Absalom in Shadow (Duo): Part II - Dead Seas

Game Master Song of Chiroptera

The following is a timeline centered on the primary characters for this adventure.

2500
Hal is born in the Kyonin Wood

2501
Fir’umil (Hal’s cousin) born in the Kyonin Wood

2560
Hal and Fir’s parents take them on an investigation of Celwynvian, an ancient Elven city on the edge of Kyonin overtaken by the dark and twisted by Drow magic. However, during the incursion, they stumble upon a Drow Fleshwarping ceremony. They are discovered and must make a fighting retreat to escape. The younger elves, Hal and Fir are taken ahead of the group while 3 elves stay behind to hold off their pursuers. These are Hal’s father, Fir’s father and a 3rd elf. Unfortunately, Fir’s father is captured and taken thru a gateway to the Shadow Realm. Fir’umil witnesses the event.

2600
Kyonin is beset by Drow intent on mayhem. Hal & Fir bear witness to the devastation wrought by the endless hate of the Drow for their light-given kin.

2608
Kheegan is born to Hathelmein in Isger.

2610
After years of study with the Elven scholars, Fir’umil can no longer wait for their tutelage. He resolves to travel to Absalom and the Arcanamirium to learn from a human wizard called Tabir the Grey who specializes in inter-planar travel. This is the scene in which Fir is impatient and Hal attempts to dissuade him from dismissing the elders’ knowledge.

2616
Kheegan’s clan is raided by orcs, who in concert with a detachment of slave traders kill all the men and older women of the clan and make off with the children. Kheegan is sold into bondage aboard the Mistress’ Frock.

2620
Hal & Fir depart from Kyonin, setting sail from Greengold, a port settlement where commerce with non-elves is allowed. They make way for Absalom with the goal of entering into the Arcanamirium and getting Fir’umil assigned to Tabir the Grey.

2622
After being in Absalom for nearly a year, the two Elves befriend a monk named Lau who is seeking acceptance to a local temple. They embark on several adventures together.

2624
Two years later, they are waiting for contact from a man working for Tabir the Grey who has finally granted audience to Fir’umil as a prospective apprentice. This is when they encounter the docked Mistress’ Frock and the battle ensues to save Kheegan.

Mal’undil, a half-elf in the employ of Tabir the Grey hides the group (now including Kheegan) at a friend’s bookshop. Caleb, a long retired Bard now Loremaster is happy to give them shelter.

The section of my story that is written covers their stay at the shop and the battle with Cano and the crew of the Mistress’ Frock

2626
After Fir is accepted as an apprentice, the rest of the team stays on with Mal’undil and embark on further adventures. They bond well but ultimately, it will be tension between Fir’umil and his cousin Hal’dorel that will cause problems.

2627
Finding out the lengths to which Fir’umil will go to rescue his father, Hal’dorel warns him that he’ll disclose his plans to Tabir the Grey. In response, Fir draws a dagger cuts Hal across the midsection. Kheegan, snatching Fir by the throat before he can utter a spell, nearly breaks the elf’s neck before Hal stops him. Eventually the cousins part company, Hal making an oath that he would not stop searching for a way to rescue his uncle. He also resists his instincts to tell Tabir of his cousin’s plans, allowing fate to play out in the life of his cousin.

2628
Hal’dorel, Kheegan, Mal’undil & a newly raised apprentice Lau Fushan depart Absalom for the mountains of Isger. They are in search of Kheegan’s remaining clan.

2630
The team returns to Absalom empty handed, but with clues for Kheegan to follow. For the time being, a new wrinkle in the search for Hal’dorel’s uncle leads to a possible solution in the far-flung outpost of the Lonely Coast. They take advantage of their relationship with the Priests of Darlen and tag along on the Witches’ Spray… Mal’undil stays behind in Absalom to care for Caleb who has fallen into poor health. (Secretly, the half-elf has decided to watch over Fir’umil. He and Caleb have pieced together the information about Fir’umil’s efforts and created a broader picture than even Hal’dorel comprehends...or would want to...)

I am in . . .

the Matrix.

Caleb the Scroll, present...

Fir'umil responding, if I must...

Mal'undil, at your service...

Lau Fu Shan, I am ready...

Ahem, Tabir making an entry...excuse me, is this correct?

meow!

grumble

Fir’umil’s cloak whispered along the stones of the lonely hall, the dull thump of his staff echoing through the chamber. Deep within the folds of his robes, beneath the skin and the bone, his heartbeat quickened. He missed his father the most when he was in this place, the emptiness turning in the pit of his stomach and suffusing his thin frame. All he had to do was close his eyes and the memory would return…raw and alive.

At first it had been unbidden, a painful reminder of the loss. Images of his father being dragged, unconscious by hooded drow…their dark-skinned hands and forearms flowing with white tattoos…Fir’umil saw them again, the markings…they seemed to ebb and flow like blood across their skin. Then the smile, one of them had been looking into young Fir’umil’s eyes, a smile from ear to ear that touched his twin orbs of malice. His father, blood running from his own eyes as they stared sightlessly into the surrounding dark…his hands clasped and unclasped at nothing...

…Fir’umil had torn his eyes from the drow’s gaze to see his father’s lips moving…mouthing a single, whispered phrase over and over…

…save me, son…

The elf dragged himself from the past, stopping in the hallway to stand in front of a man’s statue. Yes, at first the memories had been unwelcome. But now he used the ritual and the components of his life. Fir’umil leaned his staff against the statue and looked up into its stone eyes. He reached into a small pocket within his robes and felt the fine powder of the crushed charcoal and removed a pinch.

“Are you well, my son?”

He’d been bringing together the words for a minor cantrip, pinched charcoal stretching forth to the statue’s foot. Fir’umil shifted the component deftly to his palm and cinched his fingers into a fist until the knuckles were white. From within the cowl of his robes he turned his head sharply to his right.

“Leave me...” he rasped.

The black robed figure that had approached took an involuntary step backwards, hand raised as if to ward off an attack. “I only meant to…” the figure began with a hesitant whisper.

Fir’umil turned suddenly, cloak swirling about him as his fist struck outwards from within the sleeves of his robes and aimed over the shoulder of the man. Slowly, his index finger uncurled to stab threateningly. “You only meant to leave me be…and failed.”

The black-robed man bobbed his head, gaze held by the elf’s accusing finger, and moved away at a brisk pace.

His throat was going to betray him again; he could feel the raw flesh beneath wanting to cough. From within his robes he produced a small vial with a cough suppressing herbal syrup and placed a drop on his tongue. Putting the vial away he cursed the barbarian pet Hal’dorel had adopted. Beneath his scarf there were still bruises from where the oaf had nearly choked away his life.

At his belt was the dagger. It still bore his cousin’s blood on its blade. He closed his eyes and let a touch of regret into his heart. Hal’dorel was more than a cousin. They were more siblings. But Hal’dorel didn’t understand…could never understand the loss of a father. What place did his cousin have warning him against exploring any chance that could bring his father back?

Better that they went their separate paths. Hal’dorel had his methods…Fir’umil had his.

At least he’d taken that oaf with him in the process. Perhaps the human would find the Lonely Coast more to his liking and give up the foolish life-debt to his cousin. Besides, what good were a human’s words when it came to promises of duty and honor? They barely lived long enough to learn how to speak before their ignorance was thankfully extinguished by time.

The herbal mixture was bringing his sore throat under control. He refocused and pushed away thoughts of his cousin and of humans. Bring his right hand forward he shifted the charcoal powder from his palm and back to his fingers. Speaking the words he placed a small mark upon the foot of the statue. That done, he stepped back and closed his eyes.

…save me, son…

“I’m coming father…” he replied softly, the vow coming from the depths of his being.

Silence for a time.

The centuries that were his life dwelt behind the words, buoying him and setting his path. Beneath the dark blues and blacks of his wizard’s robes…beneath the heady scents of the spices and objects that made up his spell components…Fir’umil felt the weight of his promise come to rest in the emptiness. It took up residence in the whole left behind by his father.

All the wisdom of his elders, their fatalism…the cautions of Tabir, his doubt in Fir’umil’s power…the warnings from Hal’dorel, his weakness in not following all paths… Nothing would move Fir’umil Osseus from his chosen path. Nothing…

In the peace of his commitment, Fir’umil heard the heavy footsteps of Tabir’s hound approaching. He hissed a greeting. “Is it time already, Alaric?”

The man only uttered a thick-toned syllable. Fir’umil grabbed his staff and turned to face the hulking figure. To do so, the elf had to look up to see the nearly black eyes of the 7 foot warrior. Without a word, Alaric nodded towards the exit and began walking. Fir’umil followed, watching with mild amusement as the denizens of the hallway gave the warrior a wide berth.

Not for the first time, the elf wondered at the man’s heritage. His skin was brown, almost black, with a mixture of ritualistic carvings up and down his arms, his neck and even his face. Beneath the long cloak he wore, Alaric’s sword hilt was evident, the wicked looking pommel the shape of a bull’s head. The breastplate he wore, matte black, seemed to swallow up the light of the few candles and torches that lit the surrounding chambers.

Outside it was raining, the thick gray skies finally giving up the promised deluge that they’d hung over Absalom for the past week. A small human boy huddled beneath a canvas tarp, holding the rains of two camels whose legs were folded beneath them.

Fir’umil passed a copper to the boy and resisted the urge to strike him when he didn’t leave immediately. By the Pools of Fistandantulus how he hated humans!

