The Common House was already packed, and the sun had not even set behind the western Ring district of the Tarheel Promenade. Standing behind her voluminous bar, the bartender and her servers were barely able to keep up with the drink orders pouring in. Normally, this level of business meant that the leaders of the Freemen were going to be meeting to discuss matters of import in the Bottoms, but as far as you have been able to tell, nothing is on the docket for this evening.
Could this commotion still be caused by the death of Freeman Caramine? That was weeks ago!
Luckily for you, one of your companions from the Arcanist's Circle got here early and secured you a table in the corner, away from the most boisterous celebrants. You can almost have a decent conversation, especially if you can find a way for the bard two tables over to put away his lute, or move to a different place in the bar.
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Quintas checks his weapon, for a moment he thinks of going over to the bard and silencing him... but he doesn't want to attract any attention here and now. besides, he was not the type of person to deny other's pleasure... for long anyways. Quintas sighs... his black hair hid most of his face, his blueish skin, and read eyes. sure, here he wasn't discriminated against, but truly who would trust a teifling with anything. he looks to his companions and is relived he isn't the only oddball of the group...Just the most obvious.
Quintas orders a glass of wine before the waitress gets too far.
The waitress catches the tiefling's order. "White or red, Quintas?"
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Quintas frowns at the halfling. "So, you opt to give advice to the warrior, who is content with his choice? I am not hungry. And as you can hear, I'm trying to drown out the noise. A light buzz will do me good... even if I'd regret it later."
His tail flicks out and hangs out of the booth. It is like a lion's with long black hair on the tip, otherwise it is blue like the rest of Quintas.
As the door to the busy inn is closing after letting in more people a small earth colored creature slips in so that the spring on the closing door seems to send him in your direction. He seems to dart somewhat unnoticed through the crowd. The first thing you notice about Gnarl is how unnoticeable he is. He is average height for a gnome but dresses in more drab colors than most of his kind. And while not actually dirty there is a faint aura of dirt about him that seems to make it harder to see him. It vanishes as he climbs to a chair at your table. His feet dangle a good way from the floor and he looks you over. This the Arcanist's Circle table? He asks more loudly than he is comfortable with.
Noting the bard playing a couple tables away his brow furrows slightly and dust begins to gather on the lute so that it becomes air born when the strings are plucked. What is initially a minor issue becomes more of an issue as it continues.
The waitress heads back with the tiefling's wine, setting it on the table in front of him. She then looks at the new arrivals. "What about you, gentlemen? Something to wet the whistle?"
I'd love a good ale. Something earthy.
The waitress raises an eyebrow. "Earthy? I guess I could throw some dirt in the bottom of the mug."
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Making a face Gnarl responds No, no, no. I was hoping for a stout or at least something dark.
The waitress tussles the gnome's hair and smiles. "I know, Gnarl, I was only kidding you." She walks away to then fill his order.
I've heard some wizards use devil's blood to heal. Of course after you are healed with Devil's blood you are never the same. Likely you grow horns or the like.
The waitress returns with your drinks. "Here you go, chaps. Say, what is your opinion on the upcoming Rum Punch festival? You already got tickets for the insult contest? They're going fast if you want them."
The waitress winks at the tiefling. "Glad to see at least one of you has some sense about you."
Gnarl considers. In this town of strange humanoids where most everyone is larger than him he finds it somewhat terrifying to think about openly insulting people who might someday find him in a dark ally. I think it might be fun to go and watch. he adds.
"Whisky and water," Orwinnia says to the waitress taking drink orders as she lowers onto a stool around the table. "Hold the water. It's been one of those days already."
The waitress takes your orders and pockets Vigan's coin. "I'll get you that ticket right away, love."
"Damnit, Ana, how in the Nine Hells did I let you talk me into this in the first place?" Theodric grumbles to his former student as the pair heads toward the Common House.
Entering the Common House the cantankerous man sees the mass of patrons already present and simply groans.
Noticing those that had worked for the Arcanist's Circle in the past, Theodric heads for corner. "Alright, what do they want from us this time?"
"Oh come on, you old grump," says the younger woman cheekily as she tugs at his sleeve. "You know as well as I do that this kind of work is the best way to find new relics for study or collecting. C'mon - really - when's the last time someone came to your workshop with something really interesting?"
"Hmph..I guess it has been a while, but still..." he reluctantly concedes.
"Anything worth drinking in this place?"
The waitress brings the drinks that you ordered. She notices the new arrivals, arching an eyebrow.
