“Close the door,” Ambrus Valsin murmurs as the team gathers in his office. “Let me start by saying, this mission is not for dissemination among other members of the Society.” The chamberlain of the Grand Lodge gives everyone a serious look in turn before continuing. “This mission is not an investigation, just a simple, straightforward assignment, but that makes it no less important.”
“I need you for an important mission in Irrisen. There you will rendezvous with another team who have captured some—” Valsin pauses for a heartbeat before continuing, “—persons of interest. We have reason to believe that these individuals have information on the Shadow Lodge cells that are refusing to reconcile with the Society under Grandmaster Torch’s leadership.” Valsin’s expression becomes particularly grim at that point. “If these rogue cells are outright refusing amnesty, then they represent a clear threat to all of us. I need you to take charge of these captives and get them out of Irrisen safely and quietly. Once you’re clear of Irrisen, a larger extraction team will take custody of them and bring them in for questioning. We will cover geting you to the meeting point in Irrisen. Because of the nature of the mission and Irrisen itself, you’ll be meeting the other team in the field, away from what passes for civilization up there. The team you’ll be getting the prisoners from will show you the best route out of Irrisen, and the castellan of Trollheim has agreed to grant you passage through his lands. You are responsible for avoiding unexpected trouble between the handoff and Trollheim.” Valsin gestures for the team to depart, but pauses, staring at his fireplace for a moment before adding, “Wait. You need to know this. Your prisoners will be goblins. The Shadow Lodge separatists made extensive use of the sadistic creatures as soldiers and servants, and as much as you may want to throttle them, please remember that we need them alive.”
“You should assemble the gear that you will need here for such an expedition. We will handle getting you to the Irrisen rendezvous point, and provisions will be provided there for the persons of interest. You are to speak nothing of this to anyone, though you should settle your affairs, as usual. You have until tomorrow morning. Prepare as if your overland mission will be starting then.”
“Remember, it's cold in Irrisen, possibly colder than many of you have experienced. It’s just above freezing most days, and drops below at night. Storms come from nowhere, too. Any questions?”
|
Jani, an androgynous figure swathed in silk scarves, cocks their head oddly as Hagan asks about the previous mission. "We were very disturbed to be paralyzed by a ghoul, but the warlike Storn destroyed it before it could eat us." Jani describes the undead they encountered, while keeping their red eyes fixed on a point three inches to the right of Hagan's nose.
While speaking to Jani, Hagan will have noticed, in addition to a lack of clearly defined gender, Jani has a stiff, chitinous covering on the visible areas of skin, pointed ears that look even more like antennae than the ears of elves, black, shiny hair and a odd way of moving that makes one think vaguely of an insect.
|
Storn stands awkwardly in the room, crammed in with the rest of the Pathfinders. He is an enormous, barrel-chested man with a stringy beard and long dreadlocks. Beady eyes peer out from a weathered, craggy face that makes him look far older than he is. He is dressed in a new suit of banded mail and has a huge greatsword strapped to his back.
"Irrisen? Hah! Those blouse-wearing witch worshippers? They dare call themselves Kellid in -my- presence and I shall delight in the stench of their entrails and lamentations of their bereaved yaks." Storn's booming voice is hoarse and thick with a Kellid accent.
"But it will be good to stop sweating in this wretched heat and see the north again. Escorting goblins instead of slaughtering them will be an unusual test of my abilities. The last mission was too good to be true! Beastmen, Herman's head trying to flap away, undead and a tree that was not a tree. Good times. I will tell my likely dozens of illegitimate children of such times if their mothers ever find me."
Hagan manages to chat up a Pathfinder Society records secretary and gets access to his new group's previous mission briefing notes and all of their pre-published reports, no doubt destined for an upcoming edition of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
|
As Jani tells the harrowing tale of the group’s last mission, Hagan notices that their eyes always seem to rest slightly off the to the side of his own. At first his own eyes would dart to around to see if anything was there. Finding nothing, he concluded that Jani might have some sort of eye disability and it was likely very rude of him to call attention to it. He listened to the rest of the story, making a point to look Jani in the eyes no matter where they drifted.
And what a tale it was. He couldn’t stop his eyes widening, or his mouth gaping at the deadpan recounting of their exploits. Erastil’s swift arrow! Ghouls and demons! he thought with amazement. That eclipsed anything he had ever dealt with before. Truly he was standing before the likes of mighty adventurers indeed.
When the story was finally over, Hagan’s mouth bobbed open a few times as he struggled over what to say.
I have to admit to feeling a bit out of my league here. Exploding flasks, glowing swords, men walking as giants – My expertise is limited to getting odd feelings about people and then hitting them until they stop moving.
