Starting a thread for the game-to-be...
You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?”
Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.”
As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
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A young man stands lopsided waiting in the middle of the rain. It seems like the pistol on his hip is pulling down its side of his lightly framed body. He wears light and loose clothing that exposes a good portion of his tan, leathery skin. It's not difficult to tell he's often out in the sun with little protection.
He doesn't care much about getting caught up in the rain; at least in this form. Water-cleansed skin has a much different feel than drenched fur, after all. Plus the drizzle reminds him of the spray of the sea...
Though his posture screams aloof, his eyes and heart are overly fidgety. This is his first mission with the pathfinders, and he's on high alert to make sure he earns his cut of any reward that the job might pay out.
Not one to draw eyes on himself, Hanabi waits for another member of his group to reach out to the Venture-Captain after their briefing.
Zandu notes the slip of paper bears a simple map that shows the location of the Wisp, which is not far from your present location.
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Standing in the shadows under the eave of a nearby building is Tynat n'Tynata. A tiny twitchy pixie like creature, with skin, and hair black as night, but bone white eyes shining intently out of the gloom.
Wearing patched and stained leather armor, and covered head to toe in various pouches, pockets, satchels, bags, tools, and vials, he looks like a walking junk drawer, and smells faintly of sulfur, smoke and assorted solvents.
He scampers forward after the venture captain hands over the paper, and stands on his tiptoes, craning to see the map in his companion's hand. Still peering intently up, he asks without looking over at Dreng
"Retrieve a package... sounds too simple. What sort of package? What makes this a job for a team of Pathfinders?"
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A handsome Taldan man with an easy grin wears a neatly-tailored suit of fine clothes, his sleeves slashed with alternate bands of white and blue. He bears a longsword over his shoulder as if it were something he'd found laying around minutes ago.
"One never needs an excuse for a trip to the Wisp," he says. "Why it's one of my favorite places to get thrown out of!"
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"An' t'where will ye be off to? Just so we might smartly find ye after we 'ave the booty."
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Tynat watches Zandu start to walk away, but doesn't follow. He waits for Drendel to answer the questions, reasoning that it will be difficult to retrieve a package knowing nothing about it.
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I black-feathered Tengu, wearing hide armor with a short sword strapped to his belt can't wait to get out of the pouring rain. He pulls his cloak over his head, trying to protect himself as much as possible.
My name is Ebonfeather, I am a druid from the deserts in Osirion. I can protect the front or back as deemed necessary by our group dynamics. Pleasure to meet you.
"Retrieve a package... sounds too simple. What sort of package? What makes this a job for a team of Pathfinders?"
Dreng's eyes twinkle at Tynat's question and he smiles a broad grin.
"Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling."
Drengle gives you all a look before shrugging and continuing to explain his request.
"I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine."
"Once you arrive, just tell ol' Heryn that you need Dreng's bottle, he'll take you right to it."
With a smile, Dreng nods, spins on his heel and begins to stumble ahead in the rain like a drunen beggar.
The party, with the curious instructions from the Society venture captain departs towards the Wisp.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink.
An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
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Hanabi unholsters his pistol as soon as he's out of the rain to wipe it dry. He takes a moment to load it with a bullet and powder before returning it.
He looks around the bar for any signs of an employee or Heryn; or anything that might be out of the ordinary. That ol' salt Dreng be keeping a secret from us. I won't be caught off me toes so soon.
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"Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling." Drengle gives you all a look before shrugging and continuing to explain his request. "I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine." "Once you arrive, just tell ol' Heryn that you need Dreng's bottle, he'll take you right to it."
Tynat frowns. At least, it seems like a frown. Hard to tell on the strange, almost otherworldly features of the wayang's face.
"He's up to something." Says the twitchy alchemist, as he absent mindedly uncorks an vial and sniffs at it before placing it back in his bandolier.
He turns to follow Zandu off in the direction of the Wisp, keeping up an unceasing marathon of small nervous movements. Looking left, right, up, behind. Patting his pockets. Adjusting straps on his packs and armor.
