The floorboards of the Flaxseed Lodge creak as the powerfully built kellid stands up from the table, before tossing a small pouch of coins toward the bar.
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"THANKS FOR GROG BARKEEP! CREW NOT CAUSE TROUBLE TODAY!" BARBAR bellows before heading out the doors. A short walk to the docks of Cassomir leads to a nearly empty pier, with a crudely written sign.
Grabbing the poorly drawn boat tattoo on his chest, He peels it off in one swift motion, tossing it into the water. With a Splash, a full sized sailing vessel lands in the water. With a quick whistle, a crew of young Sahaguin scamper up the sides, taking their posts and preparing the vessel for sailing.
"BOAT RIDE SLOW, INTRODUCTIONS BEFORE BOARDING!"
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Dusty looks like twelve miles of bad road with a nasty fall at the end. Everything but sinew seems to have been abraded or boiled away from his spare frame. The only thing that isn't covered in the dirt of the road is his carefully cleaned and tooled crossbow, which, going by the engraved brass plate on the stock, carries the name Elizabeth.
Ain't never sailed with fish monsters before. Well, that's the best thing about the Society. Always somethin' new. He nods curtly to the other agents, Name's Dusty.
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With the others is a short young monk, clean-shaven and bald. He wears plain brown robes, and carries twin shortswords and a longbow. The swords are of superior craftsmanship, but bear no ornamentations or flair. Visible beneath his robe is a chainmail shirt, similarly crafted for use and not show. Overall his garb appears intentionally mundane-- except for his holy symbol. Made of platinum and exquisitely painted, Hush's medallion depicts the multicolored songbird of Shelyn. He looks around but says nothing.
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A heavy, burly Dwarf marches down to the docks, a slew of weaponry criss crossing his backpack and dangling from his belt. You can hear, almost feel him coming in his heavy banded mail armor and his iron shod boots and the thick, heavy helmet on his head. A beggar stops to ask for a few coins to buy some bread "Spare a few coins for some bread Master Dwarf?" The middle aged man asks. "F%+# off you lazy ingrate! You got all yer limbs, what's yer excuse?" He spits on the ground and continues his march to the docks.
"This the ship fer Saringallow? Bash Steeltoe reportin fer passage north!" He leans his longhammer haft on the wooden pier as he survey's the scene. A fish crew? WTF, no one hires Dwarves these days fer ships do they.
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A bronze-skinned elf with flaming red hair and large, dark eyes apologetically explains to the selfsame beggar that no, she doesn't have any money--spent it all getting here and couldn't buy herself breakfast if she wanted. You can see the disappointment in her face as she tells the beggar that she'll write his name down and come back when she has more money, only to feel around in her pack and realize that she doesn't have ink or paper to take notes with. "I... I'm sorry. Here, this won't get you very far, but... please, take it. Eat." She hands the man a packet and then hurries toward the boat.
The elf strides purposefully up the gangplank, takes a deep breath, and announces, "Miri Laishramn, at your service." She looks around. "Ah, interesting crew. I'm glad to make your acquaintance, and glad I'm not the most out-of-place person here. Were we expecting a few more? My mentor told me the society rarely sends out four anymore. Usually six? Safety in numbers or something?" She stops, as though she's just realized she's rambling to distract herself.
Water. Did it have to be water?
"So, uh, how long is this trip going to be? And does anyone have some bow wax? I, uh, left mine at home." She half-laughs, hesitantly.
Although Miri talks like an elf and walks like an elf, it's relatively easy to determine that her ancestry's not entirely elven, and that she's got some planar influence in there, fire, somewhere. She's dressed in the style you would expect a trapper or tracker or ranger to wear--warm leathers and furs--but underneath those, you see what appears to be a beaten-up set of light armor in the Mendevian style, with light metal plates and loose chain.
A well-used bow is on her back along with a couple quivers of arrows. Next to the arrows hangs, loosely, a large club--which looks so unused as to be greenwood fresh from the oak.
