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A bouncy young gnome bounces into the room, bedecked with dozens of flasks of unknown substances attached to the various straps of her dilettante's outfit. "Pleased to meet you all! I am Eponine, but many just call me Epi, not to be confused with the medical substance of the same name, or Nine, not to be confused with the number."
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A very tall, spindly pale young man appears, his impish smile taking away any cold that might radiate from his icy blue eyes on another occasion. A small jar of blue liquid sits on his belt in a holster that might carry a weapon on someone more armored.
"Hel-lo," he says slowly in the languid drawl of the eastern Linnorm kingdoms, "I am Sindre. Nice to meet you, Eponine." His "l's" are long and glottal and his "s's" have the whisper of snow slush to them.
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The Keleshite finishes reading his current passage, carefully closes the book and places it delicately back on the shelf. Only then does he turn to greet the new arrivals. Bowing deeply, he intones, "The Dawnflower's blessing, Eponine and Sindre. I am Trade Prince Muzhaa'f al'Salaah of the Burning Desert. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. 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 play 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 venture captain 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.”
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As a Pathfinder (the most suspicious people on all Golarion), a host of questions run through Muzhaa'f head--Why is this package not delivered at Skyreach? What is in this package? What isn't Dreng telling us? Is anyone else looking for this package?--but he chooses to only ask one: "How large is this package?"
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As soon as she hears about a mysterious package, the gnome's eyes gleam with maniacal excitement, "Can we open it? Shake it? Play with it? Most important, does it explode when whacked with a stick?" she asks all in one breath.
Eponine stares hopefully at the venture captain for a moment before she turns her attention to more reasonable questions, "Umm, right. We have a little time for a history lesson I think? It never hurts to know what you are doing."
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Mylitta is largely impressed with the depth of the Venture-Captain's disguise, being well acquainted in pulling them off for better or worse. Although interested in the value of the package and wanting more information, Mylitta decides to keep her mouth shut, deciding that if the Venture-Captain wanted them to delve deeper into his minor quest, he would have been much more detailed.
"Ye-es. What is the parcel?" And why do six Pathfinders need to pick it up? Sindre keeps the second question to himself.
“Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine.” The Venture-Captain smiles as if this is all perfectly normal.
With Sindre asking the first question on his mind, Alarin asks the second. "Is Heryn Gale a Pathfinder herself?"
"A retiree and an old friend."
"Can we open it? Shake it? Play with it? Most important, does it explode when whacked with a stick?" she asks all in one breath.
"I'd prefer that you not break up my package!" He says, worried that his wine will be destroyed before ever he has the chance to taste it.
Eponine stares hopefully at the venture captain for a moment before she turns her attention to more reasonable questions, "Umm, right. We have a little time for a history lesson I think? It never hurts to know what you are doing."
“For starters, it’s one of the most important establishments in the history of the Society. From those old walls, the first Pathfinders met to discuss their adventures across Golarion. Back then they weren’t even called Pathfinders! Nowadays the bar is almost an official Pathfinder saloon, where agents of all varieties go to meet and share tales.”
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Hironaki's eyes get a far away look as he thinks for a moment. "Ah, yes. 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." He says, his voice growing with awe and excitement.
"Many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders 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, the 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 establishment."
Shaking his head in disbelief, he conitnues. "Selmius Foster 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. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles!"
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The history lesion was both helpful and interesting, Mylitta thought to herself, but didn't really shed light on why such a simple task required so many Pathfinders in order to do it successfully. Deciding that the mystery would be better served going to the Wisp, Mylitta heads in that direction, having seen the map that the Venture-Captain had flashed at the party.
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Alarin's family was a noble one, blessed with the blood of djinns. Four years in the Academy at Omash had taught him the ways of war and the secrets of the arcane. He had arrived in Absalom ready to seek adventure, uncover mysteries of the world, set examples of nobility.
And was fairly certain Selmius Foster achieved none of those delving the Wounded Wisp for booze.
Why does he send a half-dozen Pathfinders for one bottle of wine? Something does not add up here.
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Eponine trudges off through the streets. Once the group is long out of hearing range of Venture-Captain Dreng, Eponine asks her companions, "Do you suppose they will just hand over the package? Do you think it is really wine? There seems to be quite a few of us for just a single bottle of wine. If the Wounded Wisp loved him as much as he thinks, wouldn't they just deliver a bottle? I mean, it is just a short carriage ride across town. Surely, it would be cheaper to have the bottle delivered by the Wounded Wisp than to hire a half-dozen Pathfinders to carry the bottle across Absalom?"