“I dislike camels just as much…” he muttered to the rain. He adjusted his satchels and scroll case to ensure they were safely beneath his cloak and climbed into the camel’s saddle.

Alaric made no comment, mounting his own saddle much to the dismay of the camel beneath.

The two moved off into the early morning hours, rain pouring down on wizard and warrior as the 1st of September dawned in Absalom.

The rain pounded upon the Graceful Swan, heavy drops finding their way through the roof tiles and into the assorted pails and bowls scattered about the establishment. Somehow, the rain brought with it more of the harbor’s stink, if that was at all possible. Within its walls, longshoremen and harbor denizens shouted profanities at the boy struggling with an out of tune lute and hoisted their flagons to celebrate the best jabs. The boy, not to be out done, wove his own string of profanities and colorful gestures into his song.

Even in the early hours, the main tavern hall was full to brimming with drinkers and those looking to fill their bellies before a long day on the docks. The barmaids wove expertly mapped paths through the stinking bodies of workers and drunkards, filling every flagon so long as the coin kept flowing in equal measure.

Mal’undil rested back in his seat situated against the wall, and smiled. The sights and sounds made him feel at home. The faces reminded him that no matter how far on the wrong side of business one found themselves there was always an angle available to get you back. And the smells reminded him that he was always the wiser by only trusting the mead and not the food in this establishment. He scratched at his close-cut beard and watched as another patron defied the laws of gravity with how far he could spit. A careful drum beat on the table helped him mark time until the target of such phlegmy ballistics realized who delivered the projectile. The fight ensued not long after.

Mal smiled again. Even if the old tavern housed several bad memories for the half-elf, there was more than an equal share of good ones to balance them out. One of them included meeting the human seated calmly to his left.

Lau smiled good-naturedly at the barmaid passing by who couldn’t stop winking at him. Perhaps it was the knowledge her quarry would never trade his vows for a roll in the back sinning away that put a challenge in her swaying hips. Or perhaps Matilda simply liked the cut of Lau’s cloth. With her it was hard to tell.

“She likes you, Lau.” He mentioned after Matilda had disappeared behind the bar.

The monk smiled and waved a hand towards the half-elf from within the sleeves of his Tangzhuang jacket. “Don’t encourage her, my friend.”

“I only seek to keep the peace amongst the serving staff.” He nodded towards the bar where Matilda was tittering away with Tooma and glancing towards their table. “I would not like to see them angry at us and begin bringing our drinks from the Grog Pit down the street.”

His friend chuckled but shook his head humbly. No, the temple would not look too kindly upon one of their acolytes enjoying the company of a local woman. Besides, Lau was only alongside Mal’undil to ensure his meeting went well. Not for his love of women, and not so much for his formidable fighting skills…but more for the calming tempo that was the monk’s life energy.

Mal’undil smiled back at his friend and took a sip of his mead. He winced as the liquid bit into the back of his throat. Mayhap they had started bringing in some of the Grog Pit’s beverage standards. He coughed a bit to clear his airways and returned the flagon to the table.

“We are taking them directly to master Caleb’s shop?”

Mal nodded as another small fight broke out in the back of the tavern. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say they’ll feel a bit more comfortable there. At least to start out…”

“And we will know them on sight?”

Another nod. “That’s what the Scroll told me.” He paused as he absently brought the flagon to his lips again. He shrugged and down the rest of the drink. “They’re arriving on the Banded Fist out of Cassomir this morning. A small trade vessel carrying sundries for some local paladins.”

Mal’undil didn’t need to mention that being elves alone would cause their charges to stand out on the docks. All the better to get them out of the area before they were courted to visit Avenstar. Full-bloods or not, Mal didn’t want to see these newcomers scooped up by the local elven snobbery if he could avoid it.

The door to the tavern blew in, sprays of rain and cold air reminding the interior that the weather outside was frightful. Through the opening, Mal spotted a banner waving from the top mast of an arriving vessel. A single fist pointed to the right set on a backdrop of red and green. Caleb’s contact in Cassomir had been clear on the description.

“I think they’re hear, my friend.” Mal stood smoothly, grabbing up his great-coat from the back of the chair and donning his broad-brimmed hat. He reached into a tiny pocket in his vest to withdraw a coin but stopped short when he noted the pair of silvers already on the table.

Lau stood by, hands busily wrapping himself in his cloak and placing his own hat on his head. Underneath the brim a sly smile was the only indication of the monk’s amusement.

“I’m buying next time.”

Lau only bowed slightly on the quarterstaff in his hands. “I’m assuming once you’re faster.”

Mal harrumphed and headed for the tavern door as he shrugged into his coat. Outside, the rain pelted down on the brim of his hat, soaking him and his companion before they were a few steps from the tavern. At the least a carriage awaited to take them to Caleb’s shop in the Merchant’s Quarter. They could dry off in transit. In the distance, the heavy timbers of the Beast could be heard offloading cargo from one of the heavier trade vessels.

Winding their way through the throngs, Mal’undil and Lau found themselves standing before the gangplank of the Banded Fist. The crew was working feverishly to tie off the canvas sails and rig the ship for dock. It was a small vessel, only three masts, but it appeared well-appointed and even sported cannon ports along the side they were facing.

“Wha’s the story, stranger?” One of the deckhands, the first mate by the cut of his coat, was coming down the gangplank followed by a few of his shipmates, all looking eager to hit the docks.

Mal flashed a quick grin and made a quick Andorani gesture with his thumb and forefingers. “Here to take some guests off your hands.”

The first mate shouldered past Mal and Lau to make way for his crewmates to exit the ship. From the looks of things, they appeared very eager to leave. He flashed a return gesture and nodded up back towards the ship. “Captain will be glad to see you. He’ll be expecting his payment, I stake my warrant on that one.”

The half-elf had expected as much. Caleb’s contact had been clear on the price; half up front, the other half upon arrival at Absalom. Mal’undil nodded, “Captain Spinniker, I was told?”

“Aye.” The first mate gestured back to the ship.

A sturdy fellow of surprising girth descended the plank, brightly polished basket hilt at his hip, long coat of heavy cloth with billowing sleeves colored in ordered reds and greens. The captain looked dignified despite the deluge falling on his head. However, if Mal missed his guess, the stout captain seemed eager as well to be off the decks of his own ship.

“He the one, Cloncee?”

The first mate knuckled his brow, rain water running down the lines of his worn face. “Aye, Captain.”

Thumping down the last few steps to the docks, the captain stood a few inches shorter than Mal’undil, but the hat and his air of authority more than made up for the difference. “How do you make your mark?” he asked, drawing his coat ever so slightly away from the basket-hilt of his sabre.

Mal bowed and replied with the proper phrase, “Not at all, if I can help it.”

The cacophony of the dockyards mixed with the pounding rain for several seconds while the Captain studied both Mal and his Monk friend. Lau, for his part, stood casually, leaning upon his quarterstaff with the rain dripping off the brim of his hat.

“Bah,” Captain Spinniker waved off his doubts and stabbed a finger towards Mal then the first mate. “Pay the balance to Cloncee here…” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “And get them off of my ship.”

Because it was so rare, Mal noticed Lau stiffen. The monk was looking back up towards the top of the gangplank. The half-elf followed his gaze.

Through the rain and the shifting mists on the wind, he made out a pair of graceful, slender figures. Male and female elves, that was obvious. What else became obvious was the reason for the crew’s eagerness to be off ships. Moving sinuously down the plank at the side of the female elf came the hulking figure of a large tiger.

Mal pulled the pouch of coins he’d been given by Caleb from his belt and handed it over to the first mate, not taking his eyes off of the newcomers descending the plank.

“Lau, my friend, we’re going to need a bigger carriage.”

The two elves and the tiger stand at the top of the ramp for several moments unmoving before the shorter smaller cloaked and hooded figure started to move down the ramp only to be gently stopped by the much taller and broader one. The tiger scenting and tastig the air looks in your direction holding its head low then pulling it erect to reguard you with piercing eyes as it pants.

The taller figure moves infront of the smaller one and steps fluidly down the ramp towards you followed by the second figure and the large cat.

Once you get a good look at the tiger you can see that not only is it a large apex preditor, but it sports a spiked collar and studded leather barding as well. No wonder the sailors could not wait to disembark, yet despite the shear power of the beast it is offset by a dainty leash causually held by the smaller of the two walking towards you.

They stop a few arm lengths away before the taller person pulls bak his hood revealing his elven features on his somewhat long face. "Mal’undil,I presume. We had been given word that one such as you would be warfside to greet us upon our landfall." The elf appears slightly annoyed as the smaller figure moves forward openly and gushes with the earnest cheerful vigor only possesed by young women the world over in tones highly melodic even to critical elven ears.

In elven"Good evening, A star shines on us in this hour of our meeting. Our benefator sends greetings as may the leaves of your life tree never turn brown the wind fill your sails, thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back. And may the ways of our new companionship be green and golden. The journey has been long and my heart sings to meet you Mal'undil."

Two small hands come up to reveal the rest of the beautiful features you can only catch a hint of inside the dark cowel of the cloak, but then they hesitate. The small lithe and sprite like elven woman continues in a regretful melodic tone, "Forgive me for speaking to you with my face not skyclad, but my brother has admonished me that it is not wise for me to reveal myself lest I cause difficulty for us. Please accept my apology and know that it is meant as no slight or abuse."

