Called into one of the Grand Lodge of Absalom's many ornate parlor's, the assembled group waits in embarrassed silence. Finally, a impressive looking bearded man strides in, carrying a folder. You have seen him from a distance during your training, but never spoken to the great Venture Captain Ambrus Valsin.
Valsin sits at the desk, clears his throat and breaks the silence:"“All right, Pathfinders! Listen up. I know you are new recruits eager to make names for yourselves in the organization, but first we need to make sure you are up to snuff and won’t get yourself killed out there. I have a number of small assignments for you and your team, and it would be best if you could finish them before the day’s end."
"Every day we get some doe-eyed hopeful or some sniveling bootlicker willing to do anything to join up with the Pathfinders. Most of them are
good kids, but not all of them have the salt to make it in a world like this. It’s rough out there and I’m not just talking about the ruins, tombs, and wilderness Pathfinders find themselves in on missions. We've got people who look down their noses at us, folks who think we squander our resources, and agents who want to take everything we have collected. This wealth of knowledge and these items of lore make us the most powerful organization on the planet. That said, since we are fractured
and widespread, it’s difficult for that power to light on anything for too long. For every friend of the Society, there are two enemies."
"Your first mission, to test your mettle and loyalties, sends you to meet a few people important to the Society living here in Absalom. These are other venture-captains or close allies of our organization, so follow their orders as you would mine. I've prepared a list of things I want you to do. They’re not arranged in any particular order of importance, but I want them all completed as quickly as possible. Only report to me once you complete them all. Included in the envelope you hold in your hands is the list, complete with the name of your contact, and directions to the meeting location."
Valsin pushes a list across the table to you. "Any questions, no I didn't really think this group would be capable of any. Dismissed then."
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It seems that Kellean has arrived first, perhaps as a result of her naturally arising so early, or perhaps a reflection of her lack of confidence.
She is somehow even paler than usual at the beginning of Valsin's speech, having woken from a dream that involved her training in the Society's academy - not unusual in itself, given its intensity - and then going on an unremembered mission, the dream dissolving at the end into a sea of maggots. She awoke late, almost missing the beginning of the dawn. Not the most auspicious of omens.
Still, Kellean has just come from a successful mission for the Pathfinders - whatever her exact status - to investigate the mystery of a Pathfinder who had disappeared, having descended into poverty and madness. There, perhaps tacked on to the group solely for her healing powers, she acquitted herself and her faith in Sarenrae well: defending the meek and the poor, downing an enemy with her scimitar only to save their life and offer them redemption, finding closure to the mystery, tending her comrades who fell sick. No matter that it all happened in the sewers: It was not the first time she had been in the sewers, often hiding out there (or worse places) during her years in Taldor as part of the banned sect. Surely, the light of the Dawnflower shines brightly in unexpected places, and if this is her first mission or her last, she will do her best.
Now - in a fresh traveler's outfit - she sits as unobtrusively as possible, happy to have another chance to serve, eager to go to anywhere, however unexpected.
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Good morning, lady Fenchil friendly greets the pale-looking woman sitting in the back, cold for the time of year, isn't it.. Ever-optimistic, the half-elf, thin wiry frame, has shown up early as well, ready for his assignment. Neatly combed hair, jacket straight, cleanly shaven save for the thin moustache he sport, he looks energetic and motivated. Having spent, as a rare opportunity, his training in distant Ustalav, Fenchil is ready for his next bit of travelling.
A distant dig site? Taldor? Cheliax? Where will they send us off to!.
The excitement in face diminishes a bit as he receives the different assignments
The docks? Really?
All these mission are in town. Are there time constraints we should be aware of? Temples services, shop closing hours, petitioning hours of noblemen?
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The tiefling that you might have seen around during various Pathfinder training activities walks in cautiously, as a student might on the first day of school while searching for their classrooms. Seeing a few others have already gathered Culsar walks in, finds a seat toward the corner, and sits down quietly. An owl is also with the stranger, also siiting near him quietly, its eyes watching every move and following every source of sound that is made.
My first mission for the Pathfinders! I hope that I've made the right decision by joining the Grand Lodge. Taking a look around he first spots Kellean and notices her pale skin and other unique features. Look! An aasimar! It is true then, all races are indeed found within the Society. Hopefully my kind is welcomed as well.
