This post is to just get the thread up and going. First story post will be up in a couple hours.
Adventure Background
In 4606 ar, Aroden, god of humanity, innovation, and history, died. No city in all of Golarion was wracked more fundamentally by this catastrophic event than Westcrown. The capital of Cheliax—an entire country sworn to the god of humanity’s worship at the time—Westcrown was the expected site of Aroden’s return and had spent decades preparing for the event. A massive plaza known as the Arodennama, complete with a towering statue of the god, stood ready to receive the deity, yet after his death, it took only a few short years for the church of Aroden to fall. The Arodennama was abandoned, and the entire country found itself in the grips of a civil war with fierce diabolists. The rise of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune saw Westcrown’s further descent. After a brutal 30-year civil war, the diabolical House of Thrune seized control of Cheliax. One of their first acts as the nation’s new government was to move the capital and royal court north to the city of Egorian, emptying Westcrown of much of its affluence a d prestige. Those nobles who remained behind were largely old families rooted in their traditions and their pride, content to rot in their declining home. While still a vibrant and important port, the splendor that had typified Westcrown for centuries swiftly waned, and without the noble court many commoners and merchants who had previously made a living pandering to the country’s elite were forced to move on, leaving whole blocks abandoned. Westcrown faded to a pale shadow of its former glory and became a playground for vultures eager to pick the royal carcass.
Janiven meets you both in the morning. So if there is anything you want to do before you go to the tavern you can take those actions now.
Stanley is a little taken aback by the somewhat abrupt nature of the woman addressing him. He leans out the door enough to look up and down each side of the road curiously. He cocks an eyebrow, scrutinizes her, before responding in a questioning tone "I would presume that any inquiry to what you are going on about will only be answered at the meeting you intend for us later this day? With all that some of my patients refuse to divulge, I have concerns over the veracity of your request, and worry that it may be a fleecing out intended for dissentors. Whether I agree to your meeting or not will only be revealed by my arrival at the appointed time. How do I know I can trust you?"
Marroar doesn't take roads. Not until he has to. He emerges from the fens shortly after day break, rats and spiders trailing in his wake and the undergrowth withering and crumbling under his feet. His thick leather boots make one of the most satisfying sounds - the dry crunch of withered plants.
Emerging from the shadows of the forest, Marroar slowly becomes illuminated by the early morning light. Marroar is a large and aging man, with muscles that aren't quite popping, calloused hands, crisscrossing scars, and a deep, olive tan. Marroar's hair hasn't yet begun to bald, but it isn't exactly terribly impressive, either. It was thin and brown, with some half-hearted facial hair to complement it.
Taking in his first glance of Westcrown, Marroar couldn't really see what once would have made this city great. There was no doubt that today, it was little more than a husk, but what else could it be?
There was a lovely symmetry somewhere there. The diabolists were nothing but corpses to him, with a slow and painful death awaiting them. The same fate awaited Westcrown. Not because Marroar has something against the city, other than the facets of its wastefulness and crowd, but because what once was dead cannot truly be restored. It will always be...missing something.
The crunch of dead plants underfoot halts for a moment. A deep and shuddering sigh sounds from the heap of a man just crossing into the road. Then he lurches forward onto the road, making sure to try and keep his distance from anyone else. Wrapped in his own thoughts and ambling slowly down the road, Marroar barely even realizes the growing susurrus of voices coming from the city proper. This is the first time he's heard or seen another human in nearly a month now, but he's so preoccupied he barely even registers this.
That is to say, right up until a fresh and bright voice snaps him out of it. Someone was addressing him. Why? How?
Marroar looks up to discover and attractive human woman, and immediately has to avert his eyes, casting his gaze down towards her knees. When he opens his mouth to speak the first time, he can barely squeak. He licks his lips, takes a deep breath, and tries again. This time, what emerges is rough and coarse, but comprehensible. "How...how can you know about that?"
Thinking it is his lucky day, as the pretty lady walks up to him, Da'Ka puts on his best smile, only to be waylaid by her verbal ambush.
