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A short man, approximately 5'6" and 30 years old, opens the doors wide and strolls into the Grand Lodge, wearing gleaming mithral breastplate covered in an opened resplendent uniform coat bearing leonine figures, clearly identifying his knightly order. Without the armor and coat, he would be the kind of man no one looks at twice, but those with a warrior's eye can clearly see that his posture speaks of an harmonious blend of strength, balance and stamina.
Outside, one can briefly see a largely built, approximately 6'8" and 35 years old squire sporting an impressive red beard worthy of a dwarf's, sorting gear, putting away weapons and tending to a magnificent white horse with a silver-grey mane in chain barding adorned in the same colors and lion motifs as those worn by the cavalier. Several men who appear to be traveling merchants, their clothes still dusty from the road, quickly surround the large squire to clap him on the shoulders and invite him for drinks at nearby establishments... it appears the short cavalier and his large squire travel with an entourage or at least seems to be recognized as regulars by all these men.
After a few moments the short knight spots the table of Pathfinders. He approaches and nods to everyone. As he sits Eagle Knight ranks can be recognized, sewn into his Order of the Lion coat sleeves.
"Lance Corporal Chaine Alazario, at your service. Preparations are underway: what do we have here?"
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While Chaine makes his grand entrance, a sleezy looking Cheliaxian slips in a side passage. The smell of old tomes and cheep brothels hangs in the air behind him as he sidles into the meeting room. He gives Chaine's fancy insignia an assessing look and slumps down unceremoniously on vacant chair, his well-worn cloak parting to reveal a nondescript chain shirt and a business-like rapier.
"Hugh Veridian, at your service." He shoots Chaine a snaggle toothed grin. "The Paracountess has deemed that you're in need of some skilled labor..."
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"Well, look what the cat dragged in! Mr. Veridian, in the flesh... and that of others, it seems..." adds Chaine, getting a whiff of the cheap perfumes wafting about the man. "If the Paracountess sends you, this means there might be some tedious paperwork to be done here. In which case I welcome you're well-practiced penmanship. In the end, an accounting of all things brazen or underhanded is always required, I'm afraid..."
Chaine pours himself a drink and waits for the others.
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A large half-orc sporting a massive blade across his back enters the lodge. He wears fullplate that looks freshly cleaned and sports the blue/gold colors of the Liberty's Edge, as well as some crimson red tassels here and there. After resting his blue etched rune sword he pulls up a chair, but after seeing Chaine he comes to attention and salutes.
"Lance Corporal Grim Krieger, at your service! I am pleased to be sharing the field with another Freedom Fighter!"
Looking to the others..
"Well met Pathfinders! May Ragathiel's righteous dedication leads us to victory in our endeavors!!"
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"Ah! well met Krieger!" replies Chaine as he gets up to firmly shake the man's hand. "Save the salutes for our good Major though - I have no rank on you I'm afraid, and it might stress out some of the civilians here, who I understand, prefer to operate with some degree of anonymity..." Chaine gives a sidelong look at Mr. Veridian upon saying that, hoping that Grim gets the picture.
Chaine continues, "I am glad to see you here Krieger, and I'll gladly accept both your help and Ragathiel's if this mission ends up in combat. For now though, let us appreciate the good graces of Cayden, and see what portents - good or bad, although I hope the former - hops, barley and wheat have yielded towards our tankards on this fine evening."
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In the doorway stands a tall half-breed in a long robe. Bits of silver glint through, giving way to the armor beneath. His hairless scalp sporting a bright red rune that matches one on his four-legged companion.
Chuckling at the mention of gods, he pipes up "Ragathiel? Cayden? Sure...I've been helped by a few of them before, but I've also killed a god or two. Never found the need to worship something of equal standing. Iskar's the name. Any word what we've been called to do?"
The robe opens a bit as he gestures to his partner, exposing numerous wands and a massive axe beneath. "This is Zaas."
The red beast standing next to Iskar bows slightly at the mention of his name. Shrouded in mist, its features are slightly obscured, though the musculature stands out agains a saddle and some leather bindings. The matching rune glows endlessly on its neck.
"Don't worry, I do the majority of his heavy lifting." it snarls. "And he does most of the talking."
