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A gnarled beggar passes you in the street, begging for coppers. His grimy fist clutches a crinkled piece of paper, which he deftly slips into your palm before disappearing back into the throng of longshoreman, merchants, stevedores, and other pedestrians.
Join me for a few pints of the devilf ish-head grog at the Saucy Wench. Sundown. Come ready to travel.
-Osprey
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Vivienne searched the crowd for the man to no avail, her bi-colored eyes narrowed. Alphonse, the tiger she was strapped to, watched the people with a childish curiosity. There were too many people for Vinny to find the man again, but she and her companion moved along anyway.
The Saucy Wench, huh? she thought as Alphonse trotted through the crowd, I should consult Amenopheus first... Though, I might not have an answer in time.
The green-haired gnome contemplated this, mentally trying to remember where the tavern he had named.
[Knowledge Local(+5) = 14 + 5 + 19]
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Vinny sighed, looking down at her companion as she stuffed the note in a pocket. She could bite back the need to know gnawing at the back of her mind, that need for a new adventure. To her, it made perfect sense to at least see what he wanted to do, it's not like she would be on a mission for a while anyways. "What do you think, Al? Should we go?"
The large, armored tiger tipped his head at this as if in response. The little gnome chuckled and adjusted one of the straps that held her legs in place, "I'll send a letter to Amenopheus to let him know I'll be out of commission for a while, I'm sure he'll understand considering the circumstances."
Alphonse let out a soft and playful growl, bouncing forward. He seemed to feed off the anticipation and excitement that Vivienne concealed, expressing what she wouldn't or couldn't. Vivienne continued talking herself into it, justifying it to the one of the few beings she considered a friend, "Besides, it could benefit the faction in some way we just haven't figured out yet, right?"
Honored Subject of the Ruby Prince,
Thousands of years ago, the exiled Pharaoh Amihur was rumored to have settled in the Mwangi Expanse near where these rumored Drowning Stones are said to be. Amihur was an outcast, cursed even by our priests, for dabbling in demonic magics that pervert the holy nature of death. Amihur made hundreds of wooden boxes, in the shape of a scarab, and infused them with dark magics that extended his life well beyond its natural conclusion. We are eager to find one of these boxes. It is said that they are impossible to open without speaking a certain phrase. If you find the box, say, “I curse death and welcome life everlasting” when attempting to open it. Bring me a box if you find one— opened preferably.
Eternally Grateful,
Amenopheus, The Sapphire Sage
The Saucy Wench is one of the few permanent structures in the Grand Bazaar in the Coins District of Absalom. It is a four-story mead hall of ill repute and one of Osprey’s favorite places to disseminate secretive orders from the Society to its member Pathfinders.
Osprey sits in the far corner on the first floor, his stubble-covered chin the only visible feature jutting from the shadowed cowl of his worn leather cloak. With a subtle nod, he gestures to each of you as you enter, then signals a scrawny porter-boy. The lad scurries quickly to the table with a gallon cask and a set of wooden pint mugs. He bids you all to sit and be served. After exchanging gruff pleasantries, he speaks.
“One of my field operatives, Eiastor Wyrn, has been traveling undercover with a small team of Aspis Consortium explorers. Recently, they found the fabled Drowning Stones and recovered from them a significant stash of a rare and deeply disturbing set of demon-linked stones. That was two weeks ago, and I’m starting to grow concerned. I was preparing a larger group of Pathfinders to track down the Consortium team and commandeer their stash, but this sudden change of circumstance prompts me to send someone immediately.” Osprey leans in close. “If what we know about these stones is true, they cannot fall into the hands of the Aspis—do you understand? The stones the Aspis found beneath the Drowning Stones are linked to one of the demon lords and infused with that lord’s essence—nasty business and a source of power the Aspis must not have. You’ll be going to the Mwangi Expanse to see if you can fix the situation.”
