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Fresh from your induction into the Society and the completion of your basic training within the organization, you find yourselves in the office of Ambrus Valsin, the venture-captain in charge of daily operations in and around the Grand Lodge. The efficient and straightforward chamberlain greets you curtly and motions for you to sit before jumping straight into your assignment.
“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.”
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Stullun looks at the assignments and looks to his companions. "Allright friends, Pathfinders are supposed to like books. What say we start with the books?"
Well, Bom might be a friend... The easy going swordsman and Stullun had enjoyed more than a few pints winding down from training. And there was the time that Stullun had convinced that barmaid Merrilyn that Bom was a nobleman in disguise. Bom had told her the truth before things went too too far, but she was impressed enough by the Pathfinder to be that things had worked out for everyone. And she still slipped Stullun the occasional free drink. Bom will be good to have at his back if things get sharp. Of course, by the time the blades come out, Stullun would have already made a misstep. But with blades, you want to be sure, and Bom was a sure sort of guy.
Stullun expected that he and M'grul had more in common than the mage might ever believe, and judging by that name - well Stullun knew enough Abyssal to see where the guy came from. Best to tread lightly and try to make him as comfortable as he is capable of being.
Baz was another one that he needed to tread lightly around. Those Saranae types never understood that the brightest light just makes more shadows. The shadows is where the game is played and a difference can be made. Too bright a light and the shadows disappear, as did the opportunity to make an impact. That said, he seemed alright enough. Stullun understood faith more than most would ever understand, and Baz had faith in spades. Something that could be appreciated.
Even Baz seemed lighthearted around Malik though. All this time and Stullun still didn't have a read on the guy. Faith seemed all there was to drive him, but faith was a fuel for the fire, not the fire itself. Stullun would have to see.
Kensington though... There is one to keep close. Lots of potential there, and no way to be certain which end of that rapier you might end up on. Good to have a beer with as well though... Bom and I might have to find him a barmaid soon, those cheekbones... he could pass as noble... Not Merrilyn though. Well, maybe? Hmm.
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The deeply hooded figure that is M'grul silently and respectfully listens to the briefing. Despite saying little or revealing anything of himself, there is a strong 'presence' that surrounds him.
He nods assent at the conclusion of the briefing.
As Stullen began his suggestion, the hood swung briefly his way.
BoOoKs? YeSss - SsouNds GoOD, he agreed with a gurgling, guttering and hissing voice - like a blocked steam pipe.
Half Orc?, another that may be like myself?... Malik is not altogether human but I have no idea what it may be. Perhaps they seek to put their less 'attractive', their 'strange' Pathfinders together? Have us fail together and sweep the dung from their stable all at the same time? I must be cautious and win despite their plans - I can fit in few places else in the world and this is one refuge that has been... , he paused in his thoughts, unable to find the concept, Safe? Enjoyable?, Pleasant? Accepting? It was all these things and M'grul was not willing to give it up easily.
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Bom laughs as Stullen's comments, "Books!? Of course. When I was a wee lad, I knew one day I'd join the Pathfinder Society to fetch books. Imagine what that barmaid will think of us when we read her our book fetching chronicle?"
Slapping the the half-orc on the back and laughing some more, Bom rose to his feet and tested his shield by waving it about because...well because he liked doing that. Bom had left his bed roll and rations at the lodge and gave a nod that he was ready.
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A tall man dressed in all black is leaning up against a wall as everyone talks. The rapier at his side suggests that he may prefer a more civilized form of combat. The whip coiled up on the opposite hip suggests something else entirely.
"I imagine if we're to be traipsing all over the city running errands it makes sense to simply check those boxes off in order." The moment he opens his mouth its clear that he's a little too full of himself. "Saving the paracountess for last will encourage me to make expedient work of the first three assignemnts." The grin on his face is both sinister and amused.
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A man, with slightly glowing blue eyes stands near the doors in the back of the room listening to the conversations taking place. Noting all the objectives mentioned by the Venture Captain. He speaks up,
"I agree on the books. We may as well try and take the quickest paths to avoid backtracking. Let's be efficient and get this done."
Looking at the half-orc
"I imagine if we head to the docks we could simple ask around for the location of the shop."
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"Alright, quickly as possible and all that. Lets head to the Docks and maybe Marlowe will remember where it is... if not we'll ask around."
With that Stullun nods a casual salute in the direction of Valsin and turns to head towards the docks, looking back to make sure the group is sticking together.
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Bazresh gathers his things and falls in next to M'grul. He gives him a little nudge and says. It looks like they brought most of the half-breeds together, heh. Then he says something more in some type of coarse language and then appears to switch to another hissing language.
Trrek grhd unllin ungrrar nk rungur de Lokki
Ssk grsh und Skajssh
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Bazresh gathers his things and falls in next to M'grul. He gives him a little nudge and says. It looks like they brought most of the half-breeds together, heh. Then he says something more in some type of coarse language and then appears to switch to another hissing language.