Half listening to her, blah bl'blah, his eyes narrow and light up when his favourite topic touches his ears..."There are many things that happen in this city..."
Ma'am, you don't even know the half of it. Those back-stretchers have this city wired tight, as Groetus knows full well. I could tell you a story or two. My prices are fair, but I'll need more details before we can make a contract. I will happily listen to all that you have to say over a comp'ed meal, if you are so inclined.
"That's very vague..." Marroar mumbles as she strides away. What if it was just a trap, set up by the House of Thrune, set up to make sure that the story of his village never reached another ear?
Was he really that important to anybody?
He was. Once. And he will be again, but not as he was before. He will be feared, reviled, hated.
But to get there, he did need allies. Marroar knows that he isn't going to topple the House of Thrune by his lonesome.
Fine. He'll trust this...Janiven. It hardly mattered. If it was a trap, his death would hardly matter. It wasn't as if he had anything to live for anyway.
Stanley wraps up whatever work he had planned for the evening, putting away all his tools and ingredients, and making a couple follow-up house calls. As he visits he tries to casually bring up the woman's name see if it rings any bells with anyone. He does so as nonchalantly as he can "I heard some people talking and a name came up. It sounds familiar, but for the life of me, I can't seem to place where I know it from. Janiven ring any bells to you?"
After his appointments are over, he makes sure he locks up for the day, and makes his way to the tavern where the woman had wanted him to meet her. She seemed like helping the citizens was on her agenda, or at least helping him to better treat the citizens.
As you all gather at Vizio's Tavern you are greeted by Janiven who is busy getting the final preperations ready for todays meal. A little after 4 she asks everyone to find their seats at the table. "Thank you all for arriving today, The meal today is Stuffed Trout, Potatos and Sea oats, nothing fancy but its what we got. Now please let us introduce ourselves to each other, I will start. I am Janiven, I at one time was a city guide and bodyguard for traveling merchants, now though I own this Tavern with my mentor, we are still working at getting it off the ground though. Now lets have you all do the same."
Marroar sweeps an appraising gaze over the tavern - so empty and pristine and unused, he wonders if its truly a tavern or just a deathtrap. Hmm.
He's spent a few hours practicing talking, so he's got just the right greeting down pat, and the growl in his voice is at just the right level to be grouchy and intimidating-sounding. "M'name's Marroar." he says, and then sits, inclining his chin and crossing his arms. It's clear he has nothing more to say. He unslings the scythe from his back and leans it up against the table, letting the blade dig into the wood a little so it won't fall, and glares at anyone that gives him a sideways look when he does so.
Da'Ka pushes back his chair, stands and combs back his hair with both hands. A warm smile hanging below his broad, flat nose and ring .
Dis place cozy true true, Lil Miss. Makes Da'Ka's heart wa'm an easy. Many aprons an' feath'a heads know Da'Ka. Know Da'Ka's trade, too. Like Mr. grass man dere. Da'Ka points gestures to Stanley.
Da'Ka sees him about befo. Peopo always run'in get da grass man when others goin fo da long sleep. Peopo call fo Da'Ka when dey needs find'in tings. Reason I here now, I reck. Da'Ka sits back down, and throws back his drink.
Stanley picks at the sea oats on his plate, holding a small handful up to the small bird on his shoulder. As the others speak, Stanley eyes them, looking them up and down in scrutiny. People are always reluctant to talk about themselves, and thus far these two have followed suit, but what are they hiding. Nothing bad, there is no hostility from them either in my direction or Janiven's, but why do they bother to conceal so much about themselves. "Well met, each of you."
Facing Marroar, he offers "Given an absence of much detail, I'll fill in based on my deductions. Solely looking at the roughspun clothing, the calloused hands, and the years of dirt making their mark within the finer folds that see less scrubbing, I would say that you are a laborer. Possibly a woodsman or farmer, given the dirt being dark and not from clay or quarry. The fact that you bear an implement for gathering crop, I would presume the latter, most likely from outside the city as a trip from further away would be a big expense to someone in your business."
