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Boom accompanies her clutch of Absalom-bound agents to Cassomir's docks, clearly relishing the salty sea air. "SO!" she booms, "What made you decide to be a Pathfinder?! Hee hee, did you come across a PATH?!" Boom giggles furiously at her own terrible joke.
"I haven't seen any of you much at the Lodge! Must be new. Or new-ish! Hee, NEWSH! Any of you done a Confirmation yet? Field Commissions?!?!" The excitement in her voice is so effervescent you can almost hear the bubbles popping.
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Yang to my Yin, this one, Xanac thinks. I LIKE her!
"I discovered hidden secrets regarding the Maldris family, as well as the aftermath of the Drownyards incident. Does that count?"
"As for paths...well, you might say that somewhere along the way I got lost, and I stayed lost for long enough that I eventually realized that the path one walks when lost is just as much a path as any. It's the path that ordinary people fear most, too, so there's the advantage of walking with only the best of fellow travelers."
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"I'm Snew to this Tsschas Blackfang is my Sname. My tribal traditional hunting groundss are low on game hence I joined to earn." Tsschas Speaks with fluent common though he speaks slowly as if to ensure he's saying it correctly.
Armed with spears placed on his backs, arrayed like a peacock on his back and a particular long one in his hands. The reptile like creature attempts a smile, exposing his fangs of which one is black.
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His height is deceptive. Though technically an average height for a man of Garund, the rigid posture and intense mien grant an illusion of taller stature. Though young crow's feet have begun to form near his eyes. They are as much a sign of concentration as they are of the sun. His bronzed skin is taught to his frame. He's not a large man either, but the muscles show corded striations and the physique of an early Taldan statue. His attire is well tailored in the style not of Sothis, but Rahadoum - a detail lost on most.
Agis eyes Boom with borderline horror. The lack of self discipline cascades as waves to the Kineticist. While her power is undeniable, the methods! Oh the methods!
He greats both Xanac and Tsschas cordially. The oddities of their races seem of no consequence to the man. "Well met. I am eager to put my life on the line with you." He sees nothing macabre in his goals. "I have been apprenticed to a recent Venture-Captain, a man known as Bishop Shepherd. He has been a good trainer, but we both agree it's time for the threat of death."
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Jillia gleefully holds up a mercilessly dented wayfinder with JT engraved on it.
"For my Confirmation we grappled a minotaur," Jillia embellishes, recalling frantically grabbing clumps of fur with one hand while stabbing it in the heels with the other, while the rest of her party beat it into submission. "It only escalates from there though. I was part of the team at the Convocation, too...," she trails off, feeling nothing more needs to be said.
Jillia stands three feet tall when flat-footed, but stretches to a monolithic four-foot-three (sole-to-fingertips) when her short sword is raised high (or is offering a high-five). She can't help but smile in all but the worst of situations and has a very nice suit of chain shirt that has all sorts of puncture wounds, bent rings, and general signs of wear. When she runs, her hair gets in her face, typically followed by some incredibly unladylike spitting.
"Here's hoping things are a little smoother today," she says warmly, shaking her head as if to expel bad memories. "We've got work to do, right?" she asks no one in particular.
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A fit, attractive young woman looks up at Boom. Though the alchemist is animated, she is calm, her face serious but interested. She holds a large book, Unbinding the Fetters.
"I have temporarily been released from my duties as temple guardian. I am a disciple of Irori. Gladly would I join this mission in my quest for enlightenment and knowledge. Rarely might one have so varied experiences to pursue knowledge as with the Pathfinders."
She pauses for a moment, then says "My mentor was slain by unknown assailants in Tar Kuata. I have set out to develop my own mind and body after the manner that he taught me."
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"There's the boat!!!" Boom booms with interest! She points at a boat.
It is a rowboat.
Boom flashes a hand to a vial by her hip and shoves it in her mouth, chewing right through the glass in her excitement. Very suddenly she disappears. "HAVE FUN, HEE HEE!!! That's an order, hahahaha!" The laughter fades into the distance, although it seems to fade up into the air.
