"He is a good man, yes. Maybe not the best, but a good man."
I don't think I will be able to open this anyways... Can you give it to him and explain what lies in it, and we request to be left alone and not put into slavery? Do you think he will go for that?
He hands it to you on your reassuring answer.
Tell the Paracountess I am ready for my punishment now for my misbehavior... he says as you bid your goodbyes.
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"I believe that yes, we can talk to him and relay your message. I, for one, would be greatly approving of any plan to remove this artifact from use. Thank you for your cooperation."
Lauranna handed the box to Dagbur to carry, and then walked out of the room with the others. To the Paracountess, she said "Your servant was most helpful and cooperative. Though he no doubt deserves punishment for his misbehavior, I recommend leniency. In the meantime, we will return this to Venture Captain Valsin. Good day to you, madam."
Though she didn't agree with the Cheliaxian practice of binding imps and the like to servitude, it was not illegal in Absalom, nor that uncommon. All she could do was to put her distaste behind her and revel in the fact that they apparently were able to accomplish this mission with few problems.
Where to now?
Flex it if you wanted to say anything to the imp or to the Paracountess.
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Dagbur takes the box and stows it, feeling quite sad for the little imp. As they speak to the Paracountess, "Lady, you let little imp go with me? He not seem to like being slave." Dagbur looks at her, hope in his eyes. Also, after a moments reflection, he takes the box back out, holding it high in one hand, "Lady, what this box do?"
Dagbur takes the box and stows it, feeling quite sad for the little imp. As they speak to the Paracountess, "Lady, you let little imp go with me? He not seem to like being slave." Dagbur looks at her, hope in his eyes. Also, after a moments reflection, he takes the box back out, holding it high in one hand, "Lady, what this box do?"
No, my cute little friend, he must stay with me. I don't really know what is in the box, and now that you are taking it, it is no concern of mine. I have my suspicions of course, but - there you are. I hope you all will visit me soon, someday. When you have a little more time for... formalities.
YOu head to the shop. I need sense motive from everyone.
You arrive at the curio shop - The Pickled Imp - in the seedy, harborside Docks district.
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.”
It has 3 crows on the side, that is all I know.
A pelican warehouse is a loading dock out on the sea. They used to be used for when the docks were to busy with loading/unloading. They aren't used much anymore, as advances in dock equipment/cheap slave labor has made the unloading of docks a lot quicker. This one is in particular disrepair.
Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet
above the water, the warehouse appears to
struggle against its own roof, threatening to
sag into the bay below. No light shines from the
building’s windows and only the movement of
gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
The pier this 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
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Dagbur walks up to the doors with the others, "There be another man in here, maybe?" He draws his sword, and tries the front door, finding it locked. He looks at the others with confidence, "Dagbur can open!" and spits into his hands, rubbing them together and takes ahold of the greatsword in a firm grip, widening his stance and taking aim at the door. It is clear what his intentions are to the rest of the group.
YUP! You did notice, however, that you are standing on a pier looking out on the ocean. That's about it, though.
The door swings open.
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside
blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows.
Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the
water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the
warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other
in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of
the contents are certainly spoiled.
Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split
planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows
arranged in a triangle. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate
ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked
along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door
sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer.
Sorry about that, cleared now. Your horse can fit through the door, but the flooring in there is pretty shoddy. You might have left your horse at the pier with the buggy, or tied up somewhere.
Give me some perceptions, once inside: