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“Thank you for joining me here, Pathfinders,” the milky-eyed venture captain shouts. “Absalom has a long and illustrious history, and today we add a little more to that ongoing record. The esteemed councilor Hadrel Grayrain of Diobel recently passed away, leaving a vacancy on Absalom’s Grand Council. We’re still many months away from the annual inauguration of councilors, and with numerous acts pertaining to Diobel on the schedule, the vassal city is eager to get a new representative. In fact, with Absalom’s assistance, Diobel’s Kortos Consortium has co-bankrolled a festival spread across much of the Foreign Quarter. Ostensibly, this is an occasion to honor the deceased and welcome his replacement. Virtually everyone also sees this as a chance to advertise and earn some new business.”
Drandle Dreng clears his throat and shrugs. “Well, the Society is no exception. We’ve already chipped in some gold to help this be a success, and in doing so we’ve received numerous invitations to the more exclusive events. With our recent work in Mendev, we’ve earned considerable goodwill. This is a good opportunity to consolidate those gains by seeing and being seen by the upper crust—as well as hobnobbing
with the common people.”
He chuckles and gives the crowd a smile. “All at the Society’s expense! Have a good time, keep an ear out for interesting leads, and represent the Society well!”
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Peran is a lithe brown furred ratfolk who scratches vigorously behind his left ear as he listens to Dreng.
He pauses for a moment to look up and sniff at Conlaoch, who's feet he is almost standing on before going back to scratching, all the while dropping dandriff on Conlaoch's boots before responding to the man in slightly broken common.
"Oh... that doesn't sound good at all, this sounds like drinking time though. First introductions though. I am Peran from Jalmeray."
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"I'm happy to say the adventure I just returned from worked out extraordinarily well, Replies a small, well-dressed wizard with ultraviolet eyes set like gems in a pointed, blue, doll-like face beneath a mane of hair that somehow appears at once utterly black and purest white. "It could more easily not have. The Worldwound is only for demons and madmen - have you ever seen a massive demon shrug of spells and tear a mighty Paladin's arm out of it's socket, only to succumb to the firm voice of a man who looks and generally speaks more like a saloon patron than a master mentalist, who singlehandedly convinces this most terrifying demon you've ever seen to go home and take a nap?"
"Oh. And I am Sihir Aneh Yang Mengembara Alam Semesta, originally of the Wandering Isles - though as a charity to sun-dried tongues, I accept 'Sihir Aneh' as sufficient."
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Strolling in at a slow, deliberate pace, the pile of bronze clockwork with a gnome inside of it makes it into the room just as the VC begins his briefing. Her armor is rife with scorch marks and heat damage, though it looks as if even those imperfections have been polished significantly for the occasion.
"Sorry I am late," she says in a flat voice, more a greeting than an apology. "The inability of my not-yet-perfected quicksilver solvent to remove the damage to bronze caused by nitric acid is now proven though so we can focus on the next objective."
"Diri Lizzenbettolze," she tacks on abruptly, an afterthought. "If you would like to see my most current research on the similarities between all manners of various ways the humanoid body can absorb physical trauma I have complied a reasonably presentable introduction," she says, setting a 17 page pamphlet written in shorthand on the desk. Its title reads "The Lizzenbettolze: A Unifying Unit for Which to Measure Impact; An Abstract."
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A man arrives to join the party, walking in a strange pattern, as if he were not the one in command of his own body. He wears long robes colored in many different reds and purple. His head turns suddenly to look at you but his eyes are empty, as if his gaze was lost in the void. He says with a mechanical, almost frightening, voice. "Greetings. I. Am. Shambala. Pleasure. To. Meet. You."
Tilting his head sideways in a bizarre angle, he looks at Dreng leaving. "Are. We. Here. To. Have. Fun?"
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Peran steps over to Diri and sniffs her closely, then sniffs the pamphlet and then goes back to sniffing Diri.
Diri smells of soot and polish and crude oil. Her hair is recently washed, but the hint of singed ends can still be faintly perceived.
Diri makes a few notes in an already cluttered journal about 'ratfolk greetings' and upon realizing her social faux pas, politely sniffs back.
