It's always sunny in Absalom. There's always a sense of pride in the City at the Center of the World. But today, there are clouds on the horizon. Rumors of a threat, of an invasion, are in the air and you've been summoned by the Society to prepare. Prepare for war.
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An oread male soon enters the meeting room, a look of uncertainty on his face. Coming from a peaceful race this talk of war was quite unsettling to him, but still he knew Absalom was his home now. He would raise to the call to defend his home...to the death if needed.
"Greetings, I am Jyrrar. I have answered the call to defend this place...my home."
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Ja'Lael walks into the room, her hips swaying like they always do, though she never seems to notice.
Hi everyone! I'm Ja'Lael. Ja'Lael Ashenstone. Nice to meet you!
Her armor is ornate, and proudly bears the holy symbol of Shelyn on the chest. The only thing more fancy than her breastplate is the sash ober her shoulder, a deep crimson with gold trim. It's quite possible that any of the Pathfinders have seen her perform, dancing in the city, or in one of the temples of Shelyn.
As the beautiful woman is about to sit, she sees Garsita and let's out a small giggle.
You're a Shelynite too! I've seen you in the churches! How wonderful there will be two of us here to bring the beauty of Shelyn to Absalom!
She bolts up and moves closer to the woman, and sighs at her glaive.
It's beautiful! What's it's name?
Before Garsita has a chance to answer, Ja'Lael draws her rapier, the jeweled pommel catching the light and casting a crimson glow on the wall.
This is Ispa, the Harrower. It was given to me by the church, you know. Isn't it marvelously majestic?
She continues prattling on, and to the rest of the Pathfinders in the room, it quickly begins to feel like she'll never stop.
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“Pathfinders, our beloved Absalom faces the threat of invasion and needs our help. Just as Absalom has been our Society’s home for centuries, so does it fall to us to aid in its defense. Find the group to which you’ve been assigned, lend a hand as the city prepares for the siege, and be ready for more instructions.”
Hundreds of Pathfinders stand waiting at the Grand Lodge for news of the coming battle, and a murmur of anticipation has risen from the nervous crowd. Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus takes the lectern, raises his hand for attention, and speaks: “Pathfinders, thank you for answering my call. It has been two days since we received news of an army of demonic abominations building a siege castle in the Cairnlands north of Absalom. Today, the Grand Council of Absalom announced they have invoked an old wartime law, according to which a Siege Lord must be appointed to oversee the city’s defense. They’ve made an excellent choice: Wynsal Starborn, District Seat on the Grand Council and retired Captain of the First Guard.
“He has already organized scouting forays and evacuations of the outer towns in preparation for a siege. The Pathfinder Society has pledged to help the Siege Lord with the preparations. All of you have been assigned to teams, and if you have already found the other members of your team, you should get started. Go now, but be ready to return here when you hear the signal horn.”
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A half-elf, actually probably more like three quarter or more elf, sneaks in to the briefing, a bit late. She has a scorpion whip coiled at her hip, and a piercing stare that is probably a bit unsettling even when she smiles.
She falls in with this group. "Hi I'm Nyshka. In other circumstances I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you all, but for now, lets just say good luck."
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When the others arrive to their meeting with the Master of Swords and the rest of the collected company, they find a squat, hunched man of horrible countenance, with surgical scars running round his wrists, about his head and neck and nearly every other exposed part of his body. He is busily moving through the crowd with a tray of drinks and appetizers.
"Oh! Hello there. I am Igor. Make yourthelveth comfortable. Would anyone like thome tea? Coffee? Caketh?" He says, and smiles horribly, looking as if he were grimacing in pain. All this horror is however mitigated by the jaunty maid's bonnet, and frilly apron the man is wearing.
He hands Marcos Farabellus an aperitif, and delivers his report in a sort of spraying lisp.
"Thorry thir, but my talentth lay in the fieldth of chemistry, healthcare, electrical revivification, and theudothienthe, rather than thimple home improvement."
As he finishes the man pulls a towel out of the crook of his arm dries the near-side of the lectern.
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In the stooped man's wake there scuttles a halfling-sized aberration of some sort carrying another tray of appetizers in a lobster-like claw. It seems to be a crudely sewn together pastiche of every creature ever put in an bestiary as a sort of collected crib note of fauna-kind. If ever you needed a remembrance of some mammal, reptile, insect, or cephalopod you'd need only look at this thing for a hint.
