|
Sitting in the corner, holding a journal in his left wing and flipping through it one-handed, is a Tengu, wearing silk garments that bear the style of Tien. He raises his head, then tilts it slightly and says, in Tien, "Greetings to a fellow traveler from the Dragon Empires."
The Tengu looks around at the others assembled and says, this time in Common, "My name is Taicho. Taicho Bonewing. A scholar of the occult mysteries, and recent recruit to the Pathfinder Society." His words are slow and deliberate, though with only the modest trace of a foreign accent.
|
An elf with a frail stature and an insouciant demeanor approaches the door while flipping through a spellbook, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath. A small white rabbit sniffs inquisitively at the newly acquired scents of a Tengu and a Samsaran as it sits perched upon his right shoulder.
He stops at the door, peers at the Tengu and the Samsaran, then closes the book and lets it dangle at his side by a shoulder strap from his left shoulder. "Well met, travelers. My name is Triquelyn Ethrendil and I am a Wizard at your service, but if you please, my friends call me Trique."
The elf bows politely to each of you. He adjusts his lapels, saying, "Might I trouble either of you for leatherworking expertise? It seems that I've incurred a small scuff on my vest while attempting to not be trampled by a poorly-guided cart on my way here." He makes a few brushes with his hand over the scuff to fix it, but is unsuccessful.
|
Aragar Thodash, the half-orc, stands ramrod straight with his gleaming breastplate engraved with a fallen dragon pierced with a mighty greatsword. A medallion of similar design hangs around his neck. Across his arms (and likely across his body) are tattooed stylistic designs of all manners of flying dragons.
He waits for an opportune time before he speaks. "I am afraid that is not my expertise. My name is Aragar Thodash, warrior priest of Smiad the Empyreal Lord. I was not trained in much else."
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 so you're off to see what he needs from you.
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.”
here.
|
|
Trique pulls a wide-brimmed hat from his backpack and places it on his head, and his white rabbit tries to get under the brim of the hat to stay out of the rain. She flutters and shakes the water off, some of it splashing across Trique's face. "Bah, this inFERNAL deluge..."
He begins to weave and flick his fingers and sparkling light appears at his fingertips,"Aelia sos tal eidaes, Eilajajas, Eirdaladarol, toli sos tyrael air sai pia teiraer os shael Ai tar sor Vaerodondrorarol!" Suddenly, Trique's soaked jacket and vest and pants appear dry, if only for a moment as the drizzling rain continues. Trique then goes round the party casting the same spell to dry everyone off, including Drandle Dreng.
Alakazam, Alacadration,
mine trick chosen is to dry myself off
when I cast this Prestidigitation!"
"Everything can be solved with magic, my friends." Trique pauses and adjusts his hat once more as he begins following the elf rogue. "I'm inclinded to follow Wymarc to find this Wounded Wisp tavern. Shall we?"
|
|
Taicho nods, rising up and slipping his book into his backpack. He says softly to the wizard, "Thank you, Triquelyn Ethrendil, for the respite, however brief, from being soaked. I regret that my crafting skills do not lean toward working with leather, and I cannot assist in mending your vest."
He sets off after the two elves, keeping an eye on the surroundings as he moves through the utterly unfamiliar city.
The Venture-Captain nods his thanks to Trique at the kind gesture, but returns his attention to the matter at hand.
Dreng's lips form a crooked smile as he answers Aragar's query.
“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.”
|
"Hmmm, not sure that I know where the Wisp is. Wymarc should lead."
She listens to Dreng explain his desire. Wine? Are we porters now? Can't wait until I'm a V-C and can send new recruits on personal errands at my leisure. She decides to leave her complaint unvoiced, though, and follows the others when they get underway.
|
|
Trique makes his round through the party once again, drying them off one by one using his Prestidigitation spell, even though only seconds later providing his efforts fruitless. He seems somewhat bewildered by the half-orc who prefers to stay wet.