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"Ah, a pleasure to meet you too." He looks over at the ratfolk, then notices the wayfinder and smiles. "Wonderful to see the society's recruitment efforts go far and wide. If you'd all come this way into the Grand Lodge, drinks are on the house. This evening there will be a Commemorative Service remembering Grayrain and all of his accomplishments. Tomorrow afternoon will be the Preinaugural Feast so the High Council can stuff their bellies in preparation for a day of deliberation. If any of you have any statements to make to aid in the selection of Grayrain's successor, they'll be hearing arguments on their day of deliberation. If not, I know many folk here plan to use that time to make more... private negotiations. On noon following the deliberations, the inauguration will commence. I'm sure you wont want to miss it! Enjoy the festivities pathfinders!" With that, Drandle takes his leave and heads into the Grand Lodge.
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A short but well dressed halfling puffs up.
"Did someone say hobnobbing at the Soceities expense! Could me in!"
His eyes are merry and he is dressed rather well. From his sun tanned skin it would appear he has spent quite some time in the desert of late.
"Who are the possible successors?" he asks, curious.
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A middle-aged woman overhearing your conversation approaches politely and says as she follows you into the Grand Lodge.
"A few have submitted their names for consideration, including Bellonna Trask of Diobel, Grint Basatrel who was Grayrain's aide... Alvalda Margruel of the Kortos Consortium... I'm sure more will pop out of the woodwork as deliberation day approaches. Perhaps even I will seek the position? I am Lady Darchana of House Madinani, Archdean of the Arcanamirium. And you might be?"
She flags down a member of the staff and is brought a glass of wine which she begins to sip slowly.
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Diri looks up to Lady Darchana, a flash of recognition readily apparent. "It is good to see that you are doing well Lady Archdean since the-" Diri cuts off abruptly, recalling that it wasn't supposed to be particularly public knowledge. Picking up as if nothing was said at all, she introduces herself with practiced rote precision, "Diri Lizzenbettolze, currently of Absalom, Pathfinder Society Scrolls."
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"Well well, I'm sure many here would be more than happy to chat about that, but with all of the wild speculation I hear..."
She lowers her voice and leans in before continuing. "I suspect they are just using the topic as an excuse to hob-nob with potential business partners, or make their name known to their superiors."
She smiles and raises her voice back to its usual volume. "There are certainly many qualified nobles and diplomats here who would be capable of filling the seat, however many of them have their own positions to concern themselves with and are unlikely to seek the position. In fact, many of the guests here that are held in high regard seem to be... distracted by personal matters, even during this event. I would not expect them to be seeking a seat on the high council."
There are many other familiar faces in the festivities, including Grand Ambassador Dremdhet Salhar, who represents Osirion's interests in Absolom, Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin, and Lady Gloriana Morilla and Ollysta Zadrian who are both well known for their role in the charge against the demons of the Worldwound.
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Peran mostly ignores the social opportunities, instead looking to sniff and then eat as many interesting and exotic foods as he can.
Looking over at Sihir though Peran's eyes finally perk up and he finishes scarfing down the fine piece of cheese in his mouth and turns to Sihir and whispers
"Where?"
Peran's eyesight is clearly less than superb.
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Suppose there's a chance that the new councilor will relax the Absalom tariffs on gunpowder- -or maybe at least saltpeter- -then the optimal result of this party would be to ingratiate oneself to said candidate, Diri thinks to herself, subconsciously running a finger along the most recent explosion damage to her armor.
She asks no one in particular, "to what confidence interval do we know which candidate has the optimal probability of garnering the necessary support to find their candidacy successful at this time?" Diri hails a glass of wine, takes a half-sip, and returns the glass, keeping the napkin on which to take notes.
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Right behind Bulgo stands the man who presented himself as Shambala. Not having spoken since then and ignoring lady Darchana, he waited this opportunity.
"Grand. Ambassador. It. is. indeed. an. honor. What. do. you. expect. to. happen. today?" he says, bowing with an impossible angle, as if his body was a puppet.
