You are awaiting your briefing with your fellow agents.
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"How is it played?" Responds a tall, athletically-built, enigmatic figure in fine Tian garb and an ornate metal-and-cloth mask that reveals only the wearer's eyes, which are like cold, incandescent almonds. A large sword rests in its lap almost like a beloved pet, and a small hexagonal spellbook and a pair of wands rest at its side.
It is a hot, breezeless evening in Katapesh. Here, in a meeting room atop Farseer Tower, the curtains hang listlessly even with the windows thrown open. Unfortunately, the only thing hotter than the air is Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul’s ire.
“Why must I share Katapesh with so-called equals who are incompetent?” She huffs between gritted teeth, pacing back and forth before calming herself. “My pardon. Let me explain. Some months ago, the crypt of Zahari Mahiman—a scholar and sage from the Age of Enthronement—was rediscovered out in the wastes. I, personally, have long sought one artifact reputedly interred with him: the Monadistic Archive, a collection of scrolls from the Jistkan Imperium. Unfortunately,” she grits her teeth, “It fell under the purview of the Kotargo Lodge to arrange an expedition. Venture-Captain Dulm took his time getting things underway, in spite of my own requests for urgency and offers of assistance. As a result, by the time his agents got there, the place had already been looted.
“Phlegos Dulm’s complacency aside, not all is bleak. The adventurers who looted the crypt were not scholars; they were simply looking to exploit the wonders of the past. The Monadistic Archive, in particular, was sold to Palhuna Murqual, a merchant here in Katapesh. I believe he bought the archive assuming it was merely a magical storage device, not an esoteric repository of lore indecipherable by him. He has shown interest in selling—at a profit, of course—and I need you to make the purchase. I have an Abadaran promissory note that should cover the price, but he is crafty and may bargain for more. I want the archive, whatever it costs. I can’t pay more gold than I already have offered, but if you can find other means of appeasing Murqual, I encourage you to do so.”
The Monadistic Archive is an obscure artifact, but you may have heard of it.
Palhuna Murqual has a reputation that you might be aware of.
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"Let me demonstrate. Where's Jaren?"
Jaren walks in just before the Venture Captain starts talking, and leans his Longspear against the door frame. He's a powerfully built man, with short black hair and matching scruffy stubble. He gives the room a quick glance before taking up a spot in the rear, quietly assessing his team members. After venture captain is finished, he shakes his head.
This is my first time in Katapesh. I've heard of neither. I'm Jaren, by the way. Pleasure to work with you all. I believe one of you has already heard of me, I heard my name right before our Venture Captain began talking.
He looks back at her, and speaks again.
By "other means" I assume you mean completion of tasks that Pathfinders are uniquely suited to, and not theft, correct?
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Off in the corner next to one of the windows a slim Half Orc nods in attention. His eyes shine oddly bright despite their dull color. His clothes are tattered and light, barely covering anything but the most polite areas. Even still, his ashen skin glistenes with sweat.
Rogzul listenes as the Venture captain prattles on about people and places as foreign to his ears as everything else here in Katapesh. From what he could gather this sounded like a simple mission. He eyed the other members of the meeting nervously. It had been too hot to bare his armor and he'd fought with himself about wearing it.
When the human mentions theft he laughs.
No theft! Theft is the cowards way. We will show them that our right to this Archive is greater through strength of will.
He clenched a fist as he finishes and the hawk perched in the window screeches in agreement.
Rogzul smiles a frightening toothy grin at the rest of the company.
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A sound of footsteps grows louder outside the door before a samurai of Tien heritage strides into the room, directly up to the Venture Captain, and kneels before her. "Wyconda Sunaki. Apologies for my tardiness. There was confusion as to which agent to send to aid you. I have already been briefed of the mission."
Rising from his posture, he turns to face the group. What first appeared to be the darker skin tone of those from Tian Xia now is obviously something beyond human. The gold eyes with slitted pupils regards each of you above a flatter almost snake-like nose. "Wyconda. It will be my pleasure to accompany you."
"Never heard of it. Whatsit do?"
"The Monadistic Archive is a chest containing numerous magical scrolls. I believe they are currently inactive, but I know a ritual to access their secrets. In fact, I might need your assistance with that late. Until then, it's best not to open it."
By "other means" I assume you mean completion of tasks that Pathfinders are uniquely suited to, and not theft, correct?
"Murqual is the sort who can see the value in a team of Pathfinders. That's one reason I am sending you. After Dulm's gaff, I also recognize that I am too incensed to deal with Murqual in person."
"Do you have any further questions?" the Venture-Captain asks. "If not, I think you can be on your way to find Murqual. His shop should be easy enough to find."
Finding Murqual's shop is easy enough. A few discreet inquires lead through the Lower City to a wooden door crowned by a plaque that reads Palhuna Murqual, Vendor of Fetters, Bindings, and Cages Mundane and Mystic. His establishment defies the stereotype for a shop in the infamous Nightstalls. It boasts a permanent location, instead of one that could be broken down and moved with ease. It is quite lavishly appointed, rather than being a shadowy, smoky hovel, and the air smells of vanilla and cardamon rather than incense. Inside, deep carpeting covers the floor. Chains and shackles, ranging in size from mist-thin links to cuffs that would hold a titan, hang along one wall. Another wall holds an array of mirrors-some reflecting the room and some showing the insides of a bare cell. Lanterns and cages hang from ceiling rafters, and glass cases hold etched gemstones and glass bottles. A central space is cleared of wares, instead sporting several plush seats arranged around a silver samovar.