In the rowboat, the clutch finds a stack of tickets for travel on the Whispering Wind bound for Absalom in an hour.
The ride to the City at the Center of the World is uneventful, and Ambrus Valsin quickly assigns everyone to assisting with Skyreach's repairs--hardly an adventure, but it must be done. Things finally seemed to take a turn for the exciting when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. 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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"sounds like more training..." Dreng lives up to his reputation. Agis bows with genuine respect and turns to head towards the Wisp with genuine focus.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Oh, the package? 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 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 proceeds 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. Jillia recognizes the halfling scholar-adventurer who guided her Confirmation, 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.
"Jillia!" the halfling exclaims, with excitement that rivals Boom's. "Are you enjoying your time as a full-fledged Pathfinder! I was just telling this batch of young 'uns--a week or two Confirmed after you--the tale of old Gest and the legendary Lens of Galundari! Would you like a listen?"
"Oh, Heryn? Why, she's right here!" Janira points across the bar to the woman mixing drinks and pouring beers. "Heryn!" she shouts, waving her over. The woman slides two stouts to a pair on the stools, wipes her hands, and hustles up to Jillia and Janira.
"Hello, welcome to the Wounded Wisp. Can I get you a drink? Pathfinder discount," she adds, nodding at Jillia's wayfinder.
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Agis has been so focused on his training, that he hasn't had time to worry about watering holes. He eyes the man with the hole symbol on his wayfinder and opts to leave him alone. He goes over to hear the tale of Janira, but he keeps his eyes on the half-orcs.
"Good morning miss. I am Agis of Sothis. I apologize for the interruption, but I am curious to hear tales of derringdo from beyond these city winds."
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Jidai stands back with some reservation as they encounter Janira as Jillia greets the halfling. However, Jidai had recently completed her own Confirmation with the halfling, and soon makes her way forward and bows.
"Greetings, mentor," she says to Janira with a smile. "Your wisdom and bravery will long remain with me; may I be as courageous as you when the time comes to act."
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"I've heard of the Wounded Wisp, actually," Xanac mentions to the others as they make their way there. "They say it's where the founders of the Pathfinder Society originally went to share stories with each other. Eventually, of course, this gave them grander ideas."
Xanac surveys the room and its present patrons. Finding none of them too compelling, he decides to make his own amusement:
He tries to find some out-of-the-way booth, then looks across at the half-orcs, then at Yargos, then at somebody's abandoned flagon next to Yargos....
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"A discount would be wonderful. But it'll be coffee today- -we've got a job to do;" Jillia points to the rest of her compadres before continuing, it's too cold for a regular drink besides," she continues, semi-stallling to be out of the rain a little longer.
When the coffee starts to impart its delicious warmth and blessed energy, Jillia will mention to Heryn, "We're actually here to obtain a bottle of wine for V.C. Dreng. He implied that you would know the details?" She states, more a question than a statement.
"Oh! Hello Jidai! Excellent to see you as well! You're looking very hale--Irori's doing you wonders."
"I am curious to hear tales of derringdo from beyond these city winds."
"Then you sir shall have it!" Janira declares with relish. Standing up straight on her stool, Janira lifts a tankard high (well, not so high but still) in the air. "It all began in the Age of Anguish, when the empire of Ninshabur was founded on Casmaron..."
This provides Jillia the needed opportunity to confer with Heryn. "Oh, yes, I do. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, my replacement should be here and I can take you down to the cellar to get it. And in that case," she points at Jillia's coffee--"HEY! None of that! It's too early for brawls!!!" Heryn suddenly shouts over at the room at large after a flagon smashes into a wall near the two half-orcs, who look up briefly and turn disinterestedly back to inhaling their chicken.
"...and then, from the Pit of Gormuz, rose the great Tarrasque, greatest of Rovagug's Spawn! The nobles of Ninshabur hastily gathered..."
"I'm sorry, what was I saying?" Heryn turns back to Jillia. "Oh right! Your coffee is on the house. Just give me a few minutes!"