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On entering the tavern, Tynat approaches the bar, and is barely tall enough to peek over the top. He grasps the edge of the bar and pulls himself up onto tip toes, so that his nose just reaches over the lip of the counter. He flicks his eyes up and down the length of the bar, looking for the barman, and begins rapidly tapping a hard pointed nail on the counter to attract their attention.
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The current talk of the bar is that Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone, the legendary trial by which one might ascend to godhood.
Janira Gavix, known for guiding new recruits through their Confirmations, sits at a table entertaining new recruits.
A Keleshite man who is clearly a devotee of Sarenrae sits at another table enjoying his meal.
Two half-orcs, a male and female, sit at another table trading crude jokes.
Sitting at a table with a book is the military historian Yargos Gill.
**
Heryn Gale, owner and bartender of the Wounded Wisp, chuckles to himself as he spots the shadowy gnome's find a-tap-tap-tapping on his counter.
Nodding to a few patrons with which he was discussing the Test of the Starstone, he approachs Tynat, pulls out a rag and addresses a tiny dried spot on the counter's surface.
"What's your poison today?"
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"Poison? No. No poison. Poison for rogues. Poison for other alchemists maybe. Lesser alchemists. Tynat n'Tynata does not waste effort of his hands on the brewing of poisons. Tynat makes bombs. Makes fire. Makes medicine. Not makes poison.
Tynat needs wine. Not poison wine. Wine for Drendel Drang. Drang's bottle."
Tynat pauses his restless movements for a moment and regards the barkeep seriously.
"Not poison bottle." He says earnestly.
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Janira spares a moment to glance up from the copious tomes and journals piled on her desk.
"Uhh.. yes. Zandu right? I, yes... that minotaur. A good reason all Pathfinders should be prepared with ranged weapons!"
She looks at the empty seats around her table. Her attention turns to her stacks of "work" and she seems torn on whether to extend an invitation to be seated or not.
**
Heryn chuckles at the wayang's elaborations, but nods sagely at the mention of Dreng's bottle.
"Ah, of course. He's just about due for that bottle, isn't he?"
Heryn glances about the bar before shaking his head.
"I'm due for my relief here any moment... late as usual. I can take you down to the cellar for the bottle, but give me some time until our other barkeep gets here to take over, yeah?"
He gestures to the cornucopia of bottles assorted behind him and the dozen or so brews on tap.
"I can make your wait pleasant. It's on me..."
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"I can make your wait pleasant. It's on me..."
With a slight bit of difficulty, Tynat scrambles quickly up onto a tall stool, and sits kicking his legs restlessly as they dangle well above the floor. He mumbles rapidly to noone in particular:
"Wine for Dreng... maybe wine for Tynat too? No. Tanins. Sulfides. Makes head ache. Vodka? Hmm. Perhaps. But if improperly distilled... inpurities. Bad flavor and possible... complicating interactions." Says the impish alchemist as draws a flask of thick green liquid and scowls in concentration while he considers this momentous decision. He slips the flask back into a pocket.
"Gin, spirits, dreg... no, No, NO! Too vile, too strong, too rough. Not beer either. Definitely not beer. No, no. Not distilled... live cultures... too too many teensy weensy yeasty beasties."
Tynat grows more and more agitated and fidgety as he debates, then suddenly stills, eyes widening.
"Whiskey! Distilled, delicious, smokey smooth... and charcoal filtered. Charcoal always good... yes Yes YES! Whiskey! Whiskey for Tynat!"
Tynat happy swings his legs, and bobs his head back and forth in pleasant anticipation, oblivious to the odd looks he's getting
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".. I'll work the bar for you in the meantime?"
Heryn pauses for a moment, searching Cesare's face. He opens his mouth as if he's about to say one thing, closes it, and finally opens it again as if he's now going to say something completely different than his first thought.
"Ah, why not..."
Drying off his hands, his tosses the bar rag to Cesare and gestures for the others to follow.
A set of wooden stairs descends from the main floor to a door, which upon opening leads into this tightly packed storeroom. Barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes are pushed against the walls or under the stairs.
Heryn takes a few steps and then moves out of the way gesturing to a ten foot deep rift that bisects the basement.
