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Khellek sits down at a small library in his (slightly too) modest dwellings and takes out a book. Putting his feet up near a roaring fire, he allows his eyes to roam the tome.
Still, his mind cannot concentrate on it. That Dratted Dr Jones again. Khellek's chronicle of how he had led his students through a series of unfortunate misunderstandings with the barbaric people of the north had been a masterpiece. And to combine that expedition with notes on both the sky key and the fabled tapestry was a masterstroke, if he did say so himself. Even the in depth discussion of ancient dwarven surface architecture had been balanced, and the drawings of the beard clasp were first rate.
So why, why did Dr Jones get on the cover of the Chronicles?
Khellek could feel his anger rise. Feet down, he uncharacteristically left the book open on the table, next to a large pile of unmarked assignments.
There was no way he was going to get on the cover of the next edition of the Chronicles by marking assignments, or even giving some of the (if he did say so himself, but then again, so did his students) most interesting lectures in the academy. No, with a sigh, he realised this was going to require more field work
Khellek suppressed a sigh. He detested field work, but these are the sacrifices that one has to make.
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A messenger wakes each of you hours before sunrise, urgently demanding your presence at Drandle Dreng's office in the Grand Lodge. You arrive to find a barely awake Venture-Captain hastily dressed and a hideously scarred man in rich clothing, protected by two enormous half-orcs.
"Pathfinders, this is Grandmaster Torch," Dreng mutters with a yawn, "He is an . . . associate of the Society. We owe him a favor after that business in Sedeq, and it seems he's looking to collect."
The strange man chuckles before speaking, "You wound me, my lord. I come in the interest of the common good. You see, my good friend and occasional business associate, Nuar Spiritskin, is missing. You may know him better as the Minotaur Prince of Absalom, the head of the Taurean Embassy, and something of a famous foreign dignitary."
"Anyhow, he has gone missing. I recently acquired some old papers that spoke of a grand maze beneath Absalom, and naturally my first instinct was to discuss it with Nuar. He seemed intrigued, and set off for the maze at once. That was several days ago--more than enough time for a minotaur to solve a maze, so I am worried about my friend."
"Clearly, I cannot take this matter to the guard. Poor Nuar would be scandalized if word got around that he couldn't solve a simple maze. I can provide you with directions to this maze, called Delirium's Tangle, if you promise to return Nuar quietly to his home. I'm even willing to let your organization keep the artifact I believe lies at the maze's center. Some ancient, elven hourglass--my notes aren't specific about its purpose or powers. Just ensure the Prince's safety."
Dreng looks at Torch for awhile, but eventually nods his head, "Nuar is a useful ally to the Society and this lost labyrinth is an opportunity we can't pass up. Take an hour to prepare and then head out."
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"A maze. Well, at least now I understand why I was called. To solve a maze is a matter of intellect." he looks around the group, the expression on his face clear that he isn't sure that the rest of the group is quite up to that aspect of the challenge.
"What more do we know about Nuar, the Minotaur prince? And this Delirium's Tangle.. That is not an auspicious name. Not in the slightest. Or for that matter the hourglass at the center. Who made these things?"
He turns to the grand master.
"May we see copies of the notes you provided? You did keep copies, didn't you?"
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The sultry half-elven Varisian woman listens intently to the briefing, scratching her chin as the various details are brought to light.
"I can see the cause for concern, perhaps there is a genuine reason for a delay - maybe he likes what he found and has simply spent time investigating in detail" she suggests soothingly in her rich Varisian accent, "So yes it would be a good idea to perhaps take him some refreshments, clearly no cause for alarm or rumours"
"I am ready to travel now" she smoothes over her brightly coloured travellers garb, the gentle rustle of chain heard beneath it, collects up her shield depicting a butterfly formed out of stars, and hefts her morningstar.
"Intellect is lovely, but intuition is also necessary"
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A thick armed dwarf, dressed in scale mail with a large wooden shield and axe across his back, stumbles into the room rubbing his eyes awake. "Why the f*!~ can't these meetings be called at a reasonable hour? I'm pretty sure I just got to bed when some a++@*~% came knockin' on the door!"
The dwarf leans heavily against the wall, his numerous weapons clanking against it as he does. He half listens to the conversation as he works to adjust his armor and his belt of weapons to more comfortable and effective positions. "Maybe this Nuar guy just came across a hoard of fine Dwarven whiskey left down there and is too drunk off his ass to find his way out!" That's what I'd be doing.. He pushes out a hearty chortle as he thinks to himself.