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A woman enters just as the half-orc speaks his last comment, the armor under her cloak glistening form both the light and the beads of water that are splayed across it. "You named it, of course." she says as she sees the orc's axe. Then noticing he's referring to his...thing rather than her weapon, the woman cocks her head. An eyebrow even raises when the creature begins talking itself. "That's certainly an unusual friend you have there. Iskar, is it?"
Crossing the lodge door's threshold, she kicks her boots against the doorframe sending mud splattering onto the floor. Striding forward confidently afterwards, she extends a calloused hand to the axe wielder. "Laara. Apologies if I'm late. Just pulled into port from Varisia. And Shackles before that; been a damn sight since I've seen Absalom again." As she looks around, her cropped hair - with a shock of red slicing through what is otherwise a sea of brown, shifts to reveal a set of oddly long and pointed ears.
Grabbing a chair herself and pulling it toward her, grinding it against the floor in the process, the half-elf takes a seat. She fiddles with a pearl ring as she continues. "So. Not that I mind a little shore leave, but docking I couldn't help but see I might have been the fifth Pathfinder down the pier this morning. Anyone know what the call went out for? Did another Master die again? If it's Shaine I've got a friend who owes me 10 gold."
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Seeing Iskar and his talking dragon... thing... Chaine appears speechless... as if full of questions yet unable to formulate them. He attempts to hide his child-like wonder with a flowery recovery, "Mighty warrior and mighty steed! I welcome you both! come, and strengthen the bonds between rider and mount with the blessings of Cayden! may he grant us freedom and bravery, always!"
Then, upon spotting Laara in the door frame, her silhouette wonderfully framed by the light of a passing carriage outlined by bright blue continual flames, he seems to regain his tongue, or at least his usual smiling composure, "Oh my! Dear Laara, this Eagle Knight has heard much about your deeds, and he stands humbled. May I offer you a drink to slacken the thirst that follows such long travels?"
Chaine walks over to her as she sits down, and starts pouring ale into a fresh tankard. "Ladies first, of course..." after which he moves to Iskar and Zaas, to offer the same.
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"Wouldn't say no to some." the 'lady' says as she accepts the flag in and downs half of it in a few deep swings. Wiping her mouth and slamming he cup back on the table, she looks at Chaine curiously.
"So you've actually heard of me? That's rarely good." Laara eyes his uniform. "Besides, despite what I'm sure they say we had a warrant for the Magnimar thing! And the Lodge gave dispensation on the Redclaw hunt."
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Smiling, the green - skinned man remarks "Cayden's alway good for a drink. Thanks"
Snagging the glass offered him and the second offered to Zaas, he downs both. "He doesn’t need food and drink, but the offer is appreciated"
"Yes, my dear...Laara? Pleased to meet you. Sadly, my companion and I are unfamiliar with your work. We'll have to see your skills first hand."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Faced with all these freedom loving do-gooders, Hugh opts to fidget with his sickle instead.
He does pay attention to Zaas, though.
"Thought you were a dragon for a moment there... The last one I met wasn't very nice... A shame, really, he did have a keen mind and an appreciation for the esoteric arts."
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As you settle in to tables in the grand banquet hall of the Grand Lodge in the City at the Center of the World, you feel a sense of pride and perhaps relief. The Torchbearing festival is near to its end. Pathfinders the world over attend this annual symposium to share their knowledge, teach each other new skills, and reinforce their connections across the Inner Sea and beyond.
During the annual Torchbearing, the Three Masters, along with other notable Pathfinders, taught a variety of seminars and panel discussions, from Golarion’s history to spellcasting techniques, and even ran obstacle courses and a triathlon for the martially inclined.
Rumor has it, Janira Gavix offered an unauthorized but popular filking class for aspiring bards and other social misfits under 30--inches, not years. You also heard some salacious gossip about an exclusive, late-night VIP experience Zarta Dralneen arranged for some her favorites. According to one hungover Pathfinder who claimed to have been there, a disgruntled Drandle Dreng was turned away at the door.
Now, the fourth and final day of training has come to a close at the Grand Lodge of Absalom, heralding the end of this year's program. To celebrate the end of festivities, the lodge has hosted a grand banquet in the visiting agents' honor. A refreshing winter breeze blows through an open window, flickering torches and sending papers scattering. The smell of freshly baked desserts fills the air while initiates clear away the remnants of the first course.
Ever the social butterfly and self-appointed mentor-to-the-masses, the halfling Janira Gavix approaches your small group. Recognizing a few of you from your Confirmation, she grins. “Hello, friends. It’s been awhile since last we met. Have you enjoyed the Torchbearing? I volunteered to organize all the classes again this year. Kreighton Shaine always said I would have been an exemplary teacher. So tell me, did you learn anything useful?”
Eventually, Janira looks over her shoulder as she catches sight of another group of Pathfinders refilling their tankards at the grog bowl. “Oh, some more students of mine!” She bounces on her toes as she waves at the group and they wave back. “Excuse me? Forgive me? I’ll need to check in with them too!” Pleased that you appreciated her pedagogical efforts, she excuses herself with a smile and moves on.
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"Janira! how wonderful it is to see you again in the flesh!" Chaine drops to his knees and offer an heartfelt, solid hug to the halfling. "You have done an amazing job organizing all this! truly, this event is quite something to behold! I have even availed myself to etiquette classes to smooth out some of my... overly familiar tendencies. As a knight, I much too often victim to ceremonial duties that require a bit more formality than I'm used to. So here's hoping these classes will help!"
After Janira takes her leave, Chaine turns to the others and informs them of the gossip he uncovered, after which he adds, "So what do you think comes next, dear friends? Have any of you spotted Drandle Dreng? I'd like to ask the old fox what happened after his attempt to join Zarta's party! HA HA HA!"
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Janira is startled by Hugh's unease. Smiling hesitantly, she whispers to him.
"If only I were to be so honored. But I hear that they have other means to gauge our aptitudes. Alas, I fancy myself more of a walking "Pathfinder Chronicle". A simple collector of tidbits, freely given, of course."
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As you conclude the dessert course, a small origami hawk flutters through the room and lands on the center of the table. In moments, it unfolds itself into a crisp and crease-less piece of paper.
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Laara fidgets as she wanders about the evening's banquet. After three days of Torchbearing, she was eager to depart again. Bit of shore leave's fine, but now everyone's at the point they're patting each other on their backs. Idly making her way towards some of her recent acquaintances as they chat with a halfling, she snakes her hand out to grab a flute of wine from a table as she walks. At least the catering's not too bad.
"He sure did" Laara agrees loudly as she steps up behind Hugh. "I though I wasn't half bad on the ropes but this one here showed me a thing or two!" She looks at the obscured man. "Tell me Hugh: ever spent time manning a vessel? I've got a ship in for repairs at the moment, and a hunch you'd be an excellent rigger when she's done!"
The half-elf reaches out an arm to try and put it around the other rogue's shoulders, clearly demonstrating that she likely skipped Grim and Chaine's etiquette seminars.
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When the paper message arrives, Laara grabs it, reads it, then reads it again. Looking at the others, she asks. "What's this, a prank? Is that a Torchbearing tradition?"
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The Half-Orc and his companion meander in just as the desserts are finished.
"Sorry we're late. I got a tad carried away last night with a few dwarves. Had great fun with the flyting competition though."
"Miss anything?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
"It's a bit jarring when one of us blacks out and I shift mid sentence." snarls the beast.
"At least he waited till the lecture on my homeland was over."
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Lara, right?" starts the creature, turning towards the woman. The smoke surrounding him seems to increase in volume for a moment as he grants her a toothy grin.
"I'm from the dark worlds children fear at night. From the nightmares that haunt your dreams..."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"Oh, stop!" interrupts Iskar. "He came from another plane when I was a child to protect me. We've been bound ever since."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Torrag speaks to Janira, a bit uncomfortably, "Yes . . . greetings . . .I've heard of you from prior travel companions. It's . . . ummm nice to meet you. It's been an interesting event. Haven't really heard much I didn't already know, except from that halfling's class I walked in on. I thought it was going to be about something else, but I did get a few tips to help me be more aware of my surroundings."
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Chaine quietly listens to everything Torrag relates.
After Torrag finishes, he finishes his glass of red wine and adds, "Recently, Nigel has spent a fortune in security for the museum, particularly in magical protections from the Arcanamirium and Golemworks in Magnimar. I may require an addition to my gear before we deal with this problem, as automatons are notoriously hard to breach. I must say, increasingly so, that I feel extremely relieved that Master Veridian will loan his expertise to our team!"
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"If say say so, agent Gavix..."
Hugh gestures that he'll keep an eye on her.
