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The reputable merchant and ally of the Society Aya Allahe paces one of the back rooms of Sharrowsmith’s Exports, a walled trade compound on the northern edge of Nantambu in the Mwangi Expanse.
“I wish I had more to offer,” Allahe apologizes before even presenting what information she has. “Nieford Sharrowsmith never truly retired from being a Pathfinder, even after he started this business. I think, in his mind, he was still the young adventurer that hiked through jungles and fought off troglodyte tribes. Sharrowsmith’s attitude changed over the last few months—I think he was concerned for his legacy and how history would remember him. Would it be for his discoveries or for the export business that dominated his later years? The answer, I fear, was unpalatable.
“It was no surprise when he packed up and left on an expedition. But that was months ago, and neither the Society nor I have heard from him since. Sharrowsmith has never left for this long without leaving some word as to his status or sending rather demanding missives about business decisions while he was waist-deep in some jungle bog. When my own contacts failed to turn up any useful information, I had no recourse but to go through his private notes.” Allahe motions to the mess of documents scattered about the office.
“What caught my eye was this translated rubbing. It appears to be the most recent piece of a very large puzzle Sharrowsmith was researching and indicated that he may be somewhere in the Bandu Hills. Traders from Fort Bandu have confirmed that he paid the garrison a visit, but that’s where my trail ran cold. Something happened out there, and Praetor Sylien—Fort Bandu’s commander—refuses to correspond with me on the matter despite knowing how close Nieford and I are. All I received in response was that Nieford had ‘done enough damage for one lifetime,’ and that if I wanted to discuss the matter further I would need to go to Fort Bandu in person.”
Exasperatedly, Allahe runs a hand across her forehead and turns her distant stare out the window. “I cannot shutter the business and travel hundreds of miles on the off chance that the praetor can help; the company would fall apart. I’m hoping that you will be able to go in my stead, speak with the praetor personally to learn what has befallen Sharrowsmith and help him return.”
Allahe gives you a translation of the rubbing Sharrowsmith was researching.
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Torean takes a look at the rubbing. "Askhurhall? That mean anything to you? 'Strike the stone'? Almost sounds dwarven. 'Promise of sky', and 'stone to call our own' do too. If not dwarven, then a group who knows stone and underground living it sounds like." The dwarf glances around at the others. He carries a warhammer with a battleaxe strapped to his back. His breastplate bears the sigil for the Five Mountains, but he's clearly associated with Torag too.
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The Tengu speaks up"You best get some hot-weather outfits, the daytime temperature of the Bandu Hills can sometimes reaches lethal extremes. It seems obvious that we should start at Fort Bandu, it is the only major settlement for miles, and serves to protect the prospectors in the region. A good thing to, because of the rich minerals veins there are a lot of treasure seekers in the area and the local Mwangi tribes don't exactly like that"
He then looks at the other pathfinders
"My apologies for not introducing myself properly, I am ambassador Sharpclaw. I am trying to get acquainted with the west and the Pathfinder Society was kind enough to offer me a place in the ranks as an agent."
He wears a kimono and a slightly curved sword hangs from his belt. On his shoulder a small bird (thrush) is paying close attention to everything that is being said.
"Askhurhall? That mean anything to you? 'Strike the stone'? Almost sounds dwarven. 'Promise of sky', and 'stone to call our own' do too. If not dwarven, then a group who knows stone and underground living it sounds like."
Aya answers, "Unfortunately we don't know much about what it could mean. Sharrowsmith’s notes say the rubbing was made by miners in the Bandu Hills over sixty years ago, and the rubbing found its way to him through auctions he frequented. Whatever he read there, it lit a fire under him."
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The barefoot halfling pushes a mass of shaggy black hair from their face before addressing Aya Allahe. "Sounds more or less straightforward. So what's this Sharrowsmith look like?"
Turning to the other Pathfinders, they say, "Name's Dustwich. Thanks for the weather tip, Ambassador. We got time to pick up something like that?" They lean against a wall with their arms crossed. Their skin is dry-looking, and rather gray for a halfling. Aside from the typical adventuring backpack, they appear to carry nothing besides an unassuming dagger.
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"Hmm, seems like a dwarven idea - to call stone a home. Right? Or maybe those other fellas - Oreads." The sprightly gnome rubs her chin in thought.
Cyrinda holds out her hand to Dustwich. "Hi! I'm Cyrinda. It's nice to have someone of my own stature around." She turns to the rest of the group and to Aya Allahe, "Do you think there could be anyone specific that would want to bring harm to Master Sharrowsmith?"
