|
A tall willowy Elf stands at the back of the room, silver unkempt hair flowing down his back, swept behind his fine pointed ears, a silver scarf around his neck. Easily mistaken for a druid, as he wears a loose emerald green robe, open at the front, wearing worn leather trousers and no shirt, his feet bare. He smiles shyly as the female elf approaches him, before formally replying quietly.
“Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn. Mae g'ovannen! Im Thracius Kithaniel”
He gives a respectful nod of his head, though seems quite detatched.
|
Sythka also dresses in woodland garb of green and brown ceremonial robes with explorers clothes underneath. She leans on a gnarled yet stout wooden staff as they exchange pleasantries with a raven perched at the top of the staff.
"Vân charn Arselu'Tel'Quesshen am mbar. Zhu Edhel o thrach maug, obeahist'ar um. Sin malmastia Ergi-Galðr."
|
The tall half-elf with dark hair and pale skin looks at the two elves raising an eyebrow.
Did she REALLY think I was one of these lazy tree-loving-nature-prevails dude?
He eventually burst out laughing. "Why, you think you're so smart to speak elvish and all while you're attending a mission briefing? Also, I never get why you, dudes, always speak in such a stupid fashion: "nahnahnah the stars sings to the trees..." Seriously, who even says that?"
The half-elf turns towards the rest of the party and clears his throat. "I am Xavilon Starnon, of house Starnon. I work as an envoy of the Mighty Cardinal Martyr, Vildeis herself." saying this, he shows the coat of arms of his house on the scabbard of his elven curved sword, a gargoyle breathing fire. You read the inscription "Semper Vigilans".
|
|
An extremely pale-skinned young woman, paler even than Xavilon sits patiently in a corner of the common lodge, hands folded in her lap, observing the interactions between the elves and the elf-blooded. She is dressed in very simple, unadorned robes of gray. Her eyes are gray like her robes; her hair black and worn in a single neat braid.
A carved wooden spiral hangs from the young woman's neck. She watches the exchange, soaking in everything said but contributing nothing herself.
|
|
Turning and addressing Thracius as they walk away for a moment Sythka says..."Anto-ille ulua haggah sulrim, au ille holma ve' edan. Zhu fikar kawum che Do ille naa loost. Amin n'rangwa edanea. Hindara ruska dai"
Politely bows to the elven wizard and then sits while sipping some fine brandy. "My name is Sythka'landrianna and I am honored to meet you all and to work with you all for this mission."
|
|
Thracius takes a moment to admire the Raven familiar of his elvish comrade and smiles shyly. He reaches into a pcoket sewn inside his emerald robes and pulsl out what appear to be a piece of dead tree. With a gentle coaxing the dead plant revives itself from petrification and stands on his master's hand,becoming elf like in appearance, though made of a fern tree.
"Cormamin lindua ele lle Ergi-Galðr, sina ta amin Mellon, Quel"
Thracius indicates the Petrifern standing on his hand.
He turns to regard Xavilnon, smiling shyly again before nodding his head and addressing the others in the room.
"No offense is meant of course, I sincerely apologise if you feel insulted. I am Thracius, Son of Kithaniel"
He smiles politely to those in the room before taking a seat.
|
|
Zora gives the elf-man a slow, unhurried blink from her seated position in the corner.
"No offense is taken," she answers dispassionately. Still, there may be a faint spark of interest regarding his fern-figure, in her eyes. Death, or the seeming of it... and life.
"I am named Zora. If you become injured in the course of our assigned duty, I will help."
|
A man rises from his chair and inclines his head in greeting. He coughs softly before speaking to the others. Though he appears to be fit and even muscular, his skin has an ashen cast to it, and he does not appear to be well. He carries the flasks, beakers, and chemicals of an alchemist at his waist, though his hands shake slightly.
"I am Professor Leoric Faust. It is a pleasure to meet all of you. I am adept with creating alchemical extracts, potions, etc. I am sure we will accomplish this mission," he adds.
|
|
As you all get acquainted in front of the hearth in the Grand Lodge's great room. You have been awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance or really anything at all. As fresh trainees there aren't a lot of assignments for you to cut your teeth on. 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.
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 lay 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 venturecaptain 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.”
|
|
Zora likes standing in the rain no better than Drandle Dreng does, though she tolerates it without complaint. She takes the folded map and slips it into her spacious sleeves to keep it dry from the rain.