"...Durvin Gest entered Tabsagal with sword and wit..."
"...and the inscription above the door read, 'Chamber of Heaven!' Gest stepped across the threshold..."
"...understandably concerned for the fate of Golarion, Durvin made the tricky trek through the Screaming Jungle to the hidden city of Osibu..."
"Howdy," grunts the female half-orc to Agis. She waves a meaty hand at the pile of bones between her and her brother. "Chicken?"
"Might do, might do," the man chuckles, taking a swig of ale. "Shrade and me came back from... oh where was it?"
"Mwangi," Shrade replies, downing her own ale in one gulp.
"Oh right yeah, bloody hot down there too. Got into a nasty fight with some Aspis blokes..."
"But there ain't nothing an axe can't fix, amiright Garl?"
"Right as bullocks, it is, Boartusk Twins motto!" Garl cheers and finishes his own. "Anyway, me an' Shrade had to pull a fast one after a bloody wizard threw a horse at my head, but I suppose the axe took care o' that too. We'd found some dynamite the day before, for what who knows, but Shrade here returned the favor and threw the stick right back! HA!"
"You got any good uns?" Shrade asks of Agis .
Over at the bar, Janira wraps up her tale and takes a long pull from her enormous flagon. "...and in a act of great foresight or great folly, Gest cast the Lens down the Nemesis Well, never to be seen again. We'll just never know exactly what it was or what it was for or why it was so dangerous? Unless Gest comes back somehow, I guess."
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Clearly I have much to learn, Xanac thinks to himself. I would never have guessed that tavern brawls ran by schedules...
He finds himself a different booth...
...one where he can get a better view of the Keleshite (or Kelishophile, at the very least). Suddenly, his icon-embossed Wayfinder floats out of his hand and begins heading toward a window until it catches and gleams in the sunlight...!
Garl frowns. "Dynamite? Oh yeah, the guy with the loud explode-y stick thing explained it to us. Something about Alkenstar?" Shrade interrupts: "You set it on fire and a few seconds later it goes BOOM!" She waves her hands above her head to signify a big boom. She does it again. A very big boom.
A table or two away, the Keleshite sets down his book and scan the room. His eyes settle on Xanac.
Xanac feels his magic suddenly cut short and the wayfinder clatters lightly to the sill. The man picks it up, gathers up his book, and whispers a quiet word with Heryn before walking out the door.
Heryn gives the wayang a stern look. "You there! Stop causing trouble!" She irritably returns to making drinks.
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With everything that is happening, the rather Slwo Nagaji is completely and full lost.
It seems that the halfling is a loremaster.
The two Half Orcs are obvious hunters of skills.
The one with a book is a Shaman.
The one behind the bar has got to be the Chief of this small home, based on her commanding tones.
He sits and watches......hoping that someone would explain to him just what is this? Maybe He should have gone for this Confirmation thing. It must be some kind of ceremony that is similar to how his tribe celebrates a young hunter's first blooding.
Looking around for a caster in Xanac's booth, Heryn doesn't see one, so she makes a general--if equally annoyed--announcement. "Whoever's mucking the the telekinesis, quit it! You're losing me customers!"
To add to his confusion, Blackfang overhears a great deal of talk from some other folk at the bar about one Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, someone called a 'crusader from Mendev,' and who plans to attempt something called the 'Test of the Starstone.' A legendary trial this must be...
After a few more minutes, a young woman comes shuffling in from the kitchen and relieves Heryn of her bar-tending duties. "Alright, you, let's see if we can find the vintage," she says to Jillia.
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 crevasse is a 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."
The bottle looks like a large-ish wine bottle, and is about 40 feet from the near side of the bridge.
The gap is only five feet wide, however, and Agis easily clears it.
The board creaks mightily but Jillia makes it across. Tsschas is not so lucky, and the board snaps under his weight.
"Oh dear!" cries Heryn. "Do be careful! Oh, now I'll really have to get that fixed."