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Stalking into the meeting room, a tall imposing figure dressed in fine mail over a violet doublet and black trousers, metal gauntlets encasing his hands and sabatons on his feet. A tabard is over the mail, belted around the waist, emblazoned with a White Mask with black detailing around the eyes and mouth. A matching Mask, made of Iron adorns the man's face, framed by long golden hair.
Twin Gladii are sheathed at his waist but they seem unused and a long violet cloak floats behind him. He stops stiffly and looks around at the faces in the room before bowing gracefully.
"Greetings Mortals, My name is Aziraphale, his Grand Majesty, the True Living God, Razmir has summoned me as his Angel of Salvation."
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You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion 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.
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.”
The Wounded Wisp is a well-known tavern to Pathfinders, and is almost the unofficial lounge for the Society.
Just about everyone in the Society has seen or been to the Wisp at some point, it will be quite easy to get there.
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Stepping out of the Grand Lodge and into the rain, Aziraphale pulls up the hood his his violet cloak in an attempt to keep the rain from the eye holes of his Holy mask. The 'Archangel's attempt is in vain however as soon the torrential downpour has him soaked to the bone.
Meeting the Venture Captain the Paladin of Razmir stands to attention, listening intently to the Venture-Captain's instructions, they sounded odd, but the whims of leaders often were.
"On the Will of his Holiness, the Living God Razmir, I will accomplish this task this day." he intones solemnly, his words a demeanour serious. "The Wounded Wisp is of great significance to the Society, an establishment in which the very founders would relax in before the Society was created. Famed Agents have often taken their leisure there before assignments."
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Stonelance glanced around at the gathered agents and wondered why it was necessary to send so many to fetch a simple parcel. However, he managed to catch himself before he voiced his thoughts aloud, reminding himself that even fetching a simple package was better than doing nothing and wasting coin on ale. Plus things always seemed to go awry when he "pointed out" his observations.
"As Aziraphale so...eloquently? declared we will fetch your parcel right away" Stontree said proud of his measured response
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"Is that all???" Asks a striking young woman with strange ophidian features, fine clothes, and a fearsome-looking blade covering her left hand, as she comes up from behind the others.
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"*Ribbit* A mission from the illustrious Drandle Dreng! That an honor, Sir. I don't know this tavern, but I'm sure we'll get to meet important people there! Possibly Pathfinders of legend, yes?" The enthusiastic voice of an anthropomorphic toad lets out. The creature is a rather uncommon sight. It's barely as big as a gnome, with large round eyes blinking as they stare at the many Pathfinders attending Dreng's rather informal meeting. Its skin is blue, as those of the poisonous frogs from Mwangi. What is even stranger are the grippli's thick and furry eyebrows.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Stonelance grinned at Guk's enthusiasm, at least the strange companion might keep this menial task interesting.
"I do agree, we should get a move on. No need to stand in this weather when we could be under a roof, unless its been awhile since you washed than feel free to enjoy the downpour" Stonlance said with a smirk
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During your walk to the Wounded Wisp, you pass a number of other residents on foot, camelback, axebeak, and giant centipede. No other horses are visible, and Shadow seems to draw quite a few stares, almost as many as the sight of Guk hopping along.
Dreng's directions easily lead you to the Wounded Wisp. From the exterior, the Wisp is the quintessential dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure the view into the interior, and the only distinguishing feature is the heavy wooden sign over the door with a single lantern hanging from it.
Entering the bar, the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. 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.
A handful of groups are already scattered around the bar enjoying the food and drink provided by the staff. One pathfinder is regaling a group of initiates with tales of Durvin Gest. "Now, Gest traveled to Ninshabur after his many adventures aboard The Silken Purse, and eventually he found the fabled Chamber of Heaven…" she continues with a bard's flourishes. Another man is advising a pair of pathfinders in the importance of cooperation and being humble enough to seek help. "A Pathfinder should stand on their own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed," he says with a practiced air. A pair of half-orc twins are boisterously bragging and sharing their exploits in combat, and loudly greet you as you enter. "Welcome, I'm Garl, and she's Shrade. Come drink with us!" A couple recruits can be overhead arguing about the origins of the society, "But I thought the Society was founded at the Pig's Paunch?" one asks, only to be shot down by a few regulars and staff. Finally, an old man is sitting at a table with an oversized flagon of ale while reading a massive tome.
Hanging over the bar is a large chalkboard with the name "Sir Reinhart of Kenabres" written in large letters across it. Two columns titled "Ascend" and "Fall" are below that, with a number of names and numbers in each. You see that Shrade and Garl have their names in seperate columns.
A woman, presumably Heryn Gale, is working behind the bar and smiles as you enter. "New Pathfinders, eh? Well as those two said, come on in. Drinks are on the house for new agents, you know."
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Janira finishes up her story and waves as Stonegrin enters. "Hey Stonegrin, how's it been? Been on any new missions since your confirmation?"