Jyrrar decides to scout the enemy encampment outside the gates, but his approach is spotted and a hail of arrows is enough to discourage him to give up!
Garsita helps to set up defensive abjurative wards around the city gates, to protect them when the time comes!
Nyshka travels through the city, convincing stubborn citizens to heed the warning and head to emergency shelters. She's successful, which means
Igor works to repair a wagon that tipped over while carrying vital alchemical supplies, earning the appreciation of the wagon's owner.
Scraps, on Igor's orders, looks into the strange occurrences that have been springing up all over Absalom. He finds a skeletal footprint and a part of a broken sickle. Following the skeletal footprints, he notices that the supports of a bridge have been sabotaged!
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A tall, white ape wearing armor and equipped with weapons and adventuring gear--possibly a vanara that you have heard of working for the Society, although appearing much more like a gorilla--joins your group.
"Greetings," he says in perfectly pronounced Taldane. "I am the White Ape of Mwangi. It is my honor to defend this city."
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While patrolling the city, White Ape notices a shadow moving across the rooftop. He breaks away from his companions and leaps up the sides of two buildings that form an alley to gain access to the roof and gives chase.
Later, the unnaturally eloquent ape assists Nyshka in convincing citizens to leave their homes for safer shelter.
Circulating in his human guise, Sidi makes rounds through the taverns and other places where information collects.
The White Ape chases the spy across several rooftops before the spy's footing slips and they fall to the cobbles below! The spy falls to his death, but you find a symbol resembling a bull’s head branded on his skin. On his last breath, the spy says: “You’re no match for the demon-flesh army my liege commands!”
The enemy must be on alert, for even the mighty White Ape cannot penetrate their defenses!
Nyshka uses the White Ape's approach to her advantage, sneaking 'round the camp to get a good look at the invaders! She finds that the army consists of various kinds of creatures stitched together from demonic flesh: constructs, oozes, and undead. She also notices both that the army’s field commanders are all minotaurs and that there are true demons among the army’s ranks.
There's also USEFUL GOSSIP to be had!
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The enemy must be on alert, for even the mighty White Ape cannot penetrate their defenses!
"It'th alright Mathter, have thome tea. We can't all be thuperheroeth all the time." says Igor suddenly appearing behind White Ape. He has ditched his maid gear for his usually threadbare black servant's frock.
"Perhapth Mather would like to prowl the thity at night to learn the mood of itth populathe? You know I would go mythelf, but for my allergy to pitchforkth and tocheth. It ith a weakneth of the body that I one day hope to overcome thurgically. Imagine it Mathter--fireproof people. I jutht have to figure out were to thick the athbethtoth." Igor struggles mightily with that last word.
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Heavy clouds are gathering above Absalom, and the city is tense with anticipation of the coming battle. Suddenly, bright light patterns flash from atop Skyreach. A few minutes later, the sound of an explosion rumbles through the city as an old wooden granary erupts in flames. A little farther away, a stone bridge collapses, dropping a group of soldiers to their deaths. Soon the air is alive with frightened screams, the sound of hurried footsteps, and moments later, the booming blare of a brass horn that rises above the din of a city in chaos. A messenger runs past, shouting: “The horn! We should gather at the Grand Lodge! Let’s go!”
"You heard the man, Agents! Gather yer goods and get yer rear ends in gear! Hustle, hustle, hustle! This is war, you lazy novices!" A Venture Captain with crazy eyes and a wild look about him (not to mention a distinct body odor) shouts at you. "Mind you, don't save the orphanages. Can't trust them orphans. DON'T HAVE PARENTS, you KNOW!"
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Several agents assist in marshaling Pathfinders as Marcos Farabellus unfurls several maps of Absalom’s districts. Once a crowd has gathered, he straightens to address the gathered Society. “Pathfinders, Absalom is under attack. We have received many reports of undead saboteurs attacking armories, granaries, water supplies, and guard outposts—targeted strikes to undermine our city’s infrastructure. Absalom is losing key resources, and enough people are panicking that it’s difficult to organize an effective defense.”
