Explorers of the Inner Sea


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Zareby Grenache
It's a sight almost like a carnival, or a city in miniature. Small homes of modest construction sit at the base of a hill with a multitude of tents sticken around them without any real rhyme or reason and lording over the entire chaotic mess, silhouetted against the Inner Sea, is what must be Lady Vestang's country house. Even from a distance it's a fine old house, though you've certainly seen finer in Oppara and other ports. A large stone wall separates the villa from the rest of the hamlet around it and from the beaten track you can see that there is a courtyard within, full of perfectly arranged trees and bushes: a welcome change from the monotony of the southern Taldor scrubland. The house behind is a stately two-story structure with just about anything a rich person might want: a balcony, big columns and of course lots of windows with brand new panes of glass.

It's a welcome sight after your long trip south. You've been jostled in the back of carts, driven off the road like cattle by passing upper-crust types and too rarely welcomed to a trader or beast-tamer's campfire to trade gossip and pass the evening hours. Just from what you've seen on the trip, this should be some sort of shindig.

It all began in the back room of a gambling den in Oppara. Lady luck was kind for a short run and the bloke you were betting against hadn't realized that his fortunes had deserted him. Finally, just when you thought he was ready to call it quits, he throws a letter on the table. It's got a seal, nice paper, looks like a party invitation addressed to some woman named Viviana Albercroft. Didn't seem like it was worth a stake, but then he told you all about this party and how much some folk might be willing to pay for such a thing. It sounded like a good time, anyhow, so you let him play for it. Shortly after you won the last hand, you found a fence for the invite and used the money to pay for your passage south.

So here you are, standing outside the Lady's hamlet with the dust of the road on your boots and most of your winnings dried up. Various porters and teamsters run left and right as harried servants pitch big, luxurious tents for their masters. Camels pull carts covered in tarps smelling of all kinds of exotic animals. You see a permanent structure called The Dancing Tabi (likely an inn by the look of it) and a big tent nearby with a sign outside painted to resemble a mask. A guard near the town gate look over the crush of incoming party-goers with tired disinterest. He's the only one you can see.


Male Human Sorcerer 1

Zareby watches the chaos around him with a smile on his face. "What to do, what to do..." He sighs and takes a copper from his coinpurse and holds it up in the light. "Heads, I go right to the party. Tails, I take a look in the tent with the mask sign first." The coin flips through the air before being grabbed again.

"The tent it is." Zareby makes his way through the crowd over to the tent...

Liberty's Edge

Male Mothman Expert 5

Just marking the thread.


Just marking this thread


Adelaine Harthos, a week before the masquerade.
While enjoying a glass of wine at The Gilded Lion in Canal Row you can't help but lose yourself in the overbearing bubble of conversation amid the various members of the Unbearded. Merchants discuss recent trouble in shipping lanes or brag about their most recent ventures while officers of the Taldan Phalanx compare conquests, military or otherwise. The familiar cut, thrust and parry of Taldane conversation fills your ears in a dizzying display of petty one-upmanship and casual insults.

You're just thinking of going somewhere more quiet when the serving girl comes to your table and places before you a bottle of Cheliax's bloodiest red, a fresh glass and a bulky, sealed envelope with only "Addy" written on it.

"This is compliments of the gentleman at the bar, miss....", she turns to point him out, only to come up short. "Well, he was right there. I suppose he's just shy. Enjoy."

The serving girl nods and walks off toward the table of officers, who are holding aloft their tankards and already voicing their preferences for the next round.


Malatar and William, six days before the masquerade.
Selas Quent is barely moved into his new digs as Venture Captain and the place is already a mess. Stacks and boxes of reports and artifacts sit waiting for his review, junk and priceless treasure sitting on equal footing for perhaps the only time before his word one way or the other sends them along. He sits with his shaven head bowed over a thick sheaf of papers, making the occasional notation with a quill as a he remarks to himself. The window is propped open halfway, allowing the street sounds of the Foreign Quarter in to the small office.

"Oh, really, Borador, thirty rust monsters? This is more far-fetched than your report on the Lascivious Naga Queen..."

He looks up for a moment to see you both in the doorway and motions you in with a wave of his hand. There are two chairs before his desk, but one holds a vase carved with a half-broken image of a winged demon-man locked in combat with a winged, pregnant hyena woman. The other holds another stack of dispatches, weighed down with a cage. You can barely make out the large iridescent beetle within. At least it explains the sickly sweet odor and why the window is open.

"Hullo, gentlemen.", says Quent,"I hope you're gettin' on all right in Absalom, Malatar. Amazing city, truly, though the Grand Lodge's rooms aren't the finest around, eh?"
(It's true; you've slept in tree trunks larger than the little cell they gave you when you came aboard. But it's free and clean and that's something.)

Selas leans back in his chair and fishes a letter out of his pocket, looks it over and slides it across the desk so you can see it.

"Got this a little while after we got back from Numeria: an invitation to a masquerade held by the Lady Ashinana Vestang of Taldor. And look at this: it's being held to "Celebrate the recent acquisition of antiquities rare and magnificent". Normally, I'd likely go myself just for the wine, if not the company, but there's a lot for me to get a handle on as you can see."
He motions to the vast mess crammed into the office.
"So, I thought, why let an opportunity like this pass? I'd like the two of you to go in my stead, take a good look at what she has and see if you can get an idea of where it came from and if its worth a damn, maybe figure if there's any more out there.. And besides, Will, it's a chance to get your nose out of a book for a little while and get a little dust on your boots. With Mal at your back, shouldn't be any trouble. Real peach of a first assignment. So what do you say?"

Silas and Marten tomorrow.


Malatar stands, looking about the room with some interest … particularly at the more valuable looking artifacts. He’s a tall man, broad shouldered and grizzled. Years of fighting, marching under the hot sun, digging about in the mud and generally leading an active life have left him fit but prematurely aged – he looks closer to forty than thirty. The crooked nose, old scar across his face and several day’s stubble on his chin don’t help improve his looks much

He turns his attention back to Quent at the mention of his lodgings and gives a slight shrug, one eyebrow raised, causing the wrinkles in his brow to deepen. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “And it’s certainly an impressive burg.” Which is probably the understatement of the century when describing the grand and ancient city of Absalom, centre of the world.

