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A large quiet man lurks to the side, his features eastern. He wears cheap armor and a notched but serviceable nodachi and speaks in an accent, though not a strong one.
"Ahhh, yes. The Aspice. I have heard of these opponents of yours, or should I say ours now that I am a member of the society. A chance to strike at your... our, hidden foe and recruit yet another valuable member. Yes. This is a good first mission. I am Ling."
He eyes the dappler man that claims to be another swordsman.
I guess appearances can be deceiving.
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An auburn-haired man with a goatee and several visible scars on his face and arms introduces himself to the group. He carries a scythe and wears studded leather armor, neither of very high quality.
"I am Luthic Cryp," he says. "I am a sorcerer of some power," he says. "Or at least, I will be," he adds.
"I have a few spells that will be useful to our mission," he says. "Though I am glad of an opportunity to introduce myself. I am expecting...company, who will be here soon," he says.
"My former master. He is not a very pleasant fellow," he adds wistfully.
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A 6-foot-and-11-inch-tall half-orc comes lumbering into the room. From the sound of her footfalls, she easily weighs 300 pounds--probably more. And all of it is solid muscle.
"Ay, ay, ay! Did I miss it? Did I miss the briefing?" Her voice seems to be more appropriate fit for a young woman of much smaller stature (she sounds like an 11-year-old), and she has an odd accent.
She waggles her neck at nobody in particular, muttering under her breath, "Ay, la diosa, Shelyn! She gave me bad instructions, again! Puñeta, coño! That cousin of mine is always getting me into trouble. Venture-Captain or not, I'm gonna sic Aunt Bootsie on her for making me late!"
She wears long false nails of acrylic--each with a different fancy design. But, only on one hand. One nail looks like a checkerboard, another looks like a tie-dye swirl, yet another looks like a sunset. A fourth looks like it was attacked by a goblin armed with a bedazzling kit. Her impossibly thick thumb has a portrait of a bird. She also has a holy symbol of Shelyn around her neck.
"See captain Valsin, I was praying in the temple," she flashes her acrylic nails. "And I was sooooo moved by the goddess that I lost track of time." Her slightly green cheeks readden with embarrassment. "That, and Aunt Bootise was tellin' me how Marguerite's baby-daddy ain't her husband!"
She smiles as a curler falls from her hair onto the ground. Her other hand lacks acrylic, attesting to the truth of her claim. Instead it has a fistful of misshapen, jagged nails.
Her eyes fall upon Igor for the first time since coming in. "Oh, girl! You need some prayer!"
She walks over to the alchemist and immediately starts braiding his hair. "Don't you worry, honey. We gonna make you look beautiful! I'm strong with Shelyn, and, girl, she worked miracles with me!" The half-orc smiles with genuine pride--completely unaware of the ridiculous visage she presents.
Unfortunately, her braid-work is uneven and off-center--giving Igor a... comically distinctive look. "Ooh, honey! You lookin' better already! You gonna feel like it's your Quinceañera all over again!"
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*Sigh* "Oh thith alwayth happenth. I find a new, wealthy mathter and a couple of dayth later I'm looking again! And I thpethifically brought Mathter's ethploding gath ballth, and a pair of freth tighth! What will Mathter do without hith tighth? I even purchathed thome bright, red thortth, and a cape for mythelf." He then pats his audience down with a hand towel. "Do you use wakth, Mr. Chang?"
Alas too, there is not a lot of thinning, greasy, black hair for the stylist to work with, though Igor does mention the possibility of him getting some 'hair plugs' (er, 'plugth').
Upon Igor's saying the word "Mathter" for perhaps the tenth time, a gust of wind washes over the group. An eerie feeling, like fingernails on a chalkboard, accompanies the wind.
"Silence, pathetic apprentice!" a voice sneers. "I am your master, but I do not need to hear it ad nauseum!" the voice adds.
A spectral form materializes next to Luthic and looks at the auburn-haired man darkly.
"Oh, it is not you calling for me. Did I tell you you could fraternize with these mortals?" the spectral form asks harshly.
"You do not yet serve me," he says to Igor. "But perhaps we could work together to undo the horrors of an incompetent apprentice!"
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Luthic rubs his eyes in frustration.
"Yes, master. We did discuss the Pathfinders. Remember that we may be able to gain access to research that will help...reverse your condition. Your megalomaniacal plans will still come to fruition..." he says with a roll of his eyes, though the phantom does not seem to notice.
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Alas too, there is not a lot of thinning, greasy, black hair for the stylist to work with, though Igor does mention the possibility of him getting some 'hair plugs' (er, 'plugth').
