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A dour, balding, wide-shouldered dwarf sits at the table, a massive axe strapped to his back over his scale mail. He grimaces at his mug and stares at the far wall as if trying to glare it away. Those nearby can hear the words he mumbles, while those further away hear only a deep rumbling sound, like deep voices speaking in another room. Be all day waiting for this lot, I will.
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A tengu with brown plummage for most of it's body save a skull of white feathers accented with black ones walks on in and finds a seat, not being too picky about where she sits. A bastard sword rides over her shoulder, neatly ensconced between her buckler and her lamellar leather armor.
She doesn't take anyone's seat as she does that, though.
"Welp, this is going to be interesting."
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Callan Domhnal the half-orc is a menacing sight. Standing at 6'1 and 270 lbs. of twisted steel and 'angergy', his outwardly human appearance is sharply offset by his full-on orcish demeanor. He is clad in a pit-fighter's hide armor and is armed with a wicked great axe, a stout composite short bow and his trusty dagger 'nail.' It was with this implement of death that Callan recorded his first kill at the ripe old age of six.
"...." , the barbarian says nothing and stands stoically, with the iron discipline learned from thousands of lashes.
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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Callan, seemingly indifferent to the rain, crooks his head and says to no one in particular on his distinct baratone, "We are to fetch the man a package from a tavern? At least we get to go to a tavern..."
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When the man first approaches and asks for coin, Hennet's hand immediately goes to his coinpurse.
Of course, si-- Oh, Captian Dreng!
The halfling lets out a hearty laugh and replaces his coin.
Well, at least you were convincing, I thought for sure you were some poor soul in need of shelter from this storm.
He lets the man explain his reason for summoning the group, and then smiles.
Sounds easy enough. I'd be happy to help out.
The halfling then looks around at his companions and gives Dreng a quizzical look.
Though, if it's just a simple package, why this many people to retrieve it?
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A small gnome, his white hair partially covered by a hood waits in the rain with the others. Several pouches and pockets dot his attire as he keeps a quarter staff close by.
Upon seeing the stranger approach and ask for coin, he begins to reach for a few, but his eyes continue to watch seeming to sense a trick about. But as the Captain reveals himself, the gnome relaxes and listens to the request.
So you just need a packaged retrieved?
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The burly half-orc, dressed in understated brown robes, taps his quarter staff on the street and smiles broadly. "Ah, Master Dreng! Another fine example of why one must look below the surface when judging a man."
Valjoen listens to the Venture Captain's request, then nods in agreement. "Happy to help, sir."
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"Grandmother Crow bless you, dear. Sadly, that is most all I can offer right -- OH! I see."
The cleric will look around a bit sheepishly and her feathers flatten a bit, hoping she didn't endanger the fellow who hasn't the sense to stay out of the rain's cover.
She keeps an eye out in the drizzle for anyone else that may be paying attention to the group, and considers. Instead of thinking about the history of the area, she's more concerned about more current events.
"Well, as I don't have coin to spare, if helping you via service will do then I'll be doing it. Bless you, child."
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.
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"Ah, the Wounded Wisp. I know it well, as you all should, being a part of the Society. My stories, and indeed many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles were recorded by the original founders of the Pathfinders under the tavern's roof. Selmius Foster, one of the founding members of the Society, was known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. If I recall correctly, his celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Chronicles.
I'm sure we'll see many other Pathfindrs at the Wisp... perhaps even some of the famous of our members like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey.
It will be a pleasure to run an errand there for you, Captain."
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"Well, if we are six then lead on kinsman. You seem to have the most knowledge of the Wisp" Callan says to Valjoen.
"It will be nice to see this famous establishment, sample its wares, and lay eyes on the competition that resides within the society there... oh and complete this task for the good Captain."
Callan's obviously forced smile exposes his lower teeth and the garish holes where his dislodged trademark orc tusks used to be.
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. There's a halfling woman talking to a group of nervous-looking adventurers. 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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Hennet strides directly to the bar, after a quick look around at the people with him, and speaking quickly.
