It is cool breezy evening and you find yourself in your room or returning to your room. On the floor you find a note requesting you report to the office of Venture-Captain Drandle Drenge.
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Smoggin enters, with a dinosaur at his side. For him, absolutely nothing about it, but the stares. He got used to it. He likes him, and still remembers when he picked him up on his travels. He has no idea, why he was attached to him, but - a nice companion. Absolutely reliable. He looks around, and, with nobody there yet, hops on the most comfy seat. Waiting for others to arrive, he lets his feet dangle.
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A man strides into Drandle Drenge's office dressed in armor with a bastard sword strapped to his back, a holy symbol of Ragathiel dangles from a chain. Without breaking stride he looks at the gnome and says Greetings and continues over to the window over looking the courtyard. You think you see a golden aura around him though it could simply be the light flooding in from the sun setting.
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A man cloaked in scholar robes, hood drawn so only the slightest glimpse of his face is visible, walks into the office. Noting the other two individuals he lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well met." he grumbles and goes to find a chair in the corner opening a large tomb he carried in and begins to read.
The brief glimpse you get of the man you notice something is slightly off. For an adventurer he looks rather frail and his features are very dark, almost otherworldly. You even believe you may have caught a glimpse of a tail.
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"..can you imagine, someone caging a basilisk in a sewer right where anyone could stumble over it?" A strong voice with a southern Taldan accent made for theatre bellows from the hall outside. An older man, well past middle age, strides in to view talking to a page. Handsome and distinguished, with dark hair and beard starting to show gray, he wears armor and a military uniform of Taldor style, though perhaps a generation out of date and without emblem or rank. Strapped to his back is a large shield and a finely crafted greatsword, and from the rugged weapon belt at his hip hangs a warhammer and sturdy dagger.
"I couldn't believe my eyes, I tell you!" He tells the page, staring off into space as if looking at a memory. With a laugh, he gives the page a friendly thump on the back. "Of course there was no chance to question them, for I immediately had to avert my gaze or risk petrification with an most unfortunate expression on my face."
Noticing they have stopped at the door, the man gives the page another thump. "Aha. I see we have arrived. Many thanks, my good man." Turning on his heel, he steps into the room.
"Greetings, my friends." He says, dropping into a formal bow. "I am Maximo Interresante, lover and fighter, at your service."
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A proud and upright halfling enters the room and nods at each person in turn before removing one of several daggers from his belt and balancing it on his finger. His clothes look rather fine () and the front of his jacket bears a crest depicting a flower framed by the words "Flaxseed" and "Florere et augescere". He grins and introduces himself. Black Bart you may call me. Bartholomew Robert Flaxseed in full but my brothers called me "Black Bart" in jest. Now I use the name with pride and I wear the crest in mockery. Yes, the noble clan of the Flaxseeds indeed. So very noble they are.
Soon after everyone arrives, in walks Venture-Captain Drandle Drenge, a stout and hardy Taldanwith thin, graying hair and a thick, bushy mustache, unfurls a map on his butcher-block table and places a meaty finger on the parchment. “The abandoned district of Beldrin’s Bluff was
once the gem of Absalom’s Precipice District—now it is but a weathered crag of broken rock at the edge of the roiling sea. When the great quake hit ten years ago, entire blocks of the Bluff sheared from the mainland. Cliffside tearooms and exclusive estates fell into the waves and carried hundreds of nobles to a watery grave. An elite academy, called the Tri-Towers Yard, remained on the mainland, but sank wholesale into the earth. Children unfortunate enough to survive the quake lay pinned
under debris as sewer water slowly rose from the ground and drowned them. Nearly every student perished. “Today, crumbled stone walls and weed-filled lots sprawl where gentlemen’s clubs once filled with pipe smoke and hobnobbing lords. The Drownyard—er, that’s what the illmannered call the school these days—lies behind a fence of black iron pikes, constructed by the families of the dead to discourage morbid trespassers. “Even respected archaeological groups have been denied
official access. Our own Society has itched to explore the site ever since the quake—that is, ever since we discovered that the school fell through the roof of a lost necropolis. Unfortunately, the emotional trauma attached to the school has remained fresh. But finally, after ten years of mourning, the politically-connected families of dead students have sanctioned our delve request.” With a toothy smile and a clap, Drenge says, “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve selected your team for the delve. I want you to find a way into the necropolis, document your findings with professional detail, and recover artifacts of historical
significance. The Society is interested in one artifact in particular—a two-finger ring topped with a ruby salamander.”
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Bart's grin falters for just a moment at the mention of spirits and ghosts. Bart flips his dagger from his finger, catches it in midair, and sheaths it in one smooth action, his grin wiped clean and his face bearing a new solemn expression. His tone is business-like. What exactly is this ring and why is the Society interested? And what do we know about this necropolis and where it came from?
To Bartholomew's question about the ring Drenge pauses and thinks for a moment. Well this what we know. In ancient times, a wealthy merchant cut a ruby salamander ring from the hand of young cat burglar named Horastian. Horastian later became a renowned information broker and art collector. The Pathfinder Society hopes to magically locate the long-dead thief and his fabled hoard by using the ring as a divination focus. He looks startled at Tod's query of undead. Heaven's I hope not. I find it hard to believe that there would be undead roaming within Abasalom. I would think the city guard and priests of Pharasma would see to them, but..it is a necropolis and it was tragic ending, so I guess you should be prepared for anything. You are Pathfinders. Lastly he turns to Llathander and smiles at him. My boy, in the Society anything out of the ordinary is the norm. You should know that. Drandle Drenge pulls an iron key and the note from Lady Dalacine from his waistcoat. I leave you with the key to the Drownyard gate. Remember, the Drownyard is a deeply personal site for many powerful Inner Sea families. You will tread upon the graves of their children. Be sure to give the site the respect it deserves. Anymore questions?