He holds his stomach as it makes some uncomfortable gurgling sounds and nods to the group. "An hour be a good plan, I gotta take a big s$&# and have some breakfast n coffee. The order on that is still up in the air I think." He says has he gently pats his stomach.
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Torch answers Khellek's questions in detail, but merely laughs at Ironshanks' remarks. "Nuar is something of a local diplomat: officially, he represents the Kortos' minotaur tribes here in Abaslom, but most of those tribes aren't quite as politically minded as Nuar. He seems to know just about everyone though. Very useful fellow. Oh, and he's an albino, if you hadn't already heard."
"My notes refer to this maze as Delirium's Tangle. The author claims to have once been lost in the maze ages ago and escaped by pure luck. The design sounds elven, but I haven't finished translating everything. And no, you may not borrow the papers. They are far too fragile to be handled by inexpert hands."
"I believe the object mentioned to be Izryen's Hourglass, an artifact left behind when the elves first fled Golarion. It appears often in elven astrological writings, and sounds like a complicated timepiece."
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A muscular human man joins the group, wearing a breastplate, buckler, and more javelins strapped to his back than one man could possibly needs.
He smiles just a little too much, and addresses Drandle Dreng, "Well, obviously you chose myself and the dwarven warrior to protect the party, in case anything fearsome is in this maze. I won't let you down!"
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"Inexpert? INexpert? INEXPERT?" fumes Khellek.
"You are talking with one of the foremost historians in Absalom! I am a scholar without peer! I, yes, I have even travelled into the very past of this gods forsaken island to witness Starfall itself. And you would worry about my handling of your precious documents!"
He looks like he is about to start to get very upset.
Calm, calm. He is just an ignorant man, who knows little of the scholaraly arts.
Khellek pulls a pair of white silk gloves from his backpack. "I am, you see, well equipped to deal with fragile antiques, and I am somewhat a specialist with books and writings. I also speak Sylven, though I have not got around to mastering elven yet."
Shaking his head, he adds "But I'm assuming you are about to tell me you don't have them with you and we don't have the time. blah, blah, blah. People can be so precious about their artefacts, and not think about the greater good."
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"Ahhh well I am Hellena, blessed by Desna and here to bring you some luck. I haven't read any of your works Mr Historian, but I am sure they'd be rather interesting - perhaps you can pack some Chronicles to share"
"Ahhh Elvish is very simple - here, let me help you with a few useful phrases...repeat after me"
"May I have wine? - Lothron im gar-miruvor?"
"Do you come here a lot? - Ceri- cin tul- hi a lim?
"Your skin is like the moon, your hair like the sun - Cín rív na- like i ithil, cín fin like i anor"
"Do you want to make a half-elf?- Ceri- cin anír- na ech- a pher edhel plural edhil?"
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"Ceri- cin anír- na ech- a pher edhel plural edhil?" echoes the scholar to his fellow Varisian.
Then he blushes. "An interesting turn of phrase. In Sylvan it comes across quite differently. The translation is approximate, but in Taldane" he says the last word with some distain. "I believe the best approximation is 'cross pollinate'".
He then leans slightly closer looking intently at the cleric.
She doesn't look like any of my current students.
"How do you say 'Would you like to dance under the moonlight?'"
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"Try - 'Mére- ana lilt- nuin i isilme', but raise one eyebrow when you say it, takes away the ambiguity around what you are asking, otherwise you will sit there drinking the wine in boredom whilst you watch some slow moving three-hour long moonlit veneration of Desna when I think you are actually wanting is a little taste of Calistrian philosophy "
"Perhaps I shall learn dwarvish, 'when is the ale being served?', 'that is a fabulous beard', 'how many axes do you really need?' - should get me by"
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A tall cloaked figure chuckles at the exchange, raising his head to reveal a face tinged with green as his lips curl into a smile around a pair of shiny tusks. He doesn't speak so much as emit; a deep and warm sound that crackles faintly.
"I should hope the answer to that last askance is one, friend, else you risk wearing an appearance touched by lunacy as opposed to something more practical and intimidating." He shoots the dwarf a small smirk before turning his grin towards the half-elf.
"Cín rív na- like i ithil... That much is fitting. If you do not mind my curiosity, how would one say 'May the stars guide our steps unto a Prince and an hourglass'? I believe it will become appropriate." He chuckles, before nodding his head towards the more venerable gentleman. "It appears we have a scholar among us also. I, too, would like to hear of your work, friend, and perhaps learn from your wisdom. Zeal ios irthir ui ixen ios mitne. Zeal without knowledge is fire without light, after all.