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A Gnome dressed in violet and yellow robes that appear to crackle with electricity when moves speaks up. "I do not know much about geography but isn't the Mwangi Expanse far away? How will we get there in time?" He notices a young female gnome in the group and waggles his long bushy black eyebrows at her while his right hand twists one end of his long pointy mustache. "Please tell me you will be joining us on this mission."
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The gnome's cheeks flushed a vibrant shade of crimson at the sudden attention, she was used to being ignored and simply listening. Vinny's brain had already begun racing with the directions as she mentally calculated everything and then racked the recluses of her memory for anything that might help them with the demon problem...she hadn't expected such a blatancy from a man she had never met before. Demon lord, this could be worse than those elementals at Bonekeep if we don't do something...
Her ears twitched and flattened slightly and her cat's mimicked them instantly, but she ignored his comment and looked to the man calling himself Osprey, "The Mwangi expanse can't be too far from here, if my memory serves me right...and we should not be allowing stones like that into hands that cannot be trusted, right Al?"
The tiger let out a low growl and the fur along his shoulders bristled up slightly, the gnome nodded and looked to the man, "Alphonse and I are in."
She seemed to relax at the notation, though she glanced nervously at Rando, and Alphonse followed suit. He pawed at the ground as if anxious, though kept his claws sheathed. "So, when do we leave?"
Osprey responds, "The Mwangi Expanse is quite a journey; I will be sending you there immediately. You will meet with a man named Dirch who can tell you more about Eiastor, as Dirch was working directly with him."
Osprey removes a plain-looking scroll from his pocket, unfolds it haphazardly, and mutters an incantation. A bright blue light surrounds you and instantly transports you deep into the Mwangi Expanse. . .
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A haze of crackling pops and blurring smears of light fades into dim shadow, and an assault of hot, sticky air that reeks of mildew and soil. Canopied beneath an oversized tent, hammering sheets of rain slam against the thick canvas like the flapping wings of a huge, primordial beast. Drops plink into buckets scattered about the floor, while additional canvases lie draped over shipping crates and other supplies. Despite all effort, the rains soak through the tent, turning the dirt floor to a muddy soup crawling with roaches. A young man perches on a nearby crate, cloaked in a thick oil-canvas to keep dry. Cracking a wide smile, he raises his voice to speak, but his words are barely audible against the din.
"Well hello!" the man shouts over the rain. "I'm Dirch! I was told they'd be sending some reinforcements to look into the matter. I've been stationed here with four other Pathfinders running a small waystation, as you can see, keeping an ever-vigilant watch over this small but dangerous tract of jungle bordering against the sacred lands of the local savages, the Rumawa tribe. Now Eiastor Wyrn was one of them that we was supplying with food and aid and he was relaying information to us via spells. I don't know where the Aspis team are precisely but there's not any word that they've passed back through the Rumawa's territory. I'm guessing from Wyrn's last message though that they've made their camp just upstream of the tribe's territory."
"Now before you go tramping off I can give you a place to rest and fit you out with basic supplies as well as some flat-bottom push-rafts for the journey along the river. I'd advise checking out the Aspis camp upriver; if you follow the river, you'll get there. I don't have good enough maps to get you there through the jungle and walking through there is like being swallowed by a kraken-avoid it if you can."
Dirch can give you a general description of Eiastor so that you can spot him if you come across him.
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Vivienne and Alphonse both look uncomfortable in the relentless downpour and their spirit's seemed to drop even more at the mention of a river. Both the gnome and tiger had a distaste for large bodies of water and boats. The green haired woman squinted in the dim lighting, shouting to be heard, "Can you give us a brief description so we can recognize Eiastor and the team if and when we cross paths?"
Any information they had now would surely help them out later, especially when it came to those they needed to recognize. A rather unsettling thought crossed her mind, What if the stones are the items Amenopheus wants me to collect? Good Mother help me if I have to try and steal one.. Both she and the tiger shifted their weight, almost in unison, as they watched the young man carefully for answers.