I suppose some cultures prefer to be manly, and wet. Also, WHY ON CORELLON'S GOOD GREEN GRASS would an undercover agent summon no less than six members of fighting caliber to retrieve a SINGLE BOTTLE of thelol WINE... .... IN THE RAIN.
"BLAAUSTed this damnable weather..", as he continues his best to keep himself and the party dry.
"Unless anyone else objects, may we please continue to this Wounded Wisp tavern and find this Heryn Gale fellow and be done with this?"
Between the map, Wymarc, and Trique's knowledge of where the building is supposed to be, it doesn’t take you long to arrive.
As you approach, you can see that the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic bar from the dark, discolored wood to the stained and barred windows that obscure direct vision into the establishment. There’s a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance that declares its name to passers by. There’s a brass ring fitted onto the sign, on which a lit lantern is anchored.
Inside, a long wooden hallway leads north into the building itself, the walls covered in numerous decorations and trophies left by successful Pathfinders who’ve donated minor paraphernalia to the bar. There’s a large closet on the right being manned by a teenager - a coat check where patrons can safely leave any equipment and coats they don’t want to lug with them in the bar.
The main hall, though, is where 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.
There are a handful of different groups already relaxing around the bar, enjoying drink and food offered by the Wisp’s staff.
There’s a young woman working the bar, pouring drinks, coordinating the wait staff, and chatting to those sitting on the stools before her.
Map.
|
|
Taicho makes his way quietly through the room, seemingly unaware of the purpose of the coat check area. Despite having stepped from the chilly into the warmth of the tavern, he keeps his dark cloak pulled around him, so that only his avian legs and face are visible. He seems focused on observing the various patrons, his long beak moving from side to side as he scans the room.
He stays back a bit, letting someone else take the lead in their inquiry for Heryn Gale, but alert to any curious or alarming actions in his surroundings.
|
|
Trique follows closely behind Taicho as he enters the open tavern area. He passes through the coat-check area after Taicho nonchalantly, without checking a bag nor a jacket himself either.
"Taicho...", the elf mutters breathlessly but with whisperous purpose, "I've never been here before, but I believe I should become a fly upon a wall.. I’m afraid I might stand out here because I’m an elf..I need you to be my *ahem* wing-man.."
Trique stays shoulder-length near Taicho, engaging Taicho in casual conversation, almost instinctively as to not draw attention to himself.
|
|
Taicho turns toward Trique. "Ah, yes, I do have wings, of course, but ... Well, for my kind, they are not functional, in the best of circumstances. There are many interesting legends behind that, actually ..." His voice trails off, as he glances toward the elf, then at the various assorted patrons in the room, trying to see if there is anyone else less human-ish in the room, and then back to the elf. Softly, he says, "May I suggest that talking to an avian man wearing clothing from a foreign land may not be the best way to avoid standing out?" He pulls his cloak a bit tighter if he notices any eyes turning his way.
Heryn turns toward Wymarc expectantly as he approaches and then nods at his request, easily accepting the information.
“Oh, that? Not a problem - if you don’t mind waiting, that is. I can take you down to snag it, but you’ll have to wait a bit until my replacement arrives. Why don’t you take a bit to get in a few drinks and beg some stories from the other Pathfinder Agents here?” she suggests, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I’ve certainly heard a few interesting bits myself.” Then, smoothly returning to business, she adds, “What can I get you? These’ll be on me -- for the wait.”
Contrary to the initial beliefs about the Wisp, upon entering, the party notices that the place is both lively and diverse. There’s a halfling (blue) perched atop the single round table in the corner, telling stories to a group of what looks to be new field agents. From the interest in their expressions, it’s apparent that the woman has a clear talent for oratory. Towards the center of the bar, two visibly similar half-orcs (green) are both drinking from mugs of ale as they discuss - somewhat loudly - the merits of ranged weapons. As if in contrast, there’s an older man (pink) sipping from an oversized flagon of ale while reading through a large and ominous-looking tome. Only the occasional wince when the half-orc twins guffaw particularly loudly belies any discomfort. In the other corner of the room, a dark haired man (orange) drinks from his tankard as he simply enjoys the ambiance of the bar.