If Zora feels any irritation at being sent on such a minor, trivial errand, it does not show on her face. She nods very seriously to Dreng.
"It will be accomplished," Zora says gravely. "We should all take heed of the past, and how it informs our present. We will return as soon as our duty is fulfilled. Please do not stand in the puddles, sir: it increases your odds of becoming sick."
Zora moves off under a sheltering overhang a few feet away before drawing out the map and looking at the tavern's locale.
|
|
In contrast to Dreng and Zora, the tall silver haired elf seems to to relish in the downpour, his hood thrown back as he savours every drop that soaks into his hair and bare skin. His sandals are still on however, to avoid the detritus of the city. Taken aback by the crude ruse of an esteemed figure he covers his shock with a shy smile and a nod.
The mission seemed simple enough, though Thracius wondered if there was more to it, was the package sensitive? Dangerous? And so he asks
"Honoured Venture Captain, is this package a possible cause of danger to the society?"
|
|
Seeing that his little speech doesn't seem to provoke the elves, he lets go. Don't forget the cooperate part, Xav! he thinks.
When the group stumbles upon the Venture-Captain, Xavilon looks at him with disdain and disgust. "Yeah, yeah, we will look after your favorite booze, capt'n." he replies with a sarcastic tone, rolling his eyes.
|
|
"How big is the parcel? Will it require more than one person to carry it? Is it valuable and thus should we be on the look out for robbers? Does this person know we are coming to pick it up? Is there a certain phrase or gesture or letter from you to her that confirms our relationship to you?" Sythka asks.
|
|
the wisened Drandle Dreng smirks mightily at the very serious and eager pathfinders " Oh it is of utmost importance but very small and easily portable, should even fit in a paper bag - you are providing aid to your dear old venture captain during his undercover operation. I have an arrangement with the Wounded Wisp where I am sampling their finer vintages in descending order of age! I have now reached a particularly old vintage that I was looking forward to but my business here is going to keep me and I dare not leave. No one would begrudge an old beggar of a bottle of vino, so it makes for a good little arrangement. I had heard you all were lounging about the Grand Lodge waiting for something to do so I sent for you. Should be a simple matter! By all means enjoy yourselves. Just tell the bartender that you're there on my behalf, they should be expecting you."
You all head off to the Wounded Wisp, which is easily enough found. Upon your arrival the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Dark oaken raised platforms sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well 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 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.
Within, you see 5 different patrons that stand out from the crowd, the first is a Halfling bard, the next is Qadiran-looking merchant, there is a pair of warrior-type looking half orc women standing in the back and an old stodgy historian taking up one of the booths.
The bartender, Henryn Gaile, shows you all to a table and takes your orders before you can broach the subject of your business here. While you wait for your drinks, you realize you will get no real work done for a moment, giving you all a chance to get acquainted.
|
|
the wisened Drandle Dreng smirks mightily at the very serious and eager pathfinders Dimira and Ulena...
Zora cocks her head with the tiniest of frowns at realizing the bartender has bustled off too quickly for her to bring up the purpose for their visit. She sighs under her breath, then shrugs to herself. It is no matter in the long run. And the tavern is warm and dry, at least. There are worse things than to drink wine in such a place.
Her gaze returns to Faust. "Your situation will hasten your meeting with the Lady of Graves," she says frankly. "Yet your life and choices are your own."
She gazes around the crowded taproom, noting the boisterous orc women, the exuberant halfling, the tradesman, and the historian. Remembering Dreng's words that this place has a storied history, Zora pauses.
"May I intrude, sir? I see you to be a man of learning," she says with a small gesture at the books the historian is perusing.
|
|
A sharply dressed gnome hurries in, a bit out of breath. "Sorry I'm late, there was this woman, you see.... She had, um, well, big ... tracts of land, you might say. Needless to say, we got a bit distracted."
"I am [unintelligible*], but most people call me Doctor. Or Scalawag. Or Doctor Scalawag."
The little gnome turns ignore the males in the company, and turns to Sythka'landrianna. "Do you mind if I call you Syth? Wow, you're pretty. Maybe I can introduce you to my monkey? We could 'share spells', if you know what I mean." He eyes the raven perched nearby.