The large, but likely juvenile tiger in your estimation, watches his mistress and your actions carefully with feline disinterested arrogance yet obviously ready to react at the slightest provocation. When not watched by what sounds like a young elf woman. The cat flexes his whiskers and flicks his tail at you, before taking a much more docile demeanor when the elf woman steps back after her greating rubbing the great cats face.

The tall elf with the hunter's eyes appears to not take for granted the certainty of your identity shared by his female companion as he watches and evaluates you apparently wait silently for you to respond.

The rain continued to pelt the docks, but despite the dampness he couldn't help by smile down at her. Thinking on his elven, Mal'undil bowed slightly.

"There are no apologies needed, little one," he replied in the language of his father. He gestured towards Lau, and switched back to Common, "This is my good friend, Lau Fu Shan, a monk dedicated to the Old God Erastil"

Fist to palm, Lau smiled and bowed low. "I am your humble servant."

Mal studied the pair for a while, marking the stance of the male in relation to the female.

Sense Motive Check - 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

Family... Mal thought. Better tread softly.

"I have word from your man in Greengold," Mal produced a slip of parchment, one that had been coiled about the leg of a raven who'd arrived in the night several weeks prior. On it was a phrase written in elven, most likely put to paper by the male elf standing before him.

Hopefully it would be enough to assuage his suspicions.

The rain dripped off the brim of his hat, causing Mal'undil to long for the comforts of Caleb's shop and perhaps some of his cooking. He'd promised a spiced broth with assorted vegetables and poultry. Something the old Bard's impending guests may enjoy.

The male elf studied the slip of paper, eyes looking from Mal'undil to the monk and back to the paper.

Mal folded his hands before him. "I see your companion is tacked for riding, but I do have a carriage nearby that may be able to fit the lot of us." He gestured towards the big cat. "Will he be okay to travel in such a manner?"

Glancing up towards the driving rain, Mal smiled again before speaking directly to the male elf. "The shop is quite a ways off, and it may do well to keep them out of the public view for the time."

Perhaps appealing to the man's protective nature would work. For some reason, Mal didn't think an elf riding a white tiger in the streets represented subtlety...but then again, this was Absalom.

"Oh Thorendel, I call him Thor for short, is actually fine in the rain. Unlike most big cats Tigers are quite at home in the rain and actually swim for sport. A short ride should not . ."

". . . Should not be risked. Again, this is not the woods of our homeland, or even the outskirts of Greengold. This is a city of mostly humans a place we are not familiar with and holds many unknown dangers for us, despite our gifts and talents. This is why our benefactor chose Mal'undil to be our guide and mentor. To help bridge us into the world of man from the realm of the elves. Until we have the understanding of how things work here we will depend on his instincts until we can develop our own."

"I am aware this city can be a dangerous place especially for one as open and innocent as my sister. Despite having spent hours coaching her to be careful what information she gives up at every conversation."

"I am sorry Karthan, I was just so happy to be off the ship and Mal'undil looks just as he was described to be . . ."

Karthan sighs, but not in an unkindly manner as he briefly puts an arm across his sisters shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "Now not only have you given up our relation, but my name as well. You must learn to become more guarded in your words and actions, especially in situations such as this, but for tonight we are safe for I recognize the pen of this paper." Karthan says holding up the scrap handed to him by the half elf. "The longhand would be hard enough to forge, but the ink and enchantments on it all the more so." Demonstrating that the paper and its inked characters are unaffected by the deluge for all to see. "A nice touch and subtle display of power."

Turning to regard his sister who is quite short, even for the more fey-like grey elves, Karthan places his hands on his sister's shoulders. "Please you must try to be more tacturn, at least a little, please? And you would loose your ears if they weren't attached, you have forgotten your belongings back on deck. Elven made goods are not easily replaced here."

"Oh my word I must surely be landsick! I'll be right back, but first allow me to intoduce myself I am Zandra Dawnsetter follower of the Green Way and of the Everqueen. Since you are the right person we were to meet here I can see no harm in introducing myself now. I would like to now perform the palm pressing arm shake ritual of the humans kingdoms with you!" Zandra bubbles with excitement and steps forward reaching out with a perfectly sculpted hand towards Mal'undil pushing a soft breeze scented with an ambrosia of exotic, oils, perfumes and of her own phermones to his nose.

Seeing the hand extended and caught somewhat off guard Mal'undil rtakes her hand by reflex and Zandra jerkily shakes it in an awkward estimation of a handshake before releasing it and pouncing towards Lau. "Oh I hope I get this one right. Come va? Benissimo!" and she plants a kiss on each cheek leaving the telltale symbol of a woman's lipstick on each before hurrying up the ship's ramp to retrieve her pack and an elven polearm.

After letting the other two men marinate in shock for a little while Karthan dryly delivers, "As you can see I have my hands full. She has no idea her affect on men let alone other elves and though sweet she is flighty at best. To her it seems the world is like summer grass to her bare feet."

Thor lets out a humanlike groan as if he agrees with Karthan and sinks down to watch his mistress retrieving her baggage.

"I would be pleased to accept your offered carriage ride, if you feel that it can hold all of us and the cat. Otherwise my sister can ride with me on my horse, which they are bringing up from below decks at the moment, if it would save room so that we may conceal the cat."

Low growling . . .

"Okay fine, companion animal, as Thor seems to like to remind me.", Karthan jibes as he rolls his eyes and holds his hands out to the other two men in a what can one do/please help me gesture.

…meanwhile, back at the shop, Caleb readies his shop and home for visitors…

“No, no, no, Nicolonhost…the pressure gauge is useless there…”

“I don’t think so, Endrestormar, it should go right there if he wants to see it…”

“Rubbish, just like your designs!” The little gnome, Endrestormar Steambaronwhirl shook a heavy iron wrench at his brother and rubbed a dirty hand across his purple-hued face. A proper trail of black oil and soot wound its way across Endrestormar’s nose and cheeks. “He’s a cat, how will he know when the pressure is too high?”

Nicolonhost Steambaronwhirl shook his pair of ‘drivers right back at his brother. “Rubbish is the stink your breath emits all day!” His skin was a little lighter than his brothers, causing his appearance to halo when he stood in front of the fireplace.

Both of them began chattering away in gnomish, if for anything to make sure they got their insults properly voiced.

Caleb the Scroll sat back in his easy chair within the resting room and smiled. A long-armed pipe was clamped in his molars, hanging out the right side of his mouth like a wooden brazier. In his hands, he gently gave the tuning gear a turn to bring the E string to rights. His smile broadened when he heard a wonderfully scathing remark come from Nicolonhost. How he did love it when the Steambaronwhirl family stopped by the shop! The old bard loved gnomes in general, a wonderful people after his own heart.

“I think Endrestormar is correct, Nicolo. The cat will have no use for the gauge…” He cut in to the two’s contest of wills. “Besides, I think the Platformicusrestfulbandonton works just as it was billed by Steambaronwhirl & Company.”

Endrestormar spun on his heels and pointed his iron wrench at Caleb threateningly. “That’s the Platformicusrestfulbandontonatualisfelisgiganticus, curse your old human eyes!”

His brother chuckled as he slipped his ‘drivers back into his utility belt. “You have to admit, brother, his eyes are still functional if he can see through the cloud of your stink to the genius of my design.” He puffed up his chest and rocked forward on the balls of his feet.

One brother pushed the other but they couldn’t help ultimately laughing, the tools and trinkets of their trade jingling and clanking away.

Caleb chuckled along with them; a long-armed pipe was clamped in his molars, hanging out the right side of his mouth like a wooden brazier. In his hands, he gently gave the tuning gear on the head of his lute a turn to bring the E string to rights.

The Steambaronwhirl family was peculiar, even by the standards of the gnomish race. They held a proper love of nature and all things fey-born, but they’re true passion lay in their fascination with steam. Caleb had been quite thankful upon their arrival earlier in the day. No sooner had Mal’undil and Lau had departed for the docs then Marishalanda, the matriarch of the Steambaronwhirl clan had bounded into the shop.

“We’ve come to town to see if our only human friend is still alive.” Her long blue locks bounded about her precocious eyes as they had flickered mock sympathy at the sight of Caleb behind the front counter. Her lip puckered out as she called out to the rest of the family clanking their way up the shop’s entry path. “Leave the haversacks, boys & girls, he’s not dead yet.”

Endrestormar had been the next through the door. “Ah camel dung! I wanted to lay claim to his collection of pots and pans!!”

Before long, all 5 of the clan had been dirvishing their way through his shop, piling hugs and gifts his way as they had greeted their Bravicount Deadenemies. It had been at least 2 years since they’d last met in Absalom. Too long by Caleb’s reckoning, but they were gnomes.

“No more twisting my nuts!!” Endrestormar’s exclamation brought Caleb back to the present.

Nicolo was had grabbed his brother’s wrench and had proceeded to tighten down the pressure gauge on their latest invention.

“I think I hear Marishalanda calling, you two. Better get back to the kitchen before she starts spicing the vegetables without you.”

The two looked doubtful, but they weren’t taking any chances. Spicing, along with proper device procedures, were at the top of their list of responsibilities. They turned and darted for the kitchen, a parting insult over the shoulder in gnomish that accused Caleb’s elder nature of slowing their own faculties. In their wake, the smell of oils and metal work mixed with the aromas coming from the kitchen.

He heard the swinging door to the kitchen shifting, just barely since Kalshantero had gotten to it with his oiling can and cloth. From a recessed pocket in his coat he brought out the slip of paper from Oleron. Caleb’s old contact in Greengold had told him of the arriving guests…elven siblings, a tiger and their potential.

Oleron wanted guidance for the two younglings. But there had been something else in the note, a message of warning…

“I’m getting too old for these sorts of things, Oleron,” Caleb spoke to the paper as though it would conduct his voice the thousands of miles to Greengold. “But I’ll do what I can.”

He replaced the note in his pocket and began strumming a tune on his lute, puffing away at his pipe and smiling with anticipation for new arrivals.

“Oh yes, my old friend, I’ll do what I can.”

...back at the docks

"I would be pleased to accept your offered carriage ride, if you feel that it can hold all of us and the cat. Otherwise my sister can ride with me on my horse, which they are bringing up from below decks at the moment, if it would save room so that we may conceal the cat."

The tiger emitted a low growl of warning…

"Okay fine, companion animal, as Thor seems to like to remind me.", Karthan jibed as he rolls his eyes and holds his hands out to the other two men in a what can one do/please help me gesture.

Mal’undil smiled towards the end of the dock, mischief in his eyes. “I think we’ll be just fine with transport.” He pressed his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply for Hindre and the carriage.

A large, six-person carriage made its way deftly between crates and dock workers, towed by 4 camels. But judging by the look in Hindre’s eyes, the surprise Mal had hoped to bestow up on the old human wasn’t received. The pale blue eyes simply looked out from under his broad-brimmed hat and nodded towards the back of the carriage.

You already knew there was going to be a tiger… Mal laughed a bit to himself, realizing that Caleb was the one having sport.

“Alright, let’s climb aboard and we’ll get going.” He glanced towards the crew from the Banded Fist working the straps from around Karthan’s mount. “Let’s keep him tied closely to the carriage,” hist tone unmistakably a warning.

Karthan raised an eyebrow as he shouldered a pack.

“Horses are a low population on the island.” Mal paused briefly and glanced, then leaned in close to Karthan. “The centaurs find their presence offending, and the harpies that roam the mountains and countryside just find them delicious.”

Lau approached with Zandra, instructing her in his own dialect from Breythor. “Ni Hao is the pronunciation,” he smiled down at the young elf. He had already managed to shoulder some of the gear and bowed as he moved away to load the carriage.

Once all was in readiness, the group boarded the carriage, Lau climbing up to sit next to Hindre in the driver’s bench.

Karthan asked cautiously, “Is he a servant?”

Mal closed the carriage door and leaned back into his seat across from the two elves. “Lau?” He shook his head and doffed his hat to put it on the seat next to him. “No, but he does have a servant-leader’s heart.”

The carriage rocked a bit as they moved turned about and departed the dock. “Lau Fu Shan is one of the instructors at his temple. Actually the youngest in several generations from what I hear.” He hooked a thumb towards where the monk was seated outside the carriage. “He’s too humble to admit it though.”

Though hidden behind the heavy rain and clouds, light began to bathe Absalom with a solemn note. The rest of the city was coming to life in the early hours, the market stalls near the docks beginning to open their extended canvas overhangs against the rain. People began clogging the walkways as their days began anew in the City at the Center of the World.

To their right side, the Beast continued it labor, hoisting tons of cargo from docked ships on either side of the structure. It was a 5-story stone windmill-like structure, a cyclopean accomplishment of engineering and function. As they passed by the building, Zandra stared up in wonder.

Mal’undil gave them as much information as they desired, trying to keep up with Zandra’s inquisitiveness and the more direct questions of her brother. But there was no shortage of topics as they passed Westward to the Merchant’s District. The myriad of races embarking in the commercial and personal lives that were the heartbeat of Absalom, the guardsmen addressing another bar fight out front of a nameless tavern, riders on Axebeak or Camel-back…even Halflings riding their dogs of burden.

The smells and the noises of the city, an assault on the normal inhabitants…Mal’undil was curious to see how these newcomers would adapt.

I’ll let you fill in some flavor text on what you guys see and discuss as you travel towards the Merchant’s Quarter… Feel free to strike up whatever conversation you’d like as we make the approach to Caleb’s shop. Then I’ll bring us in for a landing.

Karthan watched the goings on outside the carriage with cool indifference eyes scanning the people's and places without emotion, but keen eyes. "I wonder what it is our benefactor expects us to find here though I know he believes you will be the one to lead us to it."

"This place seethes with life energy. I can feel it flowing . . . she pulls back her hood exposing her beautiful perfect face accented with henna markings around her almond shaped doe eyes. She tilts her face upwards, closes her eyes and turns her face side to side listening or sensing something that no one else can. she opens her eyes and looks directly at Mel. "I sense a strong entity there one as Old as any in this place. she indicates towards the Ivy.

Thor flicks his tail to and fro watching Mel with intent eyes like pools of liquid gold.

"Tell me Mel'undil, who is Caleb the Scroll to you and what do you know of this man? He seems to have lived quite the life, I understand he has developed extensive contacts though he must be close to his silver years. I also understand he has amassed quite an extensive personal library."

"I can't wait to meet him, he sounds like such a dear fellow and I hope he is full of stories."

”Who is this Caleb the Scroll to you…?”

Mal thought on the question for some time, sparing a smile for Zandra’s enthusiasms. The rain continued outside the carriage, the sound of the camels’ hooves drawing them closer to Caleb’s shop. He nodded northwards…

“Just beyond the Merchant’s District is a place called Green Ridge. Within that place, all manner of nature and greenery is watched over by the local druids. Small farms, a beautiful stand of trees…the Evergreen Park…” He saw the light growing in Zandra’s eyes. “What you sense is the work going into maintaining the area, the magics of old that keep it green and flourishing. Most of all, you sense the Grand Holt.”

Mal’undil’s hands drew outward, gesturing to the great expanse. “A giant fig tree that’s been here since before Aroden founded Absalom.” He leaned forward, arm resting on his knee while his other gestured upwards. “Legend has it that when Aroden finished his great work of bringing Absalom forth, he took his rest and sup beneath the Grand Holt’s immense branches.”

The Half-elf sighed and sat back into the leather cushions of the carriage’s seat. “Alas, I’d hoped to surprise you both with a trip to Green Ridge in a day or so.” He nodded to Zandra, “First an opportunity for you to pay your respects to the region, but also something to remind you that not all of Absalom is brick and mortar, but some of the life of the earth still lives and thrives. But we’ll have to travel there without the element of surprise, I suppose.”

Zandra’s smile was infectious, but the brightness of her face reminded Mal of her relative youth and naivety. It also reminded him of his own youthful lack of knowledge when he’d first encountered Caleb so many years ago. He turned to Karthan, “As for Caleb, I met him twenty years ago…”

The beginnings of the Merchant District opened up before the carriage, the sounds of the early morning hawkers matching the thrum of the driving rain. Mal nodded towards the south side of the district. “Actually, he found me not more than a few blocks that way.”

“He found you?” Karthan’s brow furrowed. Something in Mal’undil’s tone prompted his next question. “What were you doing at the time?”

Mal remembered the first time he’d met Caleb…he remembered what he’d been doing when the old Bard had caught him…oh, yes, he remembered all too well. A roguish grin spread across his lips as he brushed a lock of brown hair from his face. “Who me?”

Karthan nodded. Zandra leaned forward with interest while Thor’s tail flicked casually at her feet.

“Misbehaving and aligning with a nature created by an unwise teacher… I was about the business of robbery…” Mal’s smile diminished. “Unfortunately, I was also about the business of murder…”

The following is an account of Mal’s first encounter with Caleb the Scroll…or as he’d been known at the time, Caleb Manycloaks…

Mal’undil crept along the bridge, running low with the moon as it darted in and out of the clouds. The night was deep into the 3rd watch, late even for a city such as Absalom. Ahead of him, Byfrost Street awaited; a conglomerate of cold-weather attire, gear and other sundries for those foolish enough to brave the mountains in the center of Kortos.

But what drew his steps did not reside in those shops. His soft boots huffed along the stone and carried the Half-elf to Harsk’s Mountaineers a 4-story shop of little note save for the carved wooden likeness of the proprietor standing sentry at the front door. Mal grinned at the added inches to Harsk’s actual height, amused that where most dwarves took pride in their stature, the shop owner sought to bolster his own. Unfortunately for the dwarf, his lack of self-esteem did not apply to his level of greed. His stubby little fingers had found their way into the till far too often. Mal’undil’s employers were finding it harder and harder to look the other way no matter how many unsuspecting vacationers Harsk put in their grasp.

The human’s face, until then a study in compassion and concern, somehow glowed with relief for the Half-elf before him. “Stop this act, Mal’undil…this is not what he’d want for you…”

…end of story…

Mal’s eyes came back from the past, his hand touching at his chest where his father’s pendant rested underneath his shirt. Both Karthan and Zandra kept their own council for the moment.

“Twenty years ago, my father saved me.” He smiled at the two elves a hint of his roguish grin unable to mask the depth of his words. “He saved me through the vessel of Caleb, a human. He is one of only two humans in my life that I’ve heard been named Vinr Alfakyn.” The name for Elf Friend in the oldest of elven tongues.

The carriage continued onwards through the tightening streets of the Merchant’s Quarter.

“Caleb was once a court bard to a lord in Absalom, but he ran afoul of the lord’s wife when he wouldn’t accept her advances.” Mal smiled, deciding to withhold the name of the specific lord for the time being. The newcomers would know him not, but the name could cause trouble if it were sounded too frequently. “He left the lord’s service and traveled the lands, beginning what he calls his ‘Great Sojourn’. He left the Isle of Kortos and traveled from land to land to learn more of Golarion.”

