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"You'll be fine, my friend!" Edgar shouts over the rising din of battle to Bugdip as his friends begins to clash and swing their blades at the scavenging creatures. "These rats do look a bit larger than usual, but a few quick pierces from your blade should do the trick!"
"Every great adventurer's journey starts with fighting large rats," the youth laughs. "So you're in good company!"
Bugdip gathers himself, commenting on these rodents of unusual size and shocked that something like this actually exists.
Valore steps back and turns his giant frame around, swinging down hard at the dire rat who was apparently not focused. It cannot dodge out of the way of the blow and takes it square in the head, dropping to the floor and laying very still. A line of blood trickles out of its ear.
Tybian likewise rushes forward at the rat that has appeared in front of Bigdip and brings his blade down in a wicked arc. The disease infested creature can not hope to escape its doom, and is knocked down, sprawled out in an ever-widening pool of its own blood, gasping for air that will not come.
The third rat hisses and shakes its tail, puffing up the gnarly hair around its neck and head.
The remaining Dire Rat waddles forward and lunges with his rotten teeth at the large-sized elf in front of him. If he were intelligent in any way, he would scurry away and hide, but no one will ever accuse a dire rat of having anything more than animalistic intelligence.
The doomed creature snaps its jaws at nothing but air.
(I will hold off on round 2 actions, since this critter likely won’t make it. Want to make sure everyone gets a chance. Worst case we finish this tomorrow morning and I still move it on tomorrow night)
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"Oh my. Hugesmelly rodents. How fascinating. And you all seem to be doing so well killing them."
I should show them how powerful I am.
Eyes closing, mouth speaking arcane words, Nugats calls forth the arcane energy that Nethys grants to all his followers.
This time it manifests as a spell to make Nugats able to communicate with the rats.
"Squuuuek, squeeel, chirp chirp."
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The youth is finally spurred into movement, hearing his allies begin to fight off the creatures scurrying around the warehouse. As he strides around a few precariously stacked boxes, he sees that all but one of the creatures is still standing. In an instant his rapier is drawn, the thin metallic blade ringing quietly as it rises from his side. Ahead, he can see that the creature is too far away for him to approach without drawing its attention, and at best he could slide to stop beside it and open himself up to its bite.
Edgar stops his motion short, leaning gently against a nearby crate but holding out his weapon should the sizable rodent come at him. He knows there is no glory or honor in running up without plan or tactic, opening his own defenses to its attack simply to stand beside the creature.
The intrepid pathfinders have the final rat surrounded, and it is only a matter of time before the final blow.
Bugdip advances, but hasn't quite figured out how to pull his blade free while moving. Edgar advances, but can't move far enough to strike just yet, and Nugats tries to appeal to the rat's better part of valor.
"Cheeep chee chirp Sqeeeeeal"
Valore waits for the perfect timing, and swings almost simultaneously with Tybian as they flank the oversized rodent. The rat has a stockpile of lives like a cat today though, and manages to dodge the blade and deflect the staff with no harm done.
Surrounded, this Dire rat has no interest or use for Nugat’s sensible suggestions. It lunges out at the giant meal... er... elf, in front of him, hoping to get a taste of that sweet elven blood.
The beast has used all of its luck staying alive so far though, and smashes his nose against the greaves of the enlarged magus without connecting with his teeth.
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"I wonder why the rat wouldn't listento me? Oh well."
Drawing his crossbow, Nugats loads it. More used to waving his hands in arcane gestures this process seems to take quite a bit of time.
Pointy end out for sure. Clip this here and pull that back. Almost done.
[ooc]Move draw crossbow. Move load crossbow.[/i]
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Unsure why his companions aren't stepping in to attack, Bugdip shrugs and lashes out with his rapier. The other rat fell easily enough, maybe he didn't need a magic...
Bugdip reaches deep down into his inner reserves and taps into a mystical power he has not had cause to do in combat as yet and uses this magic to show his thin blade the right way to go
Concentrating so much on using his mystical abilities, Bugdip neglects to concentrate on his martial training. "Sorry guys, I'll do better next time."