He leans forward to pick up the invitation, reads it slowly for a moment, rubbing one large hand across the short stubble atop his recently shaved head – better to disguise the rapidly receding hairline – then passes the card over to his scholarly companion. It certainly does seem like a peach of an assignment – wine, women and song at some decadent noblewoman’s manor. Not bad. Even if it does sound like he’ll need to wear some ridiculous mask and babysit one of the Society’s researchers.

He doesn’t know William very well – come across him a time or two before in association with Quent. At first impression, the young man comes across as a bit … scholarly, a bit socially inept, but not a bad sort. Mal has been around long enough to figure he can handle the situation.

“Sounds fine. That get both of us into this shindig?” he asks, addressing Quent but nodding at the invitation that Will now holds.


Female Half-elf Rogue 1

“Thank you,” Adelaine responds, taking the envelope with a quiet, snorting chuckle. And I thought I was the amateur, she thinks. In a hurry or not, that wasn’t exactly unobvious. Oh well, no sense letting this bottle of wine go to waste.

Addy takes the envelope and slips it inside one of her pockets before pouring herself a glass of the Chelaxian red. At least their taste in wine is as excellent as ever. I must remember to say thank you.
Downing the last of her glass after a few minutes, and then deciding against a second, Adelaine gets up and exits the Lion as nonchalantly as she can. Ordinarily, she might make a show of it, trying to get as many looks and longing glances her way as possible (she did like the attention). But not today. Even had she not received the missive, Addy was in a bit of a foul mood after listening to all the inane, and likely over-exaggerated, prattle of the boorish Phalanx officers (Never met a one I could stand talking to, although occasionally one does make pleasant eye-candy, she muses).

Leaving the Gilded Lion, Addy makes a quick, inconspicuous glance up and down Canal Row, looking for anyone she might have seen earlier loitering about. She walks purposely, but not overly hastily, back to the small flat she considers ‘home’ for now, all the while making occasional stops to ‘window shop’ (actually checking the glass to see if anyone might be following her).

Finally arriving at her flat, she flops on the bed, removes the envelope from her pocket and opens it up, reading the contents…


Human Wizard-Diviner

Will looks around the room with undisguised glee, his eyes lighting up at every odd knick-knack or potentially ancient manuscript. He stares at the pile of papers on the chair and it's odd paperweight as if trying to decide which to examine,... first. He reluctantly drags his eyes up from his visual explorations when confronted with the paper that the older warrior next to him waves almost in his face to get his attention.

As Will quickly scans the invitation, he also notes the parchment and ink used, and the fine handwriting. "Hm, looks like Magnimarian parchment, and <sniff sniff> Chelaxian ruby ink maybe? Spared no expense, not a woman's handwriting though, so hired scribe, definitely trying to impress,... wait, what?!?" He mutters and blinks in surprise as his new Venture-Captain's words finally sink in.

"Go in your place? Be the first to examine new relics?!" he asks in happy shock, blissfully unaware of any oxymorons involved. "That's great! I mean, I'd be honored Captain! You can count on me!" he declares enthusiastically. Obviously looking forward to examining artifacts as much as a young soldier looks forward to getting leave.

"Taldor huh? Did you know that the region itself has a fascinating history?" He asks the larger and burlier Malatar, either missing or ignoring the warrior's question about the invitation that the bookworm now waves like teaching pointer. "According to researchers, it now appears that no less than three of the ancient Runelords claimed the region as theirs. Although of course all of the records unearthed shows a solitary claim, and no records of dispute. Makes one wonder what was so important that they all wanted it, but didn't want to let others KNOW about? Doesn't it? Um, well, it does me at any rate,..."

Dark Archive

male human

Marking the thread ... for some reason, posting as Adelaine didn't give me the dot.


Silas Tyr the Underhand, a week before the masquerade.
The last blooms of the spring fill the air with a heady fragrance in the Lady Morrow's garden. The immaculately groomed flower beds and topiaries coupled with the cobbled walk and collared peacocks somehow conspire to make the garden far stuffier than the stately home at your back. At least the house was meant to be that way; everything wild and free in nature has been tamed, sanitized or shamed into a proper shape befitting the fickle whims of their owners. Well, most of it at least: the clouds on the horizon promise rain and you doubt that the lady has any say in that.

You stroll arm in arm with your escort, the lady herself, as she goes on in great length about the construction of the garden, how it compares with similar gardens, etc. The Lady Morrow is a bit too old (by human standards) to be without a husband, from your understanding of matters, though she is by no means unsightly. Her hair is piled in a great arabesque, perhaps to match the topiaries she is so proud of, and her face has a fine enough proportion to make her more than suitable for just about any man. To keep yourself occupied, you imagine the erotic possibilities in a garden rendezvous such as this one and that's enough to put a convincing smile on your face.

Finally, you reach the gazebo at the center of the garden where a footman seats you both at opposite sides of a small circular table. He pours chilled wine for yourself and the lady from a carafe then steps aside to await any future needs.

"Master Tyr, I must thank you again for coming to visit and hear my proposal. When I heard that you were spending time in Taldor, I simply knew that Calistria had spurred you to my aid."

The Lady Morrow sips delicately at her wine.

"You see, several months ago, Lady Vestang managed to spoil my engagement with Duke Sallin with several slanderous insinuations toward my character. Since then, she has been making entirely unsubtle overtures to the Duke seeking his affections. And since the strumpet would never pass up an opportunity to gloat, I have been invited to her masquerade party next week to celebrate some overblown archaeological discovery some tomb raiding rabble had unearthed for her. A ridiculous idea; I'm certain that all she wishes is to parade Duke Sallin right before my eyes and further my humiliation."

She huffs momentarily, tossing her head with a scowl. Her footman has taken up a large fan and has begun fanning her with it.

