It has been a long trip, getting to Almas. Some of you have come by ship, a few overland, but all eventually arriving at the capital city of the Free Nation of Andoran. It is a sprawling city, one of the largest in all of the Inner Sea, its buildings and streets covering multiple hills where the waters of not one, but three, tributaries spill into the Andoshan river before it empties into the Inner Sea. Massive bridges span the rivers at multiple points, connecting the various elevations that the city inhabits creating islands of little communities and districts throughout the city.
You are not entirely sure why you've been summoned here, just that you are to meet with Venture-Captain Brackett at the lodge in Almas in a few days, once your new team has arrived.
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In walks a man with a flowing white cloak, it's edges trimmed with gold writing in a language probably unfamiliar to most, the desert country of Rahadoum. His face is the dark tan of those people, though hard and stern, a welcome smile not reaching his eyes.
Hello Thaddeus.
He leans up against the wall, his long rapier poking out from under his cloak as he does so.
My name is Mutahir Hashem... I serve in the Rahadoumi Pure Legion Enforcement Squadron.
His smile is a little darker than perhaps as he finishes his introduction.
You may of course know me by my nickname... "Cleric Killer".
He laughs a bit, though it's a bit hollow.
Do not worry. I do not kill pathfinders. I stick to cultists and the servants of evil... outside of Rahadoum.
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Mutahir shakes his head.
I am Rahadoumi. I forsake the gods, and they forsake me. I will administer to my own healing if... well, more likely when, the time arises...
He taps a palm against a wrist sheath with a wand in it.
A arcane magician can use this wand, and I have some potions as well.
He sighs as he looks at Tad again.
Just cause, as the pesh dealers say "The first hit is free" does not mean there is not a price to pay. Little one, there is a price your goddess demands... and it is not a price I am willing to pay. I pity that you cannot see it... but the devout rarely do. No... By hope you, and all the rest of the devout, will see someday to cast off your chains.
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"Unless you hide in a cave and eat nothing that grows out under the sun, you cannot refuse all benefit from the Lady of Light. Every beam from her glorious sun that causes your food to grow is a sign of her grace and love. However, I will try to honor your request. Do you wish me to let you die rather than heal you with the Lady's grace in an emergency?"
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Mutahir glares and looks annoyed enough to spit.
Your goddess claims dominion over the sun, but it rises and sets with or without her permission. I am a true Rahadoumi, and I when I die my soul will join the souls of all other true Rahadoumi, and lie in the graveyard of souls. I will not sell my soul to your sun goddess for a few minutes more of life faith slave.
He practically spits the last two words, as if Tad's suggestion that he owed the goddess something was particularly loathsome.
The graveyard of souls is the last resting place of atheists, those on golarian who refuse to give worship to any gods. There they await in undisturbed peace for the day that their souls disburse into the world again. Totally fun but totally unnecessary reading on the subject matter, 2 pages from a Rahadoumi character about the graveyard of souls
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Well, hopefully we can all agree that it's better to have the sun out today than the rain! a red-haired man interjects as he moves into the room. Taking off his hat and holding it in his hand, this broad-faced figure has a head and hands that looks somewhat mismatched on his near six-foot frame, and the long blue cloak of his drags against the ground as he moves awkwardly towards the others.
So, what do you think they called us all here for? I hope not any more politics. The last time I was in Andoran it got a bit confusing, and I just got back from Galt and...well I'm not sure Maldris has thought some things through. The figure pulls out a chair, then contorts his body to try and sit in it without bending down. Oh, sorry. Being rude. The name's Fimbir!
Fimbir turns to extend a hand but the movement causes him to twist awkwardly and spill against the room's table. As he catches himself, you see that this gnome is standing atop an extensive set of stilts strapped to his feet.
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A little grippli walks over to greet Finbir. He probably doesn't even come up to the top of the stilts, since he's only 2 feet tall. He wears no armor, but a golden holy symbol of Sarenrae dangles around his neck. "Hi, I'm Tad. In my previous journeys, my main job was to keep my friends healed. In emergencies, I may stick out my tongue and touch you to heal you, since I can reach further that way."
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Mutahir raises an eyebrow at the gnome's antics, but doesn't comment. Clearly, he's worked with gnomes, or stranger folk, before.