Scalawag's eyes light on Zora. "And speaking of beauty, my goodness, what a picture you are, my dear. Pale skin, dark tresses—like an ink drawing come to life. How exquisite! What fun we could have together."
|
|
Zora's gray eyes settle on the gnome at his proposition. "Thank you," she says solemnly. "After the conclusion of our task, I will be spending my evening ministering to the terminally ill in the Gray House of Pharasma, and speaking to them of the surcease of pain that awaits in the Boneyard. You are welcome to accompany me. I can always use assistance in this task. I am sure we will have, as you say, fun."
|
|
As you all get to know each other and Zora excuses herself to go speak with the hunched over man in the tan jacket with elbow patches and spectacles that she presumes is a historian judging by the stack of books on his table, the bartender returns with everyone's drinks
Do you happen to be the Pathfinders that Drandle Dreng sent? I'll be able to assist you in a minute once my relief arrives - that bottle he wants is deep in our wine cellar and we will be too far from the patrons for me to assist until then. In the meantime, this is a pretty special place for the Society and most everyone here is affiliated with the group in some way - might be a good chance to make some contacts.
---
As Zora approaches the scholar he sort of doesn't hear her for a moment and then makes a coughing sound pretending as though you didn't just startle him "Ah yes of course you may please, join me...my name is Yargos Gill, I'm an historian and all around scholar it is a pleasure to meet you... I just heard the barkeep call you pathfinders, so it's always good to see new friendly faces around here. I judge from your complexion that you must be from Tian Xia is that right? Or perhaps somewhere similar? Marvelous place that, their use of longboats in combat was revolutionary when they first began to do so and their continued superiority on the sea and with the bow is astounding, and a great reason for their success as an empire. Which of course tracks because their empire was formed with a combination of clever use of power and a firm diplomatic hand..erm anyhow it is good to meet you, would you like to split an ale with me?
|
|
"I judge from your complexion that you must be from Tian Xia is that right? Or perhaps somewhere similar? Marvelous place that, their use of longboats in combat was revolutionary when they first began to do so and their continued superiority on the sea and with the bow is astounding, and a great reason for their success as an empire. Which of course tracks because their empire was formed with a combination of clever use of power and a firm diplomatic hand..erm anyhow it is good to meet you, would you like to split an ale with me?
"Ustalav, actually," Zora says when the old man must pause to catch his breath, having patiently listened to his words on Tian Xia. "But your insight into the eastern empires is quite educational, Master Gill. Please permit me to purchase our ales."
Zora sits in the booth, her spine straight and her hands folded properly in her lap. "I am named Zora. You must know a great deal of the history of the Society. Do you perhaps know of a field agent named Zaros? Failing that, I am sure any interesting or amusing tales you have would be very edifying."
|
|
Somewhat reluctantly, Thracius leaves the heavy downpour and steps into the hot, smoky tavern, wrinkling his nose as his enhanced perceptions pick up the smells of rain drenched patrons and booze. He takes a seat with the others at their assigned tables and scans the room, he orders A glass of water from the hurried bartender before she bustles off.
"Greetings, my name is Thracius, as I have said before, my skills derive from the Arcane arts of Wizardry, my familiar is named Quel"
A gnome hurries in, out of breath and soaked, after a somewhat scrambled introduction, Thracius finds himself ignored in favour of the females of the group. He joins Sythka in a companionable silence as he watches the patrons interact.
|
|
The historian eyes you and grins Ah yes, well Ustalav, that's an entirely different kettle of fish altogether isn't it"
As the barkeep brings your ale he takes a sloppy and excited swig of it before continuing, They may possess a small slice of Lake Encarthan, but the Ustalav has never been a naval power, no I imagine that may have been possible in other cultures but with their clannish varisian bickering they spent oh, I'd say a little under 400 years warring over territory internally. Oh sure that's still going on there today, but it was much much worse back then, more players vying for the throne and much more chaos. Near miracle they were never invaded by outsiders! Well, I suppose an inside invader is just as good, tragic business that Whispering Tyrant, wiped out an age of progress and prosperity, not to mention the works of art forever lost to the orcish hordes, including that of a young masterful painter who had his works survived I am near certain would be regarded as high classics. - - Oh listen to me blathering on, Zora was it? I suppose I should actually introduce myself properly, I basically hang around in this tavern looking to pick up side-work from the Pathfinders who frequent it. Many of them lack the historical background that a man of my distinction does, despite the Society's pledge to perform volunteer archaeology you have more than a few who behave like the Boartusk twins back there he says pointing to the pair of half-orc women who are singing some sort of anthem in their native tongue. If you have need of my services in your career, I would be more than happy to assist you my dear.
|
|
His interest piqued by the obviously knowledgeable Historian, Thracius moves over to the pair locked in discussion, hovering around and seeing if he might pick up an interesting morsel of information from a land outside his home of Kyonin.