"Quake did this back in '98. Haven't gotten a chance to fix it up yet so be careful."
A wooden plank serves as a "bridge" crossing the span.
"Dreng's bottle will be in the southeast corner. It's labeled Rookie's Cl.. a-hem... Brew. Big yellow label. You won't be able to miss it."
Heryn folds his arms and looks out across the cellar, expecting someone to cross the span and fetch the bottle besides himself.
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After hearing about the wait Hanabi does what comes natural and slips into the crowd, pulling up a chair to an undetermined table. He listens to the conversations around him, offering a thin smile or lite chuckle should anyone make eye contact.
It's all he can do to resist the urge to pilfer through the pockets of the less awares around him. Can't be caught lootin' in me new crew's womb, he reasons with himself.
He subconsciously fiddles with his pistol. Not out of anxiety, but more so out of nostalgia. Or, perhaps, he fiddles just to keep his hands in check.
Once he sees the barkeep make a move to go downstairs, Hanabi slides out of his chair and follows.
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"I'll work the bar for you in the meantime?"
The alchemist watches as the barkeep leads his companions towards the cellar, but doesn't follow immediately. He fixes his unblinking pure white eyes on the bard as he steps behind the counter.
"Whiskey for Tynat." He says firmly.
After Caesar pours him a tumbler, he grasps it eagerly, hops down, and runs to catch up with the group, following just behind the brooding gunslinger and taking small delicate sips from his glass as he goes.
On reaching the cellar, he observes Ebonfeather volunteer to make the crossing. He watches as the druid steps out on the plank, but is distracted by the radiance from Zandu's spell, and turns his attention to inspecting the pleasing amber light filtering through his whiskey. He takes another sip, makes an appreciative noise then smiles up at the barkeep and says
"Whiskey for Tynat. Wine for Dreng. Secrets for Pathfinders."
Although it sounds like a statement, the quizzical tilt of his head seems to make it a question.
KRA-CHUNK.
As Ebonfeather wraps his talons around the bottle to be procured, Tynat n'Tynata has his answer.
Secrets for Pathfinders.
KRA-CHUNKA-CHUNK-CHIRRRRR....
The wine rack jostles and slides aside, revealing a passageway beyond. The bottle doesn't even come free, appearing to be nothing more than a cleverly disguised lever.
Heryn nods his head.
"I'll go relieve Cesare..."
And then, disappears up the stairs.
Ebonfeather glances into the chamber beyond.
A sturdy silver chain jutting from the ceiling ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across the rectangular room. A simple desk of polished wood, stacked with documents and scattered notes, shelters a pair of wooden chests against the south wall.
A series of cracks along the eastern and western walls form makeshift entrances into exposed caverns.
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As the secret passage opens, Tynat's attention snaps back to the druid, and he darts across the bridge. He pauses by the winerack at the edge of the entrance, tosses back the rest of his drink, grabs a random bottle off the shelf and stuffs it into his pack then places his empty glass in its place and hurries forward into the lit chamber.
"Whiskey for Tynat, wine for Dreng, secrets for Pathfinders!"
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Cesare has poured the whiskey for Tynat and polished the bar by the time that Heryn returns. Hearing that things are afoot, he tosses the barkeep his apron, vaults the bar and follows Tynat downstairs.
"Oooooh," he says, waggling his fingers in a "spooky" gesture. "Secret room! Is this a great bar or what?"
He moves over to examine the writing on the desk.
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"'Suppose I can say I've walked the plank now," puns Hanabi as he reaches the other side of the make-shift bridge.
He grabs a random bottle off the wine racks and dislodges the cork with his thumb. Pouring a swig straight into his gullet, he strolls past Ebonfeather and only offers a wink at the druid.
He joins the bard at the desk, picking up one of the notes to examine.
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Perception:
Initiative:
.. Ebonfeather
.. Zandu
for
As Cesare and Hamasaki approach the desk, the other Pathfinders follow into the small alcove beyond.
Both Tynat and Ebonfeather notice a bit of gravel pouring from somewhere above them and glance up just in time to notice two spiders the size of full grown men emerging from the shadowy recesses above.