It has come to my attention that you and your cohorts
were chosen by the noble Pathfinders to enter and
explore what became of the Tri-Towers Yard. As my
daughter, Junia, was lost there during the great quake,
it seems only proper that you attend the banquet I am
holding tomorrow in memory of her. You and your friends
should wear your finest and arrive at the Dacilane Estate
in the Ivy District at sundown. As you are probably not
accustomed to the traditions of nobles, not attending
this dinner would be a serious slight upon the memory of
my daughter.
Sincerely,
Lady Miranda Dacilane
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Upon hearing important information, Maximo abandons his search for spirits and draws close. A look of dire concern furrows his fine brow. "Did I hear mention of a party?" He asks, perusing the invitation. "Yes, yes. The Ivy District.. We should prepare our palettes for an assault from Golarion's finest wines and spirits." He smiles, tugging his coat straight and pulling loose part of the seam at the waist.
Looking at the garment like a man betrayed, he exclaims. "I must see my tailor, immediately!"
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Do we risk going in first with the very real possibility that we won't make it out in time for the dinner simply for the small chance that we can find the Lady's daughter and show up as heroes? Personally, I could care less about the traditions of nobles, (My family claim so very loudly to be nobles themselves) so I say we head in as soon as possible and if we miss the dinner, then so be it. Let's get moving.
The Venture-Captain overhears the party discussing tactics and nods his head. [b]You may go in whatever order you like, but do not miss the party given by Lady Dacilane. She is the one granting us permission to delve the Drown..er Tri-Towers Yard. Also make sure you make a good impression on her, you will be representing the Society.[/ooc]
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Llathander takes to heart what his small companion said and after making a few purchases. (will list after work today) and head to a local brothel. There he will talk up the girls about the school and it's inhabitants and tip each of the girls accordingly. (I will deduct 5 GP for the information)
Diplomacy to Gather information
and merchants and artists flocked to the cliffs to entertain them. Then came the great quake 10 years ago—half of Beldrin’s Bluff tore from the land and fell into the sea, taking most of its citizens with it. The rest of the area was laid to ruin by the trembling earth and the surging sea. Some of Absalom’s oldest families were utterly erased. Terror and hatred filled the hearts of the survivors and restless spirits of the dead rose from their watery graves and prowled the night. Perhaps the most terrifying loss was the drowning of the Tri-Towers Yard, an elite academy for the youth of the noblest families of Beldrin’s Bluff. The quake struck at noonday. The children were buried in rubble, and as the sea frothed up from below, it carried unnatural things, tormented dead long ago interred in a hidden necropolis beneath the academy. No one survived. Now the Tri-Towers Yard is known as the Drownyard, a desolate ruin filled with strange black ichors and salty brine. Within lie the secrets of an ancient necropolis, but there too dwell the spirits of its inhabitants and the angry dead of the Tri-Towers students and teachers.
As the party makes their way back to their lodgings, each of you find another envelope slid under your door.
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Tod spends the evening buying and packing gear.
ioun torch 75
grappling hook 1
pulley 2
ram 10
charcoal 0.5
Paper (20) 8
ink 8.1
Shovel 2
Oil 0.1
Tindertwig 1
10ft pole 0.5
Butterfly net 5
Iron spike (2) 0.1
String or twine (50 ft.) 0.01
Drill 0.5
Saw 0.04
Powder 0.01
cleats 5
Total: 168.86 gp
The party members arise in the morning and muster out in front of the Grand Lodge. The day is gray, dreary, and there is a fine misty rain blowing in from the south. As your group embarks on the mission, you head southeast, skirting the boundary between the Coins and the Eastgate Districts before cutting through the Docks and entering the Precipice Quarter. In a short time you come to your destination. Beldrin’s Bluff is a rotting ghost town at the edge of a hungry sea. Throughout the derelict landscape, seagulls perched on splintered timbers reflect your passage in their glassy black eyes. Overhead, dark clouds move ashore with the promise of a storm. Once you reach the west side of Beldrin's Bluff, the Drownyard comes into view. A fence of black iron pikes surrounds a block-wide yard. Dead tree branches reach out from the fence like the arms of emaciated prisoners desperate to escape. A man is on the inside, cutting the trees down. Some of the dismembered branches remain, stuck in place by knotty elbows swollen around the iron. As your party appraoches, the man looks up from his sawing and watches you approach. His thinning hair is matted and sweaty. The old man stares, silent and suspicious. Behind the man you see partially collapsed buildings and three whitewashed towers lean in a lake-filled yard.
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Maximo joins the group sporting a new shortbow and quiver at his side. "Rumors of restless dead have been spoken of regarding this place, along with the occasional foul quagmire and ooze. Or was that booze? Hmm, well I have come prepared to deal with all." He smiles and pats the arrows, jostling and nearly spilling them from the quiver. "Though I must admit, I prefer to face my foes up close, my hammer or Big Love in hand. Do we have any archers among us?"
Courtier's outfit with jewelry 80
Shortbow 30
Arrows (20) 1
+1 holy arrows (4) *Citadel of Flame 360gp
Ghost salt weapon blanch 200gp (Already used on 6 normal arrows and all holy arrows)
Bladeguard 40
Antitoxin 50
Vermin repellant 5