You are in the Grand Lodge in Absalom awaiting a briefing from Aram Zey.
Aram Zey strides into the cramped chamber, his withering glare boring into anyone who dares to meet his gaze. One of the smaller rooms in the Grand Lodge’s Skyreach tower, the room is nearly filled by a large table on which lie tarnished funerary brasses and heaped parchments, leaving scant room for occupants. “I’m pleased to see you all here,” says the Society’s cantankerous Master of Spells, his chilly expression contradicting his words. “The Society needs its most capable members on this task.”
Unrolling a massive map of Taldor, he continues. “A rare opportunity stands before us. A Taldan noble named Makarius Bourtze has sent inquiries to Oppara and Cassomir, seeking buyers for a trove of lore about Qadira’s Grand Campaign against Taldor. Bourtze is the Tribune of Evondemor, a small town some six days’ journey from Oppara.” Tracing along the chart, his finger points out an isolated village on the Tandak Plains.
“Your mission is to visit this backwater, review the offered items, and acquire them if a reasonable price can be arranged. While we can offer gold, I’d like to instead suggest several fine sculptures in trade. They depict well-known Taldan heroes, including several of Bourtze’s ancestors. Since his line was once quite distinguished, I’m optimistic that they’ll interest him.” Aram hands over a bundle of carefully drawn sketches depicting the statues.
“Frankly, we considered sending a less experienced team, but Bourtze’s motives make me uneasy. The man’s wife was a scholar of ancient magics who recently died in some sort of magical accident. If something in the collection caused the mishap, we fear the Tribune might try to unload it on an unsuspecting stranger!”
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A lean, muscled human with a bit of greying hair takes a sip of his wine before setting it down.. "I assume since he's made it known he's selling these items others will be there.. Has there been any notion that the Aspis have their eye on it? Is there anything in particular about the area or the town itself we should know about?"
Aram Zey sighs and responds, "We haven't heard of any Aspis interest but I wouldn't doubt it. There may be others interested as well. Oppara is a big gaudy city; I try to avoid it." Aram Zey hands over some papers authorizing the bearer to withdraw 5,000 gp in Society funds from an Abadaran bank in Oppara.
Examining the drawings you find two marked as being ancestors of the Bourtze’s. One depicts Dame Lexera the Crusader, clutching a small urn and a marshal’s scepter. The other shows Magram Scarjaw, “The Blood- Soaked Tribune,” from Taldor’s Grand Campaign against Qadira. The heads of a dozen fallen foes hang from the Tribune’s belt.
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A handsome and distinguished Taldan man with dark hair and beard just starting to show gray listens with a wistful smile. Lounging in a comfortable chair, he nurses his second, or perhaps third, glass of wine. He wears armor and a military uniform of Taldor style, but without emblem or rank and perhaps a decade or two out of fashion.
"Oppara? Gaudy??" He asks with an eyebrow arched. "I do not believe that is the word you were seeking. Guilded! That is the correct term." He speaks with an accent affected by the nobility decades ago, but since mostly fallen out of favor. It is smooth, like fine brandy.
Reaching for the drawings, he takes a moment to considers them, softly murmuring the words to the famous national song dedicated to Oppara. He then offers a few opinions on them.
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This outburst of indignation erupts from the doorway, where a a solidly-built Taldan male stands, some five-foot-eight with shoulder-length dark hair and wearing a meticulously-maintained russet colored braidcoat and flowing black breeches with ankle-high black boots. A glistening chain shirt is visible beneath his coat and an ornate blue sash about his waist, with a broad, curved blade, fashioned of some black metal and bearing a hilt in the shape of a roaring lion's head. A fanciful glass half-filled with Taldan fire-brandy in his hand. I usually tolerate you well enough, Zey, but the Baron has the right of it; disparaging noble Oppara is inexcusable, especially from the likes of a commoner.
The brash newcomer takes a pointed sip from the glass, then walks over to have a look at the drawings Maximo holds.
"Oppara? Gaudy??"[/b] He asks with an eyebrow arched. "I do not believe that is the word you were seeking. Guilded! That is the correct term."
Aram Zey makes a sound in the back of his throat that sounds like he is trying desperately to clear out a taste of bile. "I meant what I said. The whole nation is atrocious." He looks deep into Rosham Bowe's eyes as he punctuates the last word.
"Back to the matter at hand though: investigate all that he has to offer if possible. Just keep a look out for anything that his wife might stumbled across in her last hours-something that could have caused her demise, I mean. If you find such a thing, be sure to get ahold of it before someone even more irresponsible does."
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"Back to the matter at hand though: investigate all that he has to offer if possible. Just keep a look out for anything that his wife might stumbled across in her last hours-something that could have caused her demise, I mean. If you find such a thing, be sure to get ahold of it before someone even more irresponsible does."
After which, of course, Rosham says, turning to Maximo with a wry grin, we should turn it in to him, who has shown himself to be ever so responsible. With a wave of his hand, a small metal box floats up, from which he reaches a pinch of snuff and uses it, offering a dose to the good Baron. Clearly, even the Society can no longer reliably secure good help these days.
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"Hah! Rightly so, my friend!" Maximo accepts Rosham's offering. "Had they secured the services of Noble Taldans right from the start, they would not be in this mess now."
"As for one's opinion of the great nation of Taldor, we are all allowed them. In fact, I have heard it said that opinions are like backsides, everyone has one!"
Looking to Wreck, Maximo presents a bright smile. "I wouldn't call this shouting, my friend. I would call it spirited conversation!"
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"Who is saying something and about Taldor? I'll have you know I recently was granted the "Dame" title by that wonderous nation. And I've been on more missions with Maximo than I can count. We are brave Taldans who've proven ourselves time and again! And we are to do it again I see," the small gnome squeaks as she heads into the room a bit late to have caught all of the briefing. She takes a chair by her friend and pours herself a goblet of wine, and starts listening.
