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Tie straightened...check!
The human jumbles some of his clothing until it folds neatly.
Alchemical agents... ready!
He wipes some of the grime off of his vials.
And the smile?
Well, it will have to do!
With a turn, Kaye leaves the bathroom and enters the meeting room in the lodge. "I'm Kaye. Ah, Ginzel. I'm pleased to meet all of you."
As a few of you are already present, the door opens and Venture Captain Drendle Dreng is there, looking somewhat less like a wine hobo than usual. "Ah, let's see here, Agent Starseeker, Agent Kaye-- early, I like that. Well come on in and have some breakfast as we wait for everyone else to arrive."
He ushers you into his office, where this is a spread of fresh fruit, thick cream, and various pastries. "Help yourself," Dreng says with a handwave, while impatiently watching the door for the other agents to show.
As soon as all the agents have filed in, he begins to speak...
"Well, good morning, agents. As you well know, the Society has a need for discreet ways of moving goods into and out of Absalom. Over the last year we’ve developed some reliable routes through the sewers and caverns underneath the city and this has worked well for us until recently.
"Over the last few months, a tribe of kobolds calling themselves the Sewer Dragons started disrupting our supply with traps and ambushes. We know of several tribes of kobolds beneath Absalom, and generally, they are only a nuisance, but these have proved particularly troubling. They have blocked a few vital deliveries of late and some Pathfinders have disappeared. The Decemvirate is starting to get concerned.
"I need you to track down these... 'Sewer Dragons' and resolve this problem. I would prefer you make an effort to negotiate a truce of some sort with these pests. While I have little respect for the reptilian creatures who plague our sewers, I suspect if we exterminate them, some other threat will fill in the void they leave behind.
Dreng pauses a moment to finish eating a peach, then continues. "You could wander around the sewers for days and not find one of these Sewer Dragons. Fortunately, I have found a resource for you. A few years ago they hired a Taldan scholar by the name of Emral Xarcious to tutor the tribal leader’s children. I suspect Xarcious can lead you to the Dragons.
"The Decemvirate has a shipment of antiquities coming next week and I expect this situation to be resolved by then. It’s up to you to ensure the shipment goes off with no hitches. There is no time to fool around-- you need to get moving. If you have questions, let's get them over with."
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Tchak rushes in at the last possible second, just in time to hear the beginning of the briefing. "Sorry I'm so late, I just got the call. Something about some sorceror being unavailable, and I'm his last-minute replacement. Anyway, apologies. I'll endeavor to not make a habit out of it." The tengu magus, covered in shimmering blue-black feathers, wears clothing made of white dragon hide, styled to look a bit like armor, but on close inspection is too thin and light to truly be armor. His beak is covered with blue-tinged tattoos from the northern Snowmask tribe that barely show against the black of his beak and disappear up under the feathers of his head. By his side, he waars a katana with a black hilt wrapped in red silk.
He knows little of Absalom, and can't recall anything about the sewers, never having been there. Later, after the meeting, he asks around a bit about these 'sewer dragons'.
... but he's not a terribly likable sort of fellow, being a bit foreign and austere, too much so for the folk of Absalom anyway, and they don't respond well to his gruff and to-the-point questions. He learns nothing new that wasn't covered in the briefing.
"Seems like if we have questions, we should be asking them of this tutor. Still, if we have trouble finding these dragons, perhaps we could just escort this shipment and they will come to us."
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Rogzul shuffles in after securing his mule outside. His tribal clothes covering a small seemingly fragile frame, odd for a half-orc. On his shoulder sits a hawk seemingly whose feathers seem to shed starlight.
He grunts as he listens to the briefing.
"Rogzul has heard of 'Sewer Dragons', a powerful kobold tribe in the sewers. They say Kibizax, the chief, is a powerful sorcerer and that he has a powerful dragon ally that uses lightning. They have a skilled trapmaster that merchants and wealthy families seek out. House Morilla and other noble resources might have some of his traps in use."
His speech is slow and halting, and he stops often to consider the right words.
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Gleam stands on guard, furiously sweating through his full plate. He uncomfortably thumbs his falcata, apparently having built up quite a bit of scar tissue there.
Gleam drags up some words in an exceedingly gruff voice "Grand Master torch always said I was good at 'negotiating'. A plan B, that's what I'm good at."
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IN walks a stout humanoid with skin the color of marble... he is every inch the image of an oread, but bearded like a dwarf, and short and stout like one as well... He smiles and apologizes profusely. "Sorry for my late arrival... I've been rushing about trying to tie up some loose ends... it's a pleasure to meet you all, I'm Orin."
Dreng nods somewhat impatiently at the question of negotiating. "That's why you're going down there," he says with hands spread. "You're the team who's going to be in charge of making that initial hopefully peaceful contact. Defend yourselves if you get attacked, of course, but ideally we want a truce.
"As for payment: I'm not authorized to offer any coin or promises thereof to the Sewer Dragons, so if you do that yourself, it's going to be out of your pocket," Dreng snifs, while picking up a scone. "What we can give them, however, is access to the surface streets through us. We can fenc-- ...sell... the things they're.... finding; and get goods for them on request at fair, reasonable prices. Kobolds can't exactly nip into the market for things they want, after all." Dreng chuckles to himself at his own 'joke', if joke it is.
"Well, if you've no further questions, I suggest you go start with that tutor. Best of luck."
Dreng did not say where Xarcious might be, but then again, nobody asked, either...