Heryn nods and pours a glass and hands it to you, Zahira. "So what brings six new Pathfinders to my establishment? Celebrating a successful mission? Come to share a new tale?"
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cutting an imposing figure with all manner of weapons hanging on his back and hip.
Bowing to Heryn My lady. Ale will do just fine for me thank you. looking around at the crowded room. Is it always this crowded here? Master Dreng said we should check this place out.
Jec leans his shield against the bar. I still need to get used to this larger shield. much heavier then the buckler I used to use
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Heryn smiles, "Oh you're here for Drandle's latest bottle, aren't you? He's been sampling all my wines, from the most recent on back." Heryn looks at the door. "The bottle's in the basement, but I can't leave this place unattended. The regulars get enough free drinks as it is. My assistant will be here soon, once she arrives I'll be free to take you down to get it. Until then share some stories and have an ale or two. Just about every famous agent has been through here, you know." Heryn fills another flagon and hands it to Jec.
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Stepping out of the rain, Azirphale almost staggers at the overwhelming aromas of body odour and pipe smoke coming from the Wisp's common room. Dutifully taking his cloak off and hanging it on the peg, the 'Archangel' steps into the common room, his eyes drawn to the curious betting chalked on the board. At the proprietor's request for drink orders, the follower of Razmir nods.
"Red Wine please."
Gratefully taking the drink, Aziraphale leaves the rest of the group to explain their purpose here as he seeks out the company of the Half Orc warriors.
"Greetings Warriors! I am Aziraphale, his Holiness, the Living God Razmir's Angel of Salvation. Pray tell, what is the betting for?"
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Shrade laughs and smacks Garl on the back. "You haven't heard? Sir Reinhard of Kenabres has traveled here from the Worldwound, thinks he can best the Starstone! This fool agrees with him, but I think he'll just go splat at the bottom of the pit." Shrade says Sir Reinhard's name somewhat mockingly, and a few of the other patrons voice their opinions on the crusader's chances of godhood. "What do you think, Aziraphale? Is there enough room in the world for two living gods?"
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Aziraphale seriously ponders the question for a moment before answering the two half-orcs, taking a spare seat at their table and sipping at his wine.
"His Grand Holiness has shown that it can indeed be accomplished, though Ser Reinheart must have unbreakable resolve as well as strength of arms and character. I do not know the Man, but I would say Fate is against him as so few have accomplished the task before and so many have perished.
I too will one day conquer the Starstone to show my worthiness as his Holiness, the Living God Razmir's Herald."
He pauses for a moment to drink more of his Wine, savouring the fine vintage.
"Pray tell stout warriors, what do you know of the Society and its ways? I have been ordered here as an emissary, though I know little beyond the basic indoctrination."
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Stonelance politely refused the offer of drink, before finding a seat in order to absorb the atmosphere of the Wounded Wisp.
A tinge of disappoint fluttered through him once Heryn informed they would be waiting for her assistant before they be able to pick up the package they where sent to retrieve. Best get things done and out of the way, the longer you delay the more chance of something going sideways he thought with some irritation.
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The grippli orders a dark ale, then hops across the room to meet the old gentleman reading his tome. "Hello there! *Ribbit* I couldn't help but notice you, a fellow learned soul! I am Guk, aspirant Pathfinder. I talk to the spirits if nature. What about you, what's your name? Are you a Pathfinder too?"
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Accepting the flask ah ale tastes so good. Thank you ma lady
Listening to the various tales being told. this is only my second mission. Though Shadow draws lots of attention in the streets. laughing I guess a big black horse whos shoulder is at my head would cause some looks taking another sip of ale.
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Janira wraps up her story and heads over to grab another drink. "Oh, was that your horse? I'd reckon most of the stares are because horses are a rare sight on Kortos. The centaurs get rather upset about it. Most people use camels or axebeaks 'round here." She sips her ale. "So Dreng has you running errands now? Hopefully your next assignment will be a bit more glamorous."
Shrade and Garl shrug when Aziraphale asks his question. "The Pathfinders are always exploring and writing stufff down, but most people just ask us to break skulls. We kinda just fell into this after helping a Society team a few years ago," Garl says.
"Yeah, people don't see much past the axes when giving us a job," Shrade says a bit wistfully. "Show 'em you can do a bunch of stuff, your time will be easier for sure."
The scholar looks up when the small frogman hops over and shakes his head. "No, my strange fellow,I'm not one of the Society, but they do ask for my help now and then. My name is Yargos Gill, martial historian. The spirits, eh? A noble pursuit, as is the life of a Pathfinder. Learning of the past is quite valuable, though my preference is to leave the dangerous ruins to braver and less, er, principled souls." He closes his book and leans back. "Considering the crusader's coming attempt to nest the Starstone, I felt like revisiting some of the previous Aspirants' stories. Quite a varied group, aren't they?"
