*
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.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
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"Of course, sir. Should I bring it back to you here, or should I take it to...the lodge?" New to the Society, the young half-elf whispers uncertainly. Despite the rain and trepidation, a smile stays on Nevryn's face. "Will I be retrieving your parcel alone, sir, or..." He cuts himself off as he notices another approaching...
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Dunkel grumbles a little at the venture captain's attemped humor. He didn't join the Society to be teased by foppish old men, and he certainly didn't...
"Now wait jessae minute... ye want us to be fetchin' a parcel for ye? Now just what exactly is inside this bag?"
Dunkel scratches his chin under his beard and gives the other Pathfinders a questioning look.
He would make Clan Diggerson proud in whatever he did, fetching parcels, running goblinkin from caves, or his truest of all passions in life - diggin'.
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The falling rain had thoroughly soaked Trill, providing him the disguise of a drenched cat; a look that adds a pathetic component to his already squirrely countenance and soft complexion. The steady rain drops find its way around the hard collar of his studded leather breastplate, finding its exit in steady drips from the tunic's hem beneath. The armor fits oddly around him, as if the wrong person was wearing it. A fine elven sword, proverbially bigger than he was, dangles lifelessly in its sheath across his back.
Seeing the leper approach, Trill leans his long spear against a near wall, ”You poor wretched soul”, Trill reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins,”Here”. Once Dreng reveals himself, Trill recoils with a bit of a startle. An awkward moment passes by before he lets out a held breath, then edges away to grab his spear comfortingly.
"I'm Trill", he shyly greets the others.
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A heavily armored man approaches the group. He sets the end of his heavy steel shield into the ground as he leans on it. The shield emblazoned with what appears to be a giant dark green octopus face. A multitude of tentacles dangling from the bottom of the portrait. The creature seems to be glaring with a series of ten eyes painted upon the beast.
Greetings all. I am Ranor. We shall speak with the bartender as per your request Venture Captain! Ranor says with a sweeping bow as he grasps his shield hurling it upon his back as he locks it into place.
A flail hangs loosely within a restraint at the young man's right hip as he looks to the others.
To Nevryn, "Well my lips won't reach the lodge, so I think it's best you should bring it back here." Dreng smiles, then realizes he hasn't really answered the question and looks a little embarrassed. "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. 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."
The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another.
Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.
Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
Following the death of Selmius Foster on the island of Bhopan, his assistant Adolphus made several donations to maintain one of his mentor’s favorite sites. The exact arrangement between Adolphus and the owners of the Wisp was never disclosed, but it is said that some of this gold came from the same fortune that Adolphus used to found the Pathfinder lodge in Quantium.
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"...Oooh, The Wounded Wisp!" remembers the exuberant youth. Wide-eyed, he explains enthusiastically to the team, "The 'Wisp is where all the original Pathfinders congregated! Even the Seeker Osprey frequents it!"
When he realizes that his volume increased so greatly, Nevryn's eyes dart this way and that as he tries to be sure that he didn't give away Dreng's position.
"Uh, sorry." Nevryn's characteristic smile returns, but a bit more relaxed than before.
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Dunkel glances at Nevryn as he shares some of the history of the Society.
In typical dwarven fashion, he shuffles his feet, tugs his beard and grumbles something barely intelligible.
"Wisp 'innit? *mumble* Pig *mumble* Pauch *mumble*."
The dwarf looks upward at the rain soaking his beard and takes a couple steps closer to Drendle Dreng, as if the disguised captain would be his best course for shelter.
"So after we git th' wine, then ye'll be givin' us an important mission? Head off to th' Mwangi ye says? Or th' Worldwound next?"
The dwarf seems to cheer slightly at the thought of mortal danger somewhere far from Absalom.
"So after we git th' wine, then ye'll be givin' us an important mission? Head off to th' Mwangi ye says? Or th' Worldwound next?"
"Ehhh... sure." Dreng says, not looking sure at all. "Let's start with the bottle, hmm?"
A short time later, at the Wounded 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.
As you arrive, a handful of different groups are already relaxing around the bar, enjoying drink and food offered by the Wisp’s staff.
Heryn Gale works the bar of the Wounded Wisp, catering directly to those sitting on stools while simultaneously preparing drinks for those at tables and coordinating the wait staff. 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.
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An unarmored elf carrying a fine looking sword shows up just in time to here Dreng's task. He nods to the others then follows along.