"But I consider myself a worldly woman, Master Tyr. Do you know that I have my very own copy of The Book of Joy? I will tell you as well that I've had it even before the ban was lifted for the Bearded. A wonderful text, that, so much more interesting than other religious tracts. Having read your holy book, I naturally felt that taking due vengeance against Ashinana Vestang could be the only recourse. This is where you come in, sir."

The Lady Morrow leans forward conspiratorially and offers you a fine view down the front of her gown.

"What I propose is that you come as my escort to the masquerade, perhaps claiming to be a merchant or a visiting noble from Kyonin. Your people do have a gentle class, correct? Of course, of course. She will naturally be seething with jealousy that I have such a handsome and exotic escort, dropping Duke Sallin to pursue you. While you seduce Ashinana, I will repair the rift between myself and the Duke. Once you have won her completely, we will reveal the set-up and enjoy her humiliation! Isn't it positively fiendish?! Please, do say you'll join me, Master Tyr! I am certain Calistria will approve!"


Marten, six days before the masquerade.
At times it seems the life of an actor is itself tragedy. The dizzying ascent, the tragic hubris and the subsequent fall play out over and over, but not always on the stage. Sitting in the canvas seat outside of the tent provided you by the Lady Vestang, watching the bustle of servants, teamsters, guests and even a few natives of this little hamlet by the sea, you aren't certain if this is the best thing to happen to you in months or the worst humiliation of all. The great false beard you are expected to wear sits in your lap and you can't help but take a certain degree of umbrage at the addition. Taldor is the only human nation to ruin Aroden's noble features with an enormous, ridiculous beard. And it's scratchy. And it will hide your own features, making it all the more difficult to secure a future patron from this event.

As the sun sinks lower on the horizon and paints the Inner Sea in orange and red you once again curse fate and that firebrand playwright Thacquery Lambshadow. It seemed like such a great farce on paper but how could you have known that the last minute additions would shed an uncomfortable light on the incestuous origins of Taldor's Grand Prince Stavian III?

And that part with the donkey was just filthy. At least you escaped the tar-and-feathering Lambshadow received.

So here you are in a depressing little hamlet in the scrubland, notable only because Lady Vestang owns it. At least you have food in your belly, though. You're about to return to reviewing your lines for the party when you notice a curious sight: four servants are pulling tubs of sea water from the beach into the mansion.


"Ah yes, the Book of Joy, a wonderful font of wisdom and understanding in these matters. I am sure that my Mistress will bless your endeavor. And I am sure that the glitter of gold will involve this transaction. But you must remember that the coin my Mistress is most interested in is not only that fine metal, she will also be interested and in fact desirous of an act of lust coming from you. One to keep secret from your man to be. Won't that be a delicious little one up?"

Silas Tyr looks into the eyes of the lady with a lustful hunger. He considers laying the kiss of Calistria upon her.

"Do we have a pact?"


Zareby Grenache wrote:

Zareby watches the chaos around him with a smile on his face. "What to do, what to do..." He sighs and takes a copper from his coinpurse and holds it up in the light. "Heads, I go right to the party. Tails, I take a look in the tent with the mask sign first." The coin flips through the air before being grabbed again.

"The tent it is." Zareby makes his way through the crowd over to the tent...

Zareby pushes his way through the crowd and into the tent. The inside is full of free-standing clothes racks, masks and crates. Tailors work at dummies, creating garish costumes in all sizes and description. The faces of tigers, kings, fish, monkeys and various other animals and people are represented in porcelain, wood and other materials. You even recognize a Boggard mask with knobs of wood for warts.

A thin man sits at a wide table facing the entrance, a ledger placed before him, his quill at the ready. He smiles and nods as you enter, giving you a moment to look around.

"Hello, good sir and welcome! If you'll tell me your name, we can have you fitted for your costume. We still have quite a few excellent choices remaining."


Adelaine Harthos wrote:

“Thank you,” Adelaine responds, taking the envelope with a quiet, snorting chuckle. And I thought I was the amateur, she thinks. In a hurry or not, that wasn’t exactly unobvious. Oh well, no sense letting this bottle of wine go to waste.

Addy takes the envelope and slips it inside one of her pockets before pouring herself a glass of the Chelaxian red. At least their taste in wine is as excellent as ever. I must remember to say thank you.
Downing the last of her glass after a few minutes, and then deciding against a second, Adelaine gets up and exits the Lion as nonchalantly as she can. Ordinarily, she might make a show of it, trying to get as many looks and longing glances her way as possible (she did like the attention). But not today. Even had she not received the missive, Addy was in a bit of a foul mood after listening to all the inane, and likely over-exaggerated, prattle of the boorish Phalanx officers (Never met a one I could stand talking to, although occasionally one does make pleasant eye-candy, she muses).

Leaving the Gilded Lion, Addy makes a quick, inconspicuous glance up and down Canal Row, looking for anyone she might have seen earlier loitering about. She walks purposely, but not overly hastily, back to the small flat she considers ‘home’ for now, all the while making occasional stops to ‘window shop’ (actually checking the glass to see if anyone might be following her).

Finally arriving at her flat, she flops on the bed, removes the envelope from her pocket and opens it up, reading the contents…

The streets are still fairly busy with the well-heeled Unbearded, but Adelaine doesn't notice anyone following her.

The first thing you notice in the envelope is a party invitation on fine paper stock. In flowing calligraphy it invites Lady Viviana Albercroft to join Lady Ashinana Vestang at her country house in about a week's time for a masquerade to "celebrate the recent acquisition of relics harkening to the splendor of Taldor's Azlanti past". A small map follows, placing the country house 10 miles south of Golsifar and 22 miles north of the Jalrune River, on the coast of the Inner Sea. Finally, there is a letter:

"Ms. Harthos,
I do hope that you're in the mood for a soiree, as you are now scheduled to attend Lady Vestang's masquerade as Viviana Albercroft. You are to examine her finds and determine which could be valuable to us and where these things were procured. It goes without saying that your skills should be more than adequate to infiltrate a masked ball in the middle of the scrubland. Meet Gorzal Thrym tomorrow morning at the Grand Bridge of the Empire; he will be your escort to the estate and will provide the necessary retinue for a lady of your supposed standing.
- A. G."