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"I am well this evening. The organizers of this gathering have been a great help for such a trying event. It is never an easy task to fill a vacancy on the high council, and the Pathfinder Society is certainly doing their part to make things run smoothly. It has been a trying time for me these last couple of years without my usual advisers, but those problems seem to have abated as of late. It gladdens me to see representatives of Osirion continue to make a name for themselves in the Pathfinder Society. For all of my disagreements with them over the last two years, events like this show that even with a few missteps, we still all have common goals. As for what I expect to happen today..." He lifts a glass of wine, then takes a long drink from it. "I expect to relax and enjoy the company of my esteemed colleagues. No official business will begin until tomorrow and a gathering such as this is a great way to put nerves and tempers at ease before engaging in such delicate work. In fact... what a suprise!" He turns and smiles broadly as he spots Amenopheus, the Sapphire sage, approaching.
Amenopheus nods at all of you, singling a few of you out. "Bulgo, Shambala, Sihir, it is great to see you today. I have much to discuss with my old friend here, but it pleases me to see you all again. If you'll excuse us, I think I owe Dremdhet some news about our recent findings. As for you, keep up your great work, and keep your eyes out for any Osirion treasures on your journeys. It is always a good thing when the work of the Pathfinder Society and our work for Osirion prove to be mutually beneficial."
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A woman, apparently a merchant of sorts approaches you a few minutes later. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation earlier, and I think I might have something you're interested in." She fishes a small amulet out of his bag and shows it to you. It is a silver amulet that depicts a scarab with feathered wings spread in flight. "It's for sale for 25 gold."
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"Ok, so reading isn't high on my list of fun activities, but my father insisted that my sister and I be educated in some ways. I recognize that symbol. As I recall, it is that of an Osirian family that disappeared nearly two millennia ago!"
Conlaoch goes on, in a quieter voice. As I recall, the family fled Osirion to Absalom to escape Qadiran occupying forces. Not sure why I remember that, but I guess I always take note when there is an oppressor in the story..."
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Sihir returns from fetching one of the salt-baked sea-serpent strips, which treatment and culinary artistry have twisted into a long, savory helix.
"*These,* Peran-" He starts before recognizing the remarkable amulet for himself. "Oh. Oh my. Back to Osirion it shall have to be, then...!"
He crunches into one end of his treat. Several of the world's most extraordinary places he has been, each with their terrors and rewards, but it had to be said that his experiences in the deep deserts of Osirion had left a...rather special mark on him.
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The peddler looks at Bulgo. "Of course I can't reveal my associates, but if you are in the market for more of such trinkets let me know. I'll be around." She packs up her bag and begins to move about the party, possibly looking for more buyers.
Amenopheus is still speaking to the Osirion Ambassador, however upon being shown the amulet, you have his full attention.
“It’s infuriating that others continually violate the sanctity of our dead and the treasures of our people, as if our ancestors were simply corpses with no rights.” Calming slightly he continues, “Someone has either found the hidden tomb or decided to make a clever forgery, but I suspect the former. The city has its hands full with current events, and this is a job better suited to trained explorers. I shall reimburse you for the amulet. I ask that you find the tomb, place the amulet back where it came from, and reseal the vault so that no one else disturbs it. So long as you do not take any of its contents, one might take this as an opportunity to study a rare form of Osirian burial.”
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The possibility of observing firsthand burial techniques lost to time breaks Diri out of a bit of reverie.
"While the dissemination of knowledge is its own reward I too am willing to allow you to contribute to the forwarding of open discourse and can provide monetary compensation as well," Diri offers.
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She looks at Diri, looks back at Bulgo, and thinks. "Well, perhaps you would be interested in purchasing some of my merchandise. You and your crew would certainly look wonderful wearing these bracelets on your journey. There are 6 of you I see here... that would bring the price to... oh... 33gp per bracelet. With a sale like this maybe I could take a few days off. I would certainly have to find a new supplier after my vacation but that shouldn't be too difficult."
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"Whoa whoa... I don't mean to get on the wrong side of you guys... I'm just trying to keep my business moving. I'll admit I thought he was shady myself so I had a few urchins track him the other day. His name is Voinraig. He purchased bright green chalk and slipped into the sewers below the Petals District before emerging with a small bag that jingled like coins. The sewers have recently been undergoing repairs and expansion as of late."