The rowboat Boom has commandeered is cramped and wet. Her furious splashing with the oars doesn't help much with the wetness, either, but it does send the boat clipping along at a prodigious rate.
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Solomon is a little taken back by the Tiefling's enthusiasm. He does his best to answer her question.
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"Wow! I've never been in a boat before. This is so cool! Do you always get so wet?" Amelie shouts enthusiastically, as she gazes out of the water. The young girl wears an old, worn, hide jerkin that was definitely not made for her small frame and some woolen breaches. Her hair is disheveled as if she just rolled out of bed, with even a twig or two caught in the knots. Despite the fact that she probably hasn't bathed in several days, she has a caring face with warm inviting eyes.
As soon as Boom starts to ask how her and her fellow adventurers ended up in the services of the Society, she cuts her off and starts to tell her story while barely taking a breath in the process. "Well it all started when I was young and my parents were killed by zombies or something when this old man from another village who didn't like ours for some reason brought some dead people to life. My grandparents took me in and Grandpa Adkins who used to be a knight or something taught me all kinds of cool things so one day I could protect the village since he was getting too old. See, watch this!" Amelie furrows her brow and stares intently at Boom for a moment. "I could totally tell that you're not evil. How awesome is that! Anyways, Grandpa Adkins said I had to learn more than he could teach me and that I had to go experience the world if I really wanted to help keep the village safe. So here I am, off on my first adventure! This is so exciting!"
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A tall, severe-looking half-elven male with close-cropped black hair and a perfectly manicured goatee does his best to retain his poise as he is intermittently splashed by an over-enthusiastic spray of sea water from Boom's vigorous rowing.
"The name is Stephen. I have a knack for picking up on things scant seconds before they happen, and I have studied widely in the libraries of the Grand Lodge."
He then nods to Boom.
"Sadly, this is my first field assignment."
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A tall, willowy elf, wearing a brown and black scholar's outfit, puts away a pair of pince-nez and brightly smiles. "Hello! My name's Tanariel. I joined the Society specifically to learn more. There's just so much one can experience, staying in one place, until everything grows both familiar and strange... but when you're traveling to the ends of Golarion seeking knowledge, it all becomes strange and familiar again! If that makes any sense."
Leaning in to Stephen, he whispers, "Let me know when and if the young lady chooses to suspect us."
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"I'm Dolgrym." The dwarf looks over the eclectic group, and scratches his beard as he ponders what else he needs to say. "My teacher thought being in the Society would be good for me. So here I am."
The poor woodsman rocks uncomfortably with the motion of the boat, and struggles to extend the conversation further. "Er...yeah. That'd be about it."
Overhead, a graceful eagle keeps pace with the furiously moving boat, and it seems to respond to the dwarf's introduction with a slight "Squaw!" of its own.
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Thrilled to engage in Orcish conversation, Boom replies cheerfully to Solomon in that language and forgets entirely to fill everyone else in.
The rowboat continues at a feverish pace and enters a thick bank of fog at least a mile from Cassomir's dockyards. "I think you'll do fine, young Pathfinders! See you next time!" Before anyone can ask what she means, the boat crashes very suddenly into a much larger boat--a ship!
"Did we get hit by a whale?" comes an alarmed voice from up above.
"NOPE! JUST ME! Hee hee!" Boom calls up.
"Oh. That's worse. Alright send 'em up." The voice sounds rather resigned.
"Say hi to Drandle Dreng for me! I hear he's got a chore for you, ha ha! Have fun!" Boom tosses each Pathfinder up the netting and takes off again back to Cassomir.
The ride to the City at the Center of the World is uneventful, and things finally seemed to take a turn for the exciting when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents shortly after arrival. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits, sundry tasks that often prove less than sundry.
Coming to the meeting place--an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge--a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency. “Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?” The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again...?" Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
"Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled Venture-Captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from--oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
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"Fascinating," Tanariel muses, with arched eyebrow. "One might expect that the founding location of the Pathfinder Society could dispatch a package to a Venture Captain."
Smirking, he adds, "The place must be storied, indeed."
Turning to his companions, he finishes, "And so, it shall be our turn to play the courier? And shall we do something about our fine leader's bodily welfare, in this cold rain?"
Dreng grins at Solomon. "I should be here for several hours, at least, as I said. If I am not here, seek me at Skyreach."
The Wounded Wisp has a very storied history, and many Pathfinders have heard of or frequented the bar previously.
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Stephen raises an eyebrow at Tanariel, then gives a faint grin.
"Business before pleasure, old boy!"
He then enters into didactic mode.
"Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment. Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles."