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Seeing his friends close in on the pitiful creature, Edgar slides forward as well, closing off yet another possibility of escape. As he reaches the enormous rat, he feels a twinge of sadness for the beast, surrounded and with almost no chance of survival. The youth had always thought of rats as strangely majestic creatures, not a view many shares with him, and so he felt all the worse lunging out with his rapier.
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Bugdip toes at the ground patiently, waiting to see if Tybain or the massive Valore would like to take their turns at squishing the rat. He looks to each expectantly, but secretly he hopes they'll give him a chance to redeem himself and let him kill the thing personally.
"This is nothing like fencing class... so much more messy!"
With a tinge of sadness in his eyes, Edgar lunges forward with his blade, piercing through the rat's amble belly. It screams in pain and rage, hate and hunger in its eyes. Undeterred from its gigantic target, it snaps its jaws towards the elf. Even in its death throes, all this mindless beast can think of is blood and food. Valore puts that thought straight out of its mind as he brains the beast with his staff.
The dire rat slides off the end of Edgar's rapier slowly and lays on the rotting boards, motionless.
With the squatting rats dealt with, and the crate safely away from the precarious position it was in, the pathfinders open it up to reveal a smaller box that is filled with books and papers. The titles and subjects seem completely unrelated to each other: Practical Thaumaturgy In Accordance with Creation, Geographic Anomalies of the Inner Sea, Under Kaer Maga: A Trial and Travel, Physiology of Dragons: An Illustrated Reference, Lost Sarusan. The leather folder contains cargo manifestos, warehouse inventories, and other financial logs from a dozen different merchant houses and trade guilds.
The crate also contains 10 sets of masterwork thieves’ tools, three flasks of alchemist’s fire, a flask of acid, a dozen jars of various inks, a footprint book, adamantine weapon blanch, three bags of powder, a deck of marked cards, and two sets of average loaded dice.
With their prize in tow, the group walks triumphantly back to The Pickled Imp. Guaril greets the group at the door and closes the door behind them, pulling down a shade after looking outside and flipping a sign over that says CLOSED.
”So, what did you find? Do you have what I requested?” he says with some excitement, and his greasiest smile stretched across his face.
"If noone minds, I would like to hang onto those inks. Mine recently ran out and can use a refill.
Valore will cast detect magic just in case. he will pocket one of the alchemist fires as well. "we should be off and done with this work." collecting what he believes to be Guaril's items.
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The youth crouches beside the pitiful remains of the rodent he had moments ago skewered, and reaches out to place a hand gently on the blood-stained fur. It was true he and his friends did not have a choice but to defend themselves against the onslaught of the rats and their strikes, but the thought comforted him none. Perhaps this pelican was part of their nest and they were only defending it from the approach of strange, threatening figures. Even if they were hungry alone, there was no point holding any anger toward an animal that was following its natural tendencies, doing only as nature had programmed. Their was no malice in their actions. These was misunderstood creatures, majestic and incredibly hardy, even crafty, able to survive in so many harsh and unforgiving environments that would be all but impossible for so many other stronger animals, even sentient races, to exist within.
Since he was a boy, since his life had been saved by that small hooded figure, he knew in his heart that rats were proud, beautiful, and noble creatures, granted it was in their own unique way, and he felt terrible for what he had done.
I hope you find peace and that you did not suffer, Edgar thinks to himself, looking upon the creature with sadness etched upon his face. You fought bravely, but your story was meant to continue no further. We had to defend ourselves, but I'm sorry all the same that it had to end this way.
The youth nods to the others and follows them from the pelican.
When finally back and speaking with Guaril, the youth voices, "Indeed sir, we have the items you requested."
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"Wow! Just wow. You all are the bestfighters that I have seen. To take out such dangerous creatures so easily. I mean I have this crossbowall loaded and I have nothing to shoot."
