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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.”
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Grimbli does not seem to mind the rain, letting it wash over him as he rides his white tiger, Fluffy, to the meeting spot Fluffy, on the other hand, looks positively ridiculous, with muddy paws and fur hanging heavy on his large frame. Still, he carries Grimbli through the streets of the city without complaint, with the understanding that he will exact some form of payment...or retribution.
Grimbli, however, is oblivious. "Oh, don't you worry, sir; we'll retrieve that package without any further delay!" Then, after a moment, he cocks his head to the side and gets a quizzical look on his face. "Well, perhaps a small one: I think we all know that these little errands hardly ever go as planned - I'm not being cynical, mind you, it's just seemed to be a pattern, recently - so it might be helpful to know what this parcel is, and who else might be looking for it? Not that we wouldn't go regardless, and I'm sure we will be perfectly capable of resolving any...erm...issues, but, still, if Fluffy and I are likely to be set upon, I'd like to give him some warning. He really doesn't like surprises - though, if you ask me, if that were the case, I'm sure he would have left me long ago. Wouldn't you agree?"
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Frost was half way to getting a coin out of her purse to give alms to the poor when she was surprised by Dregs good natured joke, she smiles broadly in response.
"When you say 'fine establishment' you don't really mean two copper piece bordello of ill repute or something?" Frost jests back, only half joking.
Yes, I would. I would agree. Dreng responds somewhat absent-mindedly, but this is just a trip to the Wisp.
Dreng whisks some water off his shoddy clothes, then responds to Frost's question For starters, it’s one of the most important establishments in the history of the Society. 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.”
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From the smelly drenched street filled of mist emerges a tall but lean man dressed in black cloth covering an armor. He hobbles along slowly, one of his leg seemingly stiff, unable to bend the knee. A grim look and furry eyebrows adorn his face, as well as a goatee and long black uncombed hair. As he limps after the mounted gnome, he leans on a longspear serving him as a makeshift walking stick. A scraggy black wolf walks alongside him. It is hard to say which one - of the master or the beast - is more famished and prone to lunge at someone's throat. Yet an aura of mystery and fascination surrounds this man, who simply introduces himself with a raspy voice.
"I am Skarn, and I hail from Ustalav."
Pondering the false beggar's words, he asks a question. "Does this bartender know we're coming? Are we to name you or to use a nickname?"
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A pleasant looking, yet thoroughly average, man appears out of the rain to join the group. Dressed in non-descript garb that seems to match everyone else's clothes, standing average height for a human and of a medium build, he is the sort of person you would never notice in a crowd. Heck, you might not notice him if he was standing alone in the middle of the street on a sunny day! And even if you did notice him, you would certainly never remember any detail about him, nor recognize him again unless you tried really hard...
"Well, let's get on with it then. Seems we're a group, now. Name's Henri, by the by. Pleased to meetcha!"
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A small gaunt creature huddles within the shadows of it's soaked cloak trying in vain to keep the rain out. Pulling his hood back just enough to reveal a dark gray Wayang face marked by raised geometric patterned scars as he grumbles "Blah, this rain is dreadful. It's worth getting out of the weather even for a little while and if the tavern is dark and seedy all the better. Call me Mogall. Where is this Wisp?"
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"The Wounded Whip?", half-orc's voice was booming, respites the downpour, which Nestezuk seemed to ignore: "But master Kreighton Shane said that everything started in Pig's Pauch."
He whispered: "And then they say only taldans adjust their history books..."
Massive figure didn't look as gentle archeologist, more like brute, that harassed archeologists and other weak children. With glaive in his hands and other weapons on his belt, Nestezuk was definitely added to group for it's connection to source of primal fury.
Just tell her I sent you. The Wisp is off the west end of the Foreign District. And, yes, Kreighton likes to claim it was the Pig's Pauch, but that's just because he like that place's ham sandwiches.
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. Nestezuk! Grimbli!
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Henri smiles as he enters the Wisp. 'My kind of place...' he says softly. He is about to head to the bar when the Halfling in the corner disrupts him. Henri stands halfway between the bar and the corner table where she waves enthusiastically at his party.
Shrugging, Henri heads to the bar. "I am a sniper, after all. No good providing overwatch if you're right on top of the package..." he mumbles. In a slightly louder voice, he orders an ale from the lady behind the bar, smiling his most charming rogue smile, and keeping an eye (and ear) on his comrades...
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In the midst of the Wounded Wisp, Skarn and his wolf companion don't seem so out-of-place. The lean man glares warily at the various people crowding the place before relaxing as he sits down at a table with his companions and orders an ale. The halfling calling his companions of course has him raise an eyebrow, but he remains silent, content in letting the events unfold.