Hagan paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Well, sometimes I hit them very hard. He shook his head. You are a brave band. May Erastil look kindly on your ventures and bless your families with good harvests.
|
|
Storn slams a meaty paw on Hagan's back in a show of comraderie. "And may the Lord in Iron wet your blade with the blood of our foes!" He picks a small bug out of his beard and pops it in his mouth before he continues.
"Hitting things? We -shall- get along! Here is what you must know. Herman and I have been through many battles together. However, he is smarter than all of us Jani is a strange, disturbing creature but she... he... uh, Jani has many useful, disturbing abilities as well. Wuliem here keeps taking samples of my copious bodily fluids, but blows things up so he's all right."
|
|
Hagan stumbled slightly under the weight of Storn's mighty hand, but managed to awkwardly catch himself. He smiled back at the loud, hairy man, a boyish tugging of the lips that made him seem years younger.
I look forward to fighting by your side, Storn.
He rubbed the back of his head, contemplatively.
Although, I have to admit to being surprised that our mission is to protect goblins. The damned things are practically a plague in Varisia. Actually, that brings something to mind. Does anyone here even speak Goblin? It could make this mission a bit easier.
"These goblins, as I to understand it, speak the common tongue, what with their acting as spies and mercenaries for the renegade Shadow Lodge. That said, it never hurts to speak their language, if only to listen," notes Ambrus Valsin, now that the group had settled in and heard his briefing.
|
Wuliem arrives--late as usual--to the meeting.
As he enters with much noise and dropping of items, he is continously interrupted by his having to pick up a vial, piece of burnt parchment, or--you think--a small skull?
Excuse me. I apologize for arriving in such a state of disarray. I have been extremely busy with new experiments and dicoveries! My friends, you will not believe the new discoveries that I have been experimenting with these quiet days! Wonderful! Amazing! I might even venture to say...chilling! HeHe!
Wuliem looks at his companions with an expectation of amazement on their faces....
He is still looking...he drops another vial, picks it up without his eyes leaving your faces...
...He shrugs his shoulders in bewilderment...
Hello good...knight? My...I am Wuliem BrokenCrown, Alchemists Glad to meet you!
Wuliem attempts to shake Hagan's hand, but he gets tangled up in his coat pockets as his hands were busy putting his things away...again!
|
|
Hagan smiles at the alchemist, and helps him scoop up many of his fallen reagents, including vials of metal shavings, dried leaves, a turtle shell, and what he hopes is merely a dried piece of jerky that only resembles an eyeball.
The pleasure is mine, Good Sir. But I'm not a knight. I work in the city as a priest, actually. Your companions were regaling me of your exploits in the museum. I look forward to working with you.
Hagan notices a piece of eyeball jerky is stuck to his hand. He awkwardly hands it to Wuliem.
And it's good to know one of us here can speak their tongue. I don't much like the idea of being surrounded by the deceitful things as they chitter and plot behind our backs.
|
|
Wuliem accept the assistance with a measure of delighted surprise!
Yes...well...eerr...I--for one--wouldn't want to deal with that again, although it was rather amazing the transformation they took because of that mist. I wonder if I might be able to duplicate it?
Wuliem smiles in an "I am not here right now. Please call back at the explosion".
He absently takes the--eyeball sample--from you...
|
|
Herman hangs back in the background as the rest meet their new team mate, he still feels quite icky after the probing tongue of the vargouille violated him most offensively. When Hagan asks about Goblin, Herman pipes up "I do know a few goblin war-songs and speak their nasty tongue to a mimimal extent. Want to hear one of those songs now?" He fingers the strings of his mandolin and begins croaking a melody that sounds like nails on a blackboard. Seeing his companions unrest, he quickly stops "Ok. Yeah, enough of that." He offers his small hand to Hagan. "Herman, here. I'm curious about new things, especially if they make great stories or songs. I hope you perform some heroic deeds that are worthy of a new tale, but I hope more you survive to hear me tell about it."
He turns to the great unwashed Storn. "I've never actually met any goblins before though, are they nice? What about Irrisen, I hear it's lovely to visit anytime of year. I also hear there are witches and ice creatures abounding up there. What can you tell us about the Great White North?"
|
|
Hagan, with his ever-present, amiable grin, bent down and shook the halfling’s hand genially.
“Well met, Herman. I am honored to meet you. I haven’t exactly accomplished any deeds worthy of the bards as of yet. But by Erastil’s grace hopefully that will be remedied someday. But in place of glory, I’ll gladly settle for our survival. Dying for a cause is one thing. But dying needlessly is quite another.”
Once the discussion turned to Irrisen and its dangers, Hagan decided to stay quiet and listen. Information applied well was a weapon as good as tempered steel. And right now the only thing he knew of Irrisen was that it was cold and to the North.