Nugats walks over to the items and takes a flash of fire and a flask of acid. For no apparent reason he also takes a set of thief tools. "Where to go where to go when we are donehere? I would love to go meet the noble Dremdhet Salhar. That would be fascinating!"
Nugats breaks his crossbow down and joins the others on their way back.
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"Well done everyone! If no-one minds, I will take a bag of powder and some liquid fire," Bugdip seems to be ill at ease making such a request, but still moves to collect the requested items, "I guess we had best get this stuff back to uncle smells-of-meatballs-and-moustache-oil... I mean, Guaril."
"I hope you are pleased. We managed to not get them wet, but someone very silly put them on rotted floorboards," Bugdip notes, pleased with his observations, "Oddly, only rats seemed to object to us taking it. I'm afraid I wasn't much use there. Now... you wanted to chat with me about something? Is it a family matter?" Bugdip had no idea what a 'family matter' might be, other than in its literal meaning, but he had heard the phrase somewhere and the man who used it seemed to be very cool.
"We can go and see Dream-hat Seller if you like, Nah-Gits," Bugdip says agreeably, "I'm just happy I got to meet my new cousin Gunari's uncle - who is also now my uncle!"
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Tybain looks at the list they were given. For the most part, the letters are just meaningless garble for him. But one name catches his attention - 'Zarta'. She was watching one his plays, a long long time ago. But Tybain remembers her clearly. After all, who could ever forget that cleavage.
"Uh!" the actor mutters, and points the Zarta Dralneen on the note.
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"No, no, Tybain... Dream-hat Seller is this one" while not intending to be condescending, it is hard to tell someone they have read a word wrong without a hint of condescension, "Oh, and it's Dremdhet Sallar - appears I have been saying it wrong. The one you pointed to is Zarta Dralneen. See, it doesn't even start with the same letter. We're talking about D-r-e-m-d-h-e-t S-a-l-l-a-r." Happy for having taught his companion a little more about reading, Bugdip treats himself to a cricket he killed this morning and had been saving for later.
"Rats you say?" Guaril says, pursing his lips. "Well I'm not surprised. I am surprised that old Pelican hasn't fallen into the harbor yet. All the same, I'm glad to see you've gotten my prize, and now I shall give you each one for your services. Yes, Ifran, you did well."
The snake oil salesman tosses each of the six pathfinder recruits a pouch containing 111gp.
"And yes, Bugdip, we do have to chat, but you don't have time now. If I don't miss my guess, you have a few more things to take care of for my good buddy Valsin. We can speak of family matters and The Exchange when you are done running errands for him. There are many things we can do for each other."
Guaril straightens up as the pathfinders prepare to leave. "That goes for all of you, the offer is open. My faction has many benefits for membership within the society."
Their first task completed, the initiates head north out of the docks district. The sun is well over the rooftops now, but not yet to its peak high in the sky. As the sound of gulls and shouting longshoreman fade into the distance, the scenery changes to a wild, and exotically varied collection of buildings. The team passes north through the foreign quarter on their way to the wise quarter. It is as if they are walking through a sampling of nearly every reasoning race and ethnicity in the whole of the inner sea. Buildings and restaurants constructed with paper walls and distinct rooflines in the Tian Xia fashion are intermixed with Osirian style tents and bazaars. Street kids scurry along the avenues and beggars hold out their cups for change at the intersections, while hard working men and women hustle along with packages and papers as each tends to their business in the cultural melting pot of this area of the city.
Edgar is lost in thought, still questioning himself and the need to destroy the noble dire rats back in the warehouse, and as such is the only one to not notice a well muscled halfling with a handlebar mustache staring intently at them, with his arms crossed. Bugdip licks his eyeball in confusion for a moment, but before he can point out the oddity to Edgar, a juggling street performer passes between the group and the halfling. When the juggler has moved out of the way, the mustachioed halfling is gone.