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Valsin's bravado and scare tactics seemed as if they were designed to cow them into obedience. But even in the face of the Venture Captain's speech, one man cracked a wry smile. Rolling the bow string between the tips of his gloved fingers, Banon Thrune chuckled dryly at the zealous Half-Elf (Fenchil Theji) as he rose his questions.
"Aw way them ur in th'town...coz he doesnae troost a boorichie ay greenhorns."
Twanging the bow string, the grizzled ranger shouldered his quiver as he gripped the bow shaft in his free hand before looking to Ambrus Valsin with a look of disinterest.
"...weel? Answer th'laddy's questions, sairr."
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As he steps into the room, Castien looks at the others already assembled, but looks meekly at the floor when the Venture Captain glares at him for his tardiness. They really need to strike a better balance between missions and study...there are entirely too many interesting volumes in the library here.
He doesn't strike a particular imposing figure. He's tall and thin, but fit and in complete control of his limbs rather than gangly, swinging his long arms and legs with abandon. His fine chain shirt and sturdy composite longbow - as well as the longsword strapped to his back - show him to be a fighter, while his shy and outspoken nature scream one thing - bookworm.
He pays close attention to the mission details, and is about to ask a question when he hears the V-C's dismissal. He promptly closes his mouth, not wishing to draw attention to himself, and tries to catch a glimpse of the task list before leaving with the newly-assembled team.
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Fenchil makes a note of the map of Absalom and thinks aloud Ivy District, Wise quarter, Ascendant Court, Docks. We're in the Foreign Quarter now. Might as well take the most efficient route, starting at the Docks or the Ivy district. Not too fond of the Docks, might as well get that out of the way first.
Realizing he's talking to himself, he looks up, questioningly Where'd you want to go first?
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Fenchil, pleased to meet you. First officially, yes. Did a training mission that went a bit out of hand. You're a.. Fenchil was about to ask about the heritage of the Tiefling, but restrains himself Absalomian? From around here? I'm form the mainland myself, northwest Taldor. I travel a lot, though.
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Kellean simply smiles and nods warmly as each person enters.
I should say something, so that they don't think I'm a simpleton. ... Or just a simpleton.
Kellean summons her voice, always a bit ethereal, and wavering now with a mix of nerves and excitement. "I would be fine with starting at the docks, and it might be good to get that portion done first, so as to best stay out of trouble should we be pushing the end of the day as we finish our tasks."
Although trying not to judge people by appearances or region of origin - especially now that they are all Pathfinders - Kellean is still relieved to hear that Fenchil is from the north of Taldor, rather than out of the intrigues of Oppara or the sometimes-tense south: attitudes shaped in one's youth can be particularly hard to shake. "Strive to redeem, not to Judge", she reminds herself. Ironically, some might think, she has no qualms about serving with a tiefling (or a witch): We should be nicely complementary.
Speaking of a appearances ... "My name is Kellean Kalyer, and despite my scimitar and armor, I shall be your healer. I come from Taldor, myself, originally, hailing from the outskirts of the Verduran forest."
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Castien looks at the others in the party - a witch, a cleric, and two rangers obviously kitted for ranged combat - and decides he should probably be in front. After a bit of internal discussion on how exactly he should express this to the rest of the group, he decides. "I'll go first...", he announces, then looks as faces turn his direction. He quickly thinks better of this tactic and mumbles, "...unlesssomeoneelsewouldliketo..."
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"If ye kimers ur dain talkin'..."
Without so much as another word, Banon begins to make his way out of the room the Venture Captain had gathered them in. Stopping halfway out the door, the ranger looked back to the others as if he had forgotten a very important tidbit. Scrunching his nose, he scratched his bristly beard before looking to the others having remembered what it was he meant to say.
"Och...ain th' nam is Banon. In case ye waur wonderin'."
Leaving the relative safety of the Grand Lodge, the Pathfinders set out on foot for The Docks, and The Pickled Imp curio shop.
The city is teeming with activity, like no where else on Golarion. People busily dashing to and fro, carriages and wagons of all shapes and sizes, beasts of burden heaving under straining yokes, all make the streets a riot of activity.
Crowded their way through the bustle along a main thoroughfare, the would-be adventurers soon find themselves in The Docks section of the city. True to it;'s name, this section houses the harbor and most of the freight and trade goods within the city. Here teamsters and their loads are everywhere, moving all kinds of goods in every direction. Stopping for directions to the Pickled Imp, the Pathfinders stop and look about.
The Garundi sailor you are asknig for directions is clearly not a native speaker, and his garbled language makes him quite hard to understand.
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"Yes," Kellean answers, "That was quite odd... although the pair of us are hardly ones to judge!" She tries a chuckle, but has the nagging feeling there was something more to it than that.
Kellean listens carefully to Garundi sailor, politely nodding at what she thinks are the right points, and then smiles and thanks the sailor warmly when he is finished. When out of sight in the direction he seemed to be directing, she asks someone else.
After the mush-mouthed Garundi has passed, the next person Kellean sees to ask for directions is a richly-robed cleric of Abadar. When she mentions The Pickled Imp, he rolls his eyes in disgust.
"What business have you at that foul place? If we at the Bank had our way, that den of inquity would be out of business already. That crooked Varisian who runs the place would steal from his own mother...Well if you really must go there, here is the way,but hold on to your coinpurses."
Clearly and concisely, he gives you the directions to the place. Following as best you can, you all find yourselves in a seedy, run-down neighborhood, and there as directed, is the local curio shop, The Pickled Imp. The roof sags and the porch is held up with bricks. One of the front windows is cracked, and a pile of wooden crates stacks up in the back.
As you enter, a little bell tinkles, though no one is in sight at first. This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in the macabre line-up. Suddenly the shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
"Ay yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I'm glad Ambrus was able to lend me a few of his recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need."
Looking around as if to be absolutely sure no other customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he beings again:
"Well met, I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he recieved a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there is a problem. See, Master Gelbane, had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at the warehouse. Rumor has it he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone at the docks that some creep was snooping around the warehouse just the other night, so I want to be sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases."
"There's one big crate marked with three crows arranged in a small triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That's the only parcel I'm interested in, and as far as I'm concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else in this place too. I'm sure once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway."
"My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don't realize what they have and frankly many don't deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get his done, I'd be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors as long as you help me out too. I'm good at returning favors."
He says this last part with a knowing wink. He tells you the location of the old pelican warehouse, just a few blocks down at the wharf-side, and then waits to see if you have any questions.
Karel spreads his hands and shrugs. "Apparently some run-in with the law. Something about unpaid excise taxes, you know how it is...I am sure he'll be fine with you retrieving my parcel for me. We do each other favors like that all the time." He smiles his most winning, used-car salesman smile.
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Kellean tries to discern the truth of the matter, but then thinks, Is this really who I think it is? If so, he is a master of bluffing and I'll just have to take his word. And, regardless, he is a "venture-captain or close ally". The good the Society can do will justify and redeem: I was smuggled out of a country by the Pathfinders, after all.
"Sir, will we be needing a key? And, is the warehouse guarded or trapped, to your knowledge?"
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Banon followed and watched from afar, always managing to stay behind the others as they went about their business. And when they reached the Pickled Imp, he maintained his distance and kept a steady hand over his belt pouch as the other Pathfinders began their conversation with the Varisian.
"He seems loch a trustworthy cheil tae me. Let's coorie up an' help heem gie a hauld ay thes shipment."
Eager to get this task done and begin work on the others, Banon cross his arms over his chest as he waited for the others to finish their questions for the sketchy man.
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Duty or law? The VC has been clear that we are supposed to help this man, so who am I to question him?
To Banon I don't think he's Chelaxian. I'm all for helping him, but let's do it a bit quicker though, we haven't got a whole day.. Fenchil isn't quite sure what Banon said.[/b]
Awaiting the response of the Varisian to Kellean's question, Fenchil is otherwise ready to go.
"Sir, will we be needing a key? And, is the warehouse guarded or trapped, to your knowledge?"
