash and she theatrically destroys the cup she is holding .
"Now is the time to join together for the sake of all Oreads and your ifriti children!
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"freedom is a precious entity in itself. The price of freedom is eternal vigilance but before that vigilance can be eternal, freedom must be attained. You can attain that freedom for yourselves, your children, your grandchildren, forever. This freedom you fight for gives you the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint from Tygora, or any tyrant who seeks to subjugate you in the future. Help us help you get that freedom you so richly deserve."
The party's words rally the oreads to a fervor, but the barkeep holds a hand. "This group isn't large enough. Let them talk to others first, before we act."
Moving across town to the party heads to Valsog’s Smithy and Armory. Smoke rises from a massive chimney in this open-sided smithy, whose ceiling rises at least twenty feet above the ground at its lowest point. A fenced yard hosts a multitude of swords, shields, breastplates, and helms—some are propped up on stands and others lying incomplete in piles. The cadence of steel on steel rings out from the shop.
Entering the shop, you see most of the shop is simply a sturdy pavilion containing a central forge, half a dozen anvils of varying sizes, and a pair of immense ceiling-mounted bellows. Racks mounted on pillars hold hammers of many sizes, and several large barrels filled with either water, oil, or bars of iron. Standing at the immense forge, hammering a piece of steel is a fourteen foot tall slag giant.
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Greetings smith.
My name is Artian, and we´re here on behalf of people of Cristalcrag who still value their liberty. We´ve been told you are among the many people who thinks changes must be done here.
We´ve been talking with some oreads, to offer our help, but also to ask them to fight for what they want. And I want to make the same offer and request to you.
Will you join us?
The slag giant looks up at the party and stares passively at you, then resumes hammering on the steel. As the red glow begins to dissipate, he throws the work back into the coals, sets his hammer aside, and wipes his brow with his forearm. "I am one of Tygora's favored retainers, providing arms and armor to the ifrits. Why would I want change and what would you have me do?"
The giant regards you for a long couple of moments, then turns and works the bellows, stoking the coals. Pulling the iron from the fire, he lays it against the horn of the anvil and begins pounding rhythmically on the piece, coaxing a gentle curve out of the steel. Holding it extended from his arm, he sights down the work, the tosses it back in the coals.
Turning back to regard you for a moment, he says. "Assuming I would agree with you, I ask again. What would you have me do?" His eyes drift to the racks of weapons and armor.
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Well, obviously we´ll need someone to provide armors and weapons to the oreads who´ll fight for his liberty. Not free, the council will pay you for your work
And someone so big and strongh as you, could help to avoid casualties. with you fighting at our side, many ifrits will not risk life.
Artian keeps looking directly to the giant, waiting and aswer and pondering if that will be enough for him.
The giant considers for a moment and shakes his head. "I will not take up arms against Tygora." Pausing, he seems to consider more, then continues. "I could find this latest order of arms, for the ifrits, to be defective, and not ship them...."
Valsog shrugs. "I have little information. I keep to myself, here in my smithy."