Turning to Da'Ka, he looks him over before starting "Based on your broken speech, I would start by assuming you have had no formal education. Given the accent has a strong Chelaxian gutter slang, I would imagine you were raised at least partially by the streets. The way you act so confident and the piercing would imply that the way you carry yourself goes a long way in your business. The powerful build you wear makes me think you are ready to back it up if people don't react accordingly to your looks. I would put you as hired muscle, but not the normal kind, as your own admission of finding things leads me to believe you are hired for collection over protection."
As he finishes, he returns his hand from feeding the bird, and introduces himself. "My name is Stanley, and my little friend here is Vesnik. I am a devout follower of Pharasma." He gestures the spiral symbol recognized with her worship. "I'm guessing by the title 'grass man' that there is an assumption of my being an herbalist. Not quite so. I do help the people with the 'long sleep', but I work to prepare them to be recieved by Pharasma in the Boneyard. I help the old, the sick, and the infirm, but if they are bound for Her sight, there is nothing to arrest their travels. I was born and raised here within the city, and learned my gifts from my father. So far, the only thing I can't discern is why we have all been asked here, given the disparity in all our different background skills." This last looks almost to be a question as he turns to face Janiven as he finishes speaking.
Tarq is already sitting as the others arrive. He nods politely as they are seated. As Da'Ka arrives, his nod seems to be one recognition more so than for the others. As Janiven begins the conversation he listens intently, that is, until the food arrives. Before the server even arrives to the table, his nostrils flare, and as the plates are passed, his eyes grow wide. His mouth drops open half an inch, and hangs there while he licks at his chapped lips. He seems about ready to dive head first into the plate, but moment before he strike, he shakes his head quickly and regains his composure, he listens to the others as they tell their tales, he finds Stanley's deductions to be intriguing, but begins to grow board, and impatient, wish for the man to finish soon so that it would be polite to start his meal. The man's final statements hang in the air a moment, but Tarq jumps up before the lady can begin to address the final statement.
"I'm...well, you can call me Tarq, I am, well I guess I'm an investigator. I'm in the same sort of work as Da'Ka here, I know of his work in this city. I broker more in information than items however. I, ah, I'm looking for answers." He pauses, his last words hanging as though he intends to continue, but instead he just looks about, a bit awkwardly and hurriedly sits down, nodding definitively, indicating that he is done, and looks to their hostess to continue.
Marroar's head snaps to track Stanley as he begins talking. Such impassive judgment! What right did this man have to say anything about Marroar's life? He knew nothing of the suffering Marroar had endured. It was doubtful that he would ever know. But then he decided he can just appraise people as if they're goods to be bartered?
Pah!
To Stanley, he practically spits out the words. "Judgin' from yer soft hands and talk of nursin', I'd wager you're a privileged city rat, most of whose patients are old and grey folk, just tryin'a pass on peacefully. I'd wager that the only reason you waste your life tryin'a fuss with others' is because you're too cowardly to do anything active about what's really goin' on in their lives."
Adopting what he sees as a false, "snooty" accent, he turns to Da'Ka. "Based upon your silly accent and narrow viewpoint, its doubtful that you even notice the decay around you, but judging from your state of washedness, I rather think that you'd enjoy working in a corpse. It suits you."
Looking judgmentally at Tarq, he switches back to his regular cadence. "You broker in information, huh? D'ya sell promises and trade in friendship, too? Bah."
Turning to Janiven at last, he finally asks the question. "So, little lady. What's a girl like you doing pulling together four worthless bodies like us?"
At Marroar's words, Da'Ka looks himself over,sniffs his arm pits, looks at Tarq for a show of support and shrugs his shoulders. Turing to face the entire group...
Da'Ka speak same same as odda westies. Da'Ka neva see much fa fa away, but know how fo speak first time faces.