Trrek grhd unllin ungrrar nk rungur de Lokki
..or the planes of the Abyss?
M'grul stiffens slightly, surprised to be addressed in this language - it had been heard only rarely in the halls of the Society headquarters and he had not pursued its speakers for further conversation.
His heritage was a topic he avoided - he did not fear it, nor was ashamed of it - he was pragmatic about it if anything, but he knew others feared it.
It is not unusual to hear him speak it I suppose but it feels strange to converse in a language I seem to have been born knowing and re-learned in dark dreams he considers.
IitS MYy ThOUGht thEY BBbringG usSs toGetHERR to FaaaiLL aLL aTt tHe SsaMe tImE, he replies in Common. Wee aRE nnoTt thEIR mosSt BeauTIFUll oF INitiATes.
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Malik eyes Bazresh wondering what strange words he spoke, and why the use of an unknown language. Being hesitant of the two less than scrupulous individuals ahead of him Malik notes to himself
I'll need to be sure to get Abadar's grace of tongues should the need arise. I've had enough backstabbing and betrayal in my life to need it here among the Pathfinders.
He glances back at the others thinking
At the least the ones I should be most cautious of are in front of me
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"But enough of such talk, let is discourse in the common tongue, for it seems we are a team to succeed or fail together. We share this test, so we all have more in common than not."
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The Pickled Imp is borderline legendary in the Docks District. The proprietor has made quite a name for himself, taking all manner of goods and services as payment or exchange for his stock. Although walking or riding is simple enough, it occurs to you that a cab only costs one copper. Unfortunately a cab also only sits four comfortably.
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 this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
“Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make 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 a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a 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 you want in the place too. I’m sure the 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 the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this 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, trust me.”
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"Ah yes. Follow the sea, well follow the docks along the sea, to the west less than a quarter mile. Each pier is marked both in letters and with a symbol for those . . . less educated. You are looking for the Saltspray Pelican Warehouse. It will have a large pelican on the sign. Can't miss it! . . . Sometimes you say, 'follow the sea' and then look out the window and see people trudging through the sand along the beech. Sad state of affairs when people don't understand the simplest innuendo."
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"The guards patrol the whole of the docks. They tend to wander in a pack. Being concerned about the safety of mine own shop here, on the docks, I have noticed that once they go past you have about an hour before they return if they were headed west, and three times that if they wander past you headed east. I am but a humble merchant and pawn broker, however; the internal workings of the guards and their patrols is beyond my meager capabilities."
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Following the Varisian's instructions, you have no difficulty locating the warehouse.
Called pelican warehouses, these buildings perch at the end of piers, allowing a ship to load and unload farther out from the busier docks. Many of them either accommodate smaller vessels that are in a hurry or larger ships unable to find an open dock. Rare these days, most pelican warehouses lie in disrepair, withered from storms and salt, and every year it seems another one falls into the harbor. An increased tax on this type of property keeps many of the owners from rebuilding and some have even relinquished the titles to their small warehouses, allowing them to fall into the hands of squatters and smugglers—or into the bay itself.
The pier this particular pelican warehouse sits on stretches 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, and stands 15 feet above the water. The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. A few local fishermen and some kids sit scattered along the pier casting nets or bobbing lines into the waters below. The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty and provide no view into the structure’s interior. A small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope. The warehouse’s heavy wooden front door is locked.
A small, five foot wide, ledge runs along the outer wall of the warehouse.
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Bom nods in mocking disapprovingly at Kensington, "If we do find a key and use it, we can't tell anyone or the rogue's yet to exist reputation might implode and form a hole and suck us all in. Stullun, perhaps you should look the other away so you can deny what took place here."
Once again Bom laughs and helps Kensington look for anything helpful.
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In the cracks and crevices of the dock you find a strange metal object. Roughtly the size of a human thumb, the miraculous item looks roughly the correct shape to fit into the lock on the warehouse door. It does not bear any resemblance at at all to the curved, black steel, pry based keys you had been previously discussing with Guaril.
Entering the warehouse, and entering, you notice it is amazingly warehouse-like. There is a crane along the ceiling, operated it seems, by chains hanging down. The hoist can be moved north, south, east or west on an intriguing system of crossbeams mounted to the ceiling.
A quick scan reveals a crate, painted with no less than three crowns. The object of your desire is, unfortunately, precariously perched on a precipice above the salty spray below. The floor has rotted away, leaving the crate balanced on a narrow, rotted, worm eaten, no doubt termite infested, beam fifteen feet above the sea below.
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"My pardon if anyone takes offense, but I don't think any of us have the look of someone with...mechanical aptitude. That means operationing that crane is out of the question. However I did spy a small boat outside...perhaps we can manuever it under the crate and hope for the best."
Marlowe has a quick look around the room. "Although I suppose the next question is who among us is seaworthy or, at the very least, somewhat buoyant?"