"And of course," he begins, folding his arms casually across his chest and turning to face the two warriors, "I should not forget our pair of capable arms. I go by the name Ember. It is as much a pleasure as it is an honor to meet with you all, friends."
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The woman laughs a musical laugh, 'May the stars guide our steps unto a Prince and an hourglass'? That one is easy 'Thank you for joining us Hellena, the Resplendent Goddess of Fortune has blessed us with your arrival', Desna will get the message"
"I will do what I can to keep you all from an interview with Pharasma during our quest, I only ask that you do not run faster than your guardian angel can fly - I am a cleric, not a miracle worker"
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Ember chuckles quietly in response, though it's more of a pleasant rumbling and not exactly musical. "Of course, of course. I will be sure to give my regards to the The Great Dreamer for lending us one her precious and devoted."
He inclines his head briefly and takes on a more serious tone. "But your words are reassuring, Hellena. I hope to return your kindness and aid each of you in the accomplishment of your goals, though I must confess I am lacking in... experience. Any guidance you should care to spare me on our travels together will be greatly appreciated."
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Ironshanks looks up slightly at the others as they converse back and forth, his hand going towards his rumbling stomach hiding behind his beard and scale armor. "I'm Ironshanks Magee, call me Ironshanks." He says with a tone that is easily identified as: this is not up for debate.
He does his best to nod politely to the lady "Glad to see one of Desna's travelers with us, especially one so easy on the eyes. My last cleric in the company was of the sun god. Far too chipper early in the morning for my taste!" He turns to Khellek and starts to give him a solid punch to the shoulder before reigning it in for the old fella. "Am I right Khellek? I think me toes are still froze to the bottom of these boots!"
As his stomach gurgles louder and louder he gets ready to take his leave of the group, urging them to finish their questions. "All this back and forth about Elven nancies and such has moved up my time table. If I don't get this lumber down to the mill I'm gonna have a problem."
As he hurriedly walks off you can hear him mutter
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Grandmaster Torch speaks to Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng, "Your Pathfinders do not seem to have any more questions nearly as important as my other business, so I will await word of their success at the Gentle Rain Bathhouse."
Once Torch departs, Dreng addresses the party, "Good show, men. I don't like to spend any more time than I have to in the same room as Torch. Do you need any special equipment before you get started?"
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"There is the question of illumination." suggests Khellek.
"While I have learned the odd trick or two. Some students being more dense than others, perhaps we could do with a light source."
He fumbles around and eventually pulls out a wayfinder. "Ahh, this may help."
He directs an almost boyish grin at the chipper cleric "I confess the bitterness of many a Calistrian does make the experience someone less fulfilling. No, I was thinking of an actual dance in the moonlight. I was quite a mover in my younger days.."
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Ember grins a little at the historian's enthusiasm for dance. "Hmm. Perhaps you could teach a young student a move or two, or at the very least, grace our eyes with an example in the near future. But as for your concern about illumination, friend..."
He calmly raises a hand, blackened and scorched. A small ball of orange light flares into being on top of it, licking hungrily at his palm for a few seconds and threatening to escape before his fingers clench into a fist, extinguishing the flame just as quickly as it had come to life.
"It shall not be a problem."
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Shortly after the door shuts with the exit of Grandmaster Torch and his muscle, the door is opened by a worried looking young man dressed in a orange and black shirt and red trousers carrying a fine looking staff. His worried expression turns into a frown as he moves into the room. "Don't tell me I missed the briefing... and who was that grumpy looking gentleman and those large toughies?" He scans around the room.
"Damn! I missed the briefing." "I am still learning this crazy maze of streets you all call a city." "You have a whole island and you all bunch together and crowd one another." "Well, I am here now" "Farlen Mizzul, at your service." "I know a little magic and will help however I can." Turning to Ember, "Did you just catch a fireball?" "Cause that is what it looked like. Man!"
"Anyway, anyone know where I can buy a Wand of Magic Missles?" Spotting Ironshanks, Another dwarf, I just met a wizard dwarf last week. Cool."
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"I" says Khellek "Am an eminent historian, not a Dance Teacher. Whilst in my youth I did cut a fine figure in the dance circles of Varissa, I would not deign to demonstrate such a move now. Not unless it was in the course of discussing the influence of dance on Varissian history. For example the countess N'sarra once managed to prevent a war between her two neighbours by so entrancing them with her dancing that they forgot to go back to their armies in time for the start of the battle. "
He quietly chuckles to himself. "My what a sight that must have been."