Male Human Sorcerer 1
Warden of Doors wrote:
"Hello, good sir and welcome! If you'll tell me your name, we can have you fitted for your costume. We still have quite a few excellent choices remaining."

Assuming he doesn't have a list of guests sitting around nearby...

"Ferdinand Salatic. So, what would these excellent choices happen to be?"

Bluff: 1d20+9=11 Why can't I roll well on social rolls?


Mal and Will
Selas smiles indulgently for a moment while William expressed his enthusiasm. You get a little glimpse of the oversized canines in his lower jaw: the only indication that one of his parents was an orc.
"Yes, that's one theory, lad. Glad you're so enthused. And, yes, Mal, this should get you both in; it's customary to bring an escort of some kind and I wouldn't doubt it if every other guest had at least one or two bodyguards. Will can present himself as my apprentice since I can't make it, you can just claim to be there to keep an eye on him. That way he can make a show of examining the relics and you can get a more quiet look around."

Quent leans in toward Malatar.
"And if you could sort of make sure he doesn't... cause an incident. I don't need you to babysit him, just pull him out of the hot water before he boils, eh?"

Selas claps his hands and looks from one of you to the other.
"All right, lads, sounds like we have a plan. It's a masquerade party, so think about your costumes and remember: you're there to work. There should be plenty of Taldoran ships at the docks, see if any will take your to Golsifar. From there, her estate is 10 miles south along the coast. All set?"


Male Human Bard/1
Warden of Doors wrote:
So here you are in a depressing little hamlet in the scrubland, notable only because Lady Vestang owns it. At least you have food in your belly, though. You're about to return to reviewing your lines for the party when you notice a curious sight: four servants are pulling tubs of sea water from the beach into the mansion.

His interest piqued, Marten sits up out of the slump he'd settled into. He peers down at the beach, hoping to get a better idea of what's happening down there, but the fading light doesn't help. Absent-mindedly, his left hand feels for the bottle standing on the grass next to his chair. Finding it, he lifts the bottle, uncorks it, and takes a quick swig, before setting it back down. Then, in an instant, his mind is made up - he never could resist an intriguing mystery. Jumping to his feet, he quickly fits the false beard in place, wiping his lips as he does so, and tosses the script onto the chair. Drawing himself up to his full height, he adopts his best noble bearing, and strides purposefully down towards the beach.


Female Half-elf Rogue 1

Addy smiles. “Looks like I’m going on a trip. Suppose I should make sure I’m packed appropriately,” she muses.

She frowns a bit. An evening with the Taldan nobility. How fun! I’m sure it will be filled with the usual discussion of world-shattering events and politics, like who’s sleeping with whom, which lady was so crass as to wear last year’s fashions to the opera, and so on. Well, suck it up, Addy; you gotta do what you gotta do.

Addy spends the remainder of the evening relaxing in a hot bath, and then packing her standard gear. She makes sure all of weapons are appropriately sharpened and oiled, and then retires for the night.

She wakes slightly before dawn, getting quickly dressed. Grabbing her backpack, she closes and locks the door behind her, not expecting to be back for some time. Heading out into the street, she stops at a nearby bakery for a fresh loaf of bread, and buys an apple from a street vendor as she walks the distance to the Grand Bridge. As she gets closer, she begins looking for Gorzal, trying to spy him from among the increasing numbers of people as the sun rises. I’m making the assumption Addy knows him already, since no description was given in the note.


Human Wizard-Diviner
Warden of Doors wrote:


Quent leans in toward Malatar.
"And if you could sort of make sure he doesn't... cause an incident. I don't need you to babysit him, just pull him out of the hot water before he boils, eh?"

"Hellooo,... standing right here!" Will mutters as he reaches inquisitively towards a strange, lumpy statuette formed from some unidentifiable black material. At the last moment, he pauses, then reluctantly retracts his arm.

"With my luck it's probably dried dragon dung,..." He mumbles as he self-consciously brushes his fingertips together, even though he never actually touched the item in question. Then turns back to Quent and Malatar.

"Don't worry boss, I know I'm not the most, popular, party guest around, but there's nothing wrong with my eyes, or ears." He adds wryly. "I'll be able to tell if these 'artifacts' are real or not. And if they are real, we'll figure out where they came from!" He declares matter-of-factly in a voice usually gravelly due to constant exposure to dust and mold in the sanctum where his precious books are kept.

Warden of Doors wrote:


Selas claps his hands and looks from one of you to the other.
"All right, lads, sounds like we have a plan. It's a masquerade party, so think about your costumes and remember: you're there to work. There should be plenty of Taldoran ships at the docks, see if any will take your to Golsifar. From there, her estate is 10 miles south along the coast. All set?"

Will raises an eyebrow. "Masquerade huh?" He asks rhetorically, his eyes sparkling. "At least there aren't any rules saying that we can't mix business with pleasure! Give me a little bit, I'll bet I can come up with something." He says cryptically.

"Hm? All set? OH! Yes, I just need to grab my pack, and something to make the costume from. Do you need any help with a costume Malator?" He asks.
Yes, I made him mispronounce your name on purpose! :)

Actually, I don't have a clue what he's going to wear. But I figured that a guy with the equivilant of a doctor's degree in history would have no problem thinking of what to wear to a themed costume party! :)


Silas Tyr wrote:

"Ah yes, the Book of Joy, a wonderful font of wisdom and understanding in these matters. I am sure that my Mistress will bless your endeavor. And I am sure that the glitter of gold will involve this transaction. But you must remember that the coin my Mistress is most interested in is not only that fine metal, she will also be interested and in fact desirous of an act of lust coming from you. One to keep secret from your man to be. Won't that be a delicious little one up?"

Silas Tyr looks into the eyes of the lady with a lustful hunger. He considers laying the kiss of Calistria upon her.

"Do we have a pact?"