Well Met Fimbir. I am Mutahir... Resident Cult killer. My main job is to make sure that priests are to busy with me to cast deadly spells on you. If I'm involved, usually there is not much in the way of politics...
He gives his dark grin again.
For some reason, the society considers it a bad idea to send a Pure Legion Rahadoumi to important political meetings. I can't imagine why.
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Dynath steps off a ship at the dock district, with a grey wolf following close behind.
”Ahhh, the long sabbatical in the mountains was long overdue, but my did I miss Andoran.”
As he absentmindedly reaches to scratch the wolf’s ear, ”Well, Shadowfur, if we are going to reintegrate into “polite” society, we should probably find a bath...”
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Mutahir looks at Tad and chuckles.
We are not exactly welcome in most places, so we stick to our ships and our country. As for cults... I specialize in those that would enslave their fellow man, but I'm just as happy to annihilate any cult I can get permission to.
He pats his blade with a smile.
Blasphamy's Sting has tasted plenty of blood and freed many people's body, mind, and sometimes even souls. As for what counts as a cult... that mostly depends if I'm in a Rahadoum or not. In Rahadoum, any who sell their souls to gods and goddesses are cultists. Outside of Rahadoum, I need pathfinder permission to destroy them, so they tend to be those with access to the powers of the evil divine beings.
He shrugs.
To be fair, I'm kinda a last line of defense person... they don't usually call people like me in unless something is really a problem. I am a Pure Legion Enforcer after all.
The Pathfinder Society chapter house in Almas is filled with the chill of late autumn, as you arrive. Though there appears to be a fair bit activity, none of it coalesces around you, everyone apparently having their own tasks to attend to... which do not involve tending to new arrivals.
Eventually, a slightly jittery clerk, who looks like they've drank too much coffee, and had not enough sleep, notices you, and ushers off to a side chamber, telling you to wait there for the Venture-Captain before bustling off.
Unfortunately, he does not mention how long that will be, and you once again find yourselves waiting... though with far less activity to watch.
After a while of sitting in the side chamber, waiting, you eventually hear some activity outside, and the doors will burst open. A tall, hatchet-faced, middle-aged man strides in purposefully. Venture-Captain Brackett is known as a brash, outgoing fellow, and well suited to the task of running a lodge. He seems all business as he steps in, followed by a smaller, bookish man, carrying a wooden coffer, who huffs and puffs slightly as he tries to keep up with the more vibrant venture-captain.
"Ah, good, you're here!" Bracket exclaims, as he moves to the far side of the room, and turns to examine you all. He pauses for a moment on Mutahir, frowning slightly, then looks at a piece of parchment he was carrying, and snorts.
"My turn I guess." He mutters, before putting the page aside, and glancing at the rest of you with a look of guarded concern.
"Welcome. Glad you all could make it so promptly." He goes on, taking a seat in a nearby chair. "A lot going on here today, so I hope you don't mind if we bypass the pleasantries and get right down to business."
"We're sending you northwest." One hand waves absently in the direction indicated. "To the Aspodell Mountains... and there, a rugged bit of rock somewhere between Andoran and Cheliax, about three weeks journey from here."
"There is a prospector there, a dwarf named Torvic, who apparently has come across some leads to a lost dwarven site of some significance. We have been able to verify some of his finds." He nods towards the bookish man nearby. "And want in on his discovery."
He shrugs slightly. "Normally, we'd not worry too much about it, but I am told the site he searches for is quite significant among the local dwarven communities. Helping to find evidence of it, or even the site itself, would prove quite significant on a diplomatic front. Apparently they are the hidden galleries of a long lost ancestor of Torvic's. A dwarven craftsman named Barek Triongger. He has been obsessively searching for this site for years, and based on some new information we have come across, might actually be close to finding it."
He nods over towards the bookish man standing to the side. "This is Wystorn Telfyr, our chapter librarian. He has verified some of Triongger's information, or we wouldn't be here."
The librarian steps forward nodding, and places the small wooden box on the table. He carefully opens it and producing several tattered scrolls, and a gleaming, strangely phosphorescent pearl.
"We recently acquired these from a rather disreputable fellow by the name of Beggar." Telfyr breaks in. He frowns slightly, clearly not entirely impressed by the source. "They describe a place called the Gallery of Wonders, built by Barek Triongger during the death throes of the dwarven Empire of Tar Khadurrm, long ago."
