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"I'm afraid I have been called away to another mission," Friar Huck informs you. "I have called in one my distant relations to replace me though, so never fear! He's a good chap, a bit odd perhaps but reliable. Lives out among the dunes of Osirion, as I understand it, and fashions himself as some forgotten Pharaoh of the halflings. Harmless play I think, don't let it put you off." With that, the good friar shakes you hands and takes his leave.
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Moments later the halfling friar is replaced by another halfling; although this one's skin is sun- and wind-burnt due to his life in the harsh Osirion desert, you can still make out the family resemblance. As you were warned though, he is quite eccentric, starting with his outfit which resembles that of an ancient Pharaoh including an adorned skirt, no shirt, golden armbands and bracers, and a headdress featuring an asp just above his forehead. He holds a flail reminiscent of the ancient pharaohs.
"Greetings! You are graced by the presence of the Godking of the Halflings himself, Pharaoh Hakotep Flaxseed!" the halfling announces.
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Rokdor raises one eyebrow and grunts, clearly unimpressed. "A noble, huh? Well, you may be one among your own people, but don't think you can go around making demands and prohibiting exports around here, or I'll dump you in a very deep hole and be sure to feed you regularly so that you don't get replaced." Her warning delivered, the dwarf gives a satisfied nod. "I'm Rokdor Goblinbreaker, former Hammerer of Fortress Bronzemurdered."
Having bid goodbye to Huck, the newly confirmed Pathfinders return to their various lodgings for a well-deserved, if brief, rest. Arriving freshly scrubbed at the Grand Lodge the following morning, they’re escorted directly to Ambrus Valsin’s office, where they’re promptly asked to wait outside the door. Although slightly annoying, this gives Rokdor, Sobestian and Oldmar an opportunity to welcome Hakotep to the group, each in his or her own inimitable way.
Once Rokdor has provided adequate description of the feeding schedule the half-pint Godking will be on when he’s in his deep hole, the Venture-Captain’s door opens and a harried-looking half-elf, dressed in grey robes and with one malformed hand, rushes out. Through the open door, Valsin waves the party inside.
“Close the door,” Ambrus Valsin murmurs as the team gathers in his office. “Let me start by saying, this mission is not for dissemination among other members of the Society.” The chamberlain of the Grand Lodge gives everyone a serious look in turn before continuing. ”This mission is not an investigation, just a simple, straightforward assignment, but that makes it no less important.”
“I need you to book passage to the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, and cross over into Irrisen. You’re to head north and rendezvous with another team who have captured some—”
Valsin pauses for a heartbeat before continuing. “—persons of interest. We have reason to believe that these individuals have information on the Shadow Lodge cells that are refusing
to reconcile with the Society under Grandmaster Torch’s leadership.”
Valsin’s expression becomes particularly grim at that point. “If these rogue cells are outright refusing amnesty, then they represent a clear threat to all of us. I need you to take charge of these captives and get them out of Irrisen safely and quietly. Once you’re clear of Irrisen, a larger extraction team will take custody of them and bring them in for questioning. Of course, we will cover the expense of your travel in full, and provide maps to lead you to the meeting point in Irrisen. Because of the nature of the mission and Irrisen itself, you’ll be meeting the other team in the field, away from what passes for civilization up there. The team you’ll be getting the prisoners from will show you the best route out of Irrisen, and the castellan of Trollheim has agreed to grant you passage through his lands. It’s a three and a half day journey from your rendezvous point to the extraction point outside Trollheim, but the extraction team will remain in place for an additional day in case you’re delayed. You are responsible for avoiding unexpected trouble between the handoff and Trollheim.”
Valsin gestures for the team to depart, but pauses, staring at his fireplace for a moment before adding, “Wait. You need to know this. Your prisoners will be goblins. The Shadow Lodge separatists made extensive use of the sadistic creatures as soldiers and servants, and as much as you may want to throttle them, please remember that we need them alive.” Then, with a final nod for luck, the venture-captain dismisses the group.
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"There are no godkings," Oldmar says bluntly, looking up from a journal as well. "We're all just folk, you know."
"Oldmar." He goes back to writing.
"I am a symbol, Master Oldmar. Halfling slaves toil away in Cheliax, in nearly every corner of this world. And if it helps them sleep at night or gives them hope, then I am the Godking of the Halflings!"
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"Goblins!" Hakotep spits the word as if it were a curse. "Irrisen is cold, is it not? I am not equipped for such an adventure in the far north. I will need to make some purchases."
Valsin gives Hakotep a patient look, responding, ”Yes, Irrisen is cold. It is governed by ice witches and has enjoyed a never-ending winter for more than a thousand years. So, yes, cold.” Turning to Rokdor, he says, ”I’m sure they’ll be disarmed, but as to caged, I couldn’t say. You’re going to have to escort them some distance in the wilds of Irrisen, where there are no roads or even dirt tracks to speak of – so a cage would be very difficult to transport. I’m sure your contact in Irrisen – her name’s Ragna Lightfoot, by the way – will have done her best to arrange things.”
”Advice for you?” Valsin asks, “Well, try to keep as many of the goblins alive as possible, we need to be able to compare and contrast their stories. That means at least two, and more is better. And I probably don’t need to tell you that by our standards, goblins are insane and sadistic. They hate dogs and fear horses, and have an unnatural love of fire and destruction.” On that cheery note, Ambrus Valsin hands over a small packet of maps and bids everyone a good journey.
The party’s journey from Absalom to northwest Irrisen is long but uneventful. Following the maps provided by the Society, the party arrives at the rendezvous point and is stopped by a red-bearded Ulfen man, who steps out silently from behind a tall pine tree and says, ”Halt, state your business!” Though he appears quite calm, he holds his bow with a practiced hand and clearly expects an answer. On learning that the party is from the Society, and is looking for Ragna Lightfoot, he sets his bow to his shoulder and says curtly, ”This way.”
After a few dozen paces, he leads the party to a camp in the process of being broken down, and points out Ragna. It appears that Ragna’s team consists of about a half-dozen Ulfens, all clearly quite accustomed to the out of doors, who are taking down their shelters in preparation to move camp. Ragna herself is a blond Ulfen woman of average height, her cheeks reddened by the cold. As she approaches, her eyes instinctively scan the woods around her, and she says directly, ”You’re sent by the Society to escort my captives, I’m guessing? About time you got here. I’ve had a bellyful of these damned gobbers, can’t wait to get ‘em off my hands. Come with me, they’re all yours.”
She leads the way to the last remaining shelter, this one made of stouter branches tightly woven together with a heavy tarp thrown over it, the whole thing dug into the ground. Standing by this primitive cage is one of Ragna’s men, who throws back the tarp to reveal four goblins inside. ”Never thought I’d ever know a goblin’s name, but I’ve learned all four of these little monsters’ names, trying to keep ‘em in line.” She points out Mikrik, Bateer, Shankerol and Griggrigwin as they snarl and kick at the wooden bars of their prison. ”We’re cooooold!” Mikrik cries out in a whining tone, ”We need a fire!” Shankerol agrees in a quieter, creepier voice, ”Yes, a fire would be lovely…”
Ragna rolls her eyes, then turns her attention to the party again. She draws a folded parchment from her belt and says, ”This map and instructions will get you to Harvest’s End – it’s a tiny little place, but has more comforts than my crew and I have enjoyed in some time. In any case, it’s where you should have the easiest time crossing the Rimeflow River. I can provide four days’ worth of rations for each of you, as well as for each prisoner.” She nods to the man by the cage, who unlocks a chain holding part of the structure closed, and the goblins scramble out. They look around as if eager to make their escape, then drop their shoulders dejectedly as they realize there is nowhere to run to for many miles, and that they would surely freeze to death if they attempted it, if they weren’t killed and eaten by some fell beast stalking the wilds of Irrisen.
Ragna, on the other hand, seems to have a spring in her step once she’s handed over the goblins. Her face splits into a grin and she nods cordially at the party, then moves off to help with breaking down the last of the shelters.
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Rokdor hefts her hammer, eying the goblins measuringly. After a few seconds she nods and spits out, "Ymm nekrd, oy faa clrhunkmasunvahc, mecdah rana. Oui'na kuhhy lusa fedr ic yht hud dno yhodrehk vihho, kud ed? Oui dno cusadrehk — YHODREHK — dryd E tuh'd mega yht E femm syga oui nayt dra fruma Abel uv ir... Duk... UID MUIT, oui kud dryd?"
The goblins all laugh when Rokdor speaks the goblin tongue at them. They clearly understand her, but find it hilarious somehow. "Where'd you learn goblin talk, dorf?" cries out Griggrigwin when she's caught her breath. "You don't talk it like a Frostfur talks it!" Indeed, though her meaning is clear, the goblin's accent is markedly different from what Rokdor was taught.
In reply to Sobestian's question about the goblins' behavior, Ragna says nothing, but she gives him a look that speaks volumes: Have the goblins been ? Gods, I hope you're up for this mission.
The goblins don’t seem to have gained a great deal of respect for Rokdor in their exchange, but when they’re told to get moving, they recognize they’re overmatched and begin the journey. Ragna’s directions and map are clear enough that there’s no difficulty in following them as the party starts out. The valley floor is fairly level for some time, then begins to slope up into the hills.
As the trail gets steeper, Mikrik begins to complain of the effort, whining loudly, ”Too steep! Longshanks walk up hill easy, Frostfurs better at walking downhill! Need food to be strong and walk uphill! So huuuungry!” Bateer turns and bashes Mikrik on the head, shouting, ”Shut up! You make me angry! Shut up! You make me angry!”
Griggrigwin rolls her eyes and says, ”Everything make you angry, Bateer! You like a bee buzzin’ round a flower, but angry!” She looks at Oldmar and nods sagely, as if to demonstrate her intellectual superiority over her fellow goblins, thought it’s not at all clear what she means. Shankerol pays the other goblins no heed, his eyes scanning the surrounding terrain for something.
Soon, a narrow pass winds its way through the steep, icy hills, the frigid wind periodically dusting all in its path with a layer of snow. At the high point of the pass, two ancient stone watchtowers stand on either side of the path between two nearly vertical bluffs rising thirty feet to either side, just as Lightfoot’s map indicated they would. The eighty-foot-wide path narrows to a mere twenty-five feet in width between the two fifty-foot towers.
Ragna’s written directions describe these towers as abandoned, but everyone but Rokdor notices something odd – the snow on the battlements at the top of each tower has been knocked off, but only on the part of the battlements facing the path. Shankerol notes this as well, and points it out, ”Someone been up there.”
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Oldmar has been fairly quiet on this trip, a number of thoughts cycling through his head. He's supposed to be a Pathfinder now, but this doesn't feel so different from his previous expeditions to northern Avistan. Then again, he didn't have to transport goblins around then, and this couldn't exactly be called pleasant.
Here at the pass, Oldmar gazes into the distant towers. "Indeed. Perhaps we can go around?"
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"Goblins!" Hakotep addresses the group as a whole in their own language. "We have food and we can give you some tonight when we rest. If you are good. But we must travel a bit further first."
Being equal in stature seems to help Hakotep in addressing the goblins. "Now, we'll need you to stay quiet and help us as we get past these towers. If it's someone who tries to stop us or fight us, you may help by hurting them in any way you can. Deal?"
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Sobe struts a little in his new gear, trying to take in his reflection when he has the opportunity. Once the party is underway, he curiousity gets the better of him, and he begins speaking with the goblins. "Do you like stories? I love stories. Do goblins have stories? Could you tell me some? We could swap tales!" He says, getting excited.
When the party approaches the tower, Sobe squints at the towers. "I think we should take the godking's advice. He is a godking after all...."
All of the goblins grin widely at Hakotep’s offer, though Shankerol’s grin spreads more slowly, and is accompanied by a dark, quiet laugh. Bateer, his ears flapping wildly as he leaps in excitement, responds, ”We get to ? I can help with dat!”
Mikrik eyes the towers in the distance, a pathetic look on his face, and says, ”We got to go up them towers? But they so tall! And me so hungry! But gokking - whatever he called - promise food, so me go, help hurt.” Griggrigwin nods at Hakotep’s request, then asks, ”You give us weapons? Better for hurting!” With a sly look, she adds, ”And later need knife to eat food.”
Oldmar eyes the steep sides of the mountain pass and decides there’s no easy way to go around the towers. At Hakotep’s urging, the party moves forward, hoping to pass this place unscathed. Alas, that does not seem to be their fate, as a volley of arrows flies from each tower!
In the eastern tower , the party can see a lit torch held up high, then dropped out of sight behind the battlements. Almost right away, a wisp of black smoke begins to waft its way upward, tossed about by the wind. A moment later, a shower of bolts and arrows flies at the party from the towers!
At Sobestian’s question, Bateer cries out, ”We go straight at ‘em! We smash towers down!” With a bare-toothed snarl at Griggrigwin, he says, ”Me want knife to smash wif!”
Bateer then rushes forward, the other goblins charging right behind him.
The party hears the clatter of a bow bouncing off the roof of the eastern when Hakotep’s spell goes off, but another shower of arrows comes raining down from the west tower! Fortunately, every shot misses. At the same time, a small flask is dropped toward Oldmar from the battlements above his head. Fortune continues to smile on the Pathfinders, as the flask crashes to the ground next to the dwarf and bursts into flames!
Having reached the door, Oldmar can see that it is not nearly so well-built as the ancient tower – the door is flimsy goblin construction and would likely not be difficult to shoulder through or hack to pieces.
The goblins swarm forward, Bateer nearly foaming at the mouth in his eagerness to smash the door down and get at whoever has attacked them. Mikrik paws through the snowdrift at the base of the tower next to Oldmar, whining, ”Dwarf got to see fire boom up close, dwarf get to smash door, dwarf having all the fun…”
Oldmar and Rokdor give the door a pair of mighty smashing blows. It is badly damaged, but there are still enough boards hanging in the frame that it is impassable. To the relief of our intrepid adventurers, no more arrows rain down upon them. In fact, things have gone surprisingly quiet…
From his vantage point some distance away from the towers, Hakotep no longer sees any movement amongst the battlements. He does see, however, that the plume of black smoke from the eastern tower has grown thicker and is lasting longer as it rises, before being whipped away by the wind.