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Jocephus nods in agreement with Myrd. "I have a wand that helps one endure the extreme elements. I'm happy to share." Jocephus remarks.
Thinking for a moment, he says. "Hmmm, the Bandu Hills. They remain rich in gold, silver, and gems, despite several centuries of colonial mining. Prospectors hail from across Golarion to work the mines, though it isn't easy workings, the local Mwangi tribes often retaliate violently." Warming up to the subject, he continues. "Most of the larger mining operations belong to the Deeptreasure Mining Company, which has dominated the local industry for nearly three centuries. Their onetime competitors, the Gold Crown Company, are now better known for shipping and export services. They're ruthless, Deeptreasure agents are always on the lookout for independent miners, whom they bully away from promising claims. A Deeptreasure representative in Fort Bandu is offering a bounty for information regarding any promising unoccupied (or ill-defended) mines."
Turning to Aya, he asks. "Waht can you tells us of the praetor?"
"Sounds more or less straightforward. So what's this Sharrowsmith look like? We got time to pick up something like that?"
Aya gives you a general description of Sharrowsmith, who is a middle aged man with a bad back but well acquainted to ranging through the wilderness. "And if you need anything before you go, please take the time to stock up."
"Do you think there could be anyone specific that would want to bring harm to Master Sharrowsmith?"
"Of course, I imagine every Pathfinder has enemies, though, he has rarely discussed them openly with me. Sharrowsmith never seemed paranoid or overly concerned about vendettas in his business dealings and never double-crossed anyone to my knowledge. I might wonder: how many enemies does your Society have?"
"Waht can you tells us of the praetor?"
"I know him only by reputation. The grandson of an old elven explorer, he’s served the garrison for decades, though I hear he’s mostly retired now. My business associates say he is a fair and very pragmatic man, one who respects hard facts and truth. His being dismissive of my request sounds uncharacteristic."
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"Mines! Ha, I knew it could be dwarves! Eh, maybe you're right, those Oreads know their way around a stone too." The dwarf looks at the others with a smirk.
"I'm Torean. One of Torag's Hammers, trained to root out those who are enemies of the dwarven people. I'm specially trained in resisting spells and pummeling spellcasters before they know what the hell is happening!" He laughs.
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A mustachioed man in studded leather enters through the door. His sleeveless, floor-length jacket is embroidered with the bright hues of the rainbow. Strapped about his waist and legs are various knives and other implements small enough to throw. "Greetings and apologies for my lateness. Carlyle the Flamboyant is not one to make a late appearance, however I had to beat out some oafish brute for a spot on the team. Needless to say, his accuracy during our test left something to be desired."
"Where are we off to?" the man asks.
"To the Bandu Hills," Aya Allehe answers the newcomer.
Once you have finished speaking with Aya Allahe and purchasing supplies, you journey south.
The route involves traveling by boat down the Vanji River, then switching to canoes to paddle up the Little Vanji and Dzimmi Rivers. Finally, you wind through several of the lower Bandu Hills through a pass to Fort Bandu.
The fort is a small frontier settlement surrounded by high stone walls located on the northern edge of Sargava. Within the fort’s walls, dozens of mining companies maintain outposts out of pavilion tents, hiring laborers and purchasing necessary supplies brought in by merchants from the north, south, and west. The fort holds a garrison of 150 soldiers that struggle to maintain a balance of defense of the frontier and protection for the miners and traders within its walls.
When you arrive in Fort Bandu the atmosphere is noticeably tense. Cold stares and accusing looks greet you. Merchants refuse to
open their stalls to such visitors and lay blame on the Pathfinder Society for the “troubles of late,” though these traders are fairly tight-lipped in sharing details.
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Dustwich receives the hostile stares with indifference--rude, silent judgment was a cakewalk compared to being a halfling in Cheliax. But the refusal to give at least some impression of what spurred this tight-lipped fort-wide cold shoulder starts to grate on Dustwich's nerves.
Approaching the nearest merchant without a stall to hide behind, Dustwich demands, "Hey, listen up! Obviously we're not wanted here. Just tell us where we can find Praetor Sylien. The quicker we talk to him, the quicker we can leave."
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Before the leave, Torean buys a hot weather outfit for the journey ahead. "Cold weather, hot weather, the society needs to figure out what it wants from me," he grumbles.
As the arrive, Torean watches the people shy away from the group. He had seen people wary before, but this was more like outright anger. He joins Dustwich as they seek out a merchant. The dwarf watches the merchant as he responds to see if the man will lie to them.