"My, you guys just keep on multiplying like rabbits. What, are there more of you hiding under the table?"
Before you have a chance to respond, the door opens and a familiar figure steps into the Common House. Dressed in wizarding robes decorated with Thassilonian runes, the human known as Hoborth the Unready shakes off the rain that must have just begun to fall outside. A tall skinny man with long red hair, Hoborth has been trying to become a member of the Arcanist's Circle for years, but has never been able to pass the entrance exams. Unwilling to take no for an answer, Hoborth continued hanging around the wizards of the Circle until they finally began using him as a kind of unpaid assistant and messenger.
He quickly spots you and heads for your table, clearly on a mission from the masters.
"Worth drinking? Probably not," Orwinnia says, sipping the harsh liquor, inhaling through her teeth to lessen the burn. "Still, better than nothing, and the price is good."
Her eyes alight upon Hoborth as he enters the tavern, and a smile curls upon her lips. "I was wondering when you'd arrive, Hoborth. Must be important to the Circle to get all of us together. What's going down?"
"She's right, most of the beverages in here range from 'hideous' to 'dangerous'," says Anastasia.
"Dangerous might be the way to go...at least that would get me out of whatever the hell the Circle wants this time." Theodric grumbles.
Hoborth clears his throat and glares at all of you in an imperious manner before pulling over a chair from an empty table and sitting down. He carefully folds his robes on his lap, brushing off a few motes of non-existant dust.
"Well, well, well, seems that you are already in your cups. I hope that this will not interfere with the task I am about assign you."
"The Masters have a task. They are in desperate need of several arcane reagents for their ongoing experiments. A merchant named Piddlestiff, er, no Piddlestump. No that's not it. " Hoborth momentarily rummages through the deep pockets of his robe, finally finding a small piece of paper, which he holds up to his face to read.
"Pitkenstump. That's his name. Well, this merchant with the components was supposed to have set up his wagon in the Downmarket nearly a week ago, but so far no one has seen him."
He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and raises his hand, signaling for the waitress. "Find out what's happened to him."
"What are the reagents in question? Getting those might be just as easy if not easier than finding out what happened to some merchant. Lots of folks disappear from the Downmarket area." the pragmatic occultist asks.
Sensing that his opinion is not particularly popular, not an uncommon feeling, he relents. "Alright, alright. I suppose our first stop would be where he was supposed to set up shop. Anyone have any idea were Pimplestuff was coming from?"
"We'd best ask around the area in Downmarket," says Anastasia.
Hoborth shakes his head at Theodric's question. "No, these are specialty reagents that Pitkenstump had spent a long time procuring from foreign sources. They are not things that are commonly found in Kaer Maga. You folks might not be aware of this, even though the City of Strangers attracts people from all across Golarion, we're still at the edge of the map here in many ways."
"Reagents not commonly found in Kaer Maga? So, what, he's peddling innocence and selflessness? Whatever - if the Circle wants him found, I'll help you find him. What's the payout? I mean, if Pistledump got snatched by someone else for his components, then there'd better be coin to make up for the toes we'll be stepping on here."
"Now there's a grand question, Orwinnia." Theodric says with a nod.
"Just how much is it worth to the Circle to find Pumpernickel?"
"Yeah, and did Pumpelstiltskin have any known enemies?"
"Yeah, and did Pumpelstiltskin have any known enemies?"
Hoborth groans quietly, trying not to egg you on and make more bad puns on the trader's name. "I have been authorized to extend you each a line of credit of 100 sails for successfully producing PITKENSTUMP," he says, overemphasizing each syllable, " alive with his wares intact, 50 if you merely discover his current whereabouts without producing him alive and bodily with his wares intact. You are each obviously bound by the normal code of silence and non-competition that was part of the contract you signed with the Circle upon becoming members of the Outer Circle."
The wizard then pulls out a large parchment covered in small script, at the bottom of which is a space for each of you to sign. "Here is the standard contract which you'll need to sign. For those of you signed up for the Scry and Res program, please check the appropriate box and the funds will be taken from your payment."
"Oh, Pitkenstump! Why didn't you say so? Those terms sound fair to me. Tell the Circle I'm in - what about the rest of you?" Orwinnia glances through the paperwork and ticks off the Scry and Res box.
"You sure that the Circle isn't in league with Asmodeus or Abadar? Look at the length of that damned contract." Theodric grumbles as he signs on, checking the "Scry and Res" box.
"If they can handle my special needs, I can't imagine they'd have problems with you." Her lips part in a smile to Quintas, displaying her elongated canines to him.