Dot in here.
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An extremely pale man, who looks as if he should be young but carries the scars and wrinkles of a man twice his age, enters. He wears a dark cloak with dark hood, and carries a wickedly-sharp scythe. He looks almost like the Grim Reaper incarnate.
Around his neck is a poorly-concealed holy symbol of the well-known and well-despised goddess Urgathoa.
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Smelling of chemicals and smoke, a gnome enters the meeting room with a scowl.
Dressed in well-worn adventuring gear, speckled here and there with small chemical burns and soot stains, he glares around the room, before shrinking back into a corner, as if trying to disappear. The attempt at going unnoticed is hindered somewhat, however, by a small flame that seems to flicker nervously into and out of existence almost subconsciously in one hand.
He doesn't say anything at first, except to mutter his name, Milo.
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A massive half-orc bearing a mask of metal springs from the nether, a two-handed curved Tian blade in hand. His body is scarred on many places, and tattoos of various designs cover his muscular limbs and chest - these tattoos even seem to glow in the relative darkness of the place. A massive jaw roars like thunder, fangs ready to chew off ears!
"Tharkan will gut our enemies like squealing pigs! FOR LUSTY ZARTA!" he screams.
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"Not food, exactly, my friend. Most people find my lady's gifts to be... unappealing, especially around mealtime. They do not understand the blissful feeling of weakness to the point of near-death, however. I have experienced death twice now, and my goddess has deigned to send me back to continue her holy mission, to spread the beauties of decay and undeath throughout the land."
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A moderate hight Kellid man walks in, wearing a black leathery armor that seems unusually tough, and carrying a dull grey bardiche. A functional bow is strapped to his back, as is a fine nodachi. On his belt is an untarnished silver warhammer, and a decent dagger. Scars criss-cross his arms and body, as if he has seen more than his share of combat.
"Name's Trask. I ain't a hero, so don't expect me to act like one. You know what a hero is, right? A hero is someone who dies for their cause, and I ain't about dyin'."
He looks at Balon, puzzled for a moment. "You ain't one of those necromancers, is ye? 'Cause I don't treat with no undead. Just got out of Oppara, where me and some other blokes had to put down an uprisin' of undead. Some fool wanted to over-run the city with 'Accidental Death' or something."
Back to the group. "I don't make no secret of my association with the Silver Crusade. As I said, I ain't a hero, but sometimes up in the Worldwound stuff has to get done that the Paladins and other heroes just can't bring themselves to do. That's where I come in. I do what those heroes can't. Don't ask me, and I won't have to tell you.
"Oh, in combat, I use The Executioner, here," he says, indicating the bardiche. "Sometimes the things we fight have nasty weapons, or are armored to the gills. So, sometimes I just break their weapons and armor. Don't worry about gettin' in my way, I can just swing over you. Or through you. I've dealt with enough fools to make sure I can do that."
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A petite young girl in leather clothes enters the room, a beautiful decorated Scimitar at her side. Bowing left and right she smiles a dazzling smile till she sees the holy symbol of Balon, wich makes her pale. Listening to the male slayers words she just nods vigorously.
"Hello, I was asked to show up here. My name is Wu, but everyone calls me Dailung.... well I am decent with my blade. And a-never-give-up."
A brisk breeze carries the scent of the sea up to the Pathfinder Society’s lodge in Katheer, the capital of Qadira. The lodge’s shaded balcony gives a panoramic view of Katheer’s harbor, revealing hundreds of ships moored in the busy port, lateenrigged merchant dhows and the bright-sailed warships that protect Qadira’s shipping.
“Thank you for getting here so soon,” the nasal voice of Venture-Captain Osretia Cassomiran calls from within. She is a tall, gray-haired woman of Azlanti lineage, and she rifles through papers as she speaks from inside her office. “Have you met the groom, Farendir Faireven? He’s quite bright, especially for someone from the River Kingdoms.”
Venture-Captain Cassomiran’s quest continues fruitlessly as she searches a sagging bookshelf. “The bride’s quite a catch, too; called the Lady of Silver for her father’s wealth. It’s certainly a coup for young Faireven.”