Ducking your heads back quickly into the office, you ask Dreng if he has any notion of Xarcious's whereabouts; the Venture Captain was in the middle of a jelly-filled doughnut and has to wipe his face clean before replying with a mild huff.
"I don't know exactly where, but word on the street about the man is he had, or has, a bad gambling problem. In debt to a criminal named Greeves. I believe, like much of the.... enterprising class... in the city, Greeves likely operates down in the Puddles district, so, if you have no luck finding Xarcious's home, you might look up the man who owns the debt, as it were. Collectors always tend to know just where one is..."
Armed with this knowledge, you make your way to the ever-unpleasant Puddles district, the destroyer of dry socks. Rogzul asks around discreetly, and initially the queries seem to be going well, for he is given directions to an address supposedly Xarcious's.
However, arriving at the rather shabby apartment finds a different tenant living there, a seamstress with a family of young children. When you enquire after Xarcious, she shrugs and informs you she's had the apartment for the better part of a month, after the last fellow just up and disappeared. The day before he vanished, though, he had a loud argument on the stairwell with Creeley Greeves, who she describes as a nasty moneylender and bookie.
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Kaye doesn't like the Puddles District. Not just because of poor business opportunities, but also he sees so many lost people, unable to make ends meet or reach their full potential.
Still distracted with this district's failings, Kaye is unable to help significantly. The elven Starseeker seems to have an idea, though.
The Puddles are muggy, making the Absalom summer heat that much worse. Standing water lurks in alleys, providing a festering habitat for mosquitos. You move through the streets quickly, asking questions without ever lingering too long in one place the miserable stink and mud.
It's Navoreal who turns up a location for Creeley Greeves: word on the street is he operates out of what was once a guard station, in better days, when the Puddles weren't so... well... puddly. A five minute walk later, and you're all staring at what was once Watch Tower Number Four. Clearly, the guard no longer maintains it, but the walls remain solid stone. There's a front porch with a shade-roof and a place where a bell might have hung next to the stout oak door, but the bell is long vanished. A quick circling of the perimeter reveals the rear of the building has large double doors. There are a few windows, as well, but they're all small and narrow, and high off the ground. Short of shenanigans, nobody is likely to enter or exit by the windows.
Navoreal looks around thoroughly behind the building's back door but sees nothing that would indicate a trap to him. Gleam moves to the back entrance as well, ready to intercept any runners.
The others approach on the porch. Rogzul sees nothing concerning on his scan and signals Osten to go ahead. The burly, shaven-headed warrior approaches the door and stands ready, while Kaye knocks politely.
After a few seconds there's the sound of a few scraping chairs and a man's gruff voice calling: "Yeah? Come on in. Give the door a good tug, though, the heat's been mucking it awful."
The door does indeed appear to be soemwhat stuck-- the humidity's been swelling it awfully-- but it's no match for Osten's muscles. After a few seconds of wrenching, it gives with a squeak and a grind.
A dark haired man with several gold teeth gleaming from his smile is lounged against the wall facing you. He is armored and has a greataxe slung across his back, but his posture doesn't bespeak immediate violence. He appears to have just stood from a table where there is a card game in progress; two other men are at the table, still seated, studying you.
"...well now, there's a whole passel of you, aren't there," the gold-toothed man says cheerfully. "Welcome to Watch Station Four, home of the Furies. Looking to place a bet? I can give you four to one on Blue Bolt winning the race this Oathday, or five to two on Midnight taking the cup. Or if arena fights are more your thing, ten to one on Grak the Crusher in his match against the Steel Maiden. Or are you looking for a different sorta action, friends?"
"Xarcious?" Greeves says, and laughs, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Well, yes, he is. What do you want with him?"
His face lights up. "Did you want to buy him?"
Greeves amiably focuses on Kaye, seeing him as the fellow 'entrepreneur' in the group. "Oh, just money, that's all. He's in it to me for two-fifty, and, funny thing is, haven't found anyone to pay that slave price for him on the block. Got to collect my debts, you understand. Some people oughtn't gamble!"
Greeves shakes his head as if this is tragic. "Of course, if you just wanted to talk to him a tick and didn't want the hassle of having a no-good gambling junkie on your hands, I'd understand. Could give you a few minutes chat with him for 50 crowns instead, I suppose."
Greeves sort of blinks at Rogzul's extremely frank assessment, and clears his throat. "....weellllll.... uh... yeah I mean, I don't want him around, more hassle than he's worth.... sure, you got yourself a deal, heh. Oh, uh obedient? Well let's say he won't give you any fight. Hey Tarik, get the keys, go get these gentlemen their property, eh?"
At that moment, a dog barks in the back room.... because Gleam has just thrown open the back door and found himself face to face with an old mastiff that is rising to its feet and barking furiously.
Greeves blinks, and throws open the door behind that leads to the back cells. "What the hell's the racket for, Bonebags-- hey!! Who the f*&$ are you?" He turns a suddenly wary look on those in the front room. "That guy with you? What are you trying to pull, here?! Thought we had a deal."
The two other thugs, rising to their feet to carry out their boss's orders, now look wary and uncertain as well.
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I like Rogzul's style. Kaye thinks. Also, saving money never hurts. The less time we spend here, the better-
Kaye hears the mastiff bark and Greeves's hestitation. "Gleam, please. Our deal has been concluded." He turns to Greeves. "Sometimes my allies get worried and are a bit too jumpy."
"Now then... where is Xarcious?" Kaye treats Gleam's interruption as a minor hiccup, trying to not raise anxiety. It instead sounds like an implicit threat.