GM Endless Forms' PFS 08-01 Portent's Peril (Inactive)

Game Master Mike Tuholski

You are waiting with your fellow agents for the mission briefing.

Please introduce yourselves!

The tall, swarthy swordsman from Katapesh is not well-known for his patience. While others hem and haw he is off doing--and often times what he does is the impossible.

A one-time desert brigand, and tomb-raider turned scholar, and guide, he joined the Society, or so it is said, to continue his war against the remote cosmic evils that reside just beyond veil of human senses--terrible alien gods, and the degenerate cults sworn to them. Why just last Oathsday a scholarly friend of his (an acquaintance really) was torn limb from limb by some unseen force in the midst of a crowded market square.

Here with his new (still living) companions standing in a silent, featureless, white void he abides, but just barely. He has been to such places before, and while they no longer startle him they always leave him edgy what with their unnatural blankness--like a bit of the universe passed over by the creator's brush.

He always wonders what it is he is standing on really.

Out there in the world, the real world, there are things he should be riding upon, leaping from, or perhaps cleaving in twain with his mighty falchion. He is very good at cleaving things in twain, hence his moniker.

Even if he only says so himself, he is Abaal Zadeir, the Sword of Katapesh!

The faint smell of straw and… donkey(?) precedes the entrance of a ruddy-cheeked and bright eyed gnome.

Fimfinkles fingertips and simple leather apron are stained a variety of colours. Tattoos peek out from under his bright blue tunic. A similarly coloured thrush alternates between sitting on his shoulder and flitting about the room, curiously poking about the books and knick-knacks.

Fimfinkle pulls himself up to one of the available seats, sits happily tapping his feet together, and removes his pointed hat (an affectation that makes him look less like a wizened seer, and more like a garden ornament).

“Good day young man! Have the others arrived yet?”

An ifrit walks in, almost in slow motion. He tosses his flowing red locks away from his face. He is dressed in a well maintained shirt made of pure mithral worn over his courtier's outfit. He draws the lute strung on his back and plucks a few chords. "Oh yea, my name's Jax, at your service."

Goooooooong!

Goooooooong!

Goooooooong!

A swinging hammer on metal resounds through the room with each strike as the bare-chested man stands over the anvil, his tongs holding a piece of plate mail. The heat from the forge is overwhelming but the man is only covered with a light sheen of sweat.

Goooooooong!

His repeated strikes seem to follow a cadence known only to him as the door to the smithy is opened and a man clad in black Hellknight Plate stands in the entrance. "Apprentice Libertus. Report to the halfling master Flaxseed in Cassomir in three days. He will test your strength appropriately. Report your mission upon your return."

Wordlessly, the smith nods his head as the hellknight captain leaves, shutting the door and cutting off the refreshing breeze that momentarily brightened the thick atmosphere of the smithy. "You will be finished some day..." he says as he douses the plate of steel into water and tosses the metal onto a pile of mismatched, unfinished pieces.

---

Reporting to the Lodge, Libertus enters and immediately heads to the briefing room. He finds that he is not the first to arrive and he salutes smartly. "Greetings. I am Libertus, Apprentice of the Hellknights of the Chain. I shall be joining you on this mission." he says clearly and proudly. "Who do I have the honor to serve with?" he asks as he lowers his hand from the salute and takes stock of the room.

A small gnome. Not much martial prowess. Probably a spellcaster of sorts. Very useful, though a Signifier would be a better comrade.

A fire elemental-blooded man with a good build... Ugh... A Shelynite, how wasteful of talent.

Ah, that man has a fine physique. His falchion looks sharp, though he wears the inferior studded leather. Surely the man can afford a good breastplate if he can buy enchanted leather...

"It looks like I have been given the appropriate tools to work. I hope the halfling master will arrive soon with the details. Is this supposed to be a traditional six man team?" he asks, unsure of the new policies of the Society.

The faint smell of straw and… donkey(?) precedes the entrance of a ruddy-cheeked and bright eyed gnome.

Fimfinkles fingertips and simple leather apron are stained a variety of colours. Tattoos peek out from under his bright blue tunic. A similarly coloured thrush alternates between sitting on his shoulder and flitting about the room, curiously poking about the books and knick-knacks.

Fimfinkle pulls himself up to one of the available seats, sits happily tapping his feet together, and removes his pointed hat (an affectation that makes him look less like a wizened seer, and more like a garden ornament).

“Good day young man! Have the others arrived yet?”