Lady Morrow's face flushes as she smiles coquettishly, suddenly more subdued but certainly just as excited. She dismisses her footman with a gesture and he discreetly exits through the opposite side of the garden.

"In such matters... I must bow to your expertise, Master Tyr. Shall we adjourn to my boudoir?"


Zareby Grenache wrote:
Warden of Doors wrote:
"Hello, good sir and welcome! If you'll tell me your name, we can have you fitted for your costume. We still have quite a few excellent choices remaining."

Assuming he doesn't have a list of guests sitting around nearby...

"Ferdinand Salatic. So, what would these excellent choices happen to be?"

Bluff: 1d20+9=11 Why can't I roll well on social rolls?

The man looks over the ledger, starting to frown as he reaches the bottom.

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I don't see your name on the list, Master Salatic. Do you have your invitation? Are you perhaps here with another guest? Our list has to be kept rather short for the sake of ease, of course, so it's easier to say for example..."

He looks over the ledger and turns up a name already crossed off.

"... Duke Sallin, plus two. Something like that."


Marten wrote:
Warden of Doors wrote:
So here you are in a depressing little hamlet in the scrubland, notable only because Lady Vestang owns it. At least you have food in your belly, though. You're about to return to reviewing your lines for the party when you notice a curious sight: four servants are pulling tubs of sea water from the beach into the mansion.
His interest piqued, Marten sits up out of the slump he'd settled into. He peers down at the beach, hoping to get a better idea of what's happening down there, but the fading light doesn't help. Absent-mindedly, his left hand feels for the bottle standing on the grass next to his chair. Finding it, he lifts the bottle, uncorks it, and takes a quick swig, before setting it back down. Then, in an instant, his mind is made up - he never could resist an intriguing mystery. Jumping to his feet, he quickly fits the false beard in place, wiping his lips as he does so, and tosses the script onto the chair. Drawing himself up to his full height, he adopts his best noble bearing, and strides purposefully down towards the beach.

The tubs slosh to and fro as the men stagger up the beach toward the manor house. As you near, one of the larger men slows and squints at you a bit, puzzled a bit by the beard but giving no indication of recognizing you. He and the rest wear the house livery of Lady Vestang, though they are stripped down a bit so as not to ruin their finery.

"Anything we can do for you sir?", he asks wearily,"If you want to go for a swim, I can send one of the other men to act as safety if you'll give me but a moment, Lord."

Another man, hunched over his tub, mutters to himself.

"Bloody tubs and bloody useless water. The Lady thinks these tasks up just to torture us, I swear."


Adelaine Harthos wrote:

Addy smiles. “Looks like I’m going on a trip. Suppose I should make sure I’m packed appropriately,” she muses.

She frowns a bit. An evening with the Taldan nobility. How fun! I’m sure it will be filled with the usual discussion of world-shattering events and politics, like who’s sleeping with whom, which lady was so crass as to wear last year’s fashions to the opera, and so on. Well, suck it up, Addy; you gotta do what you gotta do.

Addy spends the remainder of the evening relaxing in a hot bath, and then packing her standard gear. She makes sure all of weapons are appropriately sharpened and oiled, and then retires for the night.

She wakes slightly before dawn, getting quickly dressed. Grabbing her backpack, she closes and locks the door behind her, not expecting to be back for some time. Heading out into the street, she stops at a nearby bakery for a fresh loaf of bread, and buys an apple from a street vendor as she walks the distance to the Grand Bridge. As she gets closer, she begins looking for Gorzal, trying to spy him from among the increasing numbers of people as the sun rises. I’m making the assumption Addy knows him already, since no description was given in the note.

The early morning sun glints warmly from the massive mosaic surface of the Grand Bridge of Empire. The entire thing spans from Oppara across the Porthmos in one long, uninterrupted lane of mithral, its great supports sinking into the river below. Even having grown up looking at the huge bridge at least once a week, the thing can still bring a sense of awe in the right light.

Fighting through crowds of merchants, teamsters, hawkers and gawkers, Adelaine almost despairs of ever finding Gorzal Thrym until she sees him standing atop a cart on the west fork of the bridge, a jaunty hat on his straw-colored hair. The halfling makes eye contact from across the crowd and sits down again in his cart, giving no other sign that you've recognized each other. The cart itself is functional but ornate with a distinctly Osirian theme. The back is piled with various provisions in bags and crates; far more than would seem necessary for two people, one of them a halfling.

He tips his cap as you near and offers a jaunty smile, stretching the pale scar on his chin.

"Why, Addy, you're a sight for sore eyes as usual and not a moment late. Are you ready for our delightful expedition out into the countryside? Campfires, songs, hard tack, dust and hot weather: what fun."


Male Human Sorcerer 1

Zareby approaches the counter and sighs while taking a covert glance at the ledger. "Forgive me, my mind is still clouded somewhat from the trip. I'm here with Miss Ablecroft, she has the tickets. Viviana would of come along, but she's still freshening up back at the inn."

Assuming she was listed with a guest on the ledger. If not, just pretend I said another random woman. Bluff:1d20+9=15 EDIT: I just looked up at the other introductions, this is going to be interesting.


Warden and Will:

“Just need a quarter hour or so to pack,” replies Malatar with a nod. “We got an expense account or cash for the trip? And … costumes?”

The warrior turns to face Will. “It’s Malatar,” he says, without rancour. “Advice on a costume would be good – masquerade balls aren’t exactly my usual type of party. I don’t want to end up looking like a stuffed peacock though,” he warns. “And any costume that allows me to keep my armour and a weapon or two will let me better do my job.”


Warden of Doors wrote:

Lady Morrow's face flushes as she smiles coquettishly, suddenly more subdued but certainly just as excited. She dismisses her footman with a gesture and he discreetly exits through the opposite side of the garden.

"In such matters... I must bow to your expertise, Master Tyr. Shall we adjourn to my boudoir?"

"Lead on, my dear. And while we go get ourselves more comfortable, tell me what you wish to be done to your rival in exquisite detail."