"Eiastor is a young Chelish swordsman, a spy slipped in among the Aspis camp." Dirch gives you a good description of Eiastor that would allow you to recognize him.
"Yes, this rain should pass soon, as it does down here. I can offer you some shelter from the storm and any food you should require, as well as any basic adventuring supplies."
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Ceric will borrow some of the basic gear..just in case he would end up needing it.
"Everyone ready to go? I must admit..most of my knowledge of being out in the wild comes from reading about it in books..so I hope at least one of you has some more..let's say; hands-on experience at this sort of thing"
The forest beyond quickly darkens into an endless void of shadowy leafy claws. Impossibly tall trees stretch up into the sky, as if strangling the sun into fragments of amber that slip between their angry branches. The ground below is barely visible beneath a carpet of thick green shrubs and mosses. The lush vegetation grows right up to the water, obscuring the stream banks. The waters run slow, dark and murky with rich black sediments from the recent rains.
As you travel by raft up the river, you realize that jungle travel is even harder than you've been led to believe. You can make it no farther than an average of 8 miles per day rafting and each day you are caught in a downpour that lasts dice]10 + 4d20[/dice] minutes around midday.
Towards the end of your first day of travel, you begin to hear loud drumming rising from the forest around you.
The party steers the boat to the side where Gregor promptly takes down a duikar (a type of jungle antelope) and empties it into the river. Around the bend a group of seven tribesmen emerge from their hiding spots in the undergrowth of the jungle. One of them calls out, "Wasiomjua! Sadaka yako imekuwa kukubalika. Kuingia eneo la Rumawa, ingawa ni si mara ya kwanza. Mnatafuta nini?"
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Gregor does not recognize the language. After confirming that no one else does either he recalls that he may have a scroll to help matters. Removing it from his pack he discreetly reads it and cups his hand to his ear to beckon the tribesman to repeat himself.
"Our sacrifice had been accepted and we may continue into their land. We've been asked what it is we seek; but I'm afraid I'm only temporarily able to understand this language; I can not speak it. I'm not sure how to get them to understand our answer."
The raft continues to drift closer as the man repeats himself for Gregor's benefit. After some miming that you are looking for sacred stones, the Rumawa leader nods in understanding. He answers in Polyglot, "Another band of foreign explorers passed through our territory several weeks ago. This band of explorers attacked the first Rumawa they saw and killed four of our tribe. Then they continued upriver toward The Forbidden Place. Demons haunt the stones and whisper strange things—things that caused our ancestors to perform bestial acts of violence and suicide. The Rumawa no longer go anywhere near there and we urge you, strongly, not to go near it either."
When it seems clear that you are determined to continue on despite the Rumawa shaman's warnings, he nods in understanding and offers you two monkey tooth bracelets (function as rings of climbing), 12 small wooden jars of foul-tasting paste which functions as potions of endure elements, and three gourds full of white liquid which function as potions of cure moderate wounds. The Rumawa wish you the best of luck and perform several quick hand gestures that you can surmise are ceremonial rituals meant to ward off evil.
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Later that day as the sun beings to set (after about eight miles up river), you spot a bloated corpse floating face down in the shallows. Fish have gnawed away much of the exposed flesh including the face, hands, throat, and chest. A bronze badge on his person identifies him as a low-ranking member of the Aspis Consortium.
From the raft, the PCs spot a freshly hacked passage into the underbrush. A few hundred paces from the stream bank, the trail opens into makeshift clearing.
In a small clearing, the remnants of a campsite lie splayed open by some dark violence. Collapsed canvas tents, torn to shreds, hang about like dirty streamers. The ground is trampled into mud and decorated with the scattered coals of a fire-pit, only faintly smoldering after the torrent of afternoon rain. Viciously strewn about the site lie gory husks of bone, blood, and hair, all caked with mud and bearing vicious bites of jungle scavengers. As you enter the clearing you hear distinctive grunting noises and see three large boars rooting around the remains of the camp.
Rando armors himself and Ceric speeds the party up.