Clambering beneath her desk, Osretia’s voice is muffled by stacked texts. “Anyway, during the wedding feast, the girl’s father, Master Bashir Al-Mudaris, plans to donate several valuable relics to the Pathfinder Society. Clearly, Master Bashir wants to promote his new son-in-law’s status in the Society. That’s where you come in: we need you to escort these antiques to Absalom.”
Suddenly, the Venture-Captain shouts, She places several elegantly scripted invitations on the disheveled desk. “You do have something decent to wear for the wedding, do you not? You’re going to represent the Society, and we certainly can’t afford any embarrassments.”
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"Ah, weddings. Such a strange concept. I do understand the combining of two powerful families into one, I suppose, but the idea of tethering yourself to a single being other than your deity for the rest of your days seems... less than ideal. As far as what to wear, I have dress robes for such an occasion, and I can make more of an effort to hide the symbol of my order, since the uninformed may find it... distasteful."
Balon pulls out a set of finer robes trimmed in silver and deep blue, showing them to the Venture Captain.
Noticing Balon's holy symbol, VC Cassomiran says: "I believe the couple will be married in the church of Sarenrae. So, yes, while the Society respects your beliefs, you may not want to ...ah... advertise them during the ceremony."
Hundreds of guests crowded the temple of Sarenrae this morning while prosperous merchants and courtiers strutted in silken finery and scholars and clergy nodded gravely, clad in sober robes. Scores of servants and grooms waited outside as the High Priest of Sarenrae intoned the couple’s vows.
Afterward, the newlyweds led their guests to the splendidly decorated courtyard of Master Bashir’s estate for the wedding feast. Young men whirled through an ancient sword-dance to the frenzied pounding of doumbeks, their blades clashing louder as the song’s tempo increased. Servant girls brought forth a dazzling array of dishes and iced sekanjabin drinks, as daring snake charmers mesmerized a dozen lethal asps.
After the feast, challenges rang out across the courtyard. Warriors swaggered forth, clad only in loincloths and swinging cudgels, to battle atop a bed of red-hot coals.
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Balon will approach the high priest, showing deep deference to him.
"Excuse me, sir. I am Balon. I am part of the Pathfinder Society's delegation at this blessed occasion. I was hoping you could tell me a bit about the bride and groom? Not gossip, of course, but about their relationship and personalities. I'm sure you must've spoken to them about their nuptuals and their relationship before this night? I hate to sound cynical, but is there love there, or is this simply a so-called 'win-win' for the families?"
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"I already have my fancy dress purchased. Needed it for the opera in Opara. It was horrendous. "
Trask makes his way to meet the bridegroom. Assuming he can speak with him without her, "Sir, I am Hamilton Trask, and we come from the same land, The River Kingdoms. I left Thornkeep a few years ago when the pathfinders were making their way to the Worldwound en masse, and I soon joined up them after that. Perhaps we could discuss our experiences in our sometimes lawless homeland, and what may be done about it?"
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Milo shows up wearing much the same as he was the day before. Simple tunic and pants, though perhaps tidied up a little bit... the chemical and smoke smells seem to be gone, and any holes mended, but still not at all matching the dress of the other guests.
He scowls unhappily as he produces his invitation, ignoring any looks and dodging to get out of the way of the far larger guests.
"Granny a titch, ya fawney gobs." He mutters under his breath.
He glances around trying to determine where the food is, then does his best to disappear.
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"Any potential rivals of the lady. And any third parties maybe interested in securing the items from us? Any special... traditions, like hijacking of the bride, a drinking game... or other wedding games? Any chance you can find us suitable ... gifts?"
She will buy a bottle of parfume and a bottle of scotch each around 25gp as presents.
Using her sleeves of many garments Dailung appears to the party with a ravashing tien emerald silk dress. Carring he trusted saber at the side.
After watching a while she will first wait on a chance to congratulate the bride and groom, later mingeling with the crowd.
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After arriving Rufus quickly locates the food table but moves to talk with Master Bashir first. Business before pleasure.
Master Bashi, I am Rufus Tealeaf of the Pathfinder Socity. Congratulations on this day, there have never been a party as cheerful as this one and your daughter is the most beautiful bride of the Inner Sea. He says with a deep bow. I understand you have something for me and my associates, just let us know when the time is right for pick it up.