Tyr lets his fingers to brush against the small of Lady Morrow's back for but a moment, as he increases the intensity of her tactile sense. He leans and whispers, "Let your hate for those who wronged you fuel your passion. Remember: Through Hate All Things Are Possible."

Tyr plucks a nearby flower, "Breathe deeply its scent so that you will always be reminded of this moment."


Male Human Bard/1
Warden of Doors wrote:
"Anything we can do for you sir?", he asks wearily,"If you want to go for a swim, I can send one of the other men to act as safety if you'll give me but a moment, Lord."

"No, no, my good man, it's far too late for a swim," Marten says, imperiously. "I just wanted to check how you're getting along with the task. Is it progressing satisfactorily?" He peers down at the servant, and drums his fingers against his leg, as though impatient for a response.


Human Wizard-Diviner
Malatar Kane wrote:


The warrior turns to face Will. “It’s Malatar,” he says, without rancour. “Advice on a costume would be good – masquerade balls aren’t exactly my usual type of party. I don’t want to end up looking like a stuffed peacock though,” he warns. “And any costume that allows me to keep my armour and a weapon or two will let me better do my job.”

"No worries Mal!" The skinny mage says as he gives the larger warrior a friendly whack on the shoulder. Will immediately winces as his hand connects with solid armor and unyielding muscle. He shakes his hand to get some feeling back into it.

"I'm sure I we can come up with something appropriate. And I mean, who stuffs peacocks, honestly? I wonder where that phrase originated? Originally?" He mumbles.

"There are several figures of the period who might be appropriate. And deific avatars are always open to interpretation. With the right outfit, no one would question you carrying a giant's weapon, in the name of historical accuracy, of course." He says straight-faced, but with a gleam in his eye, obviously looking forward to the challenge.


Female Half-elf Rogue 1
Warden of Doors wrote:

The early morning sun glints warmly from the massive mosaic surface of the Grand Bridge of Empire. The entire thing spans from Oppara across the Porthmos in one long, uninterrupted lane of mithral, its great supports sinking into the river below. Even having grown up looking at the huge bridge at least once a week, the thing can still bring a sense of awe in the right light.

Fighting through crowds of merchants, teamsters, hawkers and gawkers, Adelaine almost despairs of ever finding Gorzal Thrym until she sees him standing atop a cart on the west fork of the bridge, a jaunty hat on his straw-colored hair. The halfling makes eye contact from across the crowd and sits down again in his cart, giving no other sign that you've recognized each other. The cart itself is functional but ornate with a distinctly Osirian theme. The back is piled with various provisions in bags and crates; far more than would seem necessary for two people, one of them a halfling.
He tips his cap as you near and offers a jaunty smile, stretching the pale scar on his chin.
"Why, Addy, you're a sight for sore eyes as usual and not a moment late. Are you ready for our delightful expedition out into the countryside? Campfires, songs, hard tack, dust and hot weather: what fun."

“With you as a traveling companion? I’d sooner spend a month in confined quarters with a Varisian warthog and an overweight Phalanx officer who hadn’t seen a woman, or a bath, in a year!” At first looking deadly serious, Addy quickly breaks into a big grin and laughs. “Good to see you, Gorzal! What’s it been? Three, four months?”

Addy places her backpack in among the bags and crates in the back, then sits down next to Gorzal in the front. “So what’ve you been up to?”

Once they’re underway, and sufficiently out of earshot of other people (whether that means out of the city or whatnot), Adelaine will get a little less casual and more business-like. “So … the note I received was a bit … brief. What do you know about this ball? And what’s with all the supplies here? They for our ‘retinue’?”


Will (and Warden):

Mal shrugs again. “I was on campaign in the River Kingdoms, years ago. The wannabe-prince that hired us was holding a big celebration feast, and they had stuffed peacock. Silly looking bird. Tasted like chicken.”

He scratches his head, distracted. “Right, so this ancient Azlant place; they had some sort of war god? Like Gorrum? I could do that…”


Zareby Grenache wrote:

Zareby approaches the counter and sighs while taking a covert glance at the ledger. "Forgive me, my mind is still clouded somewhat from the trip. I'm here with Miss Ablecroft, she has the tickets. Viviana would of come along, but she's still freshening up back at the inn."

Assuming she was listed with a guest on the ledger. If not, just pretend I said another random woman. Bluff:1d20+9=15 EDIT: I just looked up at the other introductions, this is going to be interesting.

He looks once more through the registry, nods and places a check next to a name toward the bottom.

"Ah! There you are, sir. Please be sure to tell Lady Abercroft to check in with her invitation as soon as she can. Feel free to choose any mask and costume we have; our tailor can make sure they fit properly."

There are a dizzying array of masks and gaudy costumes arranged throughout the tent. Most of them are decorated with colored glass or gold leaf, though they are all of clever construction. Dragons, demons and other monsters sit next to monkeys, tigers and even more exotic animals. Several human visages of angular countenance also stare from the walls, various styles of headdress and hair denoting their station or occupation. Cloaks of regal-looking cloth sit beside furs, wooden armor and costume jewelry.


Malatar Kane wrote:

Warden and Will:

“Just need a quarter hour or so to pack,” replies Malatar with a nod. “We got an expense account or cash for the trip? And … costumes?”

The warrior turns to face Will. “It’s Malatar,” he says, without rancour. “Advice on a costume would be good – masquerade balls aren’t exactly my usual type of party. I don’t want to end up looking like a stuffed peacock though,” he warns. “And any costume that allows me to keep my armour and a weapon or two will let me better do my job.”

Quent scratches his temple for a moment.

"Oh, right. Expenses. Give me a moment..."

The Venture Captain reaches beneath his desk and pulls off his boot and turns it out, punishing both of your noses with the reek of his sweaty foot. A boot knife tumbles out, followed by a small burlap sack and what looks like a false toe carved from a piece of ash.

"Whoops! Don't know how that got out. Anyways..."

He picks up the little sack and opens it, fishing around for a moment. He pulls out a few coins of different mintage, frowns at them and pushes them aside until he finally comes up with two agates the size of a thumbnail.