Hearing Xavilon's rather direct approach to the situation he cringes visibly, wondering if this would start trouble best avoided.
|
|
A little surprised by Zora's forthrightness, Scalawag pretends to be shocked. "My, aren't you a direct one. It's not as fun to skip directly to the end, my dear. It's always good to Explore and Cooperate, if you take my meaning."
Suspecting he will have little luck with the cleric, Scalawag heads over to the halfling bard. "I'll buy you a round for a tale of love an intrigue, friend. A bard such as you surely knows of such things."
|
|
The historian eyes you and grins. "Ah yes, well Ustalav, that's an entirely different kettle of fish altogether isn't it..."
Zora continues to listen, the picture of attentiveness no matter how Gill rambles. When Thracius comes near and hovers uncertainly, she gestures to the seat next to her, if he desires to sit.
"My colleague, Thracius, son of Kithaniel, a student of the arcane. Thracius, this is Master Yargos Gill, an historian. He has been telling me of the history of Ustalav, my homeland," Zora relates matter-of-factly.
"This has been highly informative, Master Gill. I thank you for your offer and I will keep your education in mind should I have need of an expert in the historical aspect of any assignment that I am given. In turn, if you should come across something of interest--" Zora hunts in her satchel for something, does not appear to find it, and looks apologetic. "Might I borrow a quill--? Thank you--"
She scribbles an address on a scrap of Yargos's parchment. "My address, in Eastgate. If you wish to relay something discreetly to the Society."
"Do you have insights into the history of this tavern? Our venture captain intimated that it was of long significance to the Society..."
|
|
Thracius spies Zora's gesture and, after a moments hesitation and inner social toil, he takes the proffered eat with a grateful smile in Zora's direction. He shrugs off his damp robe and hangs it from the back of his chair, the torchlight reflecting off his lithe physique.
With a respectful nod toward Yargos after his introduction he begins softly,
"My utmost pleasure at making your acquaintance Master Gill, like many of my kinsman, I To share an avid interest in history, though my own knowledge is slightly, limited when it comes to areas outside of Kyonin, my home."
|
|
The old historian briefly acknowledges Thracius' presence before the opportunity to teach more about history s presented and Thracius's presence fades from view for the old man
The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another. In fact, many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, this bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishmen. I remember one incident of particular repute in which Selmius Foster, who was was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. I will have you know his celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles. Following the death of Selmius Foster on the island of Bhopan, his assistant Adolphus made several donations to maintain one of his mentor sites. The exact arrangement between Adolphus and the owners of the Wisp was never disclosed, but it is said that some of this gold came from the same fortune that Adolphus used to found the Pathfinder lodge in Quantium.
---
The bared turns to you "Always nice to see a friendly face! My name is Janira and I am a newly confirmed Pathfinder! I like to hang out here just to get a feel for the goings on of the society from outside the Grand Lodge. Is thatwhat youre here for too?"
|
|
Professor Faust looks quizzically at Zora. "Whatever do you mean?" he asks her curiously. "Does your deity take a special interest in alchemical professors?"
In a fit of coughing, Professor Faust takes a seat at one of the table and orders a drink. After his drink arrives, he pours a gray powder into his glass, drinks it, and his coughing and hand tremors seem to subside.
"Now...about that package..."
|
|
Zora continues her very-attentive listening to the history of the tavern, and the famous Pathfinders that have taken their ease here. "That is fascinating," she says, with all signs of meaning what she says. "Personages of note have likely sat where we now sit. Imagine, Thracius: Eando Kline's posterior may have once touched this bench where yours now does at this latter point in time. I trust you appreciate the gravity of the situation."
"I admit, I have not read as many of the Chronicles as I might wish. What was the nature of Selmius's Foster's extraordinary deeds, that they merited inclusion in the first volume, Master Gill?"