It is mid-morning when the messenger approaches you. "Venture-Captain Dreng requests your presence - please convene in meeting room 12." Even those of you who are still Initiates undergoing final training have heard of Drandle Dreng before. Stories of his midnight summons, and the convoluted adventures which spring from them, have attained near-mythic status in the Society. The idea that he has summoned you to a meeting during regular working hours strikes you as... odd. Perhaps it is due to your junior status within the organization.
As you head through the gates of the Grand Lodge, you cannot help but be impressed by the Society's home base. The imposing tower of Skyreach dominates the view, its upper levels supposedly where the masked Decemvirate charts the organization's course. Training areas, classrooms, and residences dot the rest of the campus, but your eye is drawn towards a lush forest growing against the western wall. Within those centuries-old trees stands the Wall of Names - the place where fallen Pathfinders are memorialized. It is perhaps telling that the wall was built on such a scale, and even after four hundred years, there is still plenty of blank space on the wall for incautious Pathfinders.
Arriving at Skyreach, you are ushered in to a well-appointed meeting room to wait for the Venture-Captain.
|
A half-orc or rather quarter walks in after having been through what seems like a long day, and looks more human than orcish, but some can still make out his ancestry, at least his physical body ancestry anyway, as far as his soul, that is another story altogether. He walks over to the western wall honoring the names of fallen heroes. Do I have to die in combat to be on here, or can I die of natural causes after having fought for years and still get on here?
@ Mordack: One of the others standing by the wall, a tall elven woman, answers your question. "This is for those lost in the line of duty - often it is the only memorial for them, if they never return."
|
|
One would think that after surviving enough missions for the Society we would get more than a small plaque. Says a rich voice from the shadows of the tall trees. Stepping out of the shadows is a tall man with a shaved head. He is dressed very simply and carries very little save for a ragged looting satchel and a well worn quarterstaff. He approaches slowly and gives everyone a respectful nod as he joins the group.
|
"Such a cold, distant thing... little solace for those left behind." mumbles the frail-looking elf. His hand lingers a moment against the monolith, his scholarly tunic looking out of place under his second-hand leather armor. "I um... I'm Philonous. Are you also here to meet with a Mr. Dreng? We probably shouldn't keep him waiting."
You move on to the Grand Lodge itself, where you are informed that Venture-Captain Dreng has not yet returned, but has asked you to meet him outside the tavern called the Grog Pit. You are asked to come ready to work for the next several hours, and informed that you won't be leaving the city, so long-distance travelling provisions aren't necessary.
It is raining as you leave the Grand Lodge, and the downpour worsens as you head towards the Docks district.
As you arrive on the street leading to the Grog Pit, one of Absalom's ubiquitous beggars approaches. Filthy and smelling slightly of overripe cabbage, the old man shuffles towards you. "Spare a coin, gentle folk?" he asks, with a twinkle in his eye that belies the rest of his appearance. The beggar then pulls back his filthy hair, and you see that it is actually Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng.
“Sorry about my little joke,” he says with a wink. “I always like to see who's paying attention when I see agents in the field. 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.
@Mordack: "The Wounded Wisp is one of the most important establishments in he history of the Society. the place where the Pathfinder Society was formed. From those old walls, the first Pathfinders met to discuss their adventures across Golarion. Back then they weren't even called Pathfinders! Nowadays the bar is almost an official Pathfinder saloon, where agents of all varieties go to meet and share tales."
@Davius: "Well... now, don't judge, but the package is a bottle of wine. Despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. I have been working my way through the Wisp's prodigious wine cellar in chronological order, and this undercover work chills me to the bone. Something to light a fire in my belly will help me keep my edge in this blasted rain! Besides, it helps to complete the disguise! No one would begrudge a poor old beggar his jar of wine!" He shrugs. "As for problems... there shouldn't be any, but of course, a Pathfinder must always be alert to danger, and opportunity!"
|
|
"Well, it's not a great adventure, but then, it's only my first. Mr. Dreng, we will get you your bottle of wine!" Philonous promises with all the enthusiasm he can muster. He accepts the map. "Erm, say, for what ought we ask when we arrive at the Wounded Wisp? I don't want to give you away by specifying for whom the package is intended. And uh... well, I'm embarrassed to say, but I don't think I could aff- it's just, is it... paid for?" Philonous asks uncomfortably.
