Hello, everyone, the gameplay thread is open for dotting!
Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury is stoic yet shows signs of exhaustion as he strides into the room and places a piece of paper on the table.
"Pathfinders, some weeks ago we received this letter from an anonymous source, advising us of the discovery of a Sarkorian site in rural Mendev, near the village of Dawnton. We sent three Pathfinders to perform an initial investigation. Word came to us two days ago that the entire team has been arrested for murder and is scheduled to be hanged in seven days' time. I would appreciate your traveling to Dawnton, investigating the crimes, and finding any evidence necessary to clear their names."
He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his will or holding back strong emotion.
"As much as it grieves me to think this possible, you may find evidence that implicates our comrades. If they are guilty of this crime, let them hang. It's justice of a sort, and we must all remember that we are guests in Mendev and subject to all its laws. Your predecessors' reputation has tarnished the Pathfinders' name in Dawnton, so I recommend you not travel and investigate openly as Pathfinders agents.
"Be careful," he recommends, "and remember that three comrades are relying on you."
He scans the group briefly, and his eyes fall upon two of the Pathfinders.
"You two; Saleem Magmum and Rotting Jack. While I know you are brave and trustworthy members of the Pathfinder Society, the common folk of Mendev do not see you as such. Their tough lives have led to the creation of myths and legends regarding those of fiendish bearing, and as such members of your races - people of fire and descendants of undead - will not be welcomed. It is in your best interest to not only conceal your affiliation with the Pathfinder Society, but also attempt to disguise your unnatural heritage."
Venture-Captain Jorsal smiles warmly and places his hands on the table.
"Anything else you want to know?"
Dawnton is a small village at the crossroads of the local trade highway and the Setian River, a tributary of the Egelsee. It has a small permanent population, but swells to many times its size on festival days and during the harvest.
As with many small villages in the region, Dawnton has become distrustful of strangers since the fall of Kenabres. This distrust is especially virulent toward tieflings and others with demonic roots, influence, or appearance.
Tobias Luin is both the village’s sheriff and mayor. Local opinion holds that he is fair to the point of being soft. It is unusual that he would hold an execution, but local law calls for a vote of the citizenry to decide the fate of those guilty of capital crimes.
There are rumors of similar brutal crimes in other villages near Dawnton. When a guilty party was found in those cases, execution was always the result.
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”Yessssss…” rasps the heavily cloaked figure as he limps forward out of the shadows, leaning heavily on a curiously shaped staff. He’s dressed in what appears to be layer upon layer of dark, tattered rags, making it hard to tell where the clothing ends and the creature begins, his face and eyes barely visible
”I am not unused to such ignorant bigotry, but those wretches have naught to fear from me”.
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"Such a superstitious lot." Saleem Huffs as he digs into his pack to produce a rather plain looking hat.
"Such a pity to hide my distinguished good looks but alas for the society, I shall follow one of its tenets to its core. That of cooperation. This trinket I picked up from a rather quiant shopkeeper who gave me a good price for it after I looked hard at him for offering an intial high price."
Saleem's fiery properties recede and reveal a rather handsome taldan though the facial hair on his chin speaks of a Qadiran style.
Jorsal gives you some time, then finally addresses you again.
"If you are done preparing, I suggest you leave now. The trip to Dawnton should take roughly three days by horse, which I can loan to you. This will leave you with plenty of time to investigate and hopefully clear the name of our three agents. Best of luck."
Travelling the road indeed takes three days and you arrive at the evening of the third day, leaving you with this evening and three more days to investigate. As your arrive, you can see the lights pouring from Tent City, and a small signpost that points to The Heath and Harvest and Sheriff Luin's House. The town is open to investigate - you just have to choose where to go.
The group quickly agrees on the inn being the correct place to visit and makes its way to the Heath and Harvest. Even before you open the door you hear the sounds of revelry, drinking and joy, as the place is bustling with peasants from all over southern Mendev who have come to celebrate the harvest season. As you enter, eyes from multiple tables turn to look at you. The patrons whisper to each other, eyeing you for a moment before returning to their business. Finally, when you reach the counter, you are greeted by a jolly yet tired-looking female halfling bartender.
"Hello there, fellas! You're looking dirty and tired. Come for the harvest celebrations, I assume; well, look no further than the Heath and Harvest! The best - and only - restaurant in Dawnton, and plenty of comfortable rooms for those who want a more civilized experience than Tent City."
The woman smiles at you warmly, awaiting a reply. Her eyes linger for a moment on Rotting Jack before resuming scanning the room, having seemingly not noticed anything suspicious about the Dhampir.
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Ansha gives the halfling a tired smile. "The best accommodations you have available, please," the blonde elf says, leaning on the counter and eyeing any particularly attractive men and women in the room. Catching one or two eyes, she offers a coy wink and a smile before glancing back at the bartender.
"The celebrations look to have started a bit early. What's the occasion? Anything exciting?" she asks, palming a gold coin onto the counter.
The halfling nods at your request and opens a large ledger. She flips the pages, arching a single eyebrow as she procures a quill and dips it in black ink.
"Well, sweetie, the best accommodations also seem to be the only accommodations we have available. We only have two rooms available, and each can house two of you. Y'all don't mind sharing, right? It'll be one gold piece from each of you per night, including meals."
At your question, the barmaid chuckles and looks at all four of you.
"Well, it is visible that you're not from around here, though I'm surprised you haven't heard. They caught three Pathfinders some days ago, after those cuckoos went on a murder spree. Sheriff held a vote to see how the townsfolk want to punish the murderers, and the death penalty it was. Now folk from all over the countryside came to witness the execution, and also seize the opportunity to gossip and eat and whatnot."
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Seeing that Ansha has the bartender well in hand he casts a shadowed eye around the rest of the establishment. Spying a suitable spot he shuffles over, leaning heavily on his staff and being careful not to upset anyone’s drinks.
He begins to stamp his staff slowly on the sawdust covered floor, quickly increasing in tempo. Noting the atmosphere in the inn, he settles on a bawdy traditional drinking song.
”Come, landlord, fill a flowing bowl, until it does run over ;
To-night we all will merry be, To-morrow we'll get sober.
He that drinks strong beer and goes to bed mellow,
Lives as he ought to live, and dies a hearty fellow.
Punch cures the gout, the cholic and the tisic,
And is to all men the very best of physic.
He that drinks small beer, and goes to bed sober,
Falls as the leaves do that die in October.
He that drinks strong beer and goes to bed mellow,
Lives as he ought to live, and dies a happy fellow.
He that courts a pretty girl, and courts her for her pleasure,
Is a fool to marry her without a store of treasure.
Now let us dance and sing, and drive away all sorrow,
For perhaps we may not meet again to-morrow.”
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Conlaoch pays for the rooms, and orders a drink. "Thank you, kind innkeeper. What is your name? Yes, a chance to clean up, fill my belly, and hear more about this excitement would be welcomed! The festival does draw us here, but tales of murder and revenge are more than we expected. Please, fill us in."
Conlaoch also tries to 'mingle' with the other patrons and see what he can discover.
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Li, an aspiring zen master, seats himself at the tavern's main table, is great bow resting comfortably beside him, and takes in his surroundings, listening not to the speech of his companions, but to the sounds of the house, the buzz of conversation and the shuffling of feet along the floor. The colors and patterns, the warm air of the tavern on his skin, the smells of bread and ale and roasted meats, a peal of laughter or a shout of recognition each combine to form single perfect moments, falling past him one by one like cherry petals in an early summer breeze.
The quiet and slender Tien man aspires to be at one with the world, but he is no ascetic. He takes a cup of wine when it is offered and some bread and cheese, thinking of the hot and spicy bowls of rice and fish stew from his native Quain and of lessons in being and non-being from his master a they shared the stew in tiny shrines or the huts of grateful peasants.
There, the simple folk rarely had complete justice, and here it was no different. Only here, in this land with so few people, the injustices more often went unnoticed. Were the Pathfinders guilty? It was only recently that Li began to truly think of himself as a Pathfinder instead of merely someone who owed the Society his life. Their honor had become his. If the Pathfinders were guilty, then perhaps they should be hanged. If not, the finding the guilty party was not just his job; it was his duty.
Overhearing the exchange between the elf, Ansha, and the barmaid, Li leaned forward to interrupt. "Excuse, please. Who saw these murders? Who accuses these Pathfinders?"
Li Shuo leans to ask the barmaid this question, and she giggles at his eccentric speech then speaks with a more serious tone.
"Now, boy, I can't tell you who accused the Pathfinders, because I don't know. I did hear that the Sheriff has a written testimony from someone against the Pathfinders, so you could ask him who saw 'em. Watch out though, I've got the feeling that he really wants the bastards killed if he went out of his way to get a written testimony."
Meanwhile, on the Rotting Jack front, things have a much more playful air. Several patrons have joined Conloach and Rotting Jack in singing and drinking, though they seem a bit preoccupied with getting drunk and the two don't overhear any rumours. However, two less joyful (though not less drunk) men, who were until now sitting alone at a table whispering to each other, yell at Rotting Jack.
"Hey, greyface! That a dagger 'anging from ya waist? I 'ope you ain't planning to kill anyone with it! Sheriff found a dagger jus' like this one where the Pathfinders murdered Old Josiah!"
Some of the folk who were singing with you two take a worried look at Jack's dagger, but the revelries continue without much interruption until it's time to go to bed.
After devouring your dinners, comprised of diced potatoes with seasoned chicken, a selection of local vegetables and a sadly limited amount of booze ("You came a bit too late for that; another shipment from Beer Garden will be here by dawn."), you retire to your beds. When you go up the stairs, you spot a woman wearing strange clothes leaning against the wall and looking at you thoughtfully, but she doesn't try to speak with you and lets you move along upstairs.
The night passes without incidents and you wake up early, the first rays of a warm Mendev sun beating against your covers. Downstairs, a tired young woman serves you bread and cheese, fresh goat milk and apples. When breakfast is over, all that is left to you is to choose where to go next.
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Ansha narrows her emerald eyes almost imperceptibly, sizing up the woman as she walks past, but makes no effort to engage her in conversation.
Ansha awakens sluggishly and rolls out of bed in the morning. Taking her time getting dressed and brushing out her nearly-thigh-length mane of silken hair, she finally comes downstairs for breakfast--last to the table, most likely. Offering a faint smile to her companions and the waitress, she joins them and eats in silence.
"I suppose the next stop is the sheriff," the blonde elf notes quietly after she is done eating.
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Rotting Jack gives the woman a road-weary nod, but otherwise pays her no mind.
Rotting Jack leans in to his companions over the breakfast table, having barely touched his simple meal of oats and hot water. A dry rasp emerges from his cowl.
"I'm afraid I must agree with Li Shuo, I would like more information on what and who we're dealing with. Approaching the sheriff now may provoke a confrontation. Perhaps the general store or the tent city would be better options?"
Tent City is the nickname given to the area east of Dawnton, where the surplus population that arrives in Dawnton during the harvest season lives temporarily. While it is not currently harvest season, people from all over the area have come to Dawnton to witness the execution of the Pathfinders, causing the City to form earlier this year. Tent City is known as a place where sports competitions are held and people hang out, chatting and drinking.
Realizing that the safest place to pick up rumours at this time of day is probably the general store, you head out to Orug's place. One of two permanent businesses in town, this sprawling shop occupies three large storefronts on the main road - the general store itself, a storage room and Orug's barbershop. Upon entering the room, a well-built half orc greets you from behind the counter.
"Hello hello, friends! Come to take browse my wares, get some for yourself, or just look at Orug's awe-inspiring body? Haha!"
Orug gestures to a female half elf sorting bottles on a shelf.
"Come in! My wife Tessa will show you to whatever it is you need. Unless, of course, you're here to get a shave. In that case, take the door to the left and I'll be there right away."
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The elven enchantress flashes a smile at Orug, then turns her gaze on the female half-elf. What an unfortunate pairing, she thinks, keeping her disapproval off of her face carefully. "All three," she says with a coy wink. As she looks over the supplies for sale, she keeps Orug on the periphery of her vision. "That, and since my companions and I are somewhat new in town, we were kind of hoping to hear any news. Juicy gossip, campfire ghost stories...anything, really."
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Rotting Jack attempts to seed some rumours of his own, in order to encourage Tessa to divulge what she knows. Limping slowly past her he feigns a slip and reaches out for a supporting arm.
"So clumsy!" He rasps. "I didn't hurt you did I? I must not have been paying attention to where I was going, my thoughts are caught up with the terrible murders we've heard about."
He straightens slightly and two dim orbs peer out from his ragged and torn hood, peering intently into Tessa's own eyes.
"I heard they were foaming at the mouth and uttering vile profanities in a strange language when the sheriff took them into custody. Queer marks were carved into their flesh. Could that be true do you think? Have these poor creatures gone mad? A religious fervour? Possession?"
Orug laughs victoriously to Ansha's reply and winks at his wife. He takes his hands off the counter and thinks for a moment. Meanwhile, Tesssa helps Rotting Jack regain his balance and raises her eyebrows when he mentions his own rumour. However, before she can reply, her husband speaks.
"Well let me tell you, they say when Kenabres fell, half the survivors got possessed by demons! Those damn Pathfinders that the sheriff is gonna hang? I'm sure they did it, but it's not really their fault. Oh yes, they're possessed. Abyssal writing on their flesh, speaking the tongue of demons, it was all there. How do I know? I was there! One of those Pathfinders murdered Old Josiah right in front of my shop. I came out and tried to fight him, but the tall bastard hit me in the back of my head with his club. Cheap blow, but it got the best of Orug!"
Tessa sighs and rolls her eyes, letting go of Rotting Jack and taking a step towards Ansha.
"You, my friend, you look like a woman of culture. These gruesome murders probably don't interest you; you're here for the real interesting stuff, ain't you? You know like that cute Inquisitor Ekira? She says that Iomedae began speaking to her directly after she arrived in Dawnton. She's thinking about setting down roots here, establishing a church, maybe even challenging Sheriff Tobias Luin for the title of mayor. She's quite brave to try that, right?"
Orug growls and points at his wife with the fork he happens to be holding right now. He then drops the fork on the counter and pats Conlaoch with less force than one might expect.
"You and your stories, woman! Nobody cares about that fanatic. These murders are the real talk of the day, and I'm sure even your woman of culture would like to hear more about them. You know what I've heard? Otto, the farmer who lives just outside town, found Geoffrey's body in his farm the morning the accused Pathfinders arrived. He's still going about his business as though nothing had happened. This is bravery, woman, not your cute Inquisitor!"
The half orc start laughing, pounding at the counter, making the silverware on it scatter and clank around, while Tessa gives you all an apologetic look.
"You remind me of someone else... There's this tall guy, quiet with a bald patch on his head. Has been in town for about as long as the Pathfinders have. He sometimes asks more questions about the accused than is considered seemly in these parts. Well, if you're not planning on buying anything, I think you should get going before that stupid half orc tries to show you how the murder was committed."