The Varisian trader, fingers the ends of his thin mustache nervously. "That's just it, milady. If I had a key, then I could walk in there and retrieve the crate on my own, couldn't I. The only keys, unfortunately, are in custody along with my friend the owner. That's why I asked Valsin for aid. He said he would send me a crew who could work around a simple matter like a locked door. Now, is that you or do I need to ask Valsin to send my someone more...amenable."
He smiles at you dazzlingly again, but there seems to be a hint of menace in it that isn't trying very hard to hide. He once again gives you directions to the warehouse, which is on the quayside and reiterates that he is only interested in the one parcel, the rest is fair reward for services rendered.
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Kellean tries to smooth over any misunderstanding. "We are quite amenable, Sir - don't get me wrong. Just thinking to ask the obvious."
So, it was a dumb question, but when I take care of another's home I always ask about a key and any pets...
... Come to think of it though, I really don't have much experience getting by locked doors. Not my field, really. I wonder if any of my new group has any such ... experience?
Following the greasy Szcarni's directions, you find soon find yourselves looking at the "pelican" warehouse. Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet above the waterline, the warehouse appears to struggle against it's own roof, threatening to sag into the harbor below. No light shines from the building's windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
The pier in question is about 100 ft long with the warehouse out on the end. The boardwalk is old and in disrepair, but the few fisherman and youths scattered along it testify to it's sturdiness.
The building is dark and in disrepair. Tied to the pier and bobbing gently on the harbor's surface is a small boat held in place by a salt encrusted rope.
There appear to be two entrances into the warehouse, a large sliding door good for loading on the seaward side, and a smaller entry door facing the pier. The windows are appear to be blackened affording no view into the interior.
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As they arrived at the shabby looking warehouse, Banon gave a long, soft whistle, listening quietly and keeping his eyes to the sky as a small dot in the distance steadily grew larger until a beautiful hawk came down to a graceful landing upon his outstretched arm.
Giving the bird a couple of pets under the beak, he whispered quietly.
"Scit aheid fur us an' teel me whit ye see."
With those words said, he let the raptor take flight.
Taking her master's orders to heart, Fion took to the air and began scouting the warehouse from a bird's eye view.
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Kellean, too, looks to the hawk soaring freely. As it does so, she glances past the sun and says a little prayer for Guidance from Sarenrae, perhaps also asking for forgiveness.
Kellean walks casually towards the warehouse, first looking at the small boat to see if it is unoccupied and potentially usable, and then approaches the front door of the warehouse, listening at the door and then inspecting for traps.
If she finds none and hears nothing, she will try the door. It could always be unlocked...
The door is not trapped, but unfortunately, it is locked. The animals report the warehouse is dark inside, and there is no activity apparent from outside. There is a big sliding door on the seaward side of the pelican warehouse. There is little else to report.
Even if the animal is taught to understand a language, it probably lacks the anatomy to actually speak (unless awaken is used). For example, dogs, elephants, and even gorillas lack the proper physiology to speak humanoid languages, though they can use their limited "vocabulary" of sounds to articulate concepts, especially if working with a person who learns what the sounds mean.
An intelligent animal is smart enough to use tools, but might lack the ability to manipulate them. a crow could be able to use simple lockpicks, but a dog can't. Even if the animal is physically capable of using a tool, it might still prefer its own natural body to manufactured items, especially when it comes to weapons. An intelligent gorilla could hold or wield a sword, but its inclination is to make slam attacks. No amount of training (including weapon proficiency feats) is going to make it fully comfortable attacking in any other way.
Even if an animal's Intelligence increases to 3 or higher, you must still use the Handle Animal skill to direct the animal, as it is a smart animal rather than a low-intelligence person (using awaken is an exception—an awakened animal takes orders like a person). The GM should take the animal's Intelligence into account when determining its response to commands or its behavior when it doesn't have specific instructions. For example, an intelligent wolf companion can pick the weakest-looking target if directed to do so, and that same wolf trapped in a burning building might push open a door or window without being told.
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Seeing the others throwing themselves bodily at the door, Banon instead calmly drew his bow and aimed at the entrance, readying himself to shoot any hostiles that might be on the other end of all this ruckus. Looking up at his bird, the grizzled ranger gave a low whistle as he gave her a new order.
"Watch mah back an' guard me."