Oh, and Storn mentioned something about witches. He had never met a witch before. He wondered vaguely if they were dangerous.
|
|
Jani wanders over to a side table on which some bread is laid out, taking a piece and breaking it in half. One half, they hand down into a bag hanging from their waist, and a scorpion's claw reaches out to grab it and pull it into the bag. Jani eats the other half, in a rather disturbing fashion -- when they lift the bread to their mouth, a long, thin forked tongue reaches out, wraps around the bread and pulls it in.
"Yes, it would take more than a month, probably much more by sea and land to get there. But, we only have a short time to get to the rendezvous point to meet up with the captives so we will get you there by other means, on which I cannot elaborate. There will be no need for a cover story as this will not be a mission to be detailed publicly in the Chronicles, at least for some time to come."
"If there are no more questions, meet back at the east entrance to Skyreach at 9 AM. Have your affairs in order, as always." The Venture-Captain concludes with a final nod for luck, having directed you to a side, less-used entrance to the Grand Lodge towers.
When you return to the Grand Lodge with your supplies, you are directed to the unusual, side entrance. From there you are led to a room where you meet Ambrus Valsin again. Valsin looks apologetically at you, explaining, “Because of the particular need for secrecy in this matter, I need to have each of you hooded at this point. Others will help with your gear.” (A small cloth bag, breathable but opaque, is provided for Ku.)
You are then led in a line through a number of locked doors, moving slowly up and down several flights of stairs, and ride on strange, moving platform. A final door is then closed behind you and you are each guided to your place on what seems to be a stone platform.
“Best of luck,” Valsin wishes you, “When you feel the cold winds, take off your hoods. It will be obvious from there.”
In a moment, you hear some commanding arcane words and then feel a cold breeze blowing on your hooded faces and a crunch beneath your feet. Taking off your hoods, you find yourself on a brightly-lit, small, snow-covered hill. On the hill there is a circle of ancient stone markers, each shaped like a craggy, peg tooth two to five feet high. Gathering your senses, you see an individual trying to hail you, quietly but with some urgency from a nearby tree line. As a shadow passes over a nearby field – disturbingly crisp, winged and with a long neck and tail – you run down the hill and across the small distance to the individual.
“Come, come quick! I am Ragna Lightfoot.” Once you are well past the tree line, she continues, “We’ll move through the woods to another clearing. That tor is heavily watched,” explains the tall woman, blond with Ulfen features and braids. You are hustled with your gear through the woods for perhaps a half an hour, arriving as suggested at another clearing. You can see a field and then a road leading, from what you have now gathered, to the south.
|
|
Wuliem arrives--late--by hurriedly opening up the door.
He is dressed in a frosty blue weather outfit with a flame motif spiraling in a circular pattern from his pants to his furry hat.
He also has a brand new--stuffed--backpack.
Over the outfit, Wuliem is wearing is white, scorched and soot marked,
lab coat. Across his chest is a bandier filled with 8 iron vials.
On his hands are thick mittens.
Around his neck is a fire red scarf.
So, we ready to go up North?
|
|
Hagan thought he had been prepared for the cold. He had made a point to purchase gear suited just for that purpose. But he had been wrong.
One moment he had a hood over his head while wearing winter gear indoors – feeling both unbearably warm and completely ridiculous – the next his whole body felt like it had been doused with a spray of ice water.
Magic, he thought with wonder. Had to have been. And yet he hadn’t felt anything. He wasn’t sure if he should be comforted by that or not. Perhaps he’d ask Jani or Wuliem about it later.
He removed the hood from over his face and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. He stared at the hood thoughtfully for a moment and then stuffed it into his sack along with his blanket, bedroll and other assorted gear. He would keep it as a memento of his first mission.
Now he just had to survive long enough for there to be a second.
Hagan adjusted the straps of his backpack, carefully balanced his sack behind his back, and took a deep, bone-chilling breath.
And then, someone was there motioning them over.
Time to move.
|
|
"Irissen is cold, but I bet no vargouille live up here" Herman thought as the group was magically teleported to the frozen country. He blinked his eyes trying adjust them to the glare off the snow, which is not sommething he was used to. Tentatively, he put one foot out onto the top fo the cairn-covered hilltop. "Hope that snow's not too deep, doesn't take much to get knee-deep on me..." Seeing the girl introduced as Ragna, Herman follows her to the cover of the tree line. "Hi Ragna, I'm Herman. Are you here to take us to our contact?"
|
|
Storn looks out into the crisp air and inhales deeply. The frost has already begun building on his substantial beard and he looks like an exceedingly happy cleric. His breath puffs in the air before him as he speaks, crunching his boots in the snow.
"Home! Or close enough, I say. The cold is crisp and awakens the baser urges in all of us for slaughter and wanton. It will be good to speak the old language as well. Drottinn á járni blessa ferðum okkar!"
He looks over to Ragna. "Ah hah! And we are to follow you? Lead on."