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Bugdip goes to draw his rapier before he realizes the absurdity of walking around with it pointing out in the middle of a crowded street. Instead, he looks all around himself. This is an odd site as the grippli doesn't move his head (having no neck to speak of): his eyes have a significant amount of rotation, but in order to look behind himself he has to strain in curious ways or just hop around until his who body is facing backwards.
"I'll make sure both layers of my eyelids are peeled," he nods to the group, "Mustaches and halflings are never a good sign."
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The youth looks in the direction the others are also looking, though is eyes are not as keen. As he gazes in a similar direction to his companions, he begins to speak. "It's just a juggler, my friends."
"Absalom is up its balls in them," he laughs a little under his breath, but sees the others are a bit more serious.
"I don't see a halfling with a mustache..." the error of his ways finally dawns on him. "Oh, that is the very problem, isn't it?"
He steps forward and puts himself between where the vanished halfling had been and his companions, trying to block their gaze. "If he is gone, and we didn't see where he went, then there is nothing to be done now. Shall we be going? We'll keep a weary eye out for this mustachioed figure along the way."
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"I am curious, is it all halfings with facial hair, or just mustachioed ones? I have grown a beard but nomustache so does that make me trustworthy? I hope that you all think that Iam trustworthy, because I aim to impress. Do you think there is a place that we can spendall the new goldwe just got?"
Nugats takes out the gold filled pouch that he just received for delivering papers and gently tosses it up and down, listening to the coins clink together.
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"Whatever do you mean, Bugdip? Don't halfings often have mustaches?"
"Halflings with mustaches? Oh, no - they are way too young to grow facial hair." Everyone gets the distinct impression that Bugdip has made the (politically incorrect) mistake of thinking halflings and children were one and the same. There is no malice in his observation, however, only ignorance.
"As for you, Nugats, a beard or a mustache make you look distinguished in your old age," Bugdip continues, "But I would not want to grow one. Tell me, how do you clear out the swamp slime?"
The group moves along after the strange moment in the street. The strange moment, and strange halfling are quickly forgotten as all manner of strange humanoids, and non-humanoids begin to dominate the bustle of the late morning rush of the foreign quarter.
Just as the sun is rising to its peak in the sky, the group finds themselves in the Wise Quarter. Academic buildings line the streets. Men and women of a variety of races congregate in gaggles and clumps, talking, laughing, or pointing at some pair of scrolls, deep in a hotly contested argument. In one open square, a hunched old man stands on a box, speaking passionately to a gathered group of people around him. A large clock tower sounds an early afternoon bell as the pathfinders arrive at their destination, the rich estate of Grand Councilmember Dremdhet Salhar.
At the tall, wrought-iron gate, a guard cocks his eyebrows, then opens the gate for the group as though they had been expected. Inside the large, opulent doors of the estate, the pathfinders are greeted by a servant.
”I am sorry, agents. I am afraid Grand Councilman Salhar has been called away on important business. He is no longer present. However, Amenopheus, the Sapphire Sage is a close advisor of his, and is willing to speak with you on his behalf. Please, follow me.” The impeccably dressed servant leads the group through a maze of exquisitely decorated hallways and past expansive rooms. After several minutes of walking they are brought to a simple study at the end of a very long hall.
A tan-skinned old man sits behind a desk, flipping through pages in a large tome. Scraps of paper jut from the book marking dozens of places in the volume. Silently, the sage gestures the group inside with one hand while closing the tome with the other. Once everyone has gathered, they wait patiently for the frail looking man to speak.
“Good day to you, Pathfinders. I am Amenopheus, the Sapphire Sage, advisor to Master Salhar. I understand you were sent here to discuss archaeological permissions. Knowing this was coming, I spoke with Master Salhar at length on the subject and have this to say.