Stanley just nods as the angry older gentleman, Marroar, barks back his own assessment. He's seen it plenty of times before in his patients, anger that is not driven out of hate as much as from fear, pain, or loss. These are all common to those he treats, especially when they know they are on their way to see Pharasma. All he can do is try to soothe the man's emotions, "You are right, I have not seen a life of hardship to the degree you must have experienced in your career. Forgive my presumptions, I would hate to overstep my bounds."
As the others begin to trade comments and lightly veiled insults, Tarq takes the opportunity to start devouring his meal. As man who calls himself Marroar goes on his bend, Tarq wonders to himself, what has befallen this man to make him so angry, to hate existence so much? He also notices the ease with which the insults roll of the back of Da'Ka, in his line of work he supposes he's dealt with much worse. As the verbal onslaught focuses on him, Tarq glances about, not sure what sort of reaction would be appropriate, but then the focus moves on, and to his relief, he shoves another bite of food into his mouth, it has been a long time since he had warm food in his belly.
Marroar crosses his arms at the table, leaning up from his eating pose, trying to ignore the food (oh, but how delicious and abundant it looked..). "Yer damn right you overstepped! Soft city folk never know what it's like for people like me."
He glares at Stanley for a few moments before awkwardly removing one hand from his arm-cross and grabbing a potato, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing loudly.
Throughout the conversations at the table Janiven surprisingly stays relatively quiet and out of the conversation. Instead passing the time listening and evaluating the possible recruits.
Marroar leaps up, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. "Waiting for an ambush, are you? You won't have me that easily!"
Stanley casually dines, not really driven by a hunger beyond it being time for evening meal. Amongst the lot of them, he seems to be the only one whose job is consistent enough to dine comfortably fairly often. Death is inevitable, everyone dies, and Pharasma has nothing but hatred for those that use dark rituals to prevent it. This fact of life sees many a customer to his door. He continues to watch the others, gauging them, and when he notices Janiven's attentions he too directs his own that way. Before too long, he asks again, though this time more directly.
"Janiven, are we waiting for something, or are you going to tell us what made you decide to bring us all together here?"
Taken aback by Marroar's sudden movement and accusations, Da'Ka quickly turns his gaze to the door. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he pushes back his chair so as to afford him space to move, should the need arise.
Da'Ka cautions Marroar... Jus' a mom' Big Sniffa, stay ease...
and addresses Janiven... Every ting righ ways, Lil Miss?
Tarq is content in analyzing, attacking, conquering then devouring his food. When the old man rises suddenly, he is startled and jumps to his feet, prepared to defend himself. When the old man expresses his paranoia, Tarq takes a few moments to glance about, not seeing any signs of an ambush he decides to brush himself off, collect his chair, and resume his seat and meal quietly.
.
Surpised by Marroar's sudden outburst, Janiven shoots up out of her chair."You dare accuse me of trying to ambush you! I want nothing but the opposite! If you really must know then I will tell you. My business partner Arael was suppose to be at this meeting and as you can see he has now shown, I am unsure where he may be. These streets are not safe at night."
Marroar raises an eyebrow. "Little missy, I dunno if you want to get your eyes checked, but it isn't nighttime yet. I want real answers. Now."
Stanley tries to diffuse the situation a little bit, "Please, calm down Marroar, try not to get worked up, it's bad for your health. Night is swiftly oncoming. We met at dinner and have been here eating for a bit. Her concerns may be genuine, because if he doesn't arrive soon, it will be nightfall with the man still out on the streets. Please, take your seat and we can discuss this calmly."
Marroar grumbles and sits, picking his chair back up again and setting it back upright. He looks expectantly to Janiven. He's already asked his question. He isn't going to again.
"I am sure he will show, maybe he just got caught up with something. Now lets get to the real reason I brought you all here. We will be done here in less than an hour." Janiven then walks to the front door to lock it and shutters the windows.