The half-orc reaches into her bag and begins pulling out the makings of a hair weave. "Oh, no, honey. We gots to make you stand out. Let's do dreadlocks!"
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Upon Igor's saying the word "Mathter" for perhaps the tenth time, a gust of wind washes over the group. An eerie feeling, like fingernails on a chalkboard, accompanies the wind.
"Silence, pathetic apprentice!" a voice sneers. "I am your master, but I do not need to hear it ad nauseum!" the voice adds.
"Yeth Mathter!" Igor snaps to attention and grabs a gelatin-filled sack. "Where would you like me to add it Thir?"
Alas too, there is not a lot of thinning, greasy, black hair for the stylist to work with, though Igor does mention the possibility of him getting some 'hair plugs' (er, 'plugth').The half-orc reaches into her bag and begins pulling out the makings of a hair weave. "Oh, no, honey. We gots to make you stand out. Let's do dreadlocks!"
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"May I go now? I have little enough patience with my own hair."
The stiff man eyes the doorway and makes his move, hurrying toward the exit, making a long detour around anyone in the room, but particularly the odd fellow that seems to be particular to sharing bodily fluids.
They told me there would be some culture shock, but I never expected anything like this.
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Kennick follows Ling. "I know what you mean. My hair does what it will unless I'm done up like a Korvosan noble"
"Claro! I know exactly what you mean. It takes work to look this good. ¿Tu sabes? The half-orc says as she gestures along her body.
"But, don't you worry, honey. After I'm finished with Igor's dreads, I'll do you next. We'll make you a coif that looks as good as Lady Gloriana Morilla's!"
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"OK. But, we have to get there from here. Don't become upset if you're bored during the trip. If you change your mind, we can pray to Shelyn together later. You know where to find me, honey."
Though she tries to seem like she shrugs off the comment, rejection is really hard for the barbarian to accept. When she thinks nobody is looking, she lets a tear fall. And, she is sure to wipe it away quickly.
"Explore, report, cooperate. Explore, report, cooperate. Explore, report, cooperate." The half-orc repeats the Pathfinder Society's motto in her head like a mantra.
She thinks to herself: "It's okay, chica. You'll show them what a good Pathfinder you can be once we're in the field!"
The phantom figure next to Luthic looks on in bewilderment as the group discusses its hair.
"SILENCE, MORTALS!" the phantom bellows. "I am Tyranthraxis, mighty sorcerer and not one to trifle with! There is no time to discuss such trivialities! My pathetic apprentice assures me that this organization has access to important records! Our first goal is to complete any requirements for gaining access to the Pathfinder vaults and libraries! Must we complete a mission? Then on with it! Only with access to these vital records will we be able to determine how to reverse the shortcomings of an incompetent apprentice!"
Valsin listens to the strange talk of fixing hair and covers his face with his large hands. "Perhaps the messengers went to the wrong addresses?" He shakes his head and stops Ling before he fully departs. "Agent Chang, wait a moment. You'll each have an hour or two to gather any remaining supplies you would like to bring with on your mission. You must wrap this up quickly as you only have a day or two to disrupt these plans. And for the love of the Decemvirate, do not embarrass the Society." He walks away, shaking his head at the antics.
Captain Zendrani and the crew of the sleek Sixwing Drake steer the ship up to the massive barrier of broken war-barges, crumbling walls, and jetties of iron and wood that protect the port of Diobel. Well, here we are,” says the captain. “I’ll make sure everything is in order with Diobel’s inspectors and charter you a barge to the port. You aren’t carrying anything particularly valuable, so you shouldn’t draw much attention from the inspectors or pilots, so long as you don’t run your mouth. My crew and I will wait here with the ship. You can return here to rest, if you need to, but remember—there isn’t much time!”
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"... but remember—there isn’t much time!”
"Hey man that's not what the crier said." Says a big shaggy, disheveled man in a formerly festive shirt now worn with age, and baggy pants that don't quite reach his ankles. He gets to his sandalled feet. "I mean someone paid good coin (probably) so I could join this cruise, after all."
"Hey guys! I'm the Dude. Sorta your 'Kortos connection'. Hey, Captain, You got a bar on this tub?"
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Before embarking, Ling gives himself a crew cut with his nodachi. In spite of the unwieldy tool he does a... well lets be real here, pretty crappy job of it. Not that he really cares. Only a few nicks and a few uneven patches, but he knows from experience that it grows out quickly and he wears his helmet most of the time.
As always, his entrance is quiet and he keeps apart from the others.