Abaal looks about searching for the strange voice. And is momentarily startled by the appearance of the gnome stable-hand and where did those seats come from. Ah, he is an illusionist. He probably expects me to sit in one of those seats. Hah!

"Yes, according to that." He points to the north which is always up on these otherwise featureless meeting spaces where it clearly states that: 'You are waiting with your fellow agents for the mission briefing' in the Common tongue. "According to that we are all already here. Are you sure this is the right mission briefing? Perhaps you are on the wrong plane? Or perhaps you were standing behind me. You know, I rarely look there."

Then Jax 'enters', and Abaal's fist goes tight on his sword hilt. He really did hate these places. He had been hoping for Wardens Caroline, or C.J., or even Da Hoff himself. Abaal only knew the man by sight but Jax had always seemed just a little too hot-headed, and flamboyant investigator, not at all like Da Hoff.

The bell tolls four. Abaal looks to his wrist sundial, and silently curses the white space.

Ah, that man has a fine physique. His falchion looks sharp, though he wears the inferior studded leather. Surely the man can afford a good breastplate if he can buy enchanted leather...

"It looks like I have been given the appropriate tools to work. I hope the halfling master will arrive soon with the details. Is this supposed to be a traditional six man team?" he asks, unsure of the new policies of the Society.

"Abaal Zadeir is no man's tool."

Obviously the man is laborer in service to the Hellknights. Fool Hellknights. Apparently they never consider the need for speed, nor stealth, or that their missions might take them to places less flat, and less dry than this featureless plane--though it has gotten sultry in here. No matter! Abaal is an All-Weather Swordsman! Most especially once he his black adamantine blade is forged. Hmm. Perhaps this sweaty laborer could be of use.

Vaguely he wishes he could find the 'door' the Hellknight had 'left' by, but Abaal always presses on.

"Excuse me Libertus, but by chance do you know any skilled smiths, practiced in the working of skymetals and weaponry?"

Libertus looks oddly at Abaal. "Are you not a tool of the Society? I believe that we all are as we are gathered here to do its bidding, which makes us the tools to achieve a better realm. A good tool does not hate the fact that it is a tool, but works to fulfill its purpose." he says as he examines the man's pride.

"As for the knowledge of an appropriate smith, there is a smith who excels in the forging of blades and bladed weapons with skymetals. He is a tiefling who wields fire magicks and is able to melt mithril with only his magical prowess." Libertus says, contemplating the request. "I would ask him if you are looking for the creation of a personal weapon."

"Also, you should purchase a breastplate." Libertus adds as he knocks on the shining black iron metal adorning his torso. "The added protection could be the difference between life and death. If you'd like, I shall craft one for you."

This place. A moment before Abaal could have sworn that was the man's bare chest. Must be the bronzer. That and the eerie white light that comes from everywhere generally, and nowhere in particular. Abaal resists the urge to wrap on the man's chest with his knuckles.

"Honestly, I do not see that there is much difference in our relative defense."

Abaal, instead he waits for the next person to 'enter' though plainly they are already there. Given his superior, cat-like reflexes he should be able to leap through whatever portal is opened by their 'arrival' and make it back to the real world. Perhaps he could offer the gnome a ride under his arm. Assuming he's not the one holding the place they are standing in together....

"I prefer instruments. Tools are so limited man."

Stealth check: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

"I believe the term "tool" to be pretty accurate to describe some people. But not everyone is a tool... some are their own person, free to make up their minds and take their destiny into their hands" says a disembodied voice with a playful note in her tone coming from behind the pathfinders. Suddenly a woman wearing red leathers and a red bandana materializes from the spot the voice came from.

"Good morning everyone! I'm Vanya... and before you ask, I'm my own woman" she chuckles.

A short, stocky gnome lumbers in with a rotund beast. The creatures tiny bloodshot eyes glare angrily above a mouth filled with sharp tusks. The beast, though strangely armored is obviously the stronger of the two, carrying an array of items. A lance sticks out of its saddle with a light green banner attached to it. A crudely drawn blue rose wraps around an even more crude looking boar figure.

Aside from the massive armor encompassing the gnome, he looks fairly average. Taking effort with each step, he stops in the doorway and takes in those assembled.

Smiling, he waves. "Howdy folks! Another great day to be a Pathfinder, eh? Let's do our best to keep the downtrodden alive and well."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Apologies. I'm Hastard, and this is my good friend S.E. Nord. I liberated the poor soul from some goblins."