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Nestezuk left his glaive and heavy backpack at the entry and entered inside. Since he was last to enter, he needed to push his friends around to reach and gently hug the halfling.
"Janira?!" Nestezuk looks a bit surprised, "Ooo-hoo! I thought you are somewhere away, doing your researches... Haven't you seen traces of that nasty minotaur again? I still owe him a nice knockout blow for what he done to you."
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Grimbli smiles at the sight of the halfling. "'ullo, Janira. How have you been? I am dreadfully sorry for not looking you up before now, but I've been horribly busy. Missions never seem to let up, really, just like this rain, eh? Dreadful weather, if you ask Fluffy, but I find it's somewhat refreshing."
Same old, same old, though I still bear that scar from the goring that minotaur gave me. What a fight that was.
Guys she says as she addresses the fresh group of pathfinders that is sitting at her table these are the adventurers that I was just talking about. Grumble, and Nestezuk were part of that group that helped me defeat that minotaur in the Kortos mountains. Sharon, Frost, Mogall and Henri are also recent initiates. I haven't had the honour to meet them yet... and she turns to the rain-soaked arrivals again Oh, where are my manners! Pleased to meet you, I'm Janira Gavin.
Henri and Skarn have no trouble ordering an ale from the bartender, who is addressed by other patrons as Heryn, and are able to find a free table.
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His stein of ale in hand and wiping the foam off his moustache, Skarn joins his companions in meeting the halfling. He nods respectfully and -to many's surprise- speaks in a quiet, amenable voice. Clearly behind his gruff looks, the man was taught proper manners, though it may have been a very long time ago.
"Greetings Janira. I am Skarn Moonbane, of Ustalav, also a young initiate among the Pathfinders. A pleasure to meet you. Do you often come to this place? What do you like so much about it, its history?"
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The small Wayang orders a dark ale, "Yes recently joined, it was the poster with the lovely description 'See the world! Experience other cultures! discover lost secretes! and Try not to get eaten!' " Mogall says half jokingly.
Introducing himself to Janira, "Just call me Mogall. Were you expecting our group or was it just a happy coincident that your friends happened by?" He tries to read the halflings intentions as she replies.
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After ordering his drink, and before going to join the others, Henri leans over the bar a bit and says softlt to Heryn, "Mistress, we are here for Drandle's package...he said to speak with you..." He then casually works his over to the group, and introduces himself to Janira.
"Greetings, Janira! I am Henri, a scout/sniper from the Silver Dragon Chapter of the ancient order of Adeptus Astartes. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He rests his ever-present shortbow against the wall, and arranges his cloak as he sits on a chair facing the group - and the room.
Henri asks Heryn about the package. Yes, Drengle's package. I'll bring you to the wine cellar to pick it up, once I have a moment to leave the bar. My replacement will be in soon, so if you just have a couple of minutes of patience? I see your friends have some acquaintances here, so make yourself at ease.
Over at Janira's table, the halfling bard responds to Frost's greeting by saying And may Desna's luck shine on you, then answers the more general questions with coincidence? No! It's been almost a year since your confirmation, hasn't it? Since then, I've been guiding more groups here. It's always great to get the chance to search for lost knowledge. Clearly, the group that's accompanying her is the latest group to move onto a Confirmation mission.
Janira and her group are not the only patrons of the wisp at this moment. Clearly recognisable in one corner are the Boartusk twins: a male and female half-orc, Garl, and Shrade "There's nothing an axe can't fix" Boartusk got field commissions when they saved the lives of some pathfinders in Lastwall, and they're now sharing a mug of ale with some other members of the society. Yargos Gill is in the room as well, as is Aram Bin Kaleel.
The other patron of interest may be less familiar faces to the society: The military historian Yargos Gill bears no direct affiliation with the Society. Despite this, Gill has often found himself wrapped up in the Society’s affairs and he has come to accept the Pathfinders as allies. The older man is sipping from an oversized flagon of ale while reading through a large and ominous- looking tome.
A devout inquisitor of Sarenrae, Aram bin Kaleel owns Kaleel’s Curiosities, a shop in the Coins district. At least once a month, Aram comes to the Wounded Wisp to chat with fellow Pathfinders, discussing matters of adventure and faith in equal measure.
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Frost pulls up a chair next to Aram and strikes up a conversation about faith, specifically the parallels and differences between Sarenrae's doctrine in preaching swift justice delivered by the scimitar's edge, and the righteous vengeance delivered by the grievously wronged as championed by Ragathiel.
She also strikes up conversation with the other occupants, drawing them into the conversation for their reflections - and eventually into small talk of the current state of affairs...