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After observing the phantom's tirade, the half-orc whispers to the Dude in an aside: "I think he just cranky cuz he ain't been able to change his drawers in a long time!"
Noticing the Dude for the first time, "Where did Igor go?" she thinks grasping tufts of greasy hair in her hands.
"I like your sandals, honey. They look comfortable. Want me to paint your toenails?" the barbarian asks innocently.
"WHERE DID MY NEW APPRENTICE GO?!" the phantom frets. "One does not simply leave the presence of the mighty Tyranthraxis without permission!"
Luthic rolls his eyes, but takes care to do so only when the phantom is not looking his way.
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"WHERE DID MY NEW APPRENTICE GO?!" the phantom frets. "One does not simply leave the presence of the mighty Tyranthraxis without permission!"
Luthic rolls his eyes, but takes care to do so only when the phantom is not looking his way.
"Hey man! That's a f$@$in' fascist thing to say man! People fought f$+*in' wars over that s&%* against Cheliax man! We're gonna be stuck on a boat together for a while, so let's just all chill out. I gotta lay a bunch of Kortos stuff on you.... Anyone mind if I do a jay?"
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"I like your sandals, honey. They look comfortable. Want me to paint your toenails?" the barbarian asks innocently.The barbarian shrugs, "He didn't say 'no.'"
Whilst the Dude tokes up, she breaks out her beautician's kit and begins affixing fake nails to him and painting them.
"Ah, You don't have to do that man, I bite 'em when I'm nervous anyhow, and that will just leave speckles in my teeth. You wouldn't happen to have a light?"
At dawn the Sixwing Drake arrives without further incident at the barrier and a barge approaches the ship. Captain Zendrani speaks quietly with the captain, a stocky middle-aged man with weather beaten skin and calloused hands. An exchange of several pieces of gold can be seen passed from one captain to another. There is a shaking of hands and the two captains approach the Pathfinders. "This is Captain Markus Karbie, he is going to get you to shore and standby for you in the event you need to make a hasty withdraw. No questions asked."
The trip to the shoreline is uneventful and Captain Karbie asks no questions as requested. Any attempt at conversation is firmly, but politely dismissed by the man. "No offense intended folks, but I'm not being paid to make conversation. The less I know the better..."
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At dawn the Sixwing Drake arrives without further incident at the barrier and a barge approaches the ship. Captain Zendrani speaks quietly with the captain, a stocky middle-aged man with weather beaten skin and calloused hands. An exchange of several pieces of gold can be seen passed from one captain to another. There is a shaking of hands and the two captains approach the Pathfinders. "This is Captain Markus Karbie, he is going to get you to shore and standby for you in the event you need to make a hasty withdraw. No questions asked."
The Dude raises his hand, and then as if called on asks: "You wouldn't happen to have a tindertwig I could bum off you? S$&$ like this always makes me nervous."
"Perhaps we should see to some of the tasks. Maybe check on the drug shipment" Kennick says in a hushed tone.
"Well, they'd probably have a f&%+in' light." The Dude says irritably.
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On the ride over the Dude takes up as much real estate in the boat as possible manspreading all-over the place. Comfortable, he lays out what he knows about Aspis's and Kortos's connection.
"So anyway man, here's the deal. I've got some information. Some things have come to light. Ah you see man, this is ah, well, you know like really complex. This thing, might not be as simple as well, you know.... See these Kortos f@&$s are really big into the trade, and a lot of less savory s!!@ too, but they're like organized into houses like, well, houses. So guys like House Locosta, the dudes in Kortos who are like all tight with Aspis, say they make all their coin by tradin' spice, but really they make most of their money in slaves. F&@*ers." The Dude spits over the side. "So anywho these f#*@ers are really big in Diobel. Like real big, man. Take like the biggest big thing you can think of and make it bigger." He says gesturing broadly. "But everyone in Kortos does like their own thing man, and most of the Aspis guys you meet on the street are like the same way. It just goes to show you that we're all the same underneath. So all I figure you gotta do man, is kinda f$~* with them a little bit. Just enough, and the f%@@s will go their own way, too much and they'll f$$#in' kill you dead man! Well anyways good luck, and if you could grab me some tindertwigs while you're out that'd be cool. I'm good for it next Oathsday. Oh and maybe a beer. I'm good for it."
He shakes hands, and smiles broadly at everyone as they reach the dock.
"Oh s!&%! Since you're goin' there, some doobies too! I'll get you back man. Oathsday man. I'll be on like the Promenade Deck."
Tyranthraxis continues to rant.
"...becoming a lich is no easy process, but one made impossible without a proper apprentice..."