Abaal notes the resemblance in eye-slits between Libertus the overweight child on the pig, and the differences modes of speech as well.

"That you would compare yourself to me is folly. You appear to be much quicker and an appropriate breastplate wouldn't hinder you. If you aren't aiming to supplement your agility, then I would implore you to consider at least some sort of chain instead of this inferior armor..." Libertus says with disdain as he looks at the shoddy material used to protect the man.

As for the arrival of the last two, Libertus appropriately greets them with a bow and the offering of his name. "If you wish to believe that you are truly free, then my words cannot sway you. We are all bound by chains, but some just cannot see them."

"Nah man. Unless your name is Zon-whatever, none of us are bound by anything but our own choices."

Ignoring the man in Davy Jone's locker, Abaal eyes the pig suspiciously. He's not sure that the ever mysterious masters of the Society might not attempt to disguise their appearance as swine with an animated ventriloquist's dummy upon it's back.

He comes to no conclusion. It could be a druid. He scratches his chin through his beard.

"Well?" He says into undefined space around them, hoping to draw out their unseen(?) Venture-Captain.

Fimfinkle taps Hastard the Bastard gently with his staff and whispers "Are the tall ones always so grim around here?"

Before sending you on your way, Venture-Captain Trotter Flaxseed says, "I've just received a letter from Sheila Heidmarch to give you. It looks like you are to head to Korvosa. I wish you the best of luck!" Trotter then hands you the letter and heads back to his lodge....

----

Greetings,

I will cut straight to the point. The owner of the Green Market, Zeeva Foxglove, needs our help. I’d normally require a more substantial explanation than what she’s given us, but Zeeva is a friend, and she knows a thing or two about prophecies. If she says disaster is about to strike Korvosa, I believe her.

Time is of the essence. When you receive this message, head to Korvosa at once. Travel to Eodred’s Square and inform the local guards that you are looking for Zeeva, and she will come out to meet you. I’ve enclosed a letter of credit that should be sufficient to secure you passage to Korvosa. Best of luck to you, Pathfinders. I look forward to reports of your success.

Venture-Captain Sheila Heidmarch

----

With passage secured by the Venture-Captain, you can easily take horse and riverboat to eventually find yourselves walking over the bridge that leads into the city of Korvosa:

An ill wind stirs whitecaps on the dark Jeggare River, carrying with it the faint odor of spoiled meat. Travelers crossing High Bridge into Korvosa grumble and pull their collars up against the cold. Past the somber city gates is a sprawling square plaza. Throughout the area, small clusters of people gather close together, stuffing their hands in their pockets as they engage in quiet conversation. Several guards hover around the edges of the plaza. A gray tabby cat rests nearby, its bright yellow eyes seeming to watch over the crowd.

An ill wind stirs whitecaps on the dark Jeggare River, carrying with it the faint odor of spoiled meat.

Abaal sniffs, and eyes the pig again.

He stops a woman (or cluster thereof) to ask about the Green Market as they are much less likely to be color-blind.

Fimfinkle hops down from his cart and fondly pats the two donkeys hitched to it (Elano and Eran if you happen to ask).

As Mr Zadeir wanders off in the direction of some women (Really, this is hardly the time!), Fimfinkle instead heads over to the guards.

"Blessings friends! Fimfinkle bows low. "Could you by any chance direct me to Eodred's Square? We're actually on our way to meet with a Zeeva Foxglove. Is she famous here? I've not met her before, have you? Apparently she owns the Green Market? I've not been there either. Quite exciting really! Anyway. We'd be much obliged if you could point us in the right direction"

The thrush, Piper, perches on Fimfinkle's conical hat, suspiciously eyeing the grey tabby.

"Whoa. That's heavy man." When the party gets to the market, Jax takes a look around. Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

Yeah... Much obliged!" Vanya says, supporting Fimfinkle's request for information

Diplomacy check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11

Yeah... Much obliged!" Vanya says, supporting Fimfinkle's request for information

Fimfinkle lets out an exasperated sigh...

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24

'Ah, a damsel in distress. Makes sense they'd summon me for such a mission.' Looking around to his companions, he ponders 'Not yet convinced we all have the same...ideals on humanoid life though...'

Hastard smiles at Jax' response to chains. "Aye, we are the masters of our own destiny."

=======

Upon arrival to the square, he notes his companions breaking off to garner information. His eyes falling on the tabby, he pulls out a piece of ration and wanders towards it.