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"My experience with the Society is limited, but things are rarely what they seem. Sometimes our missions are just a...gambit...for something larger. And ye-es, the wine may be secondary," says Sindre. Despite his odd Ulfen accent and prior terseness, he seems to have some talent for eloquence and charm after all.
"My guess is there is a bit of the usual mix; find something, save something, kill something. Although it will be nice to have a drink as well," he says, beaming.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables 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-glass 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.
As you arrive, a handful of different groups are already relaxing around the bar, enjoying drink and food offered by the Wisp’s staff.
Heryn Gale works the bar of the Wounded Wisp, catering directly to those sitting on stools while simultaneously preparing drinks for those at tables and coordinating the wait staff. The current talk of the bar is that Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone, the legendary trial by which one might ascend to godhood.
Some of you may recognize the halfling Janira Gavix from your Confirmation; she is currently sitting at a table entertaining new recruits.
A Keleshite man who is clearly a devotee of Sarenrae sits at another table enjoying his meal.
Two half-orcs, a male and female, sit at another table trading crude jokes.
Some of you may recognize the military historian Yargos Gill
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Although interested in conversing with his fellow follower of Sarenrae, Muzhaa'f is dedicated to settling the mission first. Striding up to the bar with an air of importance, he catches the attention of Heryn Gale. "Greetings, barkeep. We have arrived to retrieve a package for a certain Drandle Dreng? I understand you are busy, we may wait a moment."
After Heryn acknowledges this, Muzhaa'f then moves over to greet the Keleshite. "The blessings of the Dawnflower upon you, fair brother. I am pleased to encounter another who knows Sarenrae's light. May I join you?"
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Though he has met Janira before, Alarin finds himself heading in the direction of Yargos with Sindre. Military history, while taught within the walls of the Academy, were limited mostly to Qadiran campaigns.
"Sir." He resists the urge to salute, not knowing exactly how to address the historian. "Alarin Tempestborn. I trained in Omash and I too would be interested in your area of knowledge."
The bartender smiles at Muzhaa'f. "Certainly! I can escort you to the cellar to retrieve Drandle Dreng’s parcel, but if you don't mind I'll need you to wait for my replacement to arrive so that I can step away from the bar. I can offer you free drinks in the meantime while you mingle with the other patrons."
Muzhaa'f then goes to speak with the Sarenite, who introduces himself as Aram bin Kaleel. "Certainly! Please sit. You are with the Society, yes? How well have they prepared and trained you? Do you have fire or acid or another way to beat back loads of tiny creatures ? Or some way to deal with traps?" He begins to quiz Muzhaa'f on his preparedness.
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Janira is delighted to see Eponine again. "How are you? I hope things have gone well since your Confirmation! What are you up to today?"
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Sindre and Alarin move over to speak with Yargos Gill, who seems surprised to have visitors. "Hello! Yes, my studies have been going very well. I've recently been researching the Battle of Numbered Tears that took place in. . . ." He begins to lecture you on every esoteric detail on this minor and inconsequential battle.
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Mylitta sits down with the half-orcs and discovers that they are twins named Garl and Shrade. "Haha! Oh yeah, then there was that lass we rescued from a cave somewhere in Varisia. F#~@ing necromancer holding her hostage, trying to turn her into a zombie but she was still f!!~ing alive! Well, there's nothing an axe can't fix as we always say!"
"We've been with the Society for 3 years now, but only been on a handful of missions. I guess we don't have the finesse the higher-ups are always looking for, hahaha!"
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Too late, Sindre realizes the trap, and feels the tendrils of boredom wrap around his mind! He struggles to keep his eyelids open and his smile affixed.
"Ser Gill, that is quite fascinating. I was wondering, do you know anything of the history of the Wounded Wisp itself? I've heard Selmius Foster used to room here," he says, in an attempt to change the subject and learn about the hidden room...well, at least the hidden room he imagines is in the tavern's guesthouse somewhere.
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"Of course," the Trade Prince says to the bartender with a polite smile. "We await your leisure. Thank you for the offer of drinks. I will take a hot Qadiran coffee when you have a spare moment. Very hot, if you please."