They each take their own opportunity to scope out the newcomers, but for the most part swiftly return to their own business.
“Gettin’ a bit borin’, don’t ya think?” the female half-orc asks her apparent twin. “Time was, there was plenty o’ jobs for us and now we’re lucky if they let us so much as smash a crate.” She gestures with her ale a she speaks. “It’s almost time for some real work!” She announces, then eyes her twin. “Don’t ya think so, too?”
Her sibling only shrugs: “It’ll come sooner or later.” He takes a pull from his mug before wiping the froth from his lips and rotating his free arm. He grins toothily. “But we can ask, fer sure.” Spotting Taicho and Trique as they each scan the room, he gestures towards the two with his beverage and says, “Ho, who’s this lot?” He smacks his chest with his other hand and introduces himself: “I’m Garl--”
“An’ I’m Shrade!” his sister butts in. Eyeing the agents, she decides you’ve maybe got something interesting to say and says, “Sit down, talk wit’ us!” After a moment, she adds, “Are ya new? Got any good stories?”
|
|
Trique, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible, has a quick conversation with Taicho, but is obviously and easily noticed by the half-orcs. As soon as Trique knows that he's noticed, ostensibly by the half-orcs' hails to him and Taicho, Trique, panicking, whispers in Elven to Taicho, "on kyr on bai paes kyr bai" as he goes forth towards the beckoning half-orcs, while he both hopes to not cause a scene and frantically tugs on Taicho's silk garments in an effort to persuade Taicho to come with him.
Trique whispers to Taicho once again, "if they attack us, be ready to back up, I'll cast a spell upon them..."
All I wanted to talk to the old man with the tome for Corellon's sake!
Trique approaches the half-orcs in a coyly manner "Greetings, fair... erm, half-orc... um, brethren!" Looking abashedly at Shrade, " And Sisren!" Trique regains himself, "What are we drinking? And to what toast shall we drink to, my dear friends?"
|
|
Aragar glares at the pimply boy at the coat check, who had dared to ask him to check in his weapons. Aragar grips his well-made kukris firmly in hand as he sweeps past to enter the tavern.
He follows the team to the bar and frowns when asked to wait. He would much rather get this over quickly. Somehow, after returning from his Confirmation mission up in the Kortos mission, having his next task being made to collect a bottle wine felt rather ... demeaning. Still, one thing Aragar does is to make the best of the situation. "A flagon of your finest ale then we wait."
That's when he hears a very familiar voice chirping up from a crowd in the corner. For the first time since meeting him, Aragar cracks a smile. He wanders over the crowd, listening in to Janira with her stories, some which he recalls from their travels, but mostly new. He waits for a break before tapping on her shoulder. "Janira! Good to see you again. Glad to see you have recovered well from your wounds so quickly."
"Ha! What isn't there to drink to?" Garl chuckles, taking a deep swallow of his drink before setting it back on the table.
"Adventures!" Shrade suggests toothily, eyes gleaming. "We've been on some of the best!" She sighs then, and adds, "But they've been slowin' down -- ain't givin' us the fun ones so much."
"Somethin' 'bou' property damage," Garl agrees, pulling a soulful expression. "Bah! Drink! Talk! Tell us your stories, eh? We ain't got much ta work wi' yet!"
At Taicho's rebuff, Garl scowls, "Janira? Girl's go' plenty o' moxie! But she sai' ta stop interruptin' and sent us packin', she did!"
--
Heryn is quick to serve Aragar, sliding over a flagon, as he'd requested, of the Wounded Wisp's finest ale. She gives him a smile and a nod before moving on to her next customer.
As Aragar steps towards Janira, he catches some of her tale.