"... here we are: these should cover your expenses. Last I checked, they're each worth about 60 gold. Enough to get there and back and cover some food and lodgings. You're on your own for costumes, though. The letter said she would provide masks and things if you need them. It isn't just high-born types, there are folk from the hamlet Lady Vestang owns, merchants and things. Up to you if you want to go for the expense."

He picks up the prosthetic toe and slides it back into the boot before getting his foot back in along with the knife.


The warrior watches stoically as Quent fishes around in the contents of his show, then nods briefly in thanks, picks up one of the agates, makes a brief show of examining it (though he knows little about the worth of gems and stones) before pocketing it.

“Right. I think that’s it.” He turns to Will. “On second thoughts I might just pick up a costume at the gate. Let’s get packing, I’ll meet you at the front doors in twenty.”

Assuming there is nothing else, Malatar gives Quent a sloppy salute and heads back to his cramped room to get his stuff and meet Will, before heading down to the docks to find a ship.


Silas Tyr wrote:
Warden of Doors wrote:

Lady Morrow's face flushes as she smiles coquettishly, suddenly more subdued but certainly just as excited. She dismisses her footman with a gesture and he discreetly exits through the opposite side of the garden.

"In such matters... I must bow to your expertise, Master Tyr. Shall we adjourn to my boudoir?"

"Lead on, my dear. And while we go get ourselves more comfortable, tell me what you wish to be done to your rival in exquisite detail."

Tyr lets his fingers to brush against the small of Lady Morrow's back for but a moment, as he increases the intensity of her tactile sense. He leans and whispers, "Let your hate for those who wronged you fuel your passion. Remember: Through Hate All Things Are Possible."

Tyr plucks a nearby flower, "Breathe deeply its scent so that you will always be reminded of this moment."

Though she continues to blush, it isn't long before she's chewing your ear off with some very filthy ideas of what you can do to her rival....

... and then she's literally chewing your ear a few minutes later, her proper demeanor thrown aside along with the gown on her bedroom floor.

The next day finds the both of you in her personal carriage, heading south along the coast. You are accompanied by a retinue of servants, guards and even a cook. Rain patters on the roof of the carriage above, offering some relief from the humidity of the early summer. Taldor is thoroughly depressing from the vantage of your window: abandoned or half-staffed guardposts dot the roads and you can see more than a few ghost towns and ruins further inland. The land is flat and brown, dotted with wilted vineyards and scrub.

Lady Morrow fans herself as she glances out the window, a coy smile still on her face from the day before. Whether at the thought of revenge or sealing the deal yesterday... well, can't it be both?

You'll have a 500 gp donation for the church once Lady Vestang has been seduced and humiliated at her own party.


"Tell me what you can of this Lady Vestang, my dear. Her likes and dislikes, such knowledge will be an invaluable tool in our endeavor. Something to pass the time. Though if you have a dossier on her, I'd be more than happy to read it. But it would not have that special quality that only comes from your telling."


Male Human Sorcerer 1

Zareby looks over the rack of masks with a discerning eye before choosing a mask of a red dragon. After grabbing a red cloak and donning his costume, he then leaves the tent and heads for the party.


Zareby Grenache wrote:
Zareby looks over the rack of masks with a discerning eye before choosing a mask of a red dragon. After grabbing a red cloak and donning his costume, he then leaves the tent and heads for the party.

You actually have a few days before the party starts.

With very few alterations, the tailors in the costume tent iron out your costume and place it aside with a tag with your fake name on it. You leave the tent with a spring in your step into the twilight.


Adelaine Harthos wrote:

“With you as a traveling companion? I’d sooner spend a month in confined quarters with a Varisian warthog and an overweight Phalanx officer who hadn’t seen a woman, or a bath, in a year!” At first looking deadly serious, Addy quickly breaks into a big grin and laughs. “Good to see you, Gorzal! What’s it been? Three, four months?”

Addy places her backpack in among the bags and crates in the back, then sits down next to Gorzal in the front. “So what’ve you been up to?”

Once they’re underway, and sufficiently out of earshot of other people (whether that means out of the city or whatnot), Adelaine will get a little less casual and more business-like. “So … the note I received was a bit … brief. What do you know about this ball? And...

"Ah hah! I see three months away has done little to reduce the power of my charms! I'm sorry to remind you that I really don't go for tall women, usually. I simply hope that you can restrain your feminine urges in the interest of professionalism..."

He clucks disapprovingly at the crowds barring the road to the bridge, flashing a rude gesture at a driver that called him a "slip".

"I've been up to the usual... this and that, mostly... acquisitions, opposition research..."

Gorzal leaves it at that, turning his attention mostly to steering the cart. Outside of Oppara with fewer ears around he gets down to business.

"Lady Vestang's a small fish, but she's looking to swim upstream. From what I understand the whole thing is meant to net her a big fish with a short lifespan. No interest to us or our employer, of course, but one of her business arrangements with her daddy's money has yielded interesting fruit. The adventurers she hired found Azlanti artifacts at a site somewhere here in Taldor; pretty important, this being the opposite direction from their lost continent. If it's true. So we're going to do some looking around; you as Lady Albercroft and myself as your loyal business partner. The real Albercroft deals in Osirian relics, enough to have climbed her way into the gentry. Don't expect a warm welcome. This stuff is mostly to maintain the cover: fake Osirian stuff, a big tent and some nicer clothes for the both of us."


Marten wrote:
Warden of Doors wrote:
"Anything we can do for you sir?", he asks wearily,"If you want to go for a swim, I can send one of the other men to act as safety if you'll give me but a moment, Lord."
"No, no, my good man, it's far too late for a swim," Marten says, imperiously. "I just wanted to check how you're getting along with the task. Is it progressing satisfactorily?" He peers down at the servant, and drums his fingers against his leg, as though impatient for a response.

"Yes, sir, all the preparations are under way for the party. Nothing out of place. Sure to be a great event."

He stands for a moment, holding the tub of sea water in the awkward silence.

"... Will there be anything else, sir?"