An obese man swaddled in silks occupies a sofa before the samovar. Standing to his left is a slim, younger man holding a ledger. The fat man makes a series of complicated hand gestures to the standing man, who, after a moment, bows to you and speaks. "My esteemed master, Palhuna Murqual, bids you welcome. Please, be seated. Business should be conducted comfortably."
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Rogzul enters the shop happily. Having donned his armor on the way to the shop, and instantly regretting the feel of scale mail in the heat, being inside seemed an improvement.
Initially fascinated by the various shine of the gems in their cases, he couldn't help but to narrow his eyes at the fat man's strange gestures.
At the thin man's behest Rogzul cautiously takes a seat.
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Wyconda is quite confused by the motion and that the scrawny man speaks for his employer.
Arrogance to not use their own voice, perhaps...
Nevertheless, he bows to his hosts and lowers himself into a seated position on one of the cushions.
He waits in silence for someone better at the niceties of conversation to take the lead.
As cups of mint tea are passed around, he nods appreciatively at the sum on the note. With gestures translated by the servant, Muqual tells you that he has already received an offer fro the item well exceeding Wulessa's bid.
"While I respect the Pathfinder Society," the servant interprets, "to sell to you would seem favoritism. And I'm not inclined to favor one customer over another-without there being an equal favor in return...."
Both interpreter and interpreted give a strange look to Wyconda but respond genially nonetheless. "Done! Your Venture-Captain's note for ten-thousand gold, plus services rendered by yourselves. This sounds fair."
"To begin, I want three favors by the end of the night. This does not seem unreasonable, I think. In return you shall receive the Monadistic Archive. Here are the three tasks: I have some sensitive merchandise being delivered by problematic dealers. Another recent acquisition has some unpleasant protective magic that I need dealt with. Finally, you can be my agents to make a purchase from another acquaintance."
The man on the couch glares at Rogzul and makes a few quick gestures. "Perhaps," the interpreter says, "I was wrong to give you such a fair deal. After all, my profits would be much higher with a different buyer."
"Good! First, the merchandise delivery: I have some special goods being shipped in from the savanna tonight. I am short on staff to take the delivery, and I don't care to be seen meeting with the deliverers. They're gnolls. It's a social status issue; I'm sure you understand. I've had dealings with the tribe before. They tend to forget the agreed upon price. You'll be carrying some additional funds-I regard it as a standard tax when dealing with them-but beyond that, I expect you to convince them that they're not getting any extra."
There is a pause while the fat man thinks and the interpreter waits for his hand signs. "Now, this magical item with protection on it is a mask, supposedly used to bind souls. Unfortunately, it already has something bound to it. Examination indicates that something is a guardian. I would have you dispose of the guardian. Somewhere away from the shop, of course. Maybe no on the streets, either-we don't want any passerby witnesses or victims. There's a flat-roofed warehouse nearby. It should suffice. Given the origin of the mask and the fact that it has the stink of Abaddon about it, I believe the guardian is a div. They are difficult to hurt unless you have a holy weapon or one of cold iron, as I am sure you are aware. I have some in my shop available for purchase if you need."
"And finally," they say together in practiced movements and quick interpretation, "the purchase. An acquaintance of mine owns a mirror I would like. She isn't willing to deal in gold for it, and her desired coin is not one I am quite willing to pay. Madame Jelaris is an alchemist trying to develop an equivalent of the sun orchid elixir. I don't know if that is possible, but she has a means to alchemically extract vitality. Essentially, she can make one older. She claims the 'years' of life extracted are invaluable in her research. And she requires twenty years from me before relinquishing the mirror."
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Wyconda nods at the first task, wondering if he and Rogzul would be able to suade the bugbears. Typically, speaking softly is of little use to them. Harsher words may be required, if not harsher action. But we shall let them decide.
He also shrugs at the second task. A defeat of a guardian of an evil deity should be no sad time. I must grab a suitable weapon for it.
The third one causes his brow to furrow. Assumedly, he wants to spend his group's years for this. This Wyconda cannot allow. He does the math and figured it would put him to middle-age. But a worthwhile sacrifice.
"Well," the fat man and interpreter speak together as usual, "if you have no further questions about your tasks, you may take them in any order you wish as long as they are all completed by the end of the night. Thank you! It is always a pleasure to do business with Pathfinders."
Murqual reaches to the side and pulls a box from beneath his seat. From within he produces a crimson-and-white lacquer mask and a scroll containing its command word; chalifan. He reminds you to take it somewhere secluded before dealing with it, even giving you directions to the abandoned warehouse he mentioned earlier.
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Jaren frowns at the hastiness of it all.
This seems a bit too simple. Are there any other dangers we need to know about? Not that I think you're hiding anything, I just want to make sure we are asking the right questions, lest something be forgotten.
He stands, and takes the box.
It's mainly the life-siphoning I'm concerned with. Does she want this to come from us? Or is there something else at hand? And is the loss permanent? I can't think of anyone who would intentionally have that done to them...