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A Elven woman steps off the boat, her jet black hair, matted from the torrential downpour. Her hide armor, is in equal soaked state. She looks at the man from but a moment until the ruse is pulled back and he introduces himself.
Entorra listens to the high ranking member's tale, and the mission at hand.
So, why don't you just go in and get it yourself? Why send us guinea pigs in to do your work for you?, she poses the questions in *matter of fact* tone.
I am all for a good ale, or three, but this just seems too easy as my fellow up and comer states.
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"Aye, lad...er, lass, I mean, my elven friend," Dolgrym looks over at the barbarian's way. "I'd not look at a gift mission in the mouth, if you know what I mean."
The dwarf pauses and considers the task, and shrugs. "It does seem straight enough." He bows slightly in the direction of the Venture Captain, and takes a step back in preparation to head out in the general direction of the Wisp.
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"My first mission ever and I get to go where the Society began! That is so cool! So what's in this package we have to get? I bet it's some super powerful magic thingy! Are we going to have to fight a dragon to get this package? I bet it's a dragon." Amelie can't stand still and the smile on her face makes it seem as if thisis the best thing that's ever happened to her.
"Woah, slow down there, Agent Tucker! No dragon!" Dreng spreads his hands. "Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine." The Venture-Captain shakes his head. "You are all capable agents, I am sure, but sometimes we have to do what we must before we can do what we want. Do a favor for an old man, will you?" He raises his hood and wanders back out into the rain.
Trudging through muddy streets with varying degrees of willingness and enthusiasm, the party quickly reaches their destination. The Wounded Wisp is located in the Foreign Quarter district, close to the grounds of the Grand Lodge. Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp's exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging above the bar's entrance.
Proceeding inside, the group steps past a coat check (where a sullen halfling teenager offers to take your cloaks) and down a short long hallway decorated in dozens of trophies and Pathfinder memorabilia left behind by successful agents. In the wide-open main room, the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
Even at this mid-afternoon hour, numerous patrons--including several with clear Pathfinder affiliation--are already relaxing about the bar, enjoying the food and drink provided by the Wisp's staff. One or two recognize the up-and-coming halfling scholar-adventurer, Janira Gavix, chatting amiably with the grey-haired woman behind the bar while standing atop a barstool. Some might also recognize Yargos Gill, a moderately-known military historian, sipping from an overly large flagon of ale from over a hefty tome at a table on the upper level. Two half-orcs savage a half-chicken at a nearby table, their dented wayfinders resting ignored to the side. A portly man in Kelish robes sits at the bar with a copy of The Birth of Light and Truth, rubbing his fingers in a nervous habit across a wayfinder with the image of Sarenrae on the lid.
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Holding on to his cloak, Tanariel carefully scrapes the worst of the sogginess off outside and stands tall and inscrutable, taking in the scene. Considering the layout a moment, he heads over to the bar, by Janira.
Tanariel speaks to the two, "My dear fellows, I am here seeking the lovely Heryn Gale. I am told I should be able to recognize her from her beauty, so I must ask, which of the two of you is she?"
Do any you see girl we meet? Now me want drink...
"Have one!" encourages one of the half-orcs through a mouthful of chicken.
"Hello good Sir! I understand that you have a penchant for military history? Is there anything in particular that you are studying at present?"
"Oh, uh, hello," Yargos says, putting down the tome and taking a sip. "You know of my work? Not many do. At present I am pursuing the root causes of the Everwar, and why it went on so long. I mean, really, an empire as organized as Cheliax, even before the coming of House Thrune, should have been able to easily crush its foe, even in Belkzen. There are threads, tendrils if you will, of certain mercantile interests manipulating things over strangely long periods of time. The Zynodinian theory, of course, holds that that tells the whole story every time, but does that really make sense with regards to the Aemarc campaign? Or even the Terrassi? I mean, come on."
"My dear fellows, I am here seeking the lovely Heryn Gale. I am told I should be able to recognize her from her beauty, so I must ask, which of the two of you is she?"
"Oh, um, that'd be me," the bartender blushes. "What can I do you for?" Janira giggles. "Be proud, Heryn! Musta been me that's spread tales of your beauty far and wide! I might even have noted it in a journal or two."
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Arriving at the Wisp with the group, Dolgrym looks about uncertainly before following Soloman to find a drink, and perhaps a chance conversation or two. "Aho! Perhaps a drink for me as well!" Noting Tanaria and the bartender, the dwarf nudges Soloman and gestures in the cleric companion's direction. "As for the lady, I believe our elven friend is working on it. Ahem."