Male Human Sorcerer 1
Warden of Doors wrote:

You actually have a few days before the party starts.

With very few alterations, the tailors in the costume tent iron out your costume and place it aside with a tag with your fake name on it. You leave the tent with a spring in your step into the twilight.

I do? Oh bother.

Zareby whistles a happy tune as he walks out of the tent and heads to the inn.

I assume we're just going to do a nice little fade-out now, and I'll come back in when I actually have something to do? Since I'm probably not doing much these three days, Profession(Gambler), let's see if I can do something vaguely useful. 1d20+4=6


Human Wizard-Diviner
Malatar Kane wrote:

,... Malatar gives Quent a sloppy salute and heads back to his cramped room to get his stuff and meet Will, before heading down to the docks to find a ship.

Will gives a brief wave of his hand to Malatar, and watches him walk out of the room. Pursing his lips, he idly reaches for the other agate on the Captain's desk and examines it with mild curiosity. He tosses it gently into the air and catches it, putting it into a belt pouch with a small smile. He continues to look slowly around the room with wide-eyed interest in the assorted knick-knacks, gently swaying to and fro,...

Until he notices Quent's stony stare from behind his desk. Will clears his throat nervously.

"Oh. OH! Right! I'll just,... I need to,... We're good, thank you sir! DOn't worry, I'll take care of everything!" He says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly. "Thank you!" He repeats as he (finally) exits and closes the door behind him.

In the hall, William leans against the wall and takes a deep breath, then lets it out with a whoosh. "Wow. First real assignment. I'd better remember to pack a new notebook." He says softly to himself.
"Hm, I wonder where they found Azlanti artifacts in this portion of the Inner Sea?" He murmurs, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Sounds like this might be,... fun!" He smiles tentatively, as if the idea is a new one for him, then hurries off to gather his things.


It doesn’t take long for Malatar to pack, throwing his spare clothes and meagre possessions haphazardly into his backpack (figuring that he has time on the ship to re-pack more neatly if needs be) and checking his weapons before heading to the main doors of the Grand Lodge building to wait for Will.

Nodding to the guards, Mal looks up at the sky, hoping that the good weather holds. Despite having a strong constitution and years of sporadic sea travel, he still feels queasy (at best) on a ship in rough weather.


"Lady Morrow, do you recall if the Lady Vestang has a preferred perfume?"

"Scents, you see, are more power attractive agents than mere looks."


Male Human Bard/1
Warden of Doors wrote:
"Yes, sir, all the preparations are under way for the party. Nothing out of place. Sure to be a great event."

"Excellent, excellent," Marten says, nodding slightly and twiddling the end of his beard. "And all this water," he adds, flapping a hand at the serving men, "what's it for?"


Female Half-elf Rogue 1

“I have to admit, Gorzal; I’m not terribly thrilled with how quickly this was thrown together. I mean, I had no time to look into Albercroft, even observe her and see what she looks like. What are the chances someone who knows her will be at this soiree? And fake Osiriani relics? A few more days, and I might’ve been able to get some real ones through the Pathfinders here in Oppara (for ‘research’, or whatever).

“So, what else can you tell me about Lady Albercroft? You know, like where she’s from, common ‘friends’, whatever. Did our employers bother to leave some info beyond a name?” The more she goes into this and thinks about it, the more agitated Addy gets with the lack of information; typically, the more she realizes she doesn’t know, the angrier she gets. I almost feel like I’m being set up to fail, here, she starts thinking, and begins tapping her fingers agitatedly against the side of the cart.


Zareby Grenache wrote:
Warden of Doors wrote:

You actually have a few days before the party starts.

With very few alterations, the tailors in the costume tent iron out your costume and place it aside with a tag with your fake name on it. You leave the tent with a spring in your step into the twilight.

I do? Oh bother.

Zareby whistles a happy tune as he walks out of the tent and heads to the inn.

I assume we're just going to do a nice little fade-out now, and I'll come back in when I actually have something to do? Since I'm probably not doing much these three days, Profession(Gambler), let's see if I can do something vaguely useful. 1d20+4=6

Everyone will be in the same place relatively soon, but Marten should be around if you want to find a reason to wander around looking for actors.


Keegan, I still have some pending questions for Lady Morrow to answer.


Silas Tyr wrote:
"Tell me what you can of this Lady Vestang, my dear. Her likes and dislikes, such knowledge will be an invaluable tool in our endeavor. Something to pass the time. Though if you have a dossier on her, I'd be more than happy to read it. But it would not have that special quality that only comes from your telling."

"Why, of course, my dear Master Tyr. Anything to ensure our success. Ashinana, more than any Taldane woman I have met, is almost megalomaniacal in her need for praise and control. Her position as hostess will bring this out to its greatest degree. You must fawn over to her in a most sickening fashion to gain her affections: her father, while certainly wealthy, is a minor nobleman and she has always tried to act above her station. She will be angling for a man above her rank, someone with political and economic power. You must be alternately commanding, as befits your rank, and foolishly sycophantic to her in order to distinguish yourself as an easy mark for her predatory intentions."

Lady Morrow hands you a glass and taps twice on a panel next to your head with the end of her fan.

"Some wine, Renault, we are quite thirsty!"

The wooden panel slides open and the driver pours drinks for both of you, reaching behind his back and holding the bottle over his shoulder without ever taking his eye off the road or spilling a drop. The man's obviously a professional.

"Or were you referring to her preferences of flower, dress, music, things of that nature? It's difficult to give you a proper idea since she expresses no preference beyond the current vogue. I do recall a heavy preference for orchids, however; the rarer and more delicate the better. As for her intimate preferences... I must confess I haven't the slightest idea. It is simply not a subject discussed by women of my standing."

She smiles at you a moment,a glint in her eye.

"At least, not with each other, Master Tyr."


Male(s) 27 Ducks in a James suit Duck 27/ Expert 5
Silas Tyr wrote:
Keegan, I still have some pending questions for Lady Morrow to answer.

I know, I haven't forgotten anyone. Just takes me a while to write these updates.

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