Mal paused, thinking on his next words. “I’ll not bore you with tales of his exploits, he has both the voice and talent that puts my feeble storytelling skills to shame. But to suffice to say his is a life well lived and a soul well founded in trust and dedication.”

He touched upon the memories of that night twenty years ago and smiled. "After all, he traveled thousands of miles and spent 4 years in search of his best friend's son."

"Vinr Alfkyn, truly? . . . That is impressive for a half-elf, much more so for a human due to their such . . . Er, shall we say brief time to perform such deeds as to be recognized. He must have been magically blessed to have accomplished such a feet and to hear you praise his voice definitely raises my interest in meeting him. It is good that he prevented you from going about the business of murder. You must have been forlorn to have stooped to such a deed in service to some miserable band of thieves."

"We'll, he sounds like a delightful man and it makes even more sense now why our benefactor has sent us here to learn from him and you. I for one am glad to be here to experience nature and its beings in all forms. The gods created us an gave us forms for a reason. Though elves have been blessed with long lives not all are blessed with drive or a sense of urgency to do something with it. Mal'Undil you appear to have been blessed with the best of both worlds though burdened with the drawbacks of each. If I might ask, how old are you?

"If you would please forgive my sisters forward yet in earnest inquiry, she has spent little time learning the formalities of the east of the wood. She does not seek to offend, but is rather used to a more open setting and has not spent much time at court.

"You must allow things to develop before you trust in any newly made aquantences openness and character lest you anger or go into areas of conversation that are politely off limits."

"My sister sees the silver in every cloud sometimes to the point of missing the cloud itself. The woods and fey of our ward were of the most open and wholesome of nature."

"Sorry if I have caused you any hurt in someway that I do not understand."

”…that is impressive for a half-elf…”

Mal smirked at Karthan’s comment. The ranger was far too young to know the insult he’d just conveyed, perhaps to even understand it in the least. With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs as he draped his right arm along the back of the bench seat. Looking across at them, he kept reminding himself of their relative youth to his own age. Most likely they were 30 to 40 years older than he…but the time they’d spent with their feet this side of the womb meant little when it came to wisdom.

His smile unwavering, he looked to Zandra. “There is no offense given in your question. I am a very well-trodden, world-weary 65 years of age.” Mal heard a tap at the outside of the carriage, Lau letting him know they were close to Caleb’s shop.

To both of them, Mal’undil continued. “Be mindful of your tenor and wording in the city.” He nodded towards the passing streets of the city. “I don’t sense it in your voice or manner, but the superiority most elves feel towards my kind or the other races will not walk a great distance here.”

Mal’undil held up a hand to forestall a response from both of them. “There is peace amongst us, this I promise. But in Absalom, elves are outnumbered by the other races, some by as many as 50 to 1. In a given year, an elven lifespan is as short as mine. Either finding its end at the point of a blade or an unflavored food additive.

“But the interesting thing is that the intolerance all of the races hold for one another also pegs them into a hole of careful wording and caution to avoid confrontations.” Mal grabbed up his hat from the seat next to him and placed it on his head. He drew his gloved thumb and forefinger across the brim with a flourish and chuckled. “It’s always a show when watching a human going out of his way to avoid offense with a dwarven merchant when he knows a precious gem is on the scales.”

He looked to Zandra again, a touch of regret and sadness in his eyes. “Your brother speaks the truth of it though, young Zandra. Be cautious of the trust you would offer with open palms. In the darker areas of this city, neither the astonishing beauty of your face nor the power of your companion will be enough to turn aside the malice that lurks in the hearts of some.”

They rode on in silence for the last few blocks, Mal staying relaxed and collected. It would have been during the years prior to meeting Caleb that he would have had such malice and darkness in his own heart. But he’d learned to bury the past when he realized the future his father had had planned for him. A life spent over the past 20 years with his face turned to the sky rather than to the shadows had done wonders for his disposition.

He felt a shift in weight as Lau hopped from the top of the carriage. Shortly after Hindre pulled the camels to a stop and Lau opened the carriage door. The rain had tempered somewhat from a deluge to a sprinkle. To the east, the sun was just cresting over the rooftops of the Merchant’s Quarter, poking rays through thick, grey clouds.

Mal gestured towards the open carriage door, Lau standing to the side. “Welcome, my new friends to the Whirls of Wonder Shop of Tomes & Curiosities.”

The smells of cooking deer meat, gamey and fresh wafted towards the carriage. Even with the dampness in the air, the smells of steamed vegetables with spices wrapped them all in an invitation.

Caleb the Scroll watched through window of his shop as Lau Fu Shan nimbly leapt from the driver’s bench and landed steadily despite the rain. Caleb resisted the urge to head out the door and greet the newcomers, but he wagered the Steambaronwhirl clan would be keen to retain that honor.

“Marishalanda, my guests have arrived.” He headed down the hallway leading from the front of the shop to the kitchen.

“Our guests, you old book-peddler!” the gnome matriarch huffed. She turned from the cook-pot and hopped down from the step stool. “Boys!!”

All five arrayed themselves in front of the shop near the door, each holding the gifts they had prepared for the new arrivals. As the front door opened, they shouted in unison, “Creoso a'baramin!!! (Welcome in elvish).

But it was Mal’undil through the door first. Nicolo cursed in gnomish, pulling a small pen-looking device from a hip pouch, blue sparks and snaps emitting from the end to goad Mal out of the way of the two elves.

“Creoso a'baramin!!! The gnomes cried again in elven.

Endrestormar and Nicolo bustled forward to stand before Thor, their bright, purple hair flouncing along with the tools and gears festooning their utility webbings. One held out a wreath of perfumed garlands while the other held out the grizzly shank-bone of the buck killed for the lunch festivities.

”Welcome and peace in the highest for one of the mightiest felines of the land!” They greeted in Sylvan, kneeling respectfully in front of the spectacular beast.

Nicolo draped the garland about the big cat’s head, careful to move slowly and speaking soothing words in the tongue of Druids. Endrestormar, stood back with the bone and gestured for Thor and the two elves to follow. “Come, come, we have a gift for your wonderful companion.” He turned and skipped further down the hall, leading away from the front of the shop and past the kitchen and into the large back room.

The rest of the clan, lead by Marishalanda, followed behind to usher them forward. She noticed right off as Mal attempted to lean into the kitchen to grab a morsel. It earned a swat from the clan matriarch. “No cheating! Lunch is not ready, but will be soon!”

The smells of the meal permeated the shop’s lower floor, mixing with the musty & warm scents of scrolls and books and vellum and bindings. The heavy oak shelves lined the front room of the store, stretching upwards 10 feet and down the hallway leading to the back.

Caleb watched it all with a smile, happy to stand to the back as the gnomes played host. The old Bard rested his body against the shop’s main counter, spectacles balanced precariously at the end of his nose. He waved greetings to the two elves, eyes softening on the small female who’s own eyes were wide as saucers but more beautiful than a sunset. His fatherly instincts kicked in momentarily, igniting a small flame of worry for the poor girl when she would eventually have to set foot outside the confines of his shop.

As the group moved down the hall, Caleb stepped to the front door and saw Hindre coming around the side of the building from where he’d put the carriage to rest with Aric the groomsman.

“I’ll see to the front," Hindre mentioned as he doffed his coat and hat and hung them from the rack on the other side of the door. He moved his old frame to the counter and took a seat at the stool, waving off Caleb to head to the back.

Caleb gestured thanks to his assistant and headed down the hall. Good and loyal, Hindre… he thought to himself. The old human, 10 years older than Caleb, had been a trusted aide for nearly 12 years. Long enough for Caleb to know the old man wouldn’t particularly subscribe to the elvish feast about to take place. More of a porridge and stew man he was, and a happy consumer of Caleb’s culinary experimentations.

He ambled down the hall, sniffing at the wonderful aromas of Elven Cuisine wafting from the kitchen. Most likely, Marishalanda would take credit for the cooking…but they were using Caleb’s recipes. But that was alright, the gnomes did love the work. Past all the friendly insults and jibes, the Steambaronwhirl clan was more an extended family to the old Bard. The years since Caleb had saved Marishalanda’s son Guten from being sold into slavery had seen them growing closer and closer to the point Caleb swore he saw a familial resemblance.

In the back room, Mal’undil and Lau had already found themselves pushed to the far side and into a small couch while Karthan and Zandra were given the comfy chairs near the fireplace. Endrestormar and Nicolo were arguing with Kalshantero as the maintainer tweaked with the tiger’s gift.

“Off of it you useless tinkerer!!”

“You left this spring loose; it could come up and twist the poor thing’s tail!”

“Nonsense!” Endrestormar and Nicol exclaimed indignantly.

Thor, for his part, seemed to wait patiently at the guidance of his mistress, sniffing contentedly at the garland about his majestic neck.

Nicolo coaxed the tiger to take his rest on the Platformicusrestfulbandontonatualisfelisgiganticus, speaking gently but firmly in Sylvan. Wisps of steam came from the assorted pipes leading from automated billows to the platform where the tiger sniffed. There were piles of furs and a rather voluminous pillow waiting for him. Whatever he sensed, the warmth of the platform called to his desire for comfort.

Caleb politely moved to his chair, removing the lute that rested there so he could take his seat. He began to pluck absently at the instrument, forming a song as his fingers moved of their own accord. The gnomes began to calm themselves, Marishalanda directing them to go to the kitchen and begin bringing the food. As they clanked away, they began humming to Caleb’s tune. For his part, the old Bard began to sing in Elven.

I breathe the lands of my ancestors,
I drift amongst the trees,
I long for days when my feet were bear
And my eyes could count the leaves…

The morning sun, shines on us all
And brings life to the wood…

You can roll a knowledge check – target no. 18 – to recognize the tune. It's a tale of Queen Telandia Edasseril in her youth when she first left the Kyonin Wood to learn of the world outside.

There was little magic in the music or his voice other than to convey the feeling of peace and welcoming. It was an old tune…one learned, point of fact, from Mal’undil’s mother and further refined by another elf who’d recently called his shop home for a time. Caleb guarded a silent thought of prayer for Hal’dorel and his barbarian companion.

As the song came to a close, those in attendance seemed to blink as though awakening from a restive afternoon nap. Caleb gestured towards the area of the room behind the gathering of comfy chairs and couches to a long, oak dining table where the gnomes had already set places for an early lunch.

Caleb took the seat at the head of the table and hoisted a porcelain wine goblet upwards in toast. “My heart sings greetings to our new guests, and prays that their time under my roof is one of peace, learning and fellowship.”

Karthan enjoyed the rest of the carriage ride in silence. He actually preferred to take in the city with his own senses before having his first impressions colored by others experiences and opinions. If this was to be his new hunting grounds he would need to get the measure of it himself.

Mel'undil was perfect for this place and in fact his shady beginnings would only be a strength. The best person to check the security of your home is a burglar, as long as you can find one that can be trusted. Apparently Mel'undil was that half-elf. Karthan would need to learn of the underbelly that this city definitely harbored.

The smells of cooking deer meat, gamey and fresh wafted towards the carriage. Even with the dampness in the air, the smells of steamed vegetables with spices wrapped them all in an invitation. At least someone in this city knew how to cook, and Karthan had had his fill of sea biscuts and limes.

Inside the curiosity shop were the most peculiar gnomes. Karthan had experience with the gnomes of the elven wood, but these gnomes seemed to subscribe to a magic more like the dwarves or some of the human apothecaries, the technology, he believed it was called. Their contraptions appeared to be unnecessarily complex and impractical. In addition to seeming to need constant adjustment and calibration they appeared to serve only novel purposes, but they were interesting and hopefully not as dangerous as they looked.

Thor sure seemed to be enjoying the attention. The big cat looked ridiculous wearing all the flowers and headgear the small fae were fitting him with. Hopefully that cat wasn't going to cause a lot of problems around town. Karthan wished for the hundredth time that his sister had chosen to bond with a raven, a fox, a weasel---even a wolf would have been more city friendly than a male elven cat that was going to get between 850 to 1,000 pounds . . . and that was before its development gets affected by his sisters druidic magic. Oh well, at least the cat will be a deterrent and it was not as though two elves from the lands across the sea weren't going to stand out like golden eagles among the pigeons anyway.

As Caleb made his entry Karthan thought about how fluidly he did so and with such an entrance it still felt homey and natural. The man did have an incredible voice and the elven ranger found himself distracted as thoughts formed in his mind how this human had attained the status of “elf friend”. Instead Karthan felt his mind and thoughts becoming transported as he listened to the song about the first Elf Queen to walk the new world of the humans and the shorter lived races that seemed destined to take over the entire planet. The song was of discovery, new learning and new horizons and truly it helped Karthan accept that he himself was now on a new journey of discovery. For if it was not for the queen venturing out into the world, the elves would not have known of how to protect their own ways from the ones without. The elves must know the world that they are a part of if they wish to remain in it.

As the song faded Caleb made a toast. Karthan picked up his own glass which he had not yet sampled from and raised it appreciatively to his host and the others in attendance, ”Caleb, your voice is like honey and your fingers make music like a fresh summers breeze through the willows overhanging a bubbling brook, your welcome and hospitality is unmatched. I am usually an elf of few words, but I find myself moved.” Having spoken his piece Karthan took a substantial sip of his drink with a nod to all in attendance.

Zandra rode in silence also taking in the city around her. There was so much life energy, opportunity and potential here. The people and creatures around this place buzzed with productivity and the chaos of those lives affecting, bouncing off and feeding from one another. As always Zandra felt herself feeling a little confused by it all, but she was here to learn and mistakes are the best instructors. It is too bad people weren't more led by nature like she was. She still didn't understand why people of mixed heritage were so looked down upon or unable to see the gifts they had been given. Everyone should be evaluated for their own acts and deeds. It seemed to Zandra that half-elves should be the best of both worlds gifted with the human's drive and vitality and ingenuity combined with the senses, magical affinity and the blessed longevity of the elves. Shouldn't the children born from the love between the two races be naturally the bridge between them?

But Zandra wasn't nearly so naïve as to believe that her thoughts would become mainstream even in three of her lifetimes. There was a struggle between worlds at play just as in time immeasurable when the fey world gave way to the time of the elves and the thunder lizards before the time of fey. All were a part of nature, only the name giving races put meaning and names to the ages that pass nature is more about the present though the present is both influenced by what has passed and gives hints as to what is to yet become the present.

Zandra acknowledged the beautiful structure of the fey and their “first world” the seemingly outlandish and sometimes bizarre rules of that world had been wrought over untold millennium if time at all held any sway in that world. The abnormalities and aberrations of that world had been smoothed with time balance within that world had been achieved which explained why it has remained a constant and so much of it unchanged longer than even myths could hold, but there lay the weakness and fragility of that world. The fey had become so structured and unchanged that they were no longer able to evolve along with the outside world. As much as the elves liked to believe they were a part of the realms of the fey they were not. Elves were of course affected by their relationship with the fey, but they were not truly fey and rose to prominence as the fey faded into the background of the current world slowly withdrawing from the world and their place within it slowly dissolving.

Zandra understood that the elves sought to protect the fey and also understood they they struggled to maintain their place in the world. The isolation of the fair folk would work for a time, but eventually unless the elves could adapt they would go the way of the fey. Who would protect the elves as they had protected the remnants of the first world?

As a grey elf, Zandra and Karthan were of old blood even amongst the elves. They were the longest lived and most fey like of the fairfolk and the most insular even amonst their own people they were known as the “Farie”. Though they might be the most powerful and magically inclined of the elves they were also the most detached from the current world and were often living in the past protected by strict adherence to the rituals and traditions of a long past world.

Zandra wondered for the hundredth time who her benefactor truly was and what his or her true purpose with them was. All those years ago after Zandra and Karthan orphaned when their sire was killed while on an expedition to a ruined high elf city by a Drow ambush, they could have been sheltered and raised by relatives. There were surely aunts and uncles that would have taken them in out of love as well as the law of tradition and blood kinship. But instead, the young elves were taken to wards whom lived close to the trade town of Greengold. They were teenagers at the time and someone took great expense in training and educating them. Karthan proved himself an able woodsman and would make a fine soldier in service of the throne once he came of age and had some life experience. For Zandra however her magic derived from the first world and continuing into the world of the present had continued to blossom. She was as influenced by the entities of the woods as she was her instructors. Being so close to the contact of the humans and the other races that came to Greengold the nature spirits imparted the knowledge of those contacts to her and she gleaned knowledge of the workings of the outside world and those who populated it from them.

For the fact was, Zandra was not nearly as naïve and vulnerable as she allowed herself to be seen. After their father was taken from them it gave Karthan a purpose and meaning to watch after his sister so Zandra let him play that role. Female vulnerabilities were a part of nature a way that the physically weaker sex could influence the stronger of the species, it was a game as old as time itself, and Zandra was well aware that she was extremely well equipped to wield that to her advantage, even as a weapon if need be. She was careful not to abuse anyone with it though she would use it to her advantage. For instance she had already tested herself against Mel'undil and it appeared to have proven effective. Information had been gained from it.

Though she felt slightly guilty about her minor manipulations Zandra was keenly aware that she was vulnerable here both due to her physical blessings (which are substantial :) “Huge . . . tracts of land! Just kidding) and her unfamiliarity with the peoples and cultures she was now thrust into. She would need to use her feminine wiles to her advantage, but make sure she didn't push it and get herself in trouble with it. She was however genuine in her excitement of being in what was arguably the greatest city of the world known to her. There was going to be so much opportunity and fresh experiences open to her here.

She bounced out of the carriage when she smelled the good eats coming from Caleb's shop. She clapped with glee at the funny little gnomes whom inhabited the bard's shop and revealed in their unique and refreshing perspective and attitude. She inwardly giggled at Thor as he received his administrations and was showered figuratively and literally by his minute hosts. She wondered if his imperious nature would be injured knowing how ridiculous he looked or if he would tail flick it away due to the obvious comforts he was now receiving.

Caleb's entry was the crowning moment of the welcome festivities. His song and music beautiful to Zandra's ears and elven song given extra life by the slight changes the man had made to sing the song different than the stale and static rendition elven bards would give. During the song she wondered if the crown was somehow responsible for her being here. Perhaps they had been sent here on behalf of the elven people? It was interesting if Caleb had chosen the song to convey that meaning to them. After the song faded from the room Zandra picked up her glass and was preparing to make a comment in appreciation, but stopped when she saw that Karthan was going to make his own. Zandra politely let him make his assertions which were out of character for him. She simply smiled at both her brother and her new host and waited for the conversation to continue.