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After everyone is aboard, BARBAR cups his hands around his mouth and shouts to the crew. "HEAVE TO KIDS! SAIL TO SARINGALLOW!"
The boat ride across the inner sea is mostly uneventful, and the River Iseld up through Cheliax is remarkably calm. BARBAR and his crew are surprisingly pleasant, and make for decent company for the extent of the trip.
The town of Saringallow is nestled along the River Iseld in the country of Isger. As you arrive, the first obvious structure is a old Gallows set up in the square right off the dock.
You might know a bit about Isger or the town of Saringallow already, being Pathfinders that is!
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Dusty's familiar with Isger as another Chelish land, though one that's been less successful at retaining its independence than his own homeland of Nirmathas. And judging from their taste in decoration, an apple that doesn't fall far from the diabolic overlords.
Ain't really the most welcomin' thing you could put right off the dock.
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Miri looks around, taking in the lay of the land. She briefly turns around and retches over the side, into the river. "One last one for the road, I guess." *urp*
"Yeah, that's a weird place to put it. Witch's End, eh? Sounds all right to me. Maybe because I'm no witch. This place seems grim all of a sudden."
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"Eh, sure is grim. Wonder what they be hanging... best not be Dwarves!" Says the ornery Dwarf as he leaves the ship, adjusting his newly donned armor. He gives a nod to Captin Barbar for the help donning the banded mail.
"Time fer a drink, a smoke, n some grub eh?" He stomps down broadway towards the Witch's End, blasting a couple snot rockets into the dust as he goes. "Finally back on dry land, I can't get that rotten smell o fish outta my beard!"
After spending the last couple weeks or more sailing with Bash the crew and passengers are pretty happy to be rid of him. Not one to hold his tongue, and having the mouth of a sailor but the stubborn a@*!$#~ness of a Dwarf are an irritating combination if you can't escape.
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The bald man, who still had almost not spoken a word, smiles wryly. "Any place except Nidal". All the way he stayed separately from the team and future comrades, preferring to doze in the hold or take the most quiet places of the ship, where he spent hours looking at the water. A careful look can define some orc blood in him, but extremely 'diluted' - perhaps the grandfather or great-grandfather. He's well built and always tries to move so that as little as possible to be in sight, as if expecting danger from everywhere. "Any place except Nidal" - he repeats thoughtfully and reflexively puts his hand on the spiked chain, wrapped in a coil like a whip.
"Name's Kiddir." - he looks up to fellows - "Witch's End, eh? Beautiful... Usually, our work doesn't pass without incidents. Let's see what happens this time."
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A disheveled and sleepy gnome comes stumbling up from below decks. He slept so much during the journey that his companions may have mistook him for some of the luggage, but now that he is awake he is undeniably present, in an almost mesmerizing way. He stares around at the surroundings, his companions, and, especially, the gallows. It appears that he is about to say something, words dancing on the tip of his tongue, but instead, a long loud and low fart issues forth from him, seemingly far beyond what his small body could be expected to produce. Oddly, the smell is rather reminiscent of the plains after rain.
"Erp, beggin' yer pardon, to be sure! Fizzlebottom's the name, least that's what they call me, an' I'm guessin' ya see why, though the healers tell me it's nuthin' to be concerned 'bout, though I've got me doubts if they really know much 't'all. Can't be too careful these days, if'n ya ask me."
With that, he hastens to the basin, where he carefully washes his hands. Three times.
"Well then, where to now? The Witch's End? Hmm, innerestin', p'raps it's named for someone with an affliction similar to mine..."
The inside of the Witch's End has a long polished bar, and well worn tables and chairs sitting around the tavern. A few people, probably regulars to the Witch's End, all turn to look at you as you enter. A tall woman stands behind the bar, grumbling softly to herself and scrubbing down a section of the wooden counter.
With a glare, the tall woman quickly barks out in your general direction? "Y'all don't look like locals. Who are you and what's yer business?"
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Dusty looks around for a spittoon, deciding that the polish on the bar probably means the bartender might be particularly about that kinda thing.
Well ma'am, we've heard there might be some trouble about town. As I've never been to Isger, let alone Saringallow, I'd quite appreciate any guidance you could give us.
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Bash clomps into the bar, his iron shod boots scuffing the floor a bit and his weapons clanking together making a heck of a racket. Seeing how the bartender seems like the friendly type, he repays her friendliness "Bash Steeltoe, expert miner and stomper of gobbie heads. Right now I'm here fer some fresh cooked food and some hefty amounts of ale after a long f*~*in boat ride."
He pulls up the sturdiest looking chair, unslings his overloaded pack of gear and weapons onto the floor, and takes a seat with a thud. He lifts an oversized, thick iron helm from his head and puts it down on the bar in front of him, followed by his gauntlets. "What's the specialty 'round here? Best be meat, I ain't no sissy Elf!"
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Miri tries to collect her wits and get back to the original conversation. "So! Uh, yeah. You hear anyone who needs a job done? Or is looking for help? Or any news on old, dusty ruins nobody in their right mind would ever visit? You're looking at a crack team of problem-solvers, right here. Lookin' for work."
Her stomach growls, and without averting her gaze from the barkeep she pulls some hardtack from her bag and begins to slowly chew on it.
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Fizzlebottom nears the bar, glares up at the barstools, and then fetches a footstool to enable him to clamber aboard an empty stool. Fixing the barkeep with a penetrating stare that is even more disconcerting because his eyelids are drooping as if he had not slept a wink during the entire journey, he greets the tall woman behind the bar. Not local 't'all, though I thank you for asking. Been a long journey from there to here, 'n the path couldna always be found, but never mind all that, 'twas then, 'n this is now. Fizzlebottom's me name. What's yers? 'N whatcha got t' drink in this here establishment? I'm most passing thirsty, 'n tired to boot. Don't s'pose ya got espresso hereabout? I'll take a quadruple shot." Fizzlebottom glances around the establishment, recalling that he is far from the bright lights of Absalom. "Or, whatever else ya got, that'll be fine, just fine. Jes' so long as it ain't chamomile tea, that stuff'll put me right to sleep." He glances out the window at the gallows and shudders. "Now what's that all about? Ya all fixin' to hang someone? I reckon there's a story to be heard, now ain't there?"
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Hush signs to the innkeep, ordering exactly one mug of ale. I may drink, went his vow, but I may not be drunk. Shelyn's beauty is reflected in my wits, so I must keep them. He listens to what the barkeep might have to say, hoping that her response to his companions might shed some light on why they've been brought here.
With an obvious frown, the woman heads back to start putting some food together. A moment later, she returns with several plates of steamed carrots and vegetables, perfectly balanced between crisp and tender. After the vegetables come bowls of a hearty stew of lentils, beef and mushrooms that is enough to make your mouth water just with the aroma.
"The name's Alcie, and this is my tavern. If sounds like you fools are looking for the Gettin' yerself killt kinna work. Check the board after yer dun eatin. Least I ken do is give you a good last meal."
The food is outstanding, even if the company isn't, and the Job Board is remarkably sparse. Freshly pinned to the top of the board is a short note in a cursive script. Rodent Exterminating and Missing Persons. Inquire with Mayor Sandra Trinelli.
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Bash frowns a bit at the bowls of veggies, worried that's all is going to come out of the kitchen. He starts picking it the carrots a bit until the main course comes out and his mood picks up tremendously "Ya had me worried there a bit Alcie with them veggies, but this stew is somethin else!" He takes the veggies and dumps them into the bowl of stew, getting some meat flavor into them before going at them.
Bash's table manners are about the level you'd expect for a 'lives by himself, rough around the edges, Dwarven miner', or a stray dog. "Can't go wrong with anything that's got beef and mushrooms! Fire me up another bowl of that, hold the veggies." He shouts back towards the kitchen. "Rat catchin and people findin. Seems people need finding an awful lot, good thing I've got some trainin in that!"
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"I'm not hungry. One ale." With these words he hands the bartender his own mug, which you have already seen during the travel. With the other hand he casually pulls out and drops on the bar one gold coin. "It's much more than one ale, right? Tell me what you know about the missing people." His husky low voice is not too conducive, but he is clearly determined to get an answer.
Alcie brings out another bowl of stew for Bash, almost as if she was expecting a request for seconds. "Mayor's office is on the first floor of City Hall. If you ask me, those kids are just lazing about or having their romps, if you know what I mean."
With a stern glare, she fills Kiddir's mug and claps it down on the bar, sloshing a bit over the edge. "Yer money ain't gonna git you what you expect stranger," the last word dripping with disdain from her lips. "Keep yer coin for bribing someone else."
After finishing your 'Last Meal' as Alcie put it, the Town Hall is a reasonable next stop. The tall clock tower attached to a stout 2 story building. An open set of double doors lead to a large room filled with sturdy benches. At the back of the room, a woman paces about the floor with a worried expression. "Are you the adventurers that came into town today? Word travels fast in a small town. I hope that you are here for opportunity!" With a gesture of her hand, She leads you into the small office before sitting behind her desk.
The plush red carpet and oak furniture upholstered with velvet lend this room an air of comfort, but it’s also clearly a place of official business, with several layers of administrative papers, staff memos, maps, and charts covering the wide surface of the solid desk in the center. From her tall-backed chair behind her desk, Mayor Sandra Trinelli looks up, shaking herself out of a deep concentration. A subtle look of relief flashes across her face as she motions to the oversized chairs in front of her.
“Normally, I’d exchange more pleasantries with my guests, but I fear there is no time,” she says. “The business that brought you here is quite urgent—it may actually be a matter of life and death.
“Let me explain. You may have heard that several young apprentices from various establishments in Saringallow have disappeared in the last couple of weeks. Every one of them has failed to show up to work, and nobody seems to know where they’ve gone.
“That’s not all. Rumors are spreading about sightings of enormous insects roaming about town. So far, the townspeople have chalked up such rumors to overactive imaginations, but I fear they might be real, and that they might have something to do with the missing apprentices. I have no proof that the situations are connected, but if folks get that notion into their heads, things are bound to spiral out of control.”
She shifts nervously, as if avoiding an uncomfortable implication, before continuing.
“Please, I implore you to look into this matter quietly and thoroughly—find out where our apprentices have gone and discover the cause of our vermin problem. Don’t jump to conclusions until you have investigated every possible angle; we need to be absolutely sure that we know who or what is responsible before we take any necessary law-enforcement actions.
“I suggest you start by interviewing the masters of every missing apprentice on this list I’ve compiled. I suspect that, collectively, they might shed some light on the youngsters’ whereabouts. That could in turn illuminate our vermin problem, but until we have more information, I caution you against suggesting to anyone that the two situations are connected. Beyond that, though, you have my full cooperation in this matter. If anyone gives you guff about your line of questioning, show them this letter.”
The mayor pushes a scrap of paper with several names scribbled on it across her desk, as well as a rolled-up, ribbon-bound letter written on thick parchment.
“As far as an incentive,” the mayor says, “I’ve pooled together 50 gold pieces as a reward for each apprentice you manage to find and rescue, as well as an additional 100 gold pieces if you can determine the cause of our vermin problem—and eliminate it. Do we have a deal?”
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Hush chuckles at the woman's rebuke of Kiddir, his voice raspy with disuse. Seems she doesn't like the idea of being an informant.
At the mayor's office he takes mental note of their tasks, ticking them off on his fingers. So, find and rescue the missing acolytes. And investigate the vermin problem. He gestures a question to the mayor. What do the insects look like?
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"We're definitely looking for work, and your missing apprentices sound important. This is a small town; I'm sure you know at least one or two of them. Was there anything in particular that might suggest why these apprentices ran off and not others? Anything they have in common? Oh, and do you have any suspects who aren't the apprentices' masters?"
Miri scoops up the parchment scrap and begins to read the names.
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Bash gobbles down the stew as fast as possible, depending on the level of heat. He dabs the bit of gravy out of his beard with the last of a piece of bread he managed to pull out from it. "Good stuff, I'mma sure to be back later for some suppah and a room." He drops the required coinage on the bar and not a bit more. He grabs up his pack and weapons and heads out with the others, heavy boots shaking the planking on the floor as he goes.
Getting to the town office he gives it a look and nods "The place of power here eh, lets go find us a payin' gig and see why the f@&@ the Society sent us all the way here eh?" He hefts his long hammer and heads inside with the others.
"Stompin bugs and findin loafin kids? Child's play! Lets have a look at that list..."
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"Hmm, seems like quite an interesting situation you have, Mayor. I'm sure that we can soon get to the bottom of it, so have no fear. Now, what can you tell us about the apprentices? Or their masters? Anything noteworthy about any of 'em? And who has been reporting the insect sightings? Mebbe we should go talk them too?"
Gellion Vazarro—apprentice at Pricknettle’s Potions and Poultices
Morvinarr Albusin—apprentice at Witch’s End tavern
Noemi Tauralio—apprentice at Gunty’s Hearty Breads
Nolaria Wintren—apprentice of the temple and Father Ildris Ruvarra
Pavolus Laterna—apprentice of cobbler Dependable Drummady
The bearers of this letter have embarked on a matter of official Saringallow business on my behalf. As such, it is my deepest hope that you will treat them judiciously and conscientiously, and that you will trust that any questions they ask are in the interest of furthering this urgent errand. Please answer their inquiries completely and to the best of your knowledge, as you would answer questions from me personally. Should you be aware of another citizen who may have the information they desire, I implore you to disclose those details, as well as anything else that might be of use. Should you aid my proxies in completing their task, rest assured that you will earn my profound gratitude, as well as any small favor from my office.
Your Humble Mayor,
Sandra Trinelli
Mayor Trinelli pauses for a moment between each question, before clearly and concisely responding.
"It's only hearsay, but stories are going around of insects several times their normal size attacking townspeople, but Alcie is known to serve a Potent Brew, so many of the reports have been tossed off as drunken ramblings. Hopefully I can count on you to get to the bottom of things."
"It is a small town, so the band of Apprentices are known to everyone. They are all around the same age, so they are pretty friendly with one another. I think the fact that All of them disappeared might lead to why the rest of town doesn't seem to consider it suspicious. Perhaps they formed their own adventuring party? I think there might be something a bit more serious than that going on though."
"Who knows if they disappeared the night before, and didn't show up for work in the morning. But I suppose that they could have vanished first thing in the morning as well. It makes good sense that the masters would know their apprentices best. Maybe they could give you some insight?"
After answering any additional questions, she opens her desk drawer, and pulls out a small folded map, with several locations marked on it.
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Bash looks over the list as the others do, grunting and nodding at Miri when she mentions Alcie's apprentice on the list too "She's prolly pissed she's had to wash her own dishes lately! Lets go find these kids and give 'em a butt whoopin for skippin their chores lately." He slaps the back of his hand across his palm and smiles.
"Which one of these places is closest, lets just start there and work our way 'round town a bit, no sense in walkin miles for nothin."
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Shelyn's mercy. Hush looks at the list sadly, thinking about the parents now missing children-- if any of them indeed had parents. He signs to the others. I agree with Bash. Whichever is closest to us.
Bash gives hush a look of confusion "You ain't castin a spell at me are ya? I'll have you know that us Steeltoes are very tough against magics!" He looks around at the others to see if they know what he's doing.