When they arrive at the Wounded Wisp, Taerel spies Yargos Gill and walks up to him. "Excuse me, Mr. Gilll, but do you mind if I sit? I am an inexperienced warrior interested in strategy and historical battles, and would be honored if you had any advice or stories to tell.
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Starstruck, Nevryn turns to the other Pathfinders to excuse himself.
"That's Janira Gavix! I'm waiting for my Confirmation, right now. Maybe I'll get to after we bring Captain Dreng his 'parcel.' I'm going to talk to her! Mister Diggerson, you were hoping for adventure; a Confirmation might be just the thing! Do you want to come, too?"
The eager young man walks to Janira's table, realizes that he doesn't know how to interrupt tactfully, stalls, and turns toward the bar.
How embarrassing, he thinks to himself as he tries to regain the little composure he started with.
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Trill nervously stands like wall ornament for a moment eyeing the orcs that the others left open for conversation. He finally takes deep breath and steps towards the bar instead. Immediately throwing his voice into the cheerful revelry like a old bar mate, "And the proprietor of the patron bar will get all the blessings! Right! Haha!", he quickly sidles up to Heryn and whispers, "I’m here for Dreng’s parcel?".
Yargos Gill looks up at Taerel from an oversized flagon of ale. In his hands is a large and ominous looking tome. "I always welcome the opportunity to educate, particularly to young Pathfinders. Take a seat, please. Lately my interests lie in the Sixth Army of Exploration. As you know, the the Sixth Army holds the ignoble reputation of having lost the enormous, magical siege engine Worldbreaker to the forces of the Gorilla King in the Mwangi Expanse in 2089 AR..."
Despite not being a member of the Pathfinder Society, Yargos Gill is familiar with the organization and has worked with Pathfinders in the past. He is amiable to agents but provides an outsider’s unique perspective of the Society’s actions. When talking, he often gets sidetracked, going on long tangents regarding important military history from the Inner Sea. The old man assumes that everyone is knowledgeable of such things, but if asked for particulars about his digressions, he goes into excruciating detail about esoteric events.
***
Ranor is invited to sit by the Keleshite, who introduces himself as Aram bin Kaleel, A devout inquisitor of Sarenrae.
"I make it a point to visit the Wisp at least once a month." The man says with a thin smile. "I find it an excellent place to discuss matters of adventure and faith in equal measure. The Society has many members with interests in both, but also a number that tend to towards brawn over brains. I believe a Pathfinder should stand on his own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed."
Aram bin Kaleel is willing to offer advice to younger Pathfinders but makes it clear that he never steps in directly on their behalf. He also owns Kaleel’s Curiosities, a shop in the Coins district, and invites Ranor to visit the place sometime.
***
Nevryn and Trill make their way to the bar, where they inquire about Dreng's parcel. The bartender smiles at them. "For Dreng, you say? Sure, I can escort you to the cellar to retrieve the bottle, but I need you to wait for my replacement to arrive so that I can step away from the bar. Have a free drink on the house."
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The coin district you say? I will have to stop by sometime and pay a visit. Yes I am eagerly working my way to being one that is able stand on my own two feet in a fight.
Ranor brings his water over as he slides out a chair and sits down.
This is my first time in the city. Any sights you might suggest?
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Dunkel scratches his chin while he ponders Nevryn's mention of an impending Confirmation.
"Ach, aren't those usually solo endeavors? Ah remember hearin' somethin' about a shortage o' agents with th' Worldwound n' all that, though... maybe they're doublin' up or somethin'."
And, like that, the dwarf is entranced by the large selection of brews on display at the Wisp.
He gives the others a look.
"Ol' Dreng didn't say we were on any sort o' time limit nah did 'e?"
Smacking his lips, the dwarf plans his bottom so firmly on a stool it nearly collapses under the weight.
"Barkeep, three flagons o' brew. Let's start with somethin' hoppy fer th' first, then somethin' dark fer th' second, and somethin' citrus-like fer th' third."
The dwarf leans forward and points at a couple choice selections while he waits patiently and grins at the assorted patrons.
As the others chat at the bar Ranor speaks further with Aram bin Kaleel. He offers a few insights into popular areas, including various shrines, churches, and religious monuments spread around the city.
***
Heryn Gale’s replacement finally arrives and takes over her duties at the bar. Heryn then gathers and escorts you to the cellars below, where she leads you to where Drandle Dreng’s requested vintage is stored. She takes great care in warning you about the treacherous footing in the cellar, noting that she plans on having the wooden board replaced. "Let's just take it one at a time and move slowly so no one gets hurt," she warns.
Beyond is the chamber is where the Wounded Wisp keeps its supply of specialty wines and ales for important occasions. The particular bottle you seek (a vintage from a year preceding the creation of the Society) sits alone on its own shelf. Heryn Gale points it out to you. "That's the one."
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Dunkel plants himself firmly on the near side of the board, working as a crossing guard to throttle the rate at which any of the other Pathfinders might choose to cross.
"Ach, actually, why would we all need to cross?"
He gives Ranor a nod.
"Grab the bottle n' less get back to ol' Dreng and see what e' wants next fer us, aye?"
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"Surely, it shouldn't have required all of us for this task. I was expecting a rather large bottle requiring many men to lift it, or something. However, I enjoyed the history lesson, and perhaps we can spend some more time upstairs chatting before we return to Dreng?"
Taerel then casts Mage Hand to remove the bottle from the shelf and bring it to him.
Ranor's weight causes the plank to creak and groan alarmingly, but it holds as he crosses. Anything heavier on it probably would cause it to break.
As the paladin moves to recover the bottle, Taerel uses his magic to retrieve it, but instead of floating off the shelf and over to his hand, it tips forward jolts to a stop at an angle. Suddenly, the wine rack slides backwards, revealing a short stone tunnel that leads deeper in to some forgotten room.
"Huh." Heryn says with a surprised look on her face. "Well would you look at that. Never knew there were secret passages down here."
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Dunkel shifts anxiously as the passage reveals itself, as the old dwarf always felt a surge of excitement whenever his clan forged a new tunnel deeper below ground.
Ach! Ah wonder if th' ol' man knew this would 'appen...
The dwarf shoots Heryn a look and speaks his mind.
"Ye might not 'ave known, but ah betcha a full round tha' ol' Dreng might've and tha' somethin' interestin' lies behind tha' passage."
Dunkel didn't care if he was right or wrong, he simply needed to know where the passage went.
He gave the board a long look before he slowly crossed it to gaze down the passage.
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"Woooaaah! A secret passage below the 'Wisp? One moment, I'll be right there."
Despite his excitement, Nevryn takes his time on the plank before heading into the room. If there is any difficulty seeing, he casts dancing lights and sends them into the new-found passage.
"I think we should see where it goes."
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.
As you approach the desk you hear skittering sounds echoing from the side passages, and a moment later a couple scorpions the size of large dogs crawl into view!
INITIATIVE
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With mindless aggressors surrounding the team, Nevryn's timid demeanor melts away and his timid speech transforms into a marvelous baritone that moves the fighting spirit in each of the present Pathfinders.
Bolstered by his own song, the singing Shelynite readies his longspear from it's place across his back and follows Ranor into the fray. Multicolored lights flash alongside his spear and move in time with his song.
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Taerel sees his companions pour into the crevices, and can't offer much direct interference. So he draws his longsword before him, and softly utters the necessary incantations to provide himself with some protection.
Looks like this might be a little more complicated than we expected...
He then moves to make sure creatures don't come out from the other crevices.
As the others in the group prepare for a fight, Dunkel advances and uses his axe to crack the carapace of the western scorpion. Meanwhile, Ranor's flail crunches into the one down the east tunnel.
The two scorpions snap their claws and lunge with their stingers, but are fended off for the moment and no one is injured.
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Nevryn continues singing praise to Shelyn in Celestial, moving into the second verse.
As he sings a particularly bold note, Nevryn thrusts his spear over Ranor's shoulder.
Luckily for the scorpion, Nevryn was more concerned about not stabbing the paladin than with finishing off the verminous foe. Chunks of floor chip loose as the spear drives downward.
Aided by Nevryn song of courage and Trill's divine luck, Dunkel finishes off one scorpion, and a moment later Ranor defeats the second.
With the caves clear danger, you now have time to examine the documents on the old desk. The papers chronicle the personal exploits of Selmius Foster. Most of Foster’s more infamous adventures appear here in varying amounts of detail, but it is evident there is another investigation he had been pursuing before he died: the lost records of a Society agent named Eylysia.
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Dunkel buries his waraxe in the scorpion a third time, just in case, before kicking the creature into the side cave, stowing his axe and returning to the others.
"Ahh, shucks. Ah kinda hoped t' find some ol' forge or somethin'..."
He glances at the notes, but mostly crosses his arms waiting for the scholarly sorts to puzzle out what it all means.