Caleb nodded his thanks to the elf’s kind words, plucking absently at his lute. The tranquil tone of the room had been his goal for the day. A welcoming place for the pair of long-traveled guests and a way to ease their transition to the city of Absalom. There were other songs to sing, other stories to be told, but the old bard had chosen only a few to pass the time into evening. He sang of Heinrich the Kettle, a stubborn dwarf who’d faced down a minotaur chieftain in a battle of stonewalling. Then he recited the tale of Darnier dhel Ofrinio dhel Rojas, a peculiar Halfling who’d swindled the mayor of the Ivy District out of a prized family watch while at the same time, the Halfling’s brother had been stealing wine out of the cellars. The former a cautionary tale on willfulness, the latter a funnier story to caution those who portray themselves as someone they’re not (both Halfling brothers were captured during the grift as a result of their more and more complicated layers of lies).

Above Absalom, the clouds finally gave up the last of their water, wringing themselves dry upon the city and leaving behind the cold chill of the autumn twilight. In the west, the sun’s rays poked out from the clumping cloud cover to bid farewell to the day. Until we meet again…

Their bellies full and their jokes all but told for the day, the clan of gnomes stood and gave thanks for the day – a rare turn for even the nicest of them! – and made their way back to the Clockwork Cathedral. As Caleb attempted to explain, if they were not back by nightfall, the rooms and doorways would shift and change preventing their admittance.

“There are divine magics at work in the walls of this Cathedral?” Zandra inquired.

Down the hall, the front door slammed as the last of the gnomes departed in a cacophony of clanking tools and gadgets and continuing insults. Caleb made a mental note of a particularly good jab to use at a later date.

“No, my dear.” He hefted himself from his comfortable chair, making it look easier than it felt on his old knees. He strolled to the main table, grabbing up his lute case as he went. “The Clockwork Cathedral is a mystery of engineering and technology with secrets dating back to when the Assembler first arrived a century ago. It is a school of sorts to teach the art of technology. A marvel to be sure…but quite enigmatic in its workings and culture.”

“Sir?”

Caleb looked up to see Hindre standing at the entryway to the great room. “Yes, my friend?”

“Guests, sir.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at Hindre’s tone, a bit of warning to the announcement. Not danger, but… The old bard nodded for his assistant to show them in to the room.

Hindre turned slightly and waved his hand down the hallway. Two figures entered, both of which were familiar to Caleb. Behind him, he heard Mal’undil shift in his seat. Earlier, he and Lau had sat down to a game, entreating the elven ranger to join them. The half-elf ceased his explanation of Absalom’s version of Stones for the time being.

The first figure moved with grace and confidence, the plain-spun cloak a contrast to the array of dark hair cascading over her shoulders like descending ravens. Her piercing blue eyes, like glaciers hewn down to blue ice, matched the blued steel of her scale mail. Just under the cloak glistened the starbursting sword sigil of Iomedae. The woman paused a few steps inside the room and rested a hand upon the hilt of her longsword, bowing with a small smile.

“My sword serves Iomedae and will always gratefully defend your house, Lord Caleb.” Her voice was like smooth liquor, carrying in her breath the depths of her honor and confidence.

Caleb closed the lute case before him and moved forward to embrace the paladin, a laugh in his voice. “Olivia, such a wonderful surprise, my dear Chaplain-Protector!”

The woman probably in her early twenties, smiled back, a disarming beauty made potent by the honesty of her bearing. “I am always home when I am under your roof.”

“Am I no less welcome?” the rasping and familiar voice came from the second figure to enter the room. Garbed in dark robes of blacks and midnight blues, delicates hand drawing back his hood to reveal the wry grin of a fair-skinned elf. Fir’umil Osseus nodded his own greeting. In his right hand, he grasped a finely made wooden staff, carvings in several languages running the length of the wood to the very top where a milky white stone was grasped in a brass fitting.

The room filled with the smells of spices and unguents, the components of a well-equipped wizard’s bag. Fir’umil’s gaze swept over the inhabitants of the room, brief nods of acknowledgement for Mal’undil and Lau, a hand gesture of greeting for Karthan and Zandra. ”Greetings under the suns and stars,” he spoke casually towards them and turned his attention back to Caleb.

“We are not here for pleasantries, I’m afraid,” the elven wizard intoned, a sigh of disappointment laced with subtle mockery and impatience. Caleb had never known Fir’umil to be one for pleasantries.

The paladin’s smile faded, her brow furrowing ever so slightly in reaction to Fir’umil’s tone. Olivia was wise beyond her years and recognized the elf’s condescension.

The Bard turned his own attentions to his guests, not forgetting protocol. “Introductions are in order before we cast what promises to be a gloom upon the early evening.” He made way to wave towards Karthan & Zandra.

“Karthan & Zandra of the Kyonin Wood, I would like you to meet Chaplain-Protector Olivia Duneheim, dedicated paladin of Iomedae, may She bring light to our darkest nights.”

Olivia stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the new faces in the room. Then stepped to the side to stand next to Mal’undil and Lau, both for whom she shared a forearm grasp of greeting.

“…and this is…”

The wizard interrupted him. “I am Fir’umil Osseus, also of the Kyonin Wood and disciple of Tabir the Grey to whom I am pledged in the Arcanamirium.” He nodded shallowly, sparing a glance over their shoulders to Thor who was watching Fir’umil intently.

The big cat had already drawn his conclusions about Olivia, but was still assessing the wizard.

“Unfortunately, Fir’umil is right, my lord.” Olivia’s demeanor and tone tensed minutely, her right hand moving to unsling a messenger bag from across her body. Her fingers looked as if they did not wish to touch the bag.

She stepped to the large dining table and began removing objects from the bag, talking as she went. “The temple has need of yours and master Osseus’ talents.”

A small jar, thick liquid of translucent brown and flecks of black flakes floating within…

A document tri-fold, bound in a worn leather strap and a clasp bearing the symbol of Iomedae…

What looked to be a broken manacle, small enough for a halfling’s wrist...

A folded bit of cloth, perhaps a bit of tunic or breeches…

A leather pouch, big enough for perhaps 10 coins cinched closed…

“There had been more disappearances before the temple was informed, not sure how many but the evidence points to six.” The paladin took at a seat at the table and nodded for the others to gather around. Fir’umil stood behind her, leaning against a wall, his staff close to hand, as he watched the group and listened.

Mal’undil placed a foot on one of the bench seats so he could rest his elbow on his knee and get a closer look at the items on the table. Lau slid down from the other end of the table where he’d been seated in front of the Stones board.

“Some were children, others of an age closer to my own. All were human.” Olivia’s eyes drifted over the items, lingering briefly on the broken manacle. “Had it not been for Cellen Ta’s brother going missing, the Watch wouldn’t have even been alerted.”

“Cellen Ta?” Caleb was familiar with the sundries shop owner. Cellen was a nice man, his brother a bit on the lazy side and not very helpful around the shop. “Julian is missing?”

Olivia nodded. She reached for the document tri-fold and unbuckled the clasp. “We have descriptions and drawings of the missing, including some of those who’d disappeared a few weeks ago but had gone unreported.”

“Unreported?” Karthan inquired.

Caleb sighed, saying a single phrase. “Misery Row?”

Olivia nodded, face plainly showing the desire to curse.

He turned to Karthan and Zandra, “Misery Row is a slave trading district on the south end of the Merchant’s Quarter. This explains why the missing people went unreported.”

“A commodity is a commodity, Caleb.” Fir’umil added, his voice given a reedy tone before he coughed into his a silk handkerchief produced from a sleeve. “It is not lack of caring that they were not reported, it is the lack of local authorities not respecting that the people reporting the theft of property should be accorded response.”

It was a wise observation, but the tone made it seem somehow too practical.

“Be that as it may, we find ourselves here to seek your assistance.” The paladin glared at Fir’umil, daring him to speak again. She turned back to the documents before her, spreading out the vellum and parchments to show drawings of various individuals, notations scrawled in the available spaces of each sheet. “Master Osseus can leverage his talents with chemicals and magical intuition...and perhaps I can lean upon your…”

“Perhaps some of your vaunted insights can illuminate the investigation.” Fir’umil interrupted again, his voice breaking as he coughed further. He dipped his hand within the folds of his robes, retrieving a small dropper from his wizard’s pouch and squeezing its contents on the back of his tongue. The cough subsided. He adjusted the scarf about his neck and pulled his robes close.

“I would be honored to assist the temple in any way.” Caleb rested a hand upon Olivia’s, concern in his eyes as he studied her demeanor. There was a weight upon her shoulders.

“Karthan, Zandra, you have been listening, but I have need of your eyes.” The old bard motioned his guests closer. “Look upon these items and tell me what you see.”

OOC
Included in your response, be sure to describe how you look over each of the items on the table. Then do your perception rolls (or whichever skill you’d most likely use) for each item in the response. I’ll respond quickly with what your rolls discover.

FIRST OFF DETECT MAGIC on everything on the table.

A small jar, thick liquid of translucent brown and flecks of black flakes floating within.

Thor will sniff it and Zandra will wait to see his reaction, there were hazards such as the seemingly intelligent brown mold in the forests and caverns no need to accidentially unleash some hazard such as that. Karthan and Zandra will both use knowledge nature to see if they can at least determine the origin or nature of the substances within.