Picking up the strangely-glowing pearl, the librarian continues, "And these... these pearls are only found in the deepest of the Darklands’ seas. While not especially valuable, a cache of these would be a rare find. Divinations revealed that Barek apparently used this one as a key. We could claim substantial favors from the dwarves of Emperor's Peak should we discover what it's a key for."
Venture-Captain Brackett nods in agreement and takes up the conversation once more, as Telfyr steps back, leaving the scrolls on the table for you to look at. "We're pretty sure Beggar stole these items from Torvic. The likelihood of a wandering vagabond possessing legally acquired dwarven heirlooms seems small at best." He shakes his head.
"Looking through these documents and comparing them to Pathfinder Chronicles on the matter, it's clear that this Torvic is onto something." Brackett cocks a thumb toward Telfyr. "Our librarian was able to glean some information from Beggar about where he acquired these items and was also able to divine a likely location where the dwarf might be holed up. Find him and make an alliance with him... hopefully, he'll want his pearl back and will show you the way to this Gallery of Wonders."
Brackett gets to his feet, nodding towards the librarian. "And now, I've more things to attend to. I'll leave Telfyr here to answer any questions, but otherwise, we've booked you passage on a caravan leaving tomorrow, early, heading towards Perin's Bluff. From there though, you're walking."
And with that, the Venture-Captain takes his leave.
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Mutahir looks at the pearl, his eyes shifting in color slowly as he gets a read on it.
Ancient dwarven holes in the ground from abandoned empires. The last one of those you sent me down was filled with the living dead... we should be prepared for such things ourselves. Would anybody else be interested in this site for reasons beyond the academic? Beyond that, it would seem we should get a move on as quickly as possible.
Mutahir will detect no auras, of any sort on the pearl.
"This Gallery was little more then dwarven myth, as far as most are aware." Telfyr says. "That Torvic may have actually stumbled on it, is the interesting part. The dwarves of the Five-Kings mountains would be very grateful if it were true."
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A tall fellow, dressed in dark green, cloak hood covering his face, sneaks in just as the Venture-Captain enters the room. He breathes a sigh of relief at just making the briefing...he no sooner returned from Ustalav when he was immediately sent here for this mission...
After hearing the brief and watching the Venture-Captain leave, the fellow rises, pulling back his hood as he does, revealing long dark hair and sharp Elven facial features, staring at the pearl...
He shrugs, unable to make anything of it, and sits back down...
It confirms much of what you were just told, telling of a dwarven craftsman named Barek Triongger and his Gallery of Wonders, though you're knowledge of dwarven history is not that extensive.
It does mention that the Gallery is apparently hidden in a place called the Candelstone Caverns.
You have spent a goodly amount of time in the Aspodell Mountains, and though you've never entered into the Candlestone Caverns themselves, you have heard tell of them. A labyrinthine system of caves that wind under the Aspodells themselves.
You're not sure if you're too excited about traveling back there though... this late in the fall, it starts to get a little icy up that high. Though you think you should get in before the heavier snowfalls.
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Tad thinks a moment. "Does this Torvic think well of the Society?"
"Dynath, perhaps I could go with you? I've just been in hot weather for quite a while, so could use something to keep me warm."
Tad will buy cold weather clothing. I'm also looking into a way to buy some mint for him to chew, considering how much he licks people.
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As the Venture-Captain began speaking, Fimbir leaned against the table, eyes wide open and ears keenly perked. By the end, his face seems to have sagged a bit as first Brackett and then the librarian continue to go on. And on.
So, we go and team up with this Torvic, and then together we find this hidden gallery? the gnome asks, making sure he understands the mission. Sounds good! Oh, and write down what we discover of course.
As he hops up to a standing position, Fimbir frowns and turns to Telfyr. Hey, if we think this pearl was stolen, how did we get it? And isn't Torvic going to think that we might have been the ones that stole it from him in the first place?
Telfyr nods as Fimbir summarizes the task at hand, though shrugs at talk of gaining Torvic's trust. "That's why you're the field agents, right?" He says. "It's not all about the stabbing, sometimes you have to be persuasive! I do not believe Torvic has any prior working relationship with the Society here, in Almas... though can't say whether he has any sort of preconceptions for other reasons."