When the fellow-Keleshite introduces himself, Muzhaa'f bows deeply in return. "Thank you, and well met Aram bin Keel. If I may be so good as to introduce myself as Trade Prince Muzhaa'f al'Salaah of the Burning Desert." Taking the proffered seat, he continues. "I am indeed with the Society, yes. Training was three long years, and I consider myself well prepared. Fire is my foremost weapon, as with our beloved goddess--" he holds up the Dawnflower tattoo etched into the palm of his right hand "--and for traps and the like, well, that requires creative thinking. But I do have a few tools in my bag. I must say, though, that I am more interested in the academic nature of our work; I keep a meticulous journal of my expeditions and take our job as archaeologists quite seriously--I have almost as many tools in my bag for that than I do to ward against potential hazards." After a pause to allow further questioning, Muzhaa'f asks, "Are you of the Society yourself? Have you traveled much?"
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"Well,not long after we parted, I got to travel north to Issiren. Terribly cold place, but the denizens proved nice enough. I would have expected a little less warmth from the native of such a cold area. Strange the dichotomy. Anyhow, after that, I returned here, to this very place and find myself before you again. I am curious about this bar, if you have time?"
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For Alarin, a minor and inconsequential battle is like a breath of fresh air compared to the stale and meaningless task assigned to them by Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng.
"What sort of tactics were employed? Did they make good use of magic? Might the battle have gone differently dependent on the political landscape of the era?"
He asks many questions, displaying much patience with Yargos Gill's history lesson.
Too late, Sindre realizes the trap, and feels the tendrils of boredom wrap around his mind! He struggles to keep his eyelids open and his smile affixed.
"Ser Gill, that is quite fascinating. I was wondering, do you know anything of the history of the Wounded Wisp itself? I've heard Selmius Foster used to room here," he says, in an attempt to change the subject and learn about the hidden room...well, at least the hidden room he imagines is in the tavern's guesthouse somewhere.
Yargos thinks for a moment but eventually shakes his head. "My interests lie more in military conquest. And although I am a friend of the Society's, I have never actually joined in an official capacity."
"Are you of the Society yourself? Have you traveled much?"
Aram nods. "Indeed I am, although much of my time is spent in my shop in the Coins district Kaleel’s Curiosities. I come here every few weeks to check up on my fellow Pathfinders and friends. A Pathfinder should stand on his own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed and that requires having some friends around. I am glad to hear that you are well prepared."
"I am curious about this bar, if you have time?"
"Well perhaps you know about Selmius? Selmius Foster 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. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles. I'm afraid I don't have much time to go into all the details, but it is quite the interesting place!""What sort of tactics were employed? Did they make good use of magic? Might the battle have gone differently dependent on the political landscape of the era?"
Yargos is a friendly man and is overjoyed to have someone so willing to discuss what can sometimes be a droll subject with him.
"Really now?", Mylitta asks, looking very interested in the conversation, an amused smile upon her face. "Are you quite sure an axe will always to the job, I could think of a few situations where it wouldn't be very useful at all"
The half-orcs chuckle and respond, "Well, maybe not all the time, but you get the idea. I guess that's why we haven't been on many missions!" Garl lets out a lout belch without covering his mouth.
"Perhaps I will stop in to visit your shop," says Muzhaa'f, nodding. "Curiosity gets the better of me, however--would you happen to know of Selmius Foster's visits here? He's a favorite of mine among the Chronicles."
He shakes his head. "Not much except that there is some ambiguity about his purchase or acquisition of the place. Most likely used the same gold he did to set up the Society, in my opinion.
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The bartender Heryn Gale’s replacement finally arrives and takes over her duties. Heryn then gathers you and escorts you to the cellars below, where she leads you to where Drandle Dreng’s requested vintage is stored. She takes great care in warning you about the treacherous footing in the cellar, noting that she plans on having the wooden board replaced . [b]"Let's just take it one at a time and move slowly so no one gets hurt," she warns.
Beyond is the chamber is where the Wounded Wisp keeps its supply of specialty wines and ales for important occasions. The particular bottle you seek (a vintage from a year preceding the creation of the Society) sits alone on its own shelf. Heryn Gale points it out to you.
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Seeing Sindre pause, Muzhaa'f gently shakes his head. He knows a few reasons to pause himself--clearly this isn't a sipping vintage, Dreng is up to something, and Gale could easily have retrieved this by herself--but that's no matter. "Bah! Courage, friend. I'll get it. Here, hold this."
The cleric steps gingerly over to the bottle, keeping a light foot and a watchful eye, picking it up gently and returning with it in hand.
Eventually one of you moves forward and tries to pick up the bottle. However, your tug is met only with resistance at first until the bottle, rather than lifting from the rack, instead shifts up like a lever. The wine rack suddenly slides back into a short stone tunnel that leads deeper in to some forgotten room. . . .