"Again, thank you for agreeing to meet with me here. I have chosen each of you for a singular reason—everyone here, myself included, has suffered, whether we realize it or not. I have lived in Westcrown my whole life, and although I love this city, I must admit, as must you, that despite our peace and prosperity, we continue to suffer. Fear should not be an expected part of life, and yet each night brings fear to our doorsteps. Yes, Westcrown has been safe from war and famine for nearly seventy years, and yes, our businesses has prospered—but this safety and prosperity has been bought in the coinage of fear and prayers to Hell. Other lands live free from tyranny. Other cities do not fear the night. Other governments do not cede the streets to monsters of the infernal shadows. Westcrown was once such a place, and she wants to be such a place again. Westcrown is not only her buildings and canals and docks and history—she is also her people. Westcrown is our friends and neighbors, our mothers and fathers, our siblings and cousins, our sons and daughters! With but a small group of supporters and dedicated brothers and sisters, we can earn the trust and admiration of those people. A Westcrown free of these shadowy beasts that stalk our streets is one step closer to a Westcrown free of the devil that is the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune!"
Da'Ka's eyes narrow as he listens to Janiven... visibly relaxing into his chair...
Lil' Miss say tru tru, an' Da'Ka have same mind, but Da'Ka's ear ring like evenin bells wif word Lil' Miss neva say.
Odda Westies see Da'Ka come round, dey know what fo. So, What fo Lil' Miss feed Da'Ka dis night?
Stanley listens intently, not unfamiliar with the cries of those willing to stand on the corners and speak against the state of the city. When she takes it a little further, he then begins to worry, and his eyes dart nervously while he mimics Pharasma's spiral over his heart with a whispered prayer against a death before his time.
"Whoa there Ma'am, people have been dragged off by Hellknights for saying less. With that mindset, empty taverns won't keep your words from their ears for too long. Temper what you say aloud. Even worse, to speak against 'them'" obviously implying the House of Thrune "can be.... lethal."
He sighs despondently, "It's not that I disagree. What you say has every spark of truth to it, but what you are asking is a heavy price, and I don't mean the kind Da'Ka here likes to see. How do you expect to make this happen without being clapped in irons, at best mind you? I know they are a sickness that I would see this city cleansed of, but I think your ideals are a bit lofty just yet, and I worry that our support would be all you have. Please tell me we're not where you are starting in this dangerous crusade?"
Marroar grins widely, pleased to finally have found someone unafraid to speak up against the House of Thrune. He speaks up, his voice perhaps having finally found its strength.
He sits back, crosses his arms, and speaks out deeply. "Finally. Someone who will help me kill the devil-worshipers."
"The heathens must be held to account. Their actions have consequences beyond their reckoning. My body is molded to combat the corruption that has infused itself into this land, but how do you plan on combating it? I am curious to hear the answers to the questions that Stanley has posed."
"I do not believe and we can not take the fight directly to the House of Thrune, but what we can do is even better. Myself and a group of like minded people can improve the life of the people in Westcrown, but in order to do this we must appear to not be rebels or rioters. We must form our own band of protectors, and must work the win the admiration and support of the citizens by doing good works and providing what aid we can. The key to this tactic is that the city is largely ignored by the rulers of Cheliax. If we work to win the hearts of Westcrown's citizens by good deeds and avoid direct engagements with the government then the House of Thrune will continue to ignore us"
Soon after Janiven speaks there is a banging at the door. Immediately taking a defensive posture, Janiven peers through the window, then swiftly moves to the door, unlocks it, and opens it. Stumbling into the room is an out-of-breath and frightened teenager."They've got Arael!" the teenager calls out, then immediately doubles over in a fit of coughing."Please explain yourself" Janiven says as her face grows grim. The young lad recovers himself and spurts out, "The dottari nabbed Arael, and the Hellknights of the Rack are trying to get custody of him! There's a bunch of Hellknights on their way here now! I only just made it here!"
At that point the sound of clanking armour advancing on the tavern becomes apparent.