"Aint you a pretty thing." He coos. "Are you hungry?" he asks, holding out the food.

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Turning to a young lad nearby, he asks "Might you point my companios and I in the direction of the 'Green Market'?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25

If the cat allows, Hastard would proceed to start brushing it with his grooming kit

Remember, you're not supposed to meet her at the Green Market but at Eodred’s Square. Fimfinkle got it right.

"Blessings friends! Fimfinkle bows low. "Could you by any chance direct me to Eodred's Square? We're actually on our way to meet with a Zeeva Foxglove. Is she famous here? I've not met her before, have you? Apparently she owns the Green Market? I've not been there either. Quite exciting really! Anyway. We'd be much obliged if you could point us in the right direction"

The thrush, Piper, perches on Fimfinkle's conical hat, suspiciously eyeing the grey tabby.

The square plaza, as any passerby can tell you, is Eodred’s Plaza. When you start asking about, the cat rises to its feet and scampers off. After Fimfinkle asks a guard about Zeeva Foxglove, the guard explains, “Zeeva Foxglove told us that she had important guests coming from the Pathfinder Society. She assured us that she would know when they arrived in this square. Don’t really understand it myself, but I suggest waiting right here until she shows up.”

Sure enough, within in a few minutes a large-eyed woman in a green gown waves, and then introduces herself by handing out cards bearing her name—Zeeva Foxglove—and the address of the Green Market in South Shore. A cat bearing a striking resemblance to the one that rested on the square’s cobbles walks alongside her. “I owe you an explanation,” she says, “But let us travel as we talk, for my market cannot do without me for long. I know it sounds ridiculous, but there are actually three disasters waiting to strike.”

The merchant walks briskly, slipping gracefully past the crowds and carriages. “It began after I heard about a Varisian caravan parked outside the city. The vagabonds had lost everything to bandits, and, my marketplace is so profitable now, I can afford to share my bounty with those whom fate mistreats. I brought them some produce, and in return, their fortune-teller offered me a harrow reading.”

Foxglove’s rosy complexion pales. “The spread foretold good fortune, almost to excess—that is, until she turned up The Yellow Prophet. A legendary lost card, although I didn’t know that then. Its appearance upset the soothsayer. She said the card required that three more cards be drawn, and she did so hastily, giving me hardly any insight. What I’ve learned since is that each of those cards portends a dark fate—a disaster.”

She produces a deck of cards from her handbag. “It seemed the fortune-teller was hiding something, so I obtained my own harrow deck and researched the cards’ meanings. But I am still in the dark, and my own auguries tell me that time is running short. I need brave investigators, well-versed in the arcane, to determine where these calamities will strike—or, failing that, track down that fortune-teller, so that she can explain her strange behavior.”

"I guess I'm surrounded by those that cannot..." he says introspectively as they disembark in Korvosa.

Once the group finds Eodred's Square and speaks with Zeeva, he feels like he understands less than before. "Prophecy... Such fickle words are worthless."

"What do you need us to do? You have only said that some woman foretold danger. What is the danger?"

Taking a brief look at the business card, Hastard climbs into the saddle atop his boar and follows alongside the woman.

...well-versed in the arcane... he considers, scanning his companions. Not sure we have the right make up for that task...we may be better pursuing her second request.

As she completes her oratory, the armored gnome inquires, "What were the three cards? I don't suppose you caught this soothsayer's name? We will of course do everything in our power to you safe."

"I know a little about that arcane mojo. But we'd be better off finding this birdie."

Fimfinkle examines the card before pocketing it.

"Forgive my ignorance, Miss Foxglove, I have mastered many wondrous skills but a real Harrow reading is not something I've had the opportunity to experience. Are the readings reliable? What is the significance of the 'Yellow Prophet'? Do you remember what the fortune teller looked like? I'm sure we'll be able to get to the bottom of this!"

Fimfinkle offers a comforting wink to Zeeva, his blue eyes sparkling.

"We will do our best but you are being a bit too vague with information: let's say we choose to track down this fortuneteller... where would we be able to find her?" asks Vanya, showing some wariness around the woman.

Anyone can present a card. Does she look like like her handwriting? Anything else on the card.

Abaal looks dubiously at the card, and reflects that this might be an quick, and interesting way to meet potential life partners. He invents something he calls 'Speed Courting' on the spot. Now if only someone would invent the printing press....