A member of the garrison escorts them to the praetor’s office, a modest and utilitarian space comprised of several tables and a handful of half-stocked bookshelves. A war table featuring a map of the Bandu Hills region sits prominently in the center of the room, and three tall windows nearby let in a great deal of natural light.
Praetor Sylien is in mid-conversation with a lanky Garundi man in fine attire. Their conversation stops abruptly, and the praetor’s guest disdainful glares at the latest arrivals.
“Pathfinders. I shouldn’t be surprised. Only your organization would have the gall to so brazenly show its face when you’ve already caused so much damage.”
“Pathfinders,” the praetor’s voice lacks the contempt of his guest, as if trying to subtly apologize for his tone. “This is Amersanus Valacosti of the Aspis Consortium. We’ve been discussing the troubles Fort Bandu has faced of late—troubles caused by your organization. I was unwilling to disclose the details to Mistress Allahe by courier, but now that you have arrived, I feel it pertinent to explain the nature of Fort Bandu’s… misgivings. Venture-Captain Sharrowsmith came through here some months ago, gathering supplies and information before setting off on an expedition into the hills. There, he roused the local kobold tribes and angered them enough that they now actively raid our settlements and mining operations.
“Amersanus Valacosti and I were discussing how the Aspis Consortium may be able to help repair the damage your Society has inflicted on the people of Fort Bandu. Now that you’ve arrived, perhaps we can have a more balanced mediation. Your Pathfinder Society has a damaged reputation in the Bandu Hills, so I ask you state your business and why you think I should allow you to even so much as stay within the fort’s walls. What knowledge do you have of this land and its people that could prevent this situation from deteriorating further? I will only entertain questions regarding Sharrowsmith once I’m assured that providing you information will not further endanger my charges.”
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Dustwich crosses their arms at the Aspis representative's contempt, and resists the urge to give a hefty eye roll. Not wanting to say something that could further damage the Society's reputation—or unnecessarily provoke the Aspis snake—Dustwich keeps their mouth shut and looks expectantly at Jocephus, hoping he'll remember all that mining company history he was talking about earlier.
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Seeing all eyes on him, Jocephus nods, assuming the mantle of experience and senority. Clearing his throat, he says. "First, I would like to thank you for this opportunity to state our case. As is well known, Pathfinders are a group of well-heeled, knowledgeable explorers. Thsi group in particular is well versed in the tribal customs of the local Mwangi tribes and its other more.....nonhuman denizens. I myself, have traveled these lands before and have immersed myself in it culture and customs. Being a Pathfinder, I've been everywhere man, across the deserts bare man, breathed the mountain air man. I've been everywhere requires one to be alert and considerate to foreign custom and ritual."
Valacosti grows increasingly incensed as the Pathfinders explain their case. “Sharrowsmith professed an intimate understanding of the region and its delicate balance of power as well, and behold the results: dozens dead, dozens more missing, kobolds attacking our mining operations, and people living in fear of the next raid. Praetor, with all due respect, you cannot allow these Pathfinders to exacerbate an already delicate situation.”
The praetor remains patient. “Amersanus makes a good point. Sharrowsmith was a well-read and knowledgeable man, yet he disappeared in these jungles and caused damage we’re only beginning to feel the impact of thanks to the local kobold tribes. How is your expedition different? Do you have the necessary strength to survive in this environment where so many others cannot? Show me that those weapons and spellbooks you carry are not just for show.”
“Is this supposed to make an impression?” Valacosti is quick to dismiss the display of power. “If you think this situation can be solved at the point of a sword or by brandishing some hedge wizardry, you’re as ignorant as your predecessor. These Pathfinders will rush headlong into the jungle and slaughter the kobold tribe, creating a power vacuum among the other tribes and only worsen this disaster.”
Again, the praetor tries to remain impartial, though it is clear his patience is waning. “Once more I find myself seeing reason in Valacosti’ words. Strength of arms is all well and good, but this is a situation that also requires a certain amount of finesse. How do I know I trust you to handle this situation with a level head and a delicate touch when necessary?”
Visibly frustrated, Valacosti appeals one last time to Sylien. “Praetor. I implore you, send these Pathfinders back from where they came from. This is neither the place nor the time for their presence. For the sake of the people of Fort Bandu, do not let them worsen this situation.”
With reluctance, the praetor acknowledges the Pathfinders with a slow nod. Then, after a brief glance to Valacosti, he appears ready to make his decision.