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'Oh, was it something I said? I didn't mean any disrespect.' as Farlen watches Ironshanks leave in a hurry.
Turning to Captain Dreng, "What's this about dancing?" "Are we pathfinders or party coordinators?" "My first task was fetching wine." "Now, we are to go dancing?" "It must be some kind of important dance to require us to assemble in the middle of the night."
"Well, if no wand is available, I could use a healing potion or two."
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Khellek continues to ponder the question about equipment.
"Perhaps chalk, or paints, and twine. These are all traditional aids to avoiding getting lost in a maze. Of course the simplest method is to just keep ones hand on a wall."
He sighs. "That of course assumes one wants to get out, rather than to find an arbitrary point within the folly. For such things, paper and pens may be necessary. For a maze of fool, or foil, a Minotaur makes me think this tangle is no ordinary maze. Standard methods of solving will possibly not work, and non linear geometry certainly adds to the complexity of the problem."
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Once you leave the maintenance tunnels directly beneath Absalom, light becomes a necessity. You travel for another hour or so through natural caverns, before arriving at the point Grandmaster Torch described. From there, the tunnels get more confusing, and you wander for a while before coming to a large cavern.
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Khellek smiles.
"Why, my beautiful Hellena, I can certainly provide light for everyone."
Khellek is happy to cast light on an item for someone, and will keep a set of dancing lights up and running as well.
"Ironshanks, my old comarde in arms. You managed to get us through those cold lands pretty well, perhaps with the aid of my wayfinder you may do as well for us down here. I do confess that my own sense of direction, outside of the library, is woeful."
The scholar puts down various marks on walls to help identify where the group has already travelled and sketches a map as he progresses, though how much help it is is anyones guess.
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Ember nods, before retrieving a wooden torch from an old leather backpack slung over one shoulder. He raises his other hand, sheathing it in flame and flicking it quickly across the resin soaked cloth of the torch to light it, allowing the bright orange glow of fire to assist Khellek's magic in brightening the caverns.
"It is nothing so destructive as a ball of unconstrained fire, friend," he says to Farlen with a amused smile. "Merely a fledgling flame, one that can be taught with patience and good temperament to illuminate, than rather destroy. Like that of which The Dawnflower instills in each of us." His smile changes to a more genuine and warm expression. "But I see you have an interest in magic, Farlen. From where, if you don't mind my asking, does such an aspiration stem from?"
Ember turns his attention to admire the historian's map making as they walk. After taking Khellek's advice to grab some materials before heading out, he tries to help by adding his own chalk markings to the cavern walls and offering a word of advice here and there at the occasional turning point.
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"Khellek, chalk is a great idea. I will cast light on a coin and position myself in the back unless anyone objects." Farlen mumbles a funny sound and his coin gradually starts shedding light.
"Ember, I will never get used to that fire trick. Doesn't that hurt? As for me, my mother was a mage and taught me until her death. Then we moved from Eleder to Westcrown and I trained at a school in Westcrown and then later when I went to help my uncle manage his jewelry shop, I attended school in Almas."
"I am not a great hand with directions but I can follow chalk marks.
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Ironshanks takes the wayfinder from Khellek and gives it a look over. "Interestin' contraption this is, points to the frozen north you say? Well s$#~, lets not go back there so soon! How 'bout we run east/west, I hear the south is so hot yer armor melts right onta yer skin!" He starts out and hits something and gets blasted in the face with light from the wayfinder. "Argh! This thing lights up too? Whatever happened to just enjoyin the darkness like normal Dwarves!"
Ironshanks will take his time with the 'compass' and with everyone's help taken into account begrudgingly as they navigate along.
"So you magic booger flingers ain't gonna roast me with any fire or anything are ye?" He mostly looks at the half orc.
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"Ahh, Almas. You have come from a good place. I have heard a fair number of riveting things about the great city and their mages, and the freedom they give to their people." Ember's crimson eyes light up slightly as he nods along to Farlen's tale. "Less so about Westcrown and their many houses, but I trust your mother taught you well. The light you have cast upon your coin is bright and clear, after all."
He looks up at the sound of a more rugged voice - or rather, quite a ways down.
Ember's lips curl into a lopsided grin after catching the wariness in Ironshank's eyes and the shuffling of his stocky legs. "Of course not, friend," he laughs, "I much prefer my dwarfs seasoned and rare, as opposed to charred to a crisp. Tell me, Ironshanks, is your distrust of magic or me? I assure you, your answer will not offend either way."