Marroar's scythe is in his hand faster than he can think, and his chair once again clatters to the ground. If this is what must be, it must be. "I can't say I did not expect this to happen so soon. Let them come. They will find more than they bargain for."
Stanley listens to her words, his spirits a little lighter as she expounds on the idea of people helping people. The look is shortly replaced by one of worry and concern, "See, I knew it would happen, but I didn't think it would be so soon. You have brought down the wroth of the Hellknights, and now we will be considered in collusion."
Seeing the reaction of the older man, Stanley's jaw drops, "Have you no sense? You think you and your farm tool are going to stand up to a squad of Hellknights, let alone if there is more? What will you accomplish, your bloody death, or worse a violent inquisition? Staying will help no one, we must flee. Janiven, is there another way out of here?"
The gravity of the situation clearly reflected on Da'Ka's face, he comes to his feet, shouldering his bag, and moves to bar the door.
Lil' Miss show da back'a way out, flash!, or Big Sniffa neva see nudda day again.
After the young man bursts in, Tarq, having finished his food, rises calmly and pushes his chair back to its place at the table. "Thank you for the food, it was delicious. Being a gracious hostess, the rules of hospitality bade me to offer you no harm, and defend against others who wish to visit it upon you. I will aid you in the manner which you desire, whether it be to flee as Stanley proposes, or it be to kill them as Marroar seems inclined. Time is of the essence however, as Stanley pointed out, if we are discovered here, we will all be branded as traitors, the only way to avoid this is to not be here when they arrive, or to be the only ones to leave here after. Choose as you will, but do so quickly."
"Yes of course. We have a secret door in the back." Janiven gestures toward the kitchen and heads in opening a floor level cupboard revealing a door. "Go through this door, it leads down into the sewers. Morosino knows the way. I will be down shortly" Janiven returns to the main room making sure to leave as many obstacles as possible between the front door and the kitchen.
Marroar grumbles and growls, his grip tightening on his scythe, staring at the door. Then he whirls, cutting a section of table off with his scythe before unhappily following the others down the tunnel.
Tarq bows slightly to Janiven, "As you desire." After that gesture, Tarq makes for the secret door with all possible haste, rushing downward toward the sewer, stopping only to grab a (conveniently placed light source) from the tavern before plunging into the darkness below.
Stanley breathes a small sigh of relief before following the others into the passage. As he does so he says a word of prayer while doing the spiral over his holy symbol. Soon it shines as bright as a torch.
Marroar removes his unholy symbol of Urgathoa, crudely carved so recently. It glows dimly, brightening as he focuses. The light, however, is not pure and white like Stanley's, but rather gray.
"Soft little man, I can do that as well." he says, turning to Stanley with a smirk.
As light begins to fill the sewer you notice the tunnels are buttressed, forcing taller characters to stoop. Half of the roughly 10 foot wide tunnel is taken up by a waist deep trench with the other available to walk.
Soon after the party descends down into the sewer Janiven crawls down. She grabs a Sunrod from her side and hits it against the wall, producing light. "Quick follow me!" Janiven says as she heads toward a wooden door. As she opens the door you notice the sewer running left and right. "Look see this mark of a sword on the wall? The blade points left. We left these marks at each intersection, should you get separated follow the point of the sword, it always points in the direction of the safe house. Before we go though I have something for all of you." Janiven pushes aside a rock near the door revealing a small hollowed out area in the wall. "Good they're still here. You won't have time to stop and rest so use these if need be"
"Now go on ahead, Morosino knows the way and we have the markings at the intersection to guide you. I will meet back up with you. I am going to bar this door and if need be try to lure them away from the rest of you. There is no time to spare."
Marroar takes the potions and stuffs them in his pack without thanking Janiven, and grumbles about how she's leaving them alone in the sewers for practically no reason, but follows the sword-point anyway.
Tarq accepts the vials graciously and gives a small bow before heading farther into the sewer.
Stanley also thanks her for the potions, adding a brief request "Be careful, try not to take too much unnecessary risk."