I assume we got some sort of description i.e. a gap-toothed woman in her twilight years, with bad scoliosis, and one huge bloodshot eye... on her back. Usually seen in the company of a giraffe with a blue ascot. and so on. Otherwise Abaal's going to want some confirmation (I take it the guards know her, and people back at her market, howzabout that flash mob of dopplegangers over there?)

Foxglove’s rosy complexion pales. “The spread foretold good fortune, almost to excess—that is, until she turned up The Yellow Prophet. A legendary lost card, although I didn’t know that then. Its appearance upset the soothsayer. She said the card required that three more cards be drawn, and she did so hastily, giving me hardly any insight. What I’ve learned since is that each of those cards portends a dark fate—a disaster.”

"So, in summary, you've summoned us here to die with you in some tripartite cataclysm, and while we have been traversing half of soggy Varisia by horse, and raft--to our doom, you've been playing at cards rather than finding this fakir you mentioned, and wringing the answers from her? If this were not truth, I would wonder who wrote this farce. Where is this witch-wiggler? Did we pass her on the road here? If disaster is a foot, there is not a moment left to spare."

knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21 What, if anything, does Abaal know about these 'harrow cards'? I.e. use, reliability, meanings, and so on....

'Wow! that's an abrasive soul!' muses Hastard.

"Now Abaal, why don't we calm down a moment and give the pleasant young lady a chance to answer the slew of questions we've hurled her way." Pausing a moment, he asks "Do you trust anyone or anything you encounter?"

"Whoa, you are a mean dude. You should chill out man. We're here to help her."

Vanya shakes her head at the Katapeshi approach... "You wait all day for the hare to take the bait and then it presents itself... you are ready to shoot and have a nice stew for dinner... and then a savage boar butts in and ruins everything... Typical!"

Vanya clears her throat and interjects:"We ask your forgiveness lady foxglove, some of us have quick tempers roused for all the wrong reasons it seems. We ask you to forget this unpleasant and frankly unwarranted display. Please just consider it the outburst of someone only too eager to start with his mission" she finishes glaring darkly at Abaal.

Diplomacy check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

"'Unwarranted'? It is not like I just isulted your honor for your lack of adaquit chest padding--wait, that did not quite come out as I had hoped though the meaning should be clear."

Now with improved spell-checking!

"'Unwarranted'?" Abaal rounds on Vanya. "It is not like I just insulted your honor for your supposed lack of adequate chest padding--wait, that did not quite come out as I had hoped though the meaning should be clear." He skips a beat then adds. "Clearly you are, uh, um, adequately padded."

Sorry, we had tornado warnings and bad storms a couple nights ago that knocked out our internet and I don't like to update via phone (especially as GM) so I just decided to wait until I had time after the internet was back up.

"What do you need us to do? You have only said that some woman foretold danger. What is the danger?"

"Few people know this, but I’m something of a witch. Through dreams and auguries, I’ve confirmed that something dire is just on the horizon. I just don’t know what or where it will happen."

"What were the three cards?"

"I have them here. Harrow cards can be tricky: an ominous card isn’t always negative, and a cheery card can turn calamitous. Instead of relying on their traditional meanings, I’m guessing the cards have connections to people or places in Korvosa. Maybe you can catch something I’ve overlooked?"

See the link for the three cards. Also linked at the top and Zeeva's picture is on the second slide.

"I don't suppose you caught this soothsayer's name?"

"Do you remember what the fortune teller looked like?"

"We will do our best but you are being a bit too vague with information: let's say we choose to track down this fortuneteller... where would we be able to find her?" asks Vanya, showing some wariness around the woman.

"She and her troupe vanished into Korvosa days ago. They could be anywhere. Maybe ask around? She cut a memorable figure—a Varisian half-elf with scraggly black hair and rotting teeth."

"Forgive my ignorance, Miss Foxglove, I have mastered many wondrous skills but a real Harrow reading is not something I've had the opportunity to experience. Are the readings reliable? What is the significance of the 'Yellow Prophet'?"

"Reliable? Generally, yes, if the reader is skilled. And the Yellow Prophet is a chilling card, and not one that appears in a standard harrow deck. It depicts a fortune-teller, clad in black and yellow. My research says it signifies false presumptions and self-fulfilling prophecies. There’s no copy of it in my current deck, but I’d love to find that fortune-teller to study it in depth."