“...and the Lens was so apparently different in nature from the other artifacts nearby - the Scepter of Ages and the Apollyon Ring - that it was beyond true comprehension. The purpose and power of it was lost on the modern world, but it was so dangerous that Durvin Gest traveled to Osibu in the Mwangi Expanse to destroy it by casting it into the Nemesis Well in 4332 AR!”
As she comes to the end of her story, Janira notices a familiar presence and turns, expression brightening. “Aragar! How are you? I was just telling these newly confirmed Pathfinders a bit about our history.” Taking a moment to take in your appearance and the people you’re with, she pauses before cocking her head slightly and asking, “Are you working?”
|
|
"Property damage!? Well aren't you two just a rabble and a half," Trique swats Garl's shoulder and boasts his best drunken "tavernly" laughter. "I'm a long way from home actually; from an elven city called Tathlyn. I was a Divinations instructor at the prestigious Tathlyn Academy of Elven Magic for quite some time." Trique's Prestidigitation spell is still active, and he uses it to clean up the two half-orc's armor and clothing. "Voila! Good as new," Trique smiles proudly.
"So, what brings you to Absalom and the Wounded Wisp, my new friends?"
"Plenty o' things!" Shrade guffaws. "Work, fer one!" Casually, she leans over and punches her sibling in the arm and adds, "An' this lug fer another! Ye'd think tha boy'd be fine on his own by now, but full grown or na', he always gets inta trouble without me!"
Garl scoffs at that and elbows back, pointing out, "Ya say tha' like it weren't me that pulled yer sorry arse outta tha fire two times outta five!"
His sister only grins and shrugs before disappearing into her drink for a moment only to come up saying, "And I yank yer's out the other three, so I ain't lyin' by a long shot!"
At Trique's fancy trick, their eyes light up. "Fancy bi' o' magic, that! Right handy trick!" Garl says. He shakes his head, saying almost wistfully, "T'were unlucky that neither of us were adep' with it."
[spoiler=Trique]You believe them. Thoroughly. :)[/ooc]
--
"Oh, it can't be that bad," Janira laughs. Her listeners disperse as it is obvious that she's done with her story and her attention is no longer with them. "Venture-Captain Dreng likes to play tricks now and again, but he only ever pays real attention to the agents he thinks are promising."
--
The man looks up as Wymarc approaches, a single eyebrow lifting in curiosity. Still, he gestures to the empty seats at his table invitingly in response and takes another swallow of his drink. Once it’s obvious that the elf was as settled as he was going to get, he sets the tankard down and folds his hands, asking, “What can I do for you? Are you new field agents?”
|
|
Taicho responds softly to Trique, his tone curious, "Are we not just collecting a bottle of wine? Why would you believe that there will be ... unpleasantness?" He pauses a moment, as if it is just occurring to him, "Although, it is curious that the Venture-Captain would send so many of us on such an errand."
"I am," the man nods to Wymarc. "Most everyone in here is," he adds. "I am Aram bin Kaleel. Though I am a Pathfinder agent, I am happy to say it is not my primary source of income." His lips quirk at Wymarc's apparent dismay at his task.
"All must practice milk runs before getting real work. It keeps young agents from excess danger." His expression grows dark before softening. "For example, the Wounded Wisp itself was considered a base of operations for many of the original member of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed -- it is here that those of experience could share their tales with the yet uninitiated that they might stand a better chance in their own adventures."
bin Kaleel nods in approval at Wymarc's reply, though he chuckles at the mention of his other source of income. "Ah, it was not always this way, but time has been kind to me. I have a shop in the Coins district that does well to keep me afloat."
He opens his mouth again, but his eyes move just past Wymarc's shoulder and he smiles instead. "It seems your parcel is ready. Feel free to visit me in my shop if you have need of any advice."
"Sorry about that wait," Heryn says cheerily. "My replacement took a bit longer to show up than I expected. Why don't you gather your friends? It might take a bit to find this bottle."