"Oh, as I understand it, the bride had many suitors, although I couldn't name anyone in particular. You would have to ask the family about that. I've not heard of any particular interest in the artifacts, but they are valuable, and as such warrant the security you will provide. I'm not completely familiar with all the wedding rituals in this area, either. You will just have to investigate those on your own. As to wearing armor and weapons to the event, that is acceptable, assuming they meet the fit and polish required of a formal occasion. Many of the other male guests will be wearing weapons, primarily of a ceremonial fashion."
Balon finds the elder high priest Halman near the food tables. Having been the center of attention during the ceremony, he seems content to blend into the crowd and let the happy family take the spotlight now. He returns Balon's greeting. At his questioning, Halman raises a quizzical eyebrow: "Have you not spoken with them yourself? I'm sure some of the lady's other suitors pursued her as part of a business arrangement. But these two, they are very much in love. Although, I do wish the groom had chosen a more suitable gift for his bride…” No amount of coaxing gets him to reveal any more details about the gift.
Hamilton is not able to get the groom alone without his bride. Today they are joined at the hip (and often at the lip). The best he is able to do is talk with Faredir while Lujine is talking with another guest. ”Thank you very much for coming today. Oh, the River Kingdoms? Yes, I’ve not been there in years. What is that, my sweet?” He turns back to his bride, who whispers in his hear in a conspiratorial manner. They both burst into giggles, and she gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. Noticing Hamilton still standing there, he says:”Enjoy the party. Give my best to the Venture Captains back in Absalom.” before turning back to his bride and the other guests.
Milo is easily able to blend into the background. Most of the conversations revolve either around admiration for the bride and groom, or miscellaneous business dealings among the various merchants in attendance.
Rufus approaches Master Bashir al-Mudaris, an aged trader leaning on a gnarled cane. He clearly seems to be enjoying the festivities. At the halfling’s praise, his eyes light up and a big smile comes over his face. ”Thank you very much for your kind words. I’m glad some of Faredir’s associates were able to attend today. As for the gifts to the Society, all in due time. Meanwhile, eat, drink and make merry!”
Tharkan is welcomed by the warriors to the contest on the hot coals. He is told to strip down to his loincloth and given a club. At the referee’s signal, they all move onto the bed of hot coals and begin circling each other.
One warrior manages to land a lucky blow, knocking his opponent out, even as he is blinded by a sudden puff of smoke in the face. Two others land simultaneous blows, taking each other out of the contest. The final warrior swings at Tharkan, but the half-orc is able to duck the blow.
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To the priest: "Ah, young love. I believe I will go speak to them and see their admiration of each other for myself, thank you. May the gods bless this day." Balon says, careful not to mention WHICH gods he would have bless the occasion.
He then will sidle up to the new bride and groom. "Hello there, my young friends. I am called Balon, and wish to congratulate you on your nuptuals. I wish you a wonderful life together. The priest spoke so fondly of you." He will look over the bride for this gift that was given to her by her groom, in the case that it was jewelery or finery of another type. If he doesn't see it, he'll ask "So, my dear boy, I'm to understand that nuptuals such as this require a gift from the groomsbride to the groom? What item did you give your lovely new wife? I ask in the hopes that I might meet such a beautiful young lady from this part of Golarion myself, and would then know what may be an appropriate gift to woo her!"
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Milo, pleased that he's managed to avoid any sort of social obligations, and having no interest in men fighting for sport on hot coals, will see if he can't find where these relics are stored and check them out ahead of time, while everyone is distracted by the scene.
He'll have detect magic up and look around. He'll just take a 10 on Perception (for a 20) as he's being somewhat casual about it[/ooc]
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Trask wonders if this was the sort of mission he was doomed to be on now, and what he did to earn the wrath of the Decemverite. He notices Tharkan on the coals, and shakes his head. Why would someone subject himself to that by choice. Combat was never something Trask entered lightly. He'd rather The Executioner would remain in its sheath as much as possible. Except if he sees undead... or demons. Both had earned his wrath.
He then makes his way to Master Bashir Al-Mudaris. He offers the man a handshake, remembers what he heard others saying, and then says, "Congratulations on the wonderful event. I am sure that you are quite proud of your new son-in-law. I hear he is, like me, a Pathfinder from the River Kingdoms? We come from hearty stock up there.