Aram Zey waves his hand in frustration at the matter and leaves you to your journey to Oppara. You move along with no encounters more unpleasant than Oppara’s customs officials. After Oppara, well-patrolled canals carry you past merchant barges laden with foodstuffs. After leaving the canals, you enter a part of the central Tandak Planes filled with decayed roads winding past forlorn villages.
Two more days pass before Evondemor looms through the evening mists. Arriving shortly before nightfall, you travel through a ghostly realm of fog. A muddy ditch and lichen-encrusted palisade guards the village perimeter.
Two aged veterans, Walric and Kaleda, occupy its gatehouse and shout out as you approach. "No armed bands allowed in town without the Tribune’s say-so. Get on over to the Devil’s Fork Inn and wait there for Tribune Bourtze." They then wave you through the gates. Within the village, empty cottages and sagging, roofless structures testify to the town’s decline. Its muddy streets are nearly deserted. Occupied cottages keep their doors barred. The Bourtze manor stands at the far end of the village, its tall towers vague shapes in the rising fog.
Flickering candlelight dimly illuminates the common room of the Devil’s Fork. Stained and mended tablecloths cover rickety tables, but the walls hold an impressive display of antique Chelish fighting gear. Battered shields carry the heraldry of the Order of the Lash, an iron barbazu beard rusts in one corner, and a military fork bears dozens of infernal symbols. Men and women sit and drink at various tables. Behind the bar, a dispirited-looking woman listlessly wipes leather tankards.
Just after the PCs settle in, a blood-spattered man throws the inn’s front door open and storms into the common room. Clad in a blood-spattered heraldic surcoat bearing blue stars on a golden field, this man is the Tribune of Evondemor, Makarius Bourtze. The frantic nobleman gasps out, “Bar the doors! They’re right behind me!” and the inn’s twelve patrons scatter in panic.
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"As for one's opinion of the great nation of Taldor, we are all allowed them. In fact, I have heard it said that opinions are like backsides, everyone has one!"
Quite agree, quite agree, haha, the Taldan nods with a forced laugh. The poor fool is entitled to be wrong at the top of his lungs, I suppose.
Darius sighs.. "Now that all the chest puffing is overwith can we get on with it?"
Rosham eyes Darius coolly. Hmpf. Varisians. He polishes off his brandy, then carelessly tosses the glass aside. He then fits an odd metal helm, vaguely conical and emblazoned with the Lion of Taldor, upon his head. No need to tarry any longer. REYNARD! Get to it, man, and carry these drawings for the Baron.
Just after the PCs settle in, a blood-spattered man throws the inn’s front door open and storms into the common room. Clad in a blood-spattered heraldic surcoat bearing blue stars on a golden field, this man is the Tribune of Evondemor, Makarius Bourtze. The frantic nobleman gasps out, “Bar the doors! They’re right behind me!” and the inn’s twelve patrons scatter in panic.
While silently taking note of how better to make a dramatic entrance, the Viscount rises to his feet at once. Tribune Bourtze! This way, man! He will move between Bourtze and the door, then cast prestidigitation to clean the nobleman up.
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An injured guard stumbles in after Bourtze and tries to hold the door closed. Bourtze ignores many of the questions being thrown at him in his panic. "Those. . . beasts! They're here!" The doors fly open as they are torn from their hinges. Stepping into the bar are three repulsive, hunchbacked crones with skin the color of a fresh bruise. They stand nearly twelve feet tall and tower over everyone in the vicinity.
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While the others ready wands, cast spells, and crowd around Bourtze with a barrage of questions, Maximo takes a moment to drink from a glass containing a fine local Taldan wine. Having just obtained it from the innkeeper, he surely wasn't going to let it go to waste.
As the three hags burst in on the scene he places the glass calmly on a table, stands and straightens his coat, draws his weapon, and calls out in a firm voice.
"Annis hags! To arms, my friends! Use blunt weapons and strong magic. You take the ones to the left and right. The ugly one is mine!"
Ignatious blesses the party with speed! Max inspires his companions and declares one of the hags as his foes. Wreck then quickly destroys one of the hags!
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With this blessing, you call your allies to move forth and empower them to conquer and become victorious. Each round for the duration of this spell, each of your allies can choose one of the following bonuses for that round at the beginning of its turn (their choice).
•Increase its speed by 30 feet.
•Stand up as a swift action without provoking an attack of opportunity.
•Make one extra attack as part of a full attack action, using its highest base attack bonus.
•Gain a +2 bonus on attack rolls and a +2 dodge bonus to AC and Reflex saves.
•Cast a single spell of 2nd level or lower as if it were an enlarged, extended, silent, or still spell.
These effects are not cumulative with similar effects, such as those provided by haste or a speed weapon, nor do they actually grant an extra action, so you can't use it to cast a second spell or otherwise take an extra action in the round. Blessing of fervor does not stack with haste.
Alie protects her good friend Max from the evil before them.
The hags resist the glitter, only looking now like the worst whores ever.
One of the hags goes after Rosham!
The other casts a spell and brings the area into deep fog!
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"My good Viscount," Maximo's voice carries out of the fog, seemingly unconcerned with the magical effect. "Like a Qadiran's concept of honor, a hag judges beauty by different standards."
Maximo steps forward until his enemy comes into sight, then charges his greatsword with arcane power and swings it with all his might.
Wreck quickly takes down another hag while Ignatious bathes the other one in flame. Luckily the patrons have escaped the rest of the area by now.
Darius moves up to swing at the hag but misses through the fog. Max then moves in and shows the magus how it is done, driving his blade into the foul crone.