Laara interrupts his completely reasonable paranoia, and he cheers up a bit.
"I can't say that I have much experience as a mariner, but if you're aiming to get a outfit like Captain Bennary's going, then I might be persuaded..."
Torrag's lecture with Chaine's addendum interests Hugh greatly.
"Well, spear-sergeant Alazario, I haven't met a trap I couldn't disable, an artifact I couldn't acquire or a tome I couldn't borrow, so whatever Nigel has messed up this time, I'm sure we can deal with it."
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The front doors of Skyreach burst open with a loud crack. Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin strides to the edge of the platform, with a slender elf dressed in practical but expensive clothing trailing meekly behind. The red-faced venture-captain addresses the crowd in a booming voice.
“Pathfinders, I regret interrupting the festivities, but we have something of a situation. Approximately twenty minutes ago, unknown forces invaded the Blakros Museum. Fortunately for everyone involved, the Torchbearing is about cooperation and helping our colleagues, so let’s think of this less as an inconvenience and more as an opportunity to practice what we preach.”
The elf, Nigel, exhales sharply, then speaks, “Now, Ambrus, I’ve spent a king’s ransom fortifying the museum from all sorts of invaders: sentinels from the Golemworks, magical wards from the Arcanamirium, and even contracts for guard beasts, both magical and mundane—spared no expense. I didn’t want to come here, but I’ve got no choice.”
Valsin’s forced smile cracks slightly, showing his annoyance. “Out with it, Nigel. Get to the point.”
“Someone broke into my museum and set off the magical protections! I was preserving priceless Shining Crusade pieces for our new exhibit when the first alarm activated. I sent for district guards and went to investigate, but by the time I arrived, the thieves had already locked themselves in my study. They somehow caused the Shining Crusade relics to fly around the museum and attack my sentinels. Everything is going haywire! The magical traps started to target me, the sentinels are not responding to my commands, and—”
Valsin holds out a hand to steady the increasingly agitated elf. “The last you knew, the thieves were still in your study?” Nigel nods. “Very well. Pathfinders: the Seekers should prepare to teleport directly into the Blakros study—“
“That won’t work,” Nigel interrupts, “The study is magically sealed. After that dreadful Numerian exhibit, I turned it into a magical safe room. The robbers must have figured out how to activate it; no one can get in or out while the wards hold. I can work on breaking the wards, but meanwhile my sentinels are smashing up the collection. Some of those priceless relics are on loan from your own Society lodges, so helping me is really helping yourselves.”
“Fine.” Ambrus Valsin takes a deep breath and then turns to the assembled Pathfinders. “Pathfinders, go to the Blakros Museum, secure any relics you can, disable the security systems, and apprehend the looters if possible. Stay safe.”
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"I've been tempted many a time to purchase this scarab. However a mage friend of mine told me it does not work against all types of constructs. Thankfully, I've trained my horse to maneuver indoors and in cramped tunnels - Silvermane will thus ride anywhere a human or elf can fit! and I've trained him to avoid allies during a charge. So I trust my mounted charges can punch through any automaton we can find!"
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Dozens of Wise District guards surround the Blakros Museum. The museum itself is alight with swirling whorls of color and the sounds of metal and stone clashing. Occasionally, brief flashes of light burst from the front entrance, illuminating a toppled banner that says
The broad-shouldered, middle-aged Ulfen man salutes as you approach, a somewhat bemused expression on his face. “Well met, Pathfinders. I am Svaralk of Asleifar, Sergeant of the Learned Guard. The Guard certainly appreciates your assistance and expertise.” He points to his subordinates, “Our initial attempt to quell the animated relics within failed. I’ve thus ordered the Guard to withdraw and form a perimeter to protect the citenzry.”
Svaralk steps to your team of Pathfinders, pulls out a softened leather map and says, “Before you enter, I can provide you an overview of the museum’s layout and tell you that there are animated relics and guard animals here on the ground level, and clockwork creatures skirmishing with each other on the floor above. We also have an especially challenging problem in the gardens at the southeast corner of the museum grounds. Some kind of magical runes displaying swarm-like behavior, more magical devices really than living creatures. They proved too complicated a challenge for me and my guards; we simply lacked the skills to disable them.”
"I trust the museum is in capable hands now, but we shall remain here until relieved. Let us know if you require any further assistance." With a nod he turns back to face the city at large.