“Since Osirion was reopened to exploration a decade ago, adventurers, historians, and treasure-seekers flock to my country by the hundreds, perhaps thousands. While most families with ancestral burial vaults maintain guards and keep their sites out of the hands of casual thieves, not all families have the wealth or power to restrict everyone, and as we all know, not every defense is perfectly secure. Unscrupulous tomb robbers and maligned merchant organizations cause Osirion to bleed relics into the Inner Sea—something the descendents of Ancient Osirion cannot afford. We Osiriani have thousands of years of rich history coursing through our veins, and while that power has been out of focus in recent years, we are content to wait, knowing our enemies will wear themselves down. As they fall into arrogance, folly, or greed, we wait for our return to power, knowing we bear the riches of our ancestors at our feet.
“Master Salhar remains impressed by the Pathfinder Society, orating in their favor a handful of times in front of Absalom’s Grand Council, in fact. Due to previous relationships between him and the Society, Master Salhar has agreed to grant permission to the Pathfinder Society to explore his family’s vaults below Sothis. The only thing he requires is that you retrieve the map of the vaults from his own vault here. The servant will lead you to the basement and show you the room.”
The Sapphire Sage’s eyes twinkle as he smirks knowingly, then he turns back to reading his book as though he had never been disturbed.
Indeed, it appears as though you will need to walk briskly to avoid getting left behind.
The servant who led the group to the Sapphire Sage’s office clears his throat and then begins walking back down the hallway in which they came. With the party of six dutifully in tow, eventually they make their way back to the front of the house before turning down a set of sturdy stone steps that lead into a cool basement. Another hallway and a handful of turns later, the initiates find themselves in front of a plain wooden door. Cavendish opens the door, bowing politely and gesturing for them to enter.
A plain stone room contains three chests: a copper-banded chest of smooth, dark wood; a red lacquered chest; and what looks to be a cube of solid steel. Behind the chests sits a low table holding a clear glass jar half full of liquid and a covered wicker basket.
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"Oh, hi mister Sapphire Sage you smell," Bugdip searches for the best words to describe the whirling scents of this perfumed man, "Magnificent." Embarrassed at his lack of description, Bugdip nervously chews on a beetle he found near the entrance. Panicked, he looks down and breathes a sigh of relief when he notices that it is not a scarab beetle (not for the potential insult, but they eat dung!).
"Thank you Cavendish... just in here? Which chest is the map in? Oh, cat got your tongue? My hero, Finer-Inn, has a friend who quite likes it when a cat gets his tongue... or is that when his tongue gets a cat? I cannot recall..." Bugdip walks into the chamber and begins to inspect the chests. Seeing no reason not to, he opens the copper chest and peeks inside.
Valore weaves his hands, casting a simple spell, and sees that there is indeed magic present in the room.
After Cavendish has cleared his throat thrice, impatiently waiting for Valore to enter the room with the others, the elf finally gets enough focus from his spell to see two distinct, faint auras. The copper chest glows with traces of illusion magic, while something inside the wicker basket glows with a faint aura of transmutation, matching the aura that surrounds the lock on the red laquered chest.
Bugdip moves into the room and places his sticky fingers on the copper chest, only to find it locked.
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The mention of mustachioed halfling rouses Tybain's interest. Perhaps his benefactor has come to check up on his progress. But no, this one is not at all like him... The mustache is all wrong, and this one dresses much more plainly. What a disappointment.
And disappointments continue when the group arrives to their destination. Tybain was expecting to meet Zarta, but instead he is greeted by wrinked old man. The man's talk is as dry as his skin, but Tybain patiently listens through his monologue. Basement. Map. This is the task, yes.
In the basement, Tybain looks around for the mentioned map. But since there is no sign of anything passable for a map, he follows Bugdip's example and approaches one of the chest. Since the steel cube doesn't have any clear method for opening, he gives it a careful tap with his scizore.
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"Magic. Of course. Be careful."
"there are two transmutation auras and an illusion aura. Fascinating"
"The copper chest has a aura of illusion , while the wicker basket is not itself magic'd but contains an aura very similar the that on the lock of the red chest. We should see what's in the basket... carefully."