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"Oh man, I've never been in a tavern before! Grandpa Adkins always said alcohol left your mind too fuzzy to work." She sort of leans in and whipsers, talking to nobody in particular, "I did sneak some wine from the cellar once though."
Amelie follows Tanariel to the bar to find Heryn. "Hi! I'm Amelie, it's nice to meet you Heryn. We're here to get a package for Mr. Dreng. Some old wine he wants I think. This is my first mission as a Pathfinder so I want to make a good impression and get it to him in a skippy!"
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"You neglected to mention your own loveliness in your journal, Ms. Gavix. But Heryn is, indeed, a sight my century-old eyes warmly welcome," Tanariel mentions.
Turning back to Heryn, he continues, "Indeed, Amelie speaks the truth. We're simply here to fetch a package for Dreng. Making your acquaintance is a reward I accept gratefully. I'm sure there won't be a problem retrieving the package for us?"
"Oh yeah, sure," Heryn nods, "He mentioned he'd send someone. I've got a replace coming in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting. I'll take you down to the cellar when she gets here. In the meantime, have a drink on the house."
Janira blushes and buries her face in a flagon for a moment.
On the other side of the room, Yargos gives an awkward little bow from his chair. "Well, you look a sound scholar. What's your background?" he asks of Stephen.
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The dwarven druid strokes his beard as he attempts to recall any information about this referenced event. With a shake of his head, Dolgrym takes a gulp of the drink and responds. "Nae, I know not the name. What's this Sir Reinhart of Kenabres up to? Hope it's something worth drinking to!" With that, he empties the mug with a second gulp, and looks about for a way to get more.
"I don't blame you..." Yargos agrees.
Dolgrym and Solomon get surprised looks out of the orcs. "Just arrived, have you?" Shrade asks. "Some knight from the north. Going to attempt the Test o' the Starstone! I reckon he's dead in ten minutes."
"Five," Garl burps.
Heryn pours Tanariel a glass of water. "Well," she shrugs, "it's easy..." She passes an ale to Entorra and a milk to Amelie.
Just a few sips into their drinks, a frazzle-haired woman hurries out of the kitchen, throwing on an apron as she goes. "Ooh! There's my replacement!" says Heryn. "I'll take you downstairs now."
Leading the company down the stairs, Heryn warns of a treacherous 'bridge' down below. "Watch out on the little makeshift bridge there... I keep meaning to replace it with something permanent. That great crack in the basement opened with that big quake twenty years ago..."
At the bottom of the stairs is a tightly packed stone storeroom, with barrels, boxes, and crates of various foodstuffs and assorted drinks garnishes pushed against the walls. Across a small, five-foot wide crevasse is a thin, rickety wooden plank leading to the wine cellar. Heryn squints and points to a shelf against the wall on the far side, where a fancy green bottle sits by itself. "Hmm, it's that one. Go ahead and grab it will I restock the garnishes."
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"You mean that you have been using the same plank for the last twenty years? I think it might be time to shell out for a more permanent solution..."
Stephen eyes the wooden plank dubiously, then carefully picks his way across.
Once safely on the other side, he carefully inspects the bottle, before gingerly picking it up.
Stephen is almost across when the board snaps under his weight, and he is so surprised that he makes almost no attempt to avoid falling the ten feet to solid rock below. He lands with a sickening crunch and a cracked rib.
"Oh dear!" Heryn cries, "Now I really need to get that fixed! Are you alright?!"
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Tanariel tsks at Heryn as Stephen falls. "Well, no time like the present, eh, Heryn? Go get us stronger material. You'll need it, if you want to reach the wine for any paying customer."
Muttering under his breath, Tanariel adds, "Should have guessed after the glass of water... So easy, she said..."
Tanariel then runs toward the east wall to brace against as he skips over the gap.
"Someone check on Stephen," he calls back to the party. "I'll get the bottle."
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Dolgrym flinches at the spectacle. "Ooh, that does not look good." Surveying the gap and the fall, the druid lets out a sigh. "Hey Solomon. Do you have a way to cross? If you do, maybe lower me down and I'll take care of our resident wizard, and then you can lower the rope again for us on the other side so we can get up?"
Using the rope, the party is able to descend and climb back out again, and Tanariel grabs the bottle. Or he would, except it doesn't come off the dusty shelf. Instead, there's a light *click* and the whole shelf slides away to reveal a dimly lit stone passageway. Ahead, a sturdy silver chain jutting from the ceiling ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across a rectangular room. A simple desk of polished wood, stacked with documents and scattered notes, shelters a pair of wooden chests against the south wall. A series of wide cracks along the eastern and western walls lead to exposed caverns deeper below Absalom.