A document tri-fold, bound in a worn leather strap and a clasp bearing the symbol of Iomedae…

Karthan will carefully open the trifold to examine the documents within. At first he will observe broadly and see if the pictures or writings have anything in common then he will get down to details and study the smaller seemingly insignificant points of the documents within.

Zandra will also look over the documents however with not as focused interest in them.

What looked to be a broken manacle, small enough for a halfling’s wrist...

Zandra spellcraft and Karthan perception checks to see what could have broken a wrist iron like this? Was it shattered, bent open, cut, or twisted off?

A folded bit of cloth, perhaps a bit of tunic or breeches…

Thor will see if there is a common scent associated from any or all of the pieces?

Zandra will pay attention to the style, texture and fit of the fabric.

Karthan will focus on if it was cut or torn, by metal or beast, was it ripped, stained by blood or other fluids? And hairs of fibers?

A leather pouch, big enough for perhaps 10 coins cinched closed…

After Thor sniffs it Karthan will open it to reveal its contents.

Thorendal’s Investigation
“Karthan, Zandra, you have been listening, but I have need of your eyes.” The old bard motioned his guests closer. “Look upon these items and tell me what you see.”

Caleb moved his chair aside while Mal’undil stepped away from the table to give them room. Curious and moving at the gesture of his mistress, Thorendal rose languidly from his steam-powered bed and stretched before sliding towards the table. His big, grey and white head pushed between Karthan and Zandra to sniff at the objects on the table.

A rumbling purr at the back of his throat, tail coiling and uncoiling at the air has he worked, Thor moved from object to object. He sniffed at the jar, finding nothing dangerous or concerning, his body language dismissive after a long stare into the liquid to satisfy his curiosity. Under the currents of liquid, there is something earthy but burned. There is also some form of smell clinging to the cork stopper.

Thor’s nose passed over the tri-fold document holder, the moisture in his maw and whiskers moving some of the papers to and fro. But he stopped on the bit of cloth, pale blue and grey eyes looking towards Zandra. Sensing his question, Zandra unfolded the cloth to allow her companion to sniff it fully. Sweat…saliva…tears… Not liking the smells, the cat moved on, his discomfort felt by Zandra.

He moved on to the leather pouch, but nothing pulled his interest. Just leather and sweat and the alloy smells of the coins held within. Finally, Thor sniffed at the broken manacle, getting the smell of the metal but detecting the coppery tang of blood. The tiger emitted a low rumble of disapproval and stepped back, now seemingly unconcerned, to return to this new bed. But after he lay down, his piercing eyes remained on his mistress, watching her and gauging her reactions.

She watched the tiger move, saw how both elves studied the animal’s reaction to the objects on the table. After spending much of her life in Absalom, Olivia wasn’t one to fall to surprise. In fact, it wasn’t the idea that a pair of Grey Elves keeping company with a snow tiger that gave her pause, it was their shared serenity. The obvious answer was their short tenure in Absalom.

Or was it the fact Olivia had been part of the city far longer than she’d originally planned? Ioemade had seen to it that after her education at the Temple, Olivia had been immediately brought on as a Chaplain-Protector. Olivia had been of the mind to return to Cheliax upon her commission as a Paladin in the Goddess’ service. Once home, she’d planned to muster a contingent and travel to Mendev. There to rejoin her father’s company at the Worldwound and fight in the Crusades against the demons that poured from that cursed land.

Olivia’s hand brushed the amulet suspended about her neck, the starburst behind the long sword with the shadow of an open book in the background. The last was an addition to the normal emblem of the goddess Iomedae. The open book of Iomedae’s justice signified the Holy Order of the Chaplain-Protectors, given to those in the service who sought out to enact justice where it was lacking. There were no regrets in the young paladin’s heart. She was honored to have been called to the service even if it meant not serving alongside her father in the Mendevian Crusades. In fact, her father had sent word back from the northern frontiers expressing his pride in knowing his daughter had been selected for the honor.

”…but I know to expect nothing less than the best from my warrior-daughter, praise be to Iomedae for your heart and spirit.” Her father’s words still buoyed Olivia’s spirits when in the midst of her work in Absalom. Between her prayers to the goddess and the letters from her father, she found the strength she needed to face all manner of evils spawned in the City at the Center of the World.

Was she a bit darkened by the work? Perhaps. That’s probably why she took some pleasure in seeing the serenity in the Grey Elves before her. It was a rare thing in Absalom, at least outside the Green Ridge district, to see such peace in the eyes of a being.

Olivia returned her attention to the elves, seeing them as they stood before the objects on the table. The tiger returned to lay upon a rather complicated platform; his viewing of the items completed for the time being. He curled his bulk onto the gnomish contraption and rested his ice-chipped eyes upon the female elf. He seemed to wait, studying the two to confirm if they were able to pick up on the things he’d sensed.

Karthan and Zandra held their hands above the objects, assessing them for magical influence, no doubt. Olivia held her council. Where elves were concerned, she had the belief that magic was more a part of them than any of the other races. Even if one of the Temple clerics had reviewed the items, the paladin felt more comfort seeing the elves proceed. Magic not under the auspices of Iomedae had a distinctly different flavor and behavior.

Besides, she could compare their results with those of Fir’umil’s. Olivia had been expecting the wizard to speak up in some manner of perceived insult. They had a history, her and Fir’umil. To her he was simply arrogant and self-absorbed. The Temple clerics had a relationship with Tabir the Grey, being one of the more respected instructors at the Arcanamirium. When Fir’umil had been taken on as an apprentice of the old wizard, Tabir had been quick to being offering the young elf’s services to the Order of Chaplain-Protectors with regards to magical crimes. Arrogant and self-absorbed he may be, Fir’umil had a knack for sniffing out some of the most minor magical clues left behind at crime scenes. That skill in and of itself outweighed his sour personality.

Besides, Olivia trusted the judgment of both the Temple and Tabir the Grey. A bad personality did not an evil individual make. Fir’umil’s uses in her efforts were numerous and if Iomedae had taught her anything, it was that instruments of justice appeared in all manner of people and places. She had her misgivings when it came to Fir’umil; an undercurrent of ambition that seemed to resonate with his arrogance among other things.

Olivia shook herself from her thoughts. She needed to stay focused on the investigation, keeping her resolve to use any and all instruments at her disposal to see the job done that would bring glory to her goddess.

She would take the opportunity at some point to speak with Fir’umil’s master, Tabir the Grey. The old wizard could sort out her misgivings regarding the elf. At that point, she would decide if her associations with him were at an end and she would make the appropriate recommendations to the Order.

Here are the results of Zandra and Karthan’s review of the evidence. You can incorporate these findings into your post.

The Jar
Knowledge (Nature)
Zandra: 18
Karthan: 17

The elves can tell that it was the liquid was originally ink. The jar looks to be an old inkwell, but the contents have been thinned out as it began affixing to bits of what appear to be clay particles. This has accumulated at the bottom of the jar. What remains floating has bits of amber (causing the coloration) and the black flecks are plant in nature but unidentifiable.

Spellcraft (Detect Magic)
Zandra: 20
Karthan: 20
There is a magical resonance within the inkwell. Further inspection by both reveal that the bits of clay and other debris in the liquid were part of a mixture of spell components. Based on their review, it’s hard to tell by there may have been more than one spell involved. The inkwell was found in the desk a jailor named Lobiere on Misery Row. Lobiere had estimated it as ruined ink and had never thrown it out.

the Tri Fold Document Holder
(Perception Check)
Zandra: 10
Karthan: 14

Spellcraft (Detect Magic)
Zandra: 12
Karthan: 16
Karthan detects a Ward placed on the brass clasp. The tri fold document holder is made of worn leather and bears the symbol of Iomedae on a brass seal. The brass seal is warded, but the ward is lay dormant at a command word from the paladin.

These are the notes included on each of the profiles…

Zel
New Addition to Misery Row
Slave trader who deals in Halfling servants
Had the manacle in his pouch

Terrance
Zel’s muscle
Known for proclivities towards Halflings
Zel used him to break the would-be servants

Lura
Overseas trader in slaves
Works out of Copperwood

Julian Ta
Recent dealings with Zel
Cellen Ta (father) not forthcoming to the nature of dealings

Umi & Mara Coldrok
Sisters
Last seen heading into the Merchant’s Quarter from their home in the Coins on an errand

the Broken Manacle
Perception Check
Zandra: 17
Karthan: 27
The manacle looks to have been bent and broken. Karthan detects trace amounts of blood and skin on the metal.

Spellcraft (Detect Magic)
Zandra: 17
Karthan: 17
There are trace hints of a Sunder spell remaining on the manacle.

the Bit of Torn Cloth
Zandra (Nature): 7
The cloth appears to be made of rough-spun burlap or hemp.

Karthan (Perception) 10
The material appears to have been knotted at some point. Sniffing at it, the material smells of bad breath with a mild undercurrent of salt. It looks to have been torn from a larger piece

the Small Leather Pouch
A Detect Magic reveals no traces of spells on the item. It contains 10 copper pieces and 12 silver. Using an elf’s innate ability to find secret compartments, Karthan finds a small scrap of parchment with the following message scrawled upon it: “Misery, 3rd – LB”

"Thor doesn't find any scents out of the ordinary for what these items appear to be. The old ink jar was somehow involved in spell casting though I am not certain which spell it would have been involved with. Certainly all the items and persons seem somehow entangled with the slave trade."

"Indeed, this scrap of burlap must have been a gag or something. The manacle was broken, but in a way that must have harmed the person they held. And this hidden note also seems to point to the slave district somehow."