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Bugdip continues to look for a way to open the copper chest, and does his best to see through any illusions that may be present.
Avenues exhausted with the copper chest, he wanders over to the glass jar and inspects the liquid within then has an experimental sniff. "Nice of them to leave this here for us. I am parched..." notes the Grippli, wondering silently if it would be rude to have a drink without offering it to his companions first.
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"I would hold off taking a drink of that, Bugdip," Edgar says, stepping beside the grippli. "Who knows what it is or why it's here." The youth walks slowly around the chests and items placed on the table. "That liquid might be a potion or it might kill you... Or maybe it's just room temperate water. But who knows if we'll need it for something in a few moments." Following Valore's direction he looks for the illusion, trying to focus his gaze so that it might pierce to the truth of the matter.
Following this exercise, the youth looks over the remaining two chests, reviewing every inch of their surface in detail. "Should we just... fling these open?" he asks aloud before ever touching either of the remaining chests.
Cavendish clears his throat expectantly, one last time to encourage the casting stragglers to enter the room with their companions. As soon as Valore finishes his spell and crosses far enough into the room, the door slams shut behind him. A clicking noise signals the door is locked, and the six pathfinders are now stuck in the room.
When they turn in surprise, the group notices a note pinned to the door, words penned in tidy, elegant writing.
Within these cases lies your quest and your way out.
Bugdip hears Valore's assertation that the bronze chest is illusory, and so looks at it with a more critical eye. Sure enough, the chest fades from view, leaving a translucent, barely visible outline marking the location of the red herring.
Edgar and Valore have similar experiences with the chest.
Tybian taps on the steel chest, causing a faint ringing noise as the steel reverberates in the small room.
Bugdip moves to the jar filled with the clear liquid and takes a sniff. The smell of ammonia that assaults his delicate nose causes his eyes to water. The jeweled, brass key that sits at the bottom of the jar, submerged under the liquid-that-does-not-smell-like-water seems curious enough however.
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"Within these cases lies your quest and your way out," Edgar reads the note on the door once it becomes visible and Cavendish has locked them in with a temperamental huff. "So, we are basically playing a shell game, then? Find a way to get the first key, open a chest, and get the next pass-key..."
"And so on, and so on, until we get the key to unlock the way out."
He turns as he sees Bugdip lift the cover off the wicker basket, and watches intently. "If that's acid, in the glass jar, and we could find a way to open the steel chest, we'd have a safe place to put liquid, at least," he adds. The youth moves and checks to see if the steel chest is locked by giving the lid and slight tug.
"And, if all else fails, we'll use the acid in that jar to burn away the lock on the door that leads out of here..." he laughs a little while trying to open the steel chest, but his face betrays a slight twinge of fear that the chest will explode, or eat him, or have an unusually heavy lid that will make him look weak.
Bugdip sets the glass jar holding the brass key aside, and moves to teh wicker basket. He removes the lid, looking inside the basket and sees a pile of crumpled linens that act as a bed for a blue stone key. He peers closely into the basket, and his patience and diligence are rewarded. the Grippli picks up the faint sounds of hissing coming from inside the basket, and feels the subtle shaking of something wiggling ever so slightly inside, and finally sees a flash of green scales in the folds of the linens.
Living in the jungle, Bugdip feels an expert on this, even having a flashback to a frightening moment in his childhood. He is certain there is a small viper hidden within the contents of the basket, and it doesn't sound to happy.
Shaking off the uncomfortable childhood memory, Bugdip instead changes the scene to a time when Finarin and company were regaling his tribe of a wild dinosaur chase and nasty Aspis Consortium agents proving that you don't have to outrun the Dino, just the enemy.
In that memory, something one of Finarin's friends said sticks out to him. He can just picture a skinny Keleshite blabbering on, "If there is anything I've learned from Amenopheus, its that he finds challenges to be far more fun if you have to figure out the rules as you go...." The rest of whatever the Keleshite was saying seems lost to memory, as well as why he was even saying it.