Diplomacy (Gather Info)
While I have no official affiliation with the Society, the do offer meaningful access to historical sources. Yargos explains, looking up from his arcane-looking tome. The scrolls, in particular, provide ample information of the kind I'm looking for, almost as good as the Archives of the Arcanamirium.
I assume you are enlisted under the glyph of the open road? If I may be so blunt to ask, what secrets have you been investigating recently?
Cargos Gill adds his own set of rumours. Have you heard, he says, that Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone? The Test of the Starstone if a legendary trial by which one might ascend to godhood.
Meanwhile, Frost strikes a conversation with Aram. Interesting you should say that. I believe you may be right, but I would know what your ideas are on balance. Do you rely on brawn alone, or do you let the favourable insight of brain enlighten your path. I believe the justice of Sarenrag also involves a carefully balanced scale, where one is exactly offset by the other.
Too many new Society members depend on individual force alone. A Pathfinder should stand on his own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed.
After some time, a replacement for Heryn shows up and takes over the bar. Heryn patiently wraps up her work, and looks to be ready to escort to the adventurers to the basement.
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Skarn takes some time to talk with Yargos Gill, finding the scholar's company pleasing.
"Yes, I belong to the Society though this is my first actual assignment. I've recently passed my Confirmation and since then have been itching to get some action. Kar-Skarn here shares my perspective, the moon compels us not to remain idle for long." he concludes, patting his wolf.
Kar-Skarn growls in assent, gnawing at a piece of raw meat tossed by his master.
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Meanwhile, Frost strikes a conversation with Aram. Interesting you should say that. I believe you may be right, but I would know what your ideas are on balance. Do you rely on brawn alone, or do you let the favourable insight of brain enlighten your path. I believe the justice of Sarenrag also involves a carefully balanced scale, where one is exactly offset by the other.
"Ragathiel is the General of righteous vengeance, and it would be easy for many to stop there - but He is also a champion of duty and chivalry - to only consider the vengeance aspect and ignore the temperance and wisdom gifted through the concepts of duty and chivalry would leave a person more akin to the demons we oppose - mindless destroyers simply appeasing our personal grudges...but I confess my learning is still developing, for I spend time leass as His theologian, and more as his Sword" she cuts off there, seeing work to be done, and thanks Aram for the talk.
Those are wise words, Frost. Goo luck in your travels. If you ever need any help, be sure to visit me in my shop in the Coins.
Heryn escort the adventurers down into the basement. The basement of the Wounded Wisp is a stonework affair, and Heryn explains that it has had its foundation strengthened following a significant donation by a Society member (Selmius Foster’s assistant Adolphus) only to suffer damage during the quake of 4698.
A set of wooden stairs descends from the main floor into this tightly packed storeroom. Barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes are pushed against the walls or under the stairs.
A door leads to the next room. Formerly a meeting room where the staff of the Wounded Wisp could converse or take time off between shifts, this chamber suffered significant damage during the earthquake of 4698 ar. Several fissures split the floor, leading down to an equally damaged section of the city’s sewer system. We had that plank - eh - installed after the quake. You'll have to be very careful, if you move too fast it might break and dump you into the pit below.
Finally, the last room holds the wine cellar, where Heryn points out Dreng's vintage wine. As soon as one of the party grabs the bottle, a panel slide away, revealing a room beyond.
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Henri looks around at the basement - there was a good hiding place...that looks like a particularly good vintage...and then the smell wafting up from the pit hit him! Looking around at some of the extra material, he decides to try and shore up the single wooden plank across the sewer.
Pleased with his efforts, he then strides across to the wine cellar itself, and is a bit surprised when the panel in the wall opens. "Another Pathfinder test, I imagine. Well - let's get the others and see where this leads, shall we?"
When all have arrived, Henri pulls out his bow, knocks an arrow, and prepares to enter. He looks at the group, then says, "Frost - would you like to take the lead today? After you, perhaps Nestezuk, then the pets - I hope the puppy and kitty play nice together - then our shorter colleagues, me, and Skarn. Unless anyone has another idea?"
[spoiler=GM rolls]
[/dice]
As Mogall and Henri moves forward into the opening, they hear an ominous chittering. It seems this forgotten room is not uninhabited, as vermin comes crawling out: three cave scorpions inhabit this place, and they look to be welcoming the new arrivals - as food!
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Mogal
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Scorpion
Scorpion
Scorpion
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Skarn
KarSkarn
Frost
Fluffy
Nestezuk
Henri
Grimbli
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Vermin indeed. One of the scorpions move forward to pinch Frost, while the two others stay behind in the relative darkness of the cave. The creature only manages to snap at the air.
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Mogall
Skarn
KarSkarn
Frost
Fluffy
Nestezuk
Henri
Grimbli
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Scorpion
Scorpion
Scorpion
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