Well, he said he wasn't going to be here long, so...the sooner the better?
He approaches the bar with a huge smile, and bright eyes.
Lady Heryn? I am Hennet, Hennet Starstrike, though, my friends call me Lucky. I'm here to pick up a package for Venture Captain Dreng?
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Callan strides up next to Lucky at the bar, an almost comical example of opposites to the eye. "While you attend to my friend's request, I'll have what he's having.'" as he motions to the middle-aged man with the flagging of ale.
A few silver are removed from a poutch on his belt and cast upon the bartop, then the barbarian looks around the room, listening intently for any conversation or item that has intrest.
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The child of Grandmother Crow makes her way on over by the Keleshite fellow to see which faith he's talking about, and what sort of adventure.
Life itself is an adventure, isn't it?
While keeping an eye out for her coin purse she'll also attempt to determine which deity of Golarion this fellow is extolling the virtues of...
Ah, Dreng sends for his wine sample? I'll be down with you in the cellar in a minute, but I have to wait for someone to replace me. Meanwhile, and she looks at the two half-orcs one-upping each other why don't you all have a drink on me? You might take the time to talk with some of the patrons. Janira Gavix is here, have you ever met her?
You might also enjoy talking to the boartusk twins, you two, she nods at the Valjoen and Callan, or if you enjoy more scholarly company, Yargos Gill or Aram bin Kaleel.
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"Ahhh... err... ahem... My thanks, mmm'lady?" the half-orc stammers.
The emboldened and brash former gladiator seems briefly taken aback by the kind gesture. He retrieves his two silver but leaves the last coin he threw, a slug of copper, as a gratuity for Heryn.
He takes his ale and ambles over to the Boartusk's table and grumbles, "What's the rules at this table? Lies, un-truths, exaggerations or all of the above?!"
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Hennet takes his mug with a smile.
And a toast to you, Lady Heryn! Your generosity and support of our organization will be the stuff of legends!
He takes a pull, and then does as Heryn suggested and goes off to speak with Janira.
Lady Janira! It's a pleasure to finally meet a legend such as yourself. Tell me, what advice or tales have you for a fellow pathfinder?
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Guntir grunts and takes his ale to sit with the middle-aged man. "Name's Guntir." He knocks back some of the ale. "Clan Mithralfist."
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All of them! the twins cheerfully say to Callan, you look like you don't need 'em though, strong feller like you?
Ah, yeah, join us as well, the other says invitingly to Valjoen, us is just back from the gloomspires. Gotta tell you, that place gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Yeah, and Garl here, he ain't just green from the outside. Nope, boat-rides and Garl don't mix.
Shut up, Shrade!
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Janira waves enthusiastically at Zar, Zar, over here! she says. I was just telling this group the story about our adventure in the Kortos mounts. They're just about to start their own confirmation you know.
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Andrietta approaches Aram bin Kaleel, Greetings, he says, are you having some time off between missions?
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Gunter then introduces himself to Yargos Gill. Well met, Mithralfist. Your name, does your clan hail from the Five Peaks?
Good to meet you as well. Janira says to Hennet, My advice? Master Farabellus always told me to carry a piece of rope. How did he say it a again... A rope in time... Anyway, always carry a piece of rope.
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"Technically? We're 'on the clock', but have to hold up a bit as we're waiting for someone. Heard you discussing faith and adventuring and figured I'd poke my beak in, try and get a feel of what the wisdom you've discovered was about?"
Andrietta will quietly display the carefully carved wooden symbol of Grandmother Crow -- Andoletta -- A hand wreathed in actual black feathers, perhaps the best of her own worn ones holding a willow staff.
"Grandmother Crow would say that as long as there is some good in a person, there is hope for a person to be redeemed. While she's also considered a keen eye for justice, I personally hold more to her protective and nurturing nature, and draw strength from her ability to see the good in almost anyone, and protect them."
The tengu will pause for a moment.
"But I was coming over to see what you were talking about, rather than blather about my own beliefs?"