"Also, I would to thank you for your donations to the Society. I shall do everything in my power to make sure they arrive safely."
As the warriors battle on their bed of hot coals, extravagant gifts and displays amaze the crowd. A pair of white elephants from distant Vudra, two dozen silken-haired dromedaries, robes of precious silk, and other treasures appear, each more exotic than the last. Cloth-draped wagons promise additional wonders.
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Balon looks over the bride for any sign of a special gift, but nothing in particular stands out to him. When he asks about the gift, the groom’s eyes light up, and a mischievous smile crosses his face. ”Ah, yes, I actually found the source material in a dusty back corner of the library at the Grand Lodge, in Absalom. I think the Master of Spells, Aram Zey, hid it there for his own use. I spent all night trying to finish it up. Here, take a look.” The young man leans close to the priest, and pulls a small book out of his tunic pocket. As Balon pages through it, he sees that the left hand side of each open page is written in Elvish, with the corresponding translation in Common on the right. Upon closer study, Balon realizes this is a collection risqué poems. ”Let me read you a couple. I just want to be sure I got the meter right… There once was an elf from Nantucket, Who….”
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Milo is able to avoid attention and examine some of the items that will be exchanged later today. Several shrouded wagons sit near the courtyards’ entrances, carrying creatures intended as gifts for various notables. Most of these exotic beasts are harmless: Keleshite peacocks, massive speckled turtles from the Mwangi Expanse, and the like. One wagon’s inhabitants are anything but harmless: a trio of Thuvian lions, intended for the Satrap’s menagerie.
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Hamilton greets the father of the bride, who returns the slayer’s firm handshake with one of equal rigidity. The man is direct and forthright. He is proud of his new son-in-law, and wants to help the boy get ahead within the Society. ”I’ve grown so tired of the machinations, manipulations, and outright greed of the other merchants. But I want to make sure my daughter is well cared for before I sell out, and retire. Speaking of selling out, let me introduce you to one of the likely candidates for that opportunity.” He signals to a tall, dark-skinned merchant talking with a group of Osirian traders.
As the man approaches Hamilton, and any of the others who may be involved in the conversation, a look of recognition crosses his features. ”You must be some of the Pathfinders Master Bashir invited. I am so pleased to meet you. I am Al’Jahar abu-Targos. You may have heard of my uncle, Venture Captain Targos min-Katheer? No? He passed away a few years ago. I met the team of Pathfinders who escorted his remains back to Katheer. In particular, I remember a delightful young man named Bevek. I am sure he is a very important man in your organization these days. Perhaps you know him? Ah, well, the Pathfinders are a large group. But I consider you all friends. If there is anything I can do for you while you are in Katheer, do not hesitate to ask.”
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Tharkan is able to knock his opponent out of the contest, leaving only himself and one other warrior left. They circle each other a moment before the warrior lunges at Tharkan.
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Milo stays well away from the lions, not sure why someone would want one as a gift, much less three.
Then again, he wasn't sure why someone would want a peacock either, unless it was for eating... and chickens seemed far easier to come by.
He mutters a few choice words about what he thinks of the rich and affluent.
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Balon listens to a few poems with feigned interest, before politely existing himself from the young couple, congratulating them once more on their marriage. He then proceeds to inspect the menagerie for anything that seems odd or extra dangerous.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Initiative:
The only thing Dailung is able to figure out is that the couple is very much in love, doting upon each other to an almost sickening degree.
As Milo is moving past the wagons, he notices a guard standing near the wagon of lions sweating profusely in the heat and staring nervously at any passing guests.
Before he can do anything about it, a cheer goes up from the crowd. With a quick duck and a nimble feint, Tharkan manages to knock the last warrior off the bed of coals, winning the contest! A group of guests crowds around him, offering their congratulations and admiration.
Suddenly, a terrifying roar echoes across the courtyard as enraged lions rush forth from an opened wagon. Cries of distress and alarm arise from every corner of the wedding reception as terrified guests flee before the onslaught of the lions. Bedlam breaks out in the courtyard as the angry beasts panic the camels and elephants tethered there. A handful of panicky guards desperately fend off the lions as hundreds flee, jamming the exits.
Round 1
1st: Dailung
2nd: Elephant
3rd: Balon, Tharkan, Milo, Hamilton, Rufus
4th: Lions