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"We Ironshanks been boot stompin' orcs and gobs fer centuries from sunup to sundown since we get our first boots. But since this Society frowns on that game, and yer only half a rotten orc, I'll give ya the benefit o my doubts." He gives the stone wall a kick with his steel toed boots. "Just don't gimme any reasons to change me mind and things 'll go smooth as buttah."
Ironshanks will stop to pull out his shield and strap it on before going back to his work. Then throw a smile Ember's way. "Don't worry dis shield ain't fer you, all Dwarves know shields ain't so helpful vs magics. I just don't want no sneaky prick stabbin me in my guts down 'er."
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"We had our racial tensions in Sargava too. I never understood them. People judging others without knowing them." "It's like judging whether to throw away a package by its cover and not by what is inside it. It seems rather obtuse."
Farlen looks to aid with keeping the directions straight and marking with chalk as best he can.
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True to his heritage, Ironshanks easily identifies most of the dead ends and loopbacks without having to explore them, although he does take the party down the wrong passage once--for a good 30 minutes.
After another 2 hours, you emerge into a large, smooth cavern of striated blue stone and pale, sandy floors. The walls glisten with moisture, and a small pool sits on the eastern side of the chamber. All across the area, thick carpets of fungus blanket the stones.
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"Hey, don't go gettin' all pissy about a bit of an extra walk, I make ONE wrong turn all that way, I don't wanna hear none of it!" He stops his rant to no one in particular when the passages open up into a large cavern.
"See? This must be the place. Pretty poor maze I'd say so far." His eyes scan the room as he pulls out his axe and checks on his shield. "Best not take any chances eh? Any of you all know somethin' bout shrooms?" He points to the large flushes throughout the cavern. "I never took the time to learn em 'cept when Ma cooked 'em in stew or grilled 'em with some steaks." As he wipes the moisture forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Keep yer eyes open fer signs a big white cow moved through here!" He shouts as he moves along slowly looking for anything interesting. mostly being keeping his feet underneath him and thoughts of grilled mushrooms and steak.
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Khellek sends his dancing lights around the cavern looking at the rock formation and most especially at the fungus, trying to identify if it is dangerous or not.
He takes some care with his checks, not wanting his "charges" to get into trouble.
"I say, underground fungus. How curious. I wonder how it got here. Obviously feeds from the moisture in the pool. "
The scholar then sends his lights dancing over the pool, curious about whether from his vantage he can see into its depths.
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Farlen examines the fungus from a short distance shining the light from his coin on it.
"Glowing globs of glistening grime, does this fungus look harmless to you, Ironshanks?"
Farlen moves up to just behind Khellek. "How deep is that puddle over there?" examining as Khellek's light dances over the water.
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"Glowing globs of glistening grime, does this fungus look harmless to you, Ironshanks?"
Ironshanks shouts back at Farlen, slowly enunciating his words "Dinna I just say I dunno s@*+ 'bout shrooms 'cept they be tasty inna stew or grilt?" He shakes his head and mumbles something in Dwarven
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The cavern and the tunnel you entered through don't show any signs of tools or magic, but they also don't appear to have been formed solely by erosion.
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"Well my Dwarven connoisseur of the finest mushroom stews, perhaps you could use your keen Dwarven senses and knowledge of the underground to divine whether that pile of strange items like boots and a scabbard has any danger to us, or is just a future mushroom farm"
Hellena points to the pile in the corner and then draws her morningstar and readies her shield.
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Khellek looks at the fungi.
"They are not poisonous, but not ideal food for humanoids either. Unless you are hungry it may be best to avoid them. They are often used as food by other creatures. I wonder if we have stumbled onto somethings larder?" he muses.
Looking at the walls he adds "Interesting... these are not natural, but show no signs of tool use or obvious magic either.."
He thinks and then does a quick scan around the room with detect magic.
"Why Hellena, what sharp eyes you have. I'll be sure you get a mention in the write up!" smiles Khellek, taking the opportunity to look into her eyes and give her a sly grin.
He certainly directs his detect magic towards the pile of equipment.
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N small vermin
Immune mind-affecting effects
Round Surprise
Effects none
Khellek senses magic in the cavern, which could be coming from the trash pile. But as soon as Ironshanks steps toward the fungal patch, several large, glowing beetles erupt from the ground and attack.
The old man dances out of the way as two beetles try to bite him, while three of the creatures overwhelm Ironshanks. The stout dwarf defends himself well, but one attack gets through.