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"Aspirants? Who are y hey? I must say I'm quite unfamiliar with that name. Has it got anything to do with that bet? *Ribbit*"
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Janira chuckles, "Oh no, horses are allowed, just be careful when going out on the rest of the island. Plenty of other Agents keep horses, you'll be fine. And I doubt you'll spend your entire career in Absalom."
Yargos takes on an almost lecturing air, and begins to ramble a bit. "Long ago, Aroden traveled to the lost continent of Azlant and found a piece of the meteor that destroyed their civilization. It now lies ensconced in the Starstone Chapel, and can raise mortals to godhood. Caydean Cailean bested it, though even he doesn't know how, as did Iomedae and Norgorber. Sadly far more have attempted the test and failed, though they are remembered in the Shrine of the Failed." He shakes his head slightly. "Sir Reinhard has come to attempt it later today. Sure to be a great crowd to see the attempt. First challenge is crossing the bottomless pit, always a sight to see how they try it." He looks at the chalkboard above the bar. "Aye, that is the bet. Not in the best taste, but then most Pathfinders lose their sense of decorum after a few missions."
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Aziraphale nods solemnly at the Half-orcs words, seeming generally sympathetic to the warrior's plight in being untecognised as much more than mindless thugs. Still nursing his wine the 'angel' speaks, the words seem to be rhetoric, as if a practiced speech.
"A sad note indeed! Although, you would be able to equals in service to his Holiness, Razmir, the Living God. Pledge yourself to his mighty priesthood and you will become pillars of the community, leaders, scholars and priests are all welcome in his flock and I can see great things in you."
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The grippli listens to the loremaster carefully, drinking every word he says as if it were honey. His large blinking eyes stare at the sage, while he feasts on the lore offered freely by Yargos Gill.
" *Ribbit* Most exciting! Yet another crusader attempts the test, maybe inspired by the example of Iomedae herself! Forgive my question, which may seem odd, but we grippli have a very different understanding of the passing of time than you humans do. Have you seen the Inheritor herself cross the chasm and become a god?" Guk inquires.
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Stonetree's annoyance at the delay slowly dissipated as he gradually became absorb by the conversation the grippi was having with the Yargo. He found himself leaning forward and listening intently.
There was a lot he could learn form a martial historian and would not have to pretend to have heard one of three drunkenly told jokes for the first time that seem to be told in every taverns after a ale or four.
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Yargos frowns for a moment, then realises that no harm was meant. "Haha, I'm not that old. I've seen paintings of her ascension though. Must've been quite a sight in person, undoubtedly won her some converts right on the spot. I imagine if Sir Reinhard makes it he'll get along fabulously with the Inheritor. If you get the chance you should watch the attempt as well. Not often you get to see history made without leaving town."
Zahira, Heryn brings you another melon wine when a young woman bursts into the Wisp. "Sorry, ma'am, the streets are rather crowded with the crusader in town." Heryn nods and turns to you. "Well, once you're ready we can head down to fetch Drandle's bottle. Just let me know."
Aziraphale, the half-orcs are pretty far into their drink right now and you aren't sure they'll remember the details tomorrow, but they do nod and ponder your words. Agreeing to things they haven't fully grasped does seem to be their usual pattern, at least.
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Aziraphale nods to his new companions and raises his drink, draining the wine before getting to his feet. "It has been a pleasure stout warriors, but our own task awaits, though not glamorous it is a duty." Walking away, the 'Angel' approaches Guk and Stonelance, glancing at the historian.
"Well comrades, our task is upon us! Though we seem excessive a force, I would suggest none of us shy away in out duties."
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Guk ohhhs and ahhhs at each and every word from the old loremaster. He finally nods, concluding "I will definitely take time to see it - perhaps history writes itself today, who knows? *Ribbit* Thank you for the history lesson, that was very exciting. Farewell."
Then Guk hops down from his stool and towards the bar, answering duty's call.
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Heryn leads you downstairs into the Wisp's storeroom. "Mind the gap", she says pointing to a large crack that stretches across the floor. a single flimsy-looking plank crosses it. "Happened back during the earthquake, and no one comes down here often enough to really fix it." She slowly crosses the plank, and waits by the entrance to the cellar. "Drandle is drinking his wine by vintage lately, newest to oldest for whatever reason. He's looking for something from 4306 AR, not sure where it is down here. Not something that's commonly asked for, but Drandle is anything but common."
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Putting the Wisp's lax workplace safety aside for now, you find the cellar full of wine bottles of various vintages and styles. Finding the correct one isn't too difficult, but as soon as you grasp it to take it from thw shelf the rack retracts into the wall and reveals a hidden passage that leads into a small chamber!
A sturdy silver chain jutting from the ceiling ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across the 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 cracks along the eastern and western walls form makeshift entrances into exposed caverns.