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Myrd speaks up again "Sir, we understand that the doings of the Sharrowsmith and his expediton have caused you considerable harm. As you know we had no knowledge of their doing and this harm, yet we are not only willing but also capable to ammend these wrongs.
Pausing for a breath Myrd passes his eyes over his fellow Pathfinders "Take a look at our group, if further tests are neccesary we will take them and succeed. However it it my opinion that we should not waste time and we should start to unravel the situation as soon as possible. The competition between the Consortium and our Society should be set aside for the safety of Fort Bandu and everyone in the surrounding area"
With a reserved sigh, the praetor relents. “As the Pathfinders are responsible for getting us into this mess, I see it fitting that we give them the chance to remedy the situation. I’m putting my faith in you, and the lives of the people in Fort Bandu. I pray that you don’t betray that trust, for the consequences could be quite dire for all who call this home.”
“Most unfortunate,” Valacosti observes with disappointment that gives way to menacing resolve. “I believe you are making a grave mistake by placing any faith in these glorified tomb robbers, praetor. Once they fail, remember that the Aspis Consortium has extended a generous offer of aid in this troubling time. One can only hope that this Pathfinder experiment does not exacerbate the situation further and necessitate our renegotiating the terms.”
Valacosti dismisses himself from the room and quickly returns to the Aspis Consortium camp in Fort Bandu.
Praetor Sylien provides you with the information of Sharrowsmith’s last known location at a Gold Crown mining operation approximately 20 miles away as well as a rough estimate of his travel route.
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Dustwich looks to the fading light streaming through the praetor's enormous windows, pointedly ignoring Valacosti as he leaves. "I'd rather not get lost in the jungle once the sun goes down. Not to mention it's harder to see any approaching ambushes in the dark, even for those of us who don't need light to see. Jocephus, you said you had some magic to protect against the extreme heat, yeah? If you're still offering (and it's a very generous offer, by the way, so thank you), I say we should leave in the morning. What do the rest of you think?" the halfling asks.
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"That's a fine idea, Dustwich! I've got some hot weather gear, that should make the going a little easier. Of course, I wouldn't turn away getting some extra help from Jocephus." Cyrinda tries to stifle a yawn.
Once the party has left Praetor Sylien's presence, Cyrinda turns to her companions. "By the way - Myrd, Jocephus - you guys did great handling the praetor. I must admit to being a little intimidated - I really should get over that..."
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"Yeah, ditto on the work with the praetor. That Aspis joker didn't know what he had coming," Dustwich agrees.
Turning to the gnome, Dustwich's tone switches from their usual deadpan that they hope is more comforting. "It's all right to get intimidated--I'm not much good talking to, ah, authority figures myself. Luckily these two are on our side, yeah? In the Society didn't think you'd be helpful on this mission, they wouldn't have sent you with us, yeah? I'm sure you'll do fine."
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"The Aspis are fair enough. Just people trying to get by, like us." Carlyle remarks absent-mindedly.
He seems to snap out of a reverie as he claps the tengu and human on the shoulders. "Great job! First round of ale is on me!"
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Carlyle imbibes a bit heavily and spends the entire night snoring loudly, still wearing his sleeveless jacket while he sleeps.
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Groggily, he will come downstairs to meet up with the party for their trek in the morning.
He wipes the sleep from his eyes and massages his temples. "Four eggs and a few rashers, please." He asks of the nearest server.
He sits down at the table and plops his backpack down on the floor next to him. "Ugh... We ready to do this? After breakfast, of course."
The temperature in the Bandu Hills during daytime hovers around 90° F and increases to 110° F by mid-day.
The 20-mile journey to the Gold Crown mining operation in the Bandu Hills takes the PCs across mostly level terrain following a well-worn trail into arid and rocky hills. The mining camp is located in an isolated gorge in the shadow of sheer basalt cliffs.
Hexagonal basalt columns scarred by mining tools line the walls of the gorge. The floor of the gorge is a patchwork of scrub grass and leafless vegetation flattened by frequent traffic. Wooden scaffolding, mining equipment, and trampled tents lie abandoned across the camp. Corpses of laborers rent limb from limb lay amidst the camp’s wreckage, and dried blood darkens the rocks. Several banners depicting a golden crown adorn the scaffolding.
Myrd, Dustwich, and Jocephus all notice a lingering scent of decay clinging in the air in the gorge. . . sure signs of undead lurking nearby!
Sure enough, there are two humanoid undead nearby, one of them walking about on all fours.