Zarta Dralneen, head of the Dark Archive faction, steps forward and interjects. “I have learned someone—someone who knows our home well—has stolen the Black Echelon codebook from our archives. A force of Taldan agents attacked Absalom long ago while following those encoded orders, and with the right combination of illuminated signals, one could draw these oathsworn operatives from beyond the grave to continue their attack.”
Farabellus narrows his eyes. “That explains the acts of sabotage. Absalom’s First Guard is struggling to restore order, and they need our help. Pathfinders, stand by for instructions!”
Ollysta Zadrian of the Silver Crusade raises her sword high, announcing, “We should not wait—Absalom needs us now!” Clasping the paladin’s upraised hand with her own, Lady Gloriana Morilla adds, “Each of us has accumulated considerable influence and resources in recent years, and this is the prime opportunity for each of us to lend Absalom our strength in its our of need. We may call ourselves factions, but today we can act as one!”
Nodding with approval, Marcos Farabellus calls out to the assembled Pathfinders. “It’s decided. Pathfinders, we’re deferring to the specialized expertise of these seven organizations to rally Absalom. Seek out the leaders for instructions, and make the city proud.”
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"Excuse me," Jyrrar speaks up as he trails along behind the others, "Is this...joking part of the banter between comrades? Do you use this to help deal with the stresses of impending battle?'
"No though they do thay that laughter ith the betht medithine. I dithagree of courthe, becauthe any fool knowth that medithine ith the betht medithine."
"Undead--thuch a terrible wathte, burying perfectly good replathement partth." Igor shakes his head at the senseless waste.
Igor turns to the White Ape. "Mathter, what would you have your thervant do?"
You searching for Colson Maldris, but to no avail! However you are flagged down by a halfling, who introduces himself as Tamrin Credence!
“Looking for Maldris, are you? Me too. It seems the major’s been on hiatus for some time—worrisome, but hardly as dangerous as the army camped outside. What say we do a little good in the meantime?
“Siege Lord Wynsal Starborn signed an emergency mandate that says any slaves who volunteer to serve Absalom in the defense of the city will earn their freedom. A few messengers set out to take the proclamation to Misery Row. Turns out, no slaves have showed up to help move supplies and fight fires, and Absalom’s finest figured the spooky undead saboteurs must have had something to do with it. Just to be sure, the First Guard has deputized fine freedom-longing folk like us to look into it, guarantee the message reaches Misery Row, and ensure the slave masters don’t try any monkey business.” Tamrin Credence scoffs to ensure his feelings about slavers’ integrity are entirely clear. “You, my friends, get to be the ones to carry out this important task. Remember that bloodshed tends not to endear emancipators to bystanders, so avoid violence unless you have no other choice.”
The proclamation reads: "Siege Lord Wynsal Starborn has proclaimed that any slave who pledges his life and loyalty to defend Absalom in whatever capacity is fair and necessary shall be manumitted at the conclusion of the siege. Cast aside your chains and join us to defend our great city as brothers and sisters—as free citizens of Absalom!"
As you hustle toward Misery Row, you immediately spot a problem! A crowd has gathered around the body of a messenger, whose uniform identifies her as the messenger sent to deliver the offer of manumission!
You can investigate the scene, if you so choose!
Evidence (Equipment): Perception or Survival!
Evidence (Footprints):Perception or Survival!
Evidence (Injuries): Heal check!
Eyewitness 1: Yggwil (male dwarf expert)
Eyewitness 2: Marten (male young human commoner),
Eyewitness 3: Tamira (female human rogue)
Despite your best efforts, there's too much scuffling on the footprints, and they tell you nothing new.
Wymarc notices that the prints are all heavy and booted, probably made by people 200 lbs or heavier.
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Leaving the physical evidence for those with sharper eyes, he leans into his strengths. The White Ape turns his gaze toward the crowd around them. He steps towards one of the men and points an imposing finger at him. "You! What did you see? Did you see who killed this man?"
The White Ape interrogates the street urchin, whose eyes widen when he takes in the intimidating vigilante. He reveals that he saw three or four thugs beating up the woman and running toward the Slave Pits after they took something from the woman’s body.
Igor and his assistant examine the body and discover that the wounds are consistent with blunt force, and further examination reveals the messenger was killed by being pummeled by fists and the attackers probably didn't mean to kill her!