Once everyone is gathered -- with an open invitation for any excitement from the Boartusk twins -- Heryn escorts you to the cellars below, where Drandle Dreng’s requested vintage is supposed to be. The room downstairs is tightly packed, with barrels, boxes, and crates of assorted foodstuffs and drink garnishes pushed up against walls or neatly stacked under the stairs.
As she opens the door to the rest of the Wounded Wisp’s storage, she remembers to warn you:
“Be careful of that board,” Heryn says, pointing at said object. “We’ve been using it to cross over that crack the earthquake opened up, but it’s a bit rickety. We’re still trying to get it replaced with some actual repairs, but, well, that costs rather a bit more coin than we’re willing to put down at the moment.” She smiles wryly. “Anyways, his bottle should be around here somewhere… Feel free to help me look for it.”
|
|
Having successfully kept to the shadows in the bar, and navigated her way through the space without notice, Vari has a good sense for the various topics discussed throughout. Smart folks I'm with today, they ask some good questions; got some good info! She's particularly pleased by Janira's opinion that this mission of Dreng's might not be as trivial as it seems on the surface.
She rejoins the group as Heryn leads them into the cellar. "Any place we should look for this bottle in particular? Or did the earthquake that made that" she points to the crack, "jumble everything up too?"
She approaches the board that Heryn points out, and examines it closely before stepping across.
Vari makes it across without any problems.
"It should be over here, in the cellar -- thankfully, the earthquake didn't damage nearly as much as it could have, so it was quick enough to clean up," Heryn explains, leading the way.
|
|
Aragar waves Janira goodbye, and endures a really tight hug from her before joining his party. He still remains vaguely skeptical of the Venture-Captain but the halfling's words had reassured him somewhat.
He watches the rest of his party cross the rickety wooden board with ease but he glances at his rather hefty body and decides not to risk it. Noticing the gap narrowing significantly at the western wall, the half-orc clears some space behind for a running start and leap over the gap.
|
|
"Well, I believe I must be off. It seems that our parcel is ready. Garl, Shrade, it was very nice meeting your acquaintances."
Trique follows Heryn and the party down to the cellar. He examines the crack, but decides not to traverse it.
Trique keeps watch on the stairs leading back towards the tavern.
|
|
Taicho moves into the dark room swiftly, walking over the board. He takes a position near some boxes, but glances behind them, then begins looking around the rest of the room from his location. The talk of needing to hire half-orc fighters has perhaps set him on edge. He pulls his right wing out from under his cloak, holding the slim red leather-bound book from earlier and flipping through it slowly.
The various patrons of the Wounded Wisp see you off without any mischief or ado, the atmosphere decidedly more welcoming now than it was before they'd become acquainted.
Wymarc and Aragar both manage the gap with nary a problem as Trique takes up a post near the stairs. In fact, it isn't until Taicho passes over it that the board creaks threateningly. Still, it holds fast, and the Tengu also makes it across.
Currently, Taicho does not detect any magical auras.
Past the pseudo-bridge and down the steps, you find the many shelves and racks that comprise the supply of specialty wines and ales the Wounded Wisp offers. Heryn immediately begins scanning labels and years to seek the bottle Drandle Dreng requested.
Wymarc finds the bottle after a lucky scan of the middle shelf.
When he attempts to retrieve it, he’s surprised to find that instead of coming free of the rack, the entire wine rack slides back into a short stone tunnel that, perhaps, leads to a hidden room of some sort.
|
|
After hearing the wine rack slide and seeing the hidden passageway, Trique decides that crossing the ominous plank might be a necessity.
Trique musters his confidence, and gets a short running start and scampers across the board.
Trique then makes his way down to the passageway and peers down the paths leading to the left and right.
As surprised as they may be from the sudden appearance of the passageway, the passage itself seems to be clear. Rather, it's a brief introduction to the hidden room.
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.