"Oh, you needn't worry about paying for it - I have a standing arrangement with the proprietor, Heryn Gale. Ask for her and tell her you're there to pick up a package for me. She'll know what you mean."
To Davius: "Brighten up, boy - it won't be the first time you play errand boy, given the circles you run in!"
|
|
Philonous stops halfway down the street and calls cheerfully back to the group, "Are you all just going to stand there agreeing, or shall we get get out of this torrential downpour that today composes the firmament?" It seems the novelty of being a soaking wet pathfinder in uncomfortable armor has not yet faded for him.
You head towards the tavern as the rain continues to fall.
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 from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a glowing lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”.
This long entrance hall heads north into the building itself. The walls are covered in numerous decorations and trophies left by successful Pathfinders who have donated minor paraphernalia to 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. Scattered throughout are a dozen or more patrons, in various states of intoxication.
There's a woman behind the bar, pouring drinks and filling a large tray with mugs of ale. She hurries out to the common area, drops off the drinks, and rushes back to the bar to fill more.
You all recognize a few people in the bar as well-known Pathfinders. In the far corner, the wizard Ezren relaxes with a group of others who you have seen around the Grand Lodge before. Standing at the bar is the elven rogue Merisiel, trying to ignore the dwarf chatting her up. A halfling woman sits at the table nearest the door, frantically writing in a battered journal. A man and woman in traditional Qadiran robes quietly sip wine at another table; you recognize the woman as the Sarenite priestess Kyra, and the man as a Pathfinder of some status.
Philonius and Davius: The woman looks up between pours and nods. "Yeah, be right with you... grab a seat, it may be a while before I can take you down to the wine cellar. First one's free, what'll you have?"
Mordack: The halfling woman looks up from her book and sizes you up, not at all intimidated by your towering . "Hi, Mordack! I'm Janira - I'm not writing a book, well, it is in a book, but it's not a novel or anything - I just need to write down my ideas when they come, because sometimes they disappear like rainbows after a storm and I might never think of them again! You never know which ideas are the really important ones - maybe the most important one of your life comes and goes and you don't catch it and hold on to it... that would be terrible!" she gushes, drawing an audible breath at the end of her statement. After a deep breath, she continues without stopping. "I'm a Pathfinder - you know what those are, right? - and I'm studying an old cave with some writings I found. It's all to do with ancient Azlant and Aroden... very mysterious, but I love mysteries! I guess that's why I joined the Pathfinders. "
|
|
With a final shudder, Philonous begins to look less frozen, though he's still soaking wet. He looks over at the dwarf who is making a pass at the cute elf at the bar. "I'll have what he's having!" he scoffs, a bit too loudly. As Philounous gestures toward the dwarf, he unwittingly sends a small cascade of chilly rain-water from his sleeve onto the dwarf's beard and eyebrow.
The bartender pours you your drinks and then rushes off with another tray.
Philonous: the dwarf sputters and spits as the cold water hits him, and turns to face you. "D'y'mind, boy, I'm a mite busy here," he states, flicking his eyes back towards the elven woman, who is in the process of rolling her eyes. "Why don't you shove off and dry off by a fire somewhere?"
Mordack: Janira eagerly flips back in her Journal, and starts to show you various drawings she has recovered from a cave on the coast. She seems to have copied lots of drawings, and then made several times as many versions with her own interpretations on them - she seems to think out loud in her journal, so to speak.
Noname: The Qadiran man gives you a friendly nod and waves you over to his table "Greetings, my friend. I am Aram bin Kaleel. If I am not mistaken we share a common employer?" He lifts the sleeve of his robe slightly, and among the tattoos on his arm you see the Glyph of the Open Road. "Pray, join me, and we can share a tale or two."
