.
UUUuuunnngh....
Ok, that makes the table complete. I'll start as soon as i am home.
To the other two players that ive contacted: sorry for the mess. Ill probably start a second table soon.
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.”
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"That is all? Pick up your mail?! Why not hire a street urchin for a silver? A single boy could do such a job (depending on the size of the package). Why drown a half dozen Pathfinder Society members for such triviality?" The tall, fiery swordsman from Katapesh asks accusingly.
Perhaps age and rain has over-moistened the old man's mind. A wise man would have had the sense to go in.... And all this rain. Has this country no sun?
The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another.
Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.
Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
Mail? No, 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.
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Lini whispers to her companions. "Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles."
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 lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”— that hangs there during the evening hours.
A long wooden hallway is the entrance to the Wounded Wisp, and heads north into the building itself. The walls are covered in numerous decorations and trophies left by successful Pathfinders who’ve donated minor paraphernalia to the bar. A teenager half-elf works a coat check on the side of the hallway, for those who do not want to lug their equipment in. Coats and mantles hang on the racks, and various items lie scattered on the shelves: backpacks, bags, and even a large shield embossed with the face of a lion.
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.
The bar is staffed by a single woman, who is cleaning some glasses at the moment.
From a table in the corner, a halfling woman is waving enthusiastically. Abaal! Still enjoying the Absalom rain? Fancy seeing you here!
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Once under cover of the doorway, Abaal rings his head scarf and cloak out on the doorstep before handing them to the cloak room attendant.
Upon entering the main room he hears his name and turns to face his caller
"Janira?" The Sword of Katapesh is gobsmacked at first and glad to see that the Society had obviously thought enough of the feisty halfling to raise her from the dead after what looked like such a critical blow at the hands and horns of the minotaur they had encountered. "You look well!"
"So have you seen the butcher's boy, Essua Day, recently?"
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"I've heard of the place," the large Varisian says with a gravelly voice. Like everyone else, his clothes are soaked from the drizzle. Unlike most of the people around him, he takes little notice of the rain. "Haven't had much of a reason to go there until now, though. Wouldn't mind seeing the stomping grounds of Foster and Kline. Anyone know the way?"
After getting directions, Nikolai slaps and rubs his arms to dry off, giving the house the once-over. Old Sczarni habits die hard, and he looks for both security and marks, with a third priority being a spot near the hearth to warm up. "A friend of yours, Abaal?", asks the warrior, glancing over to the Halfling that addressed his companion.
At the halfling's table is a group of nervous-looking adventurers. Thank you! Yes, yes, of course, join us! Look, she waves her hand over the adventurers and then at Abaal, this is actually someone who was on that mission in the Kortos mounts! Saved my life too!
Abaal, these are the new initiates, they're just about to go through a Confirmation of their own. Isn't that exiting? I haven't seen Essua lately. Are these your friends? she says, looking at the others in the Wisp.
You look... familiar she says, looking at Jan, Westhall was it? ()
Janira and her group aren't the only guests here. There's a Keleshite man discussing matter of adventure and faith, there seems to be a lot of lively commotion surrounding two very similar-looking half-orcs, and a middle-aged man sipping from an oversized flagon of ale.
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"Good day. My name is Lini. Like many here, we come for stories and drink."
A forest gnome orders a cup of black tea and bowl of milk for an accompanying snow leopard.
"Keep alert Droogami. City folk often come to taverns to fight, but in the meantime you may rid this tavern of its rats. Your milk will ready when you return."
The small feline silently stalks around the bar searching for rodents.
Glaurung? the man in the corner looks up from his ale, then realises that Lini is not the famous seeker, You sure do look a lot like her.
The patrons look a bit distraught at the big cat roaming free, but let her continue undisturbed.
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"I'd hoped to warm myself by the fire," the swarthy Varisian says. "Still, there are other ways to warm yourself." He gestures to one of the wenches to send a flagon of ale his way. "The name is Nikolai Vancaskerkin, originally from Varisia, but I've spent the last three years here in Absalom training. I still haven't headed out for my Confirmation just yet, which is why I'm probably entrusted with such perilous assignments as 'scrub that floor until it shines' and 'fetch me a sandwich and be quick about it.'"
Janira blushes oh. I suppose that's only because I've been mentoring a lot of pathfinders lately. It's all ever I wanted to do really. Yes, we should definitely have a drink together, though I prefer some tea right now.
So mister Vancaskerkin, she says without flaw, but with strange pronunciation, are you here to scrub the floor or fetch a sandwich? she says, chuckling, seriously, on what mission did you come here?