"So, in summary, you've summoned us here to die with you in some tripartite cataclysm, and while we have been traversing half of soggy Varisia by horse, and raft--to our doom, you've been playing at cards rather than finding this fakir you mentioned, and wringing the answers from her? If this were not truth, I would wonder who wrote this farce. Where is this witch-wiggler? Did we pass her on the road here? If disaster is a foot, there is not a moment left to spare."

Zeeva thinks for a moment about all that Abaal says. "Well, you have an interesting way of putting it. No, I do not think I have brought you into my fate. The reading was for me, after all. But I hope that you can help me avoid these cataclysms, if such a thing is possible. And if turns out that the reader was false, then all of this worry was for naught and I would be grateful to you for uncovering the truth."

knowledge (arcana): 21 = 21 What, if anything, does Abaal know about these 'harrow cards'? I.e. use, reliability, meanings, and so on....

Does any of what she said, or showed ring any bells for Abaal?

Vanya grimaces as she sees the images depicted on the harrow cards:"I hope you don't mind me saying this but I find these pictures quite grisly. The "cricket's card" especially... and I don't get what's the thing he tucked his rapier into..." she mumbles apparently fascinated despite her previous protests.

The gnome nods as she responds the myriad of questions hurled towards her. "I would expect that description should certainly limit the options..."

Taking a long look at the cards she displays, he wonders "You have something against fruit? The unicorn there is stabbing a...pear. Looks like the rapier has skewered a peach? Orange? And personally, I don't think I want to eat those grapes..."

'Reliable? The Betrayal card certainly seems ominous...the other two though don't seem too bad...' he considers.

"Anyone come to mind that might wish you harm?"

"HAH! That mare has a horn on it's head. How fantastical!" Abaal booms. Good. She ignored it. Thank Sarenrae, in Katapesh I may have been knifed!

Does any of what she said, or showed ring any bells for Abaal?

Everything seems familiar and correct to you.

Taking a long look at the cards she displays, he wonders "You have something against fruit? The unicorn there is stabbing a...pear. Looks like the rapier has skewered a peach? Orange? And personally, I don't think I want to eat those grapes..."

Zeeva Foxglove stares at Hastard for a moment and then shakes her head in disbelief. "I’m a fool—studying the meanings so intently, I missed what’s right in front of me! If this means that my marketplace is in danger, I should return at once. But please, keep investigating other possibilities."

"Before I go though," she adds before hurrying off, "I can offer you an abridged harrow reading, called a choosing, to
grant you luck and insight on your quest. I promise that there is no real danger to a choosing, but it might give you some help as you search about."

Abaal goes a bit blank-faced as he remembers the last time that someone proposed conducting a ritual that they had only come upon recently.

"What? Oh, um please forgive me. Go on."

"That sounds radical. Let's do it."

"Why not? It could not hurt... right?" says Vanya laughing nervously.

"Madame, it would be a true honour!"

"Sir, I'd love to see your parlor trick." Replies Hastard with a grin.

6d9 ⇒ (1, 9, 5, 3, 1, 5) = 24

Zeeva moves from one agent to the next, dealing each of you a card.

Hastard is given The Hidden Truth.

Fimfinkle is given The Rakshasa.

Vanya is given The Vision.

Warden is given The Foreign Trader.

Abaal is given The Hidden Truth.

Libertus is given The Rakshasa.

Remember which card you got! It might give you a flash of inspiration later!

Zeeva then says, "Now I apologize but I must be getting off to my market to make sure that everything is ok." She then turns on her heels and marches off with her cat stalking behind her.

----

You then have some time to examine the cards Zeeva was given more closely and plan out your investigation.

I missed some knowledge checks earlier so here they are:

The Betrayal: This card can either mean selfishness or self-sacrifice or a choice between the two.

The Cricket: A card for quick-witted travelers, some of whom find glory, while others return empty-handed.

The Unicorn: This card promises rewards from a friend, but some friends are false, and some prizes are poison.

If you don't get one or any of them, maybe think about asking people you meet along the way for some help.

"What a delight! I wonder what they portend. The Rakshasa sounds quite sinister. Oh well. No doubt we'll make the best of it."

As to the original cards...
Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

"I'm afraid my knowledge of the Harrow really is quite lacking. Quite embarrassing really."

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

"mmmh..." mumbles Vanya "A unicorn... I seem to recall something about a bed & breakfast called "the Frisky Unicorn" in the Heights District. It might be worth investigating... it's famous because it has a nest of pseudodragons hiding in its turret... "