Cesare observes the willowy shadows cast by the limbs of the creatures just in time.
The first spider scrambles up a few feet before it launches a web at Ebonfeather, who becomes entangled in the gooey mess.
The second spider scurries up its own wall and seems to debate who would be tastier - Zandu or Hamasaki. As its dripping mandible clatter in excitement, it finally sinks them into Zandu's exposed shoulder .
Surprise Round:
21 Spider (western) : Entangles Ebonfeather in gooey web
21 Spider (eastern) : Bites Zandu for 4hp, possibly poisoning him
18 Tynat :
17 Cesare :
12 Ebonfeather :
11 Habani : Surprised!
9 Zandu : Surprised! (need a Fort save)
Now Up: Tynat, Cesare and Ebonfeather in the surprise round!
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"Poison for rogues, lesser alchemists... and spiders. Tynat does not like poison. Tynat does not like spiders."
Moving with a practiced ease, the tiny wayang quickly pulls a vial from one pocket, fills it with a sprinkling of various chemicals from another of his myriad pouches, corks it and gives it a shake, then looks up and smiles widely as the alchemical concoction begins to glow.
"Tynat likes bombs. Tynat likes fire. Fire for spiders!"
He hurls the bomb at the spider on the western wall and laughs wildly as it bursts into a gout of flame that nearly, but not quite, singes Caesar, Ebonfeather, and himself along with the beast.
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Ebonfeather looks up at the spider just in time to see multiple sticky strands of webbing cover him, head to toe.
These are spiders, nothing special, other than being the size of a man. Their sting will weaken your muscles.
The then tries his best to burst free from the sticky webbing, entrapping him.
for
for
Surprise Round:
18 Tynat : Bombs spider on western wall for 10 damage
17 Cesare : Inspires courage
12 Ebonfeather : Breaks the webbing encasing him
11 Habani : Surprised!
9 Zandu : Surprised! (fails the Fort)
Round 1:
21 Spider (western; -10hp) : Moves along to Tynat, misses him
21 Spider (eastern) : Bites Zandu for 6hp
18 Tynat :
17 Cesare :
12 Ebonfeather :
11 Habani :
9 Zandu :
The western spider, smoldering from Tynat's bomb, scampers along the wall and works to defend itself against what it perceives to be a more-difficult-than-usual meal.
It lurches forward, but its mandibles miss the shadow gnome.
Zandu's spiderly friend continues to gnaw away at the psychic's arm, chittering merrily as it bathes in the splattering blood. Zandu crumples to the ground at the loss.
Friendly neighborhood map link
Now up: Everyone!
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Too busy enjoying his beverage, Cesare's warning finally makes Hanabi aware of the spiders just in time for him to turn around and see Zandu's life get sucked out. He lets slip the bottle from his hand to unholster his pistol as he moves out of the spider's reach before it can turn it's full attention to him.
*Click* goes his hammer as he passes Cesare.
He spins back around and fires a swiftly Focused Aimed shot at the now red-tinted spider.
*BOOM!-Oom-oom * The roar of his discharged weapon reverberates off the cavern walls like thunder.
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Tynat flinches out of the way as the spider scurries past and attempts to sink its fangs into him, thankfully missing wide. Must be the smoke in its eyes.
He flicks his wrist, and the spring loaded sheath hidden up his sleeve activates, popping a flask of acid forward into his hand. He hurls it at the wall just above the spider, carefully aimed to be close enough to catch the bug in the burst of caustic liquid while not splashing any onto himself.
"Tynat likes acid too." He says as the giant arachnid is splattered with globs of liquid that bubble and hiss on contact.
Then he reaches over his shoulder, draws his longspear, and does his best to look fierce.
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Tynat hurls the acid against the wall away from the spider, which splashes and sizzles on the creature, which screams in agony.
As it still continues to lurch forward, with a loud BANG, it falls to the floor, writhing in a massive pool of acid and spider-guts.
The eastern spider still chitters excitedly for its next victim.
Still Up: Ebon and Cesare