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Once under cover of the doorway, Abaal rings his head scarf and cloak out on the doorstep before handing them to the cloak room attendant.
Upon entering the main room he hears his name and turns to face his caller
"Janira?" The Sword of Katapesh is gobsmacked at first and glad to see that the Society had obviously thought enough of the feisty halfling to raise her from the dead after what looked like such a critical blow at the hands and horns of the minotaur they had encountered. "You look well!"
"So have you seen the butcher's boy, Essua Day, recently?"
"Westhaven." he states simply, making sure his musket is loaded before leaving it strapped around his arm.
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"It seems that I am late to the party... my apologies"
Entering the wisp is a tall, red furred, kitsune with a bright blue headband. Shortly behind him is a large feline with fur as red as his masters, adorned with black stripes, and of course a matching blue bandana around his neck.
"Samuel Simons is the name... guide, explorer, and recently a Pathfinder." The fox turns towards his tiger companion with a slight flick of the head "That's Soft-Paw, found him in the Mwangi Jungle one day. We matched so nicely, he started following me around, hasnt left my side since."
Samuel grabs a chair at the table and spins it around to sit in it backwards facing the table. He emits a slow whistle and Soft-Paw responds by coming to rest directly behind his chair facing the door.
"So it seems the old crazy eye-browed Venture Captain needs us to pick up a package?"
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Nikolai is slightly taken by surprise as a bipedal fox sits at their table. "Talking fox people," he says under his breath. "And I thought Kaer Maga was strange." He shakes his head, snapping back to what Janira said. "Samuel has the gist of it. We're here to pick up something for Drang. On my personal scale of vital missions for the Society, it falls somewhere between floors and sandwiches."
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Nikolai is slightly taken by surprise as a bipedal fox sits at their table. "Talking fox people," he says under his breath. "And I thought Kaer Maga was strange." He shakes his head, snapping back to what Janira said. "Samuel has the gist of it. We're here to pick up something for Drang. On my personal scale of vital missions for the Society, it falls somewhere between floors and sandwiches."
"I've seen stranger things in the mana wastes. Magical undead, possessed constructs and much worse." Jan points out, not being too surprised by this.
Well, if Drang asked for it, it is probably important. It can be a bit hard to see through his motivations sometimes, but he's never left me wanting for an interesting mission Janira says.
Ah, of course. I'll gladly help you, the barwoman says, but I need to wait a bit for my replacement to step in. Let me serve you a drink on the house. I saw that you've already met Janira, but we've got many faithful customers. Have you met Yargos Gill? The boar tusk twins?
He's over there the woman says, pointing at the middle-aged man behind the flagon of ale. He's an historian, a scholar of sorts.
The twins, she says, pointing to two other patrons are a lot rowdier than Yargos. If you want a good story of battle, or if you want to brag about your own exploits, I'd go to them. Always good fun, those two.
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As everyone leaves to go speak with the barkeep, Nikolai nods to Janira. "Good to meet you," he says simply, getting up from the table. "I'm sure we'll run into each other again."
As he follows everyone to the bar, he takes his flagon of ale and begins drinking it in large gulps. It's not particularly strong, nor is it particularly good, but it does the job. He listens to the barkeep, and shrugs his shoulders as she describes the other patrons. "If one of you wants to speak to this Gill, be my guest. That ain't my wheelhouse. I got these guys." He heads towards the table with the half-orcs, and looks at an empty spot on the bench. "Got room for a third, gents?"
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An historian? Well then... A bit of an historian, himself, Gustav perks up and carries his drink to Yargos's table.
Heryn tells me you study history, the mustachioed man begins. Do you mind if I join you? Gustav talks about mundane history for a while before steering the conversation toward darker, more arcane happenings throughout time. If he can direct their talk far enough, he compares notes about Tar-Baphon's lesser-known background.
Abaal and Nikolai join the entertainment that the boar tusk twins offer ...and then I smooshed him with my mallet. Boy, did he look better without teeth! Har-har! the twins, Garl and Shrade, are telling big stories to whoever wants to hear them. You two, haven't seen you before. Fought any good battles lately?
Over at Gustav's table, Yargos is considerably more silent, though quite interested in Gustav's knowledge on Tar-Baphon. Dangerous knowledge, but I suppose you know what you're doing, he says, I heard the Arcaminiarum has developed powerful wards against divine evil.That's what they told me, I've got good contacts there.
The colleague of the barman arrives, and the lady herself winks to Gustav that she has time to escort the group into the cellar now.