Davius: There are free tables on the map; help yourself!
|
|
Philonous looks around and tries collect his bearings, sorting through the change in location, the admonishment, and the flurry of questions. He is a bit late in joining Darius' conversation, but does so with earnest spirit. "A guard, huh? I bet you've got lots of interesting anecdotes from such an exciting profession. I worked with my parents in a funeral home. We arranged for burial of the dead and saw to the emotional and spiritual needs of the living. Not much exciting happens in that line of work."
Philonous glances around, avoiding eye contact with the dwarf, "Now these people, they have stories. Do you recognize anyone? I wonder if they have any tips on... what is the verb form of 'Pathfinder' I wonder"
|
|
The tall man nods at the Qadiran Stories are very powerful thing it is kind of you to share them with a stranger.[b] He follows the man to the table with the cleric. [b]Greetings. Your friend was kind enough to ask me to join you and share our stories. Tales are all I have now, I come from far away and left all that I was behind.
Philonous and Davius leave the dwarf behind and head to an empty table. As you sit and chat, you notice a pair of half-orcs seated at a table across the room watching you. They don't seem to have hostile intent, more curiosity or perhaps humor. As your eyes meet the female lifts her drink in salute to you, and then mimes having a long dwarvish beard and crosses her eyes. Apparently she witnessed Philonous' brief altercation with the dwarf and was amused.
Noname: Aram introduces his table-mate, Kyra, and tells you a little about his experiences in the Pathfinder Society. He refers to Venture-Captains you have never met, and you sense that much of his experience occurred in days past. He seems to have entered semi-retirement, and runs a shop in the Coins district called "Kaleel's Curiosities".
Morcack: Janira continues unabated, breathlessly sharing her research and every thought and tangent that occurs to her, filling pages of her journal as she speaks.
Some time passes. Aram and Kyra excuse themselves and leave, although Aram ensures that Noname knows where his shop is, if he needs anything.
Finally, a half-orc woman rushes in, adjusting the straps on her apron, and moves to help Heryn at the bar. Heryn spends a few moments berating her late server before heading over to you.
"Finally! Sorry about the wait, it is hard to find good help these days," she shrugs with a glance back at the half-orc. "Dreng's 'package' is down in the wine cellar. Follow me."
Heryn leads you down a corridor behind the bar and through the kitchen to a set of stairs. Pausing at the top to light a lantern, she unlocks the door and heads down the stairs. The cellar area is full of barrels, spare tables and chairs, and other stored goods. The walls are flagged with stone, but there are significant cracks running through them, and some areas have been braced with wooden beams of relatively recent construction.
"Mind you step," Heryn warns. "The big quake of '98 did some damage, so there are loose stones and such. I'll get around to fixing it, one day..."
She opens another door and leads you into a large open room. A broad fissure in the stone floor spans the room, with a stout wooden plank laying across it as a makeshift bridge. The fissure seems to have broken down into a disused sewer pipe, dry by dirty, about ten feet down. Across the fissure, you can see a larger open space which seems to be at a lower level, with the tops of wine racks just visible.
"Wine cellar is down the stairs over there," Heryn says. "I'm sure none of you are scared of heights?" she gestures to the plank bridge. "as long as you take it slow, you should be fine. I'll wait here for your return."
|
|
"Scared of heights? That'd be... uh- frivolous. Right?" Philolous reaches into the side pocket of his bag and pulls out a sun rod. He unties a bit of twine from around a scrap of brown butcher's paper sheathing the gilded tip and strikes the sunrod smartly on the back of his boot. Holding the slim shaft of the sunrod over his head he cautiously approaches the make-shift bridge. He scrutinizes the planks warily. "Say... which uh- which bottle is for Mr. Dreng, again?"
Heryn replies, "Venture-Captain Dreng's next bottle would be the Egoran Red, 4655 vintage. Should be on the back wall somewhere."
Mordack slowly crosses the plank bridge, and makes it across. Noname also crosses successfully, although the plank creaks with his weight.