"As to these..." He holds up the pearl, looking at it once more. "Beggar brought them to us." He catches himself, then amends his statement. "Well, perhaps not so much brought, as tried to pawn the scrolls off on one of our agents... and, once we saw what he had, we pressed a little... and that's when he produced the pearl."
"Regardless, it would be a significant historical find." He reiterates. "So do try to make nice." He places the scrolls and the pearl back into the small chest, and pushes it across the table towards you.
"Brackett wanted you to take these with you." He says, clearly reluctant to part with them. "They might prove useful... or at the very least, you can return them to Torvic to show our good intentions."
The next morning, before dawn, you gather at the location the caravan to Perin's Bluff is set to depart from. It is a relatively simple setup, a few wagons and some guards, and plenty of cargo, set to be dropped off along the way.
You are not the only passengers, a number of folks using it as a means of transportation, like yourselves, though most of them are not traveling nearly so far. The next few weeks go by slowly, each new town or village whittling a little more off of the caravan, in terms of passengers and cargo. By the time you reach the final stop, Perin's Bluff, there is just you, the caravan members, and a number of mostly empty wagons.
Perin's Bluff is a small town, mostly people trying to live away from the busier cities, and those making a living trading with Cheliax, across the mountains to the west. The town is situated on a large expanse of rock, that overlooks the Aspodell Mountains, and the only pass that leads across them, to Cheliax. Despite its small size, it is surprisingly heavily fortified, with a large stone keep and numerous watchtowers. The entire town is surrounded by massive stone walls and manned gaurd towers... testament to the hostilities that have plagued the two countries in the not too distant past... and perhaps a buffer versus tensions that still exist even now.
From here, you have to travel on foot. Telfyr's divinations placed Torvic in a cave, northwest, off of the main pass. You figure it might be about four days in.
The weather has been pretty miserable for the past week. Though the air is cold, it has never quite been cold enough to seriously snow, though Dynath can tell you its probably not far off. For now, you get mostly frozen sleet, and ice-crusted mud... true winter in the mountains is still a few weeks off.
You spend the night in Perin's Bluff, and start up the mountain the next day. Though the weather threatens to turn bad, it never does... though still remains bitterly cold, especially at night. You make decent time, even after leaving the main trail... But what you follow from there would be generous to call a path of any sort. It leads up steep defiles, and along narrow bluffs, only occasionally opening up into areas big enough to set up a camp sight. There is little wood, most of it damp and icy, making even starting a fire at night difficult.
It isn't until late afternoon, on the fourth day into the mountains, that you come up over a steep rise, and find yourselves at one end of a short rocky valley, cutting its way through the rocks on either side. Gnarled conifers cling to the inhospitable surface, surrounding a small excuse for a trail leading down the middle, the ground covered by a carpet of frozen muddy needles.
It is here that you come across what appears to be a small campsite, little more then a cold fire pit, and a basic lean-to, with a bit of dirty canvas stretched over it. It is the first sign of other people in days.
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Not exactly a 'nature' person, the last few days have been rough on Fimbir. At each rat and stop, the gnome appears to be talking to himself, though occasionally a flickering flame in the shape of a fox seems to be playing with him. Also, his stature seems diminished, traveling as he is merely on his 'business' stilts (just 1 foot tall).
Still, ascending the rise seems to perk his spirits up. Finally! People!
Fimbir scoots ahead and tries to peer into the lean-to. Hello? Torvic? Anyone home?
As Fimbir hurries forward, eager for some outside interaction, Daedîn takes a more cautious approach, eyes and ears open for trouble.
Normally, not something you would worry too much about, but even as Fimbir hurries forward to examine the lean-to, calling out to whoever might be there, you hear what sounds like some sort of conflict or commotion from up towards that same cave.
The little gnomes initial enthusiasm is quickly quashed however, when it becomes obvious that no one has been using this particular shelter for some time. No signs of anyone staying recently at all.
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Dynath has spent the trip mostly following the trail and helping to guide the group through the most passable areas of the mountains.
Shadowfur stays fairly nearby, but flanks the group just off the trail hunting for any signs of dinner. If any is to be found he will bring small game back to share his bounty with Dynath.
Upon reaching the camp, Dynath pulls his urgosh off his back, axehead ready, and approaches the camp, not overly cautious, but looking around for anything amiss.
Upon hearing Daedin's warning, he grips his urgosh and heads for the cave.