“I wish I could say ‘Well met’, but, under the circumstances, ‘Greetings’ may have to suffice. This is my team,” she says, pointing to a group of five rangers and druids, ”and we get to stay out here while you lot get to go back to civilization. At least, this group,” she says, pointing now to a pitiful clump of six goblins sitting in the snow, “is now your problem.”
Ragna brings out a map of the capture site and a list of more detailed directions and begins pointing. “Here we are, six miles east of the Iceflow River, the border here between the Lands of the Linnorm Kings and Irrisen. But, there is no good place to cross, and we don’t have permission to go through that territory with the captives. You will need to take the captives here, crossing the Rimeflow river by ferry at Harvest’s End, 53 miles to the south, give or take."
"Once across, head west, crossing the border here, and on to Blackraven hall, on the third day, and then on to the next rendezvous point here, outside of Trollheim, after half a day's travel. The castellan of Trollheim has given us permission to take the captives through his territory. There is an abandoned pair of watchtowers here on the way to Harvest’s End where you can spend the night, and a number of caves further on, here, for the second night.”
|
|
The stranger that came along did not talk much on his travels. He was an odd man, large with tusks and horns, presumably a Tiefling but with a rather orcish appearance. However when speaking to him his rather soft and considerate behavior did not quite match his bestial appearance.
He did seem to know a fair chunk about Goblins however and told the other pathfinder's much about the care and feeding of their goblins, particularly their fast metabolisms and greed for food.
"And here are your charges," Ragna says, again pointing out the goblins.
The goblins are about three feet tall, with scrawny humanoid bodies that seem ill-suited to supporting their giant, too-wide heads. Their heads have enormous, pointed ears and red, piggy eyes, and their much-too-wide mouths are filled with pointed teeth, given them a permanent, disturbing grin. There ears and noses incessantly scan and twitch.
There clothes are an odd patchwork of scraps haphazardly stitched together, but, combined with the blotchy greens and grays of their skin, they blend into the rocky, forested surrounding remarkably well. On top of their garments are various disgusting and strange ornaments: animal ears and noses pinned to vests; necklaces lacing tiny skulls with rusty nails pounded through; bent spoons and forks wrapped around ankles and wrists...
She introduces each of the goblins, and you watch their behaviors, probably never having been so close to what are usually mortal threats - at least, alive and outside of battle. "From the top, there's Ahger Arbiter ...", male, who has a number of holes drilled in his forehead, and has what appears to be a stuffed toad strapped to the top of his head.
Blongy Bloodgash (F) is standing, rubbing her chin and surveying the scene.
Chuffy Corpselicker (M) is licking himself and a none-too-pleased Drubbus, apparently trying to make the latter look like an accident.
Drubbus Dunghurler (M) is sitting with his hands down the back of his pants.
Fevva Fooder (F), who has an actual paunch, is finding things to eat on the ground, off the trees, and off other goblins.
And Gretcha Gnomecooker (F), who has a large, Common tongue (Taldane) 'G' hanging off her necklace, and seems especially disgruntled.
|
|
Wuliem calmly walks up to the group of Goblins.
In Goblin:
Hello. Mees Wuliem BrokenCrown, Greatest Magician!
Mees wants to keep yous Gobos safe.
I will perform greatest of Magicks.
You listen to me and yous be safe and famous!
Wuliem gathers them into a tight group. He then stands about 10' away, waving his arms and speaking in babble. He then produces two vials, throwing them at the group.
Price 5 gp; Weight 1 lb.
This dye (available in several colors) creates an obvious stain wherever it is splashed. Washing has no effect for the first 72 hours (though magic can erase it), but it fades completely after 2 weeks. You can throw it as a splash weapon.
...and a brilliant yellow dye marks their clothing and such!
|
|
Hagan did some mental arithmetic. He had 5 days of rations on him, and Harvest’s End was roughly 53 miles a day. Assuming things went well, and they were able to move 12 miles a day, it would take 5 days to get there. But if they were delayed even only slightly…
Erastil will provide, he thought with conviction.
When Ragna introduced their “charges”, Hagan did his best to repress a shudder. A goblin named “Dunghurler” did not bode well for them.
And then Wuliem threw yellow dye on the Goblins.
Hagan smiled. “That is genius.”
The goblins are surprised and momentarily baffled by the color explosion and change, but then seem quite exited and ... pleased - even Drubbus, though he first pelts Wuliem with dung. (Fortunately, it is quite cold with the wait in the snow and mostly bounces off.)
"Look like fire! We like!" they respond generally.
"Drubbus nervous," explains Blongy.
Chuffy, getting a good look at Wuliem, says "You clothes look like fire. Look like you tiny orc head on fire! We like that."
"Whoa..." says Ahger.
"Me almost chief; me want red!" demands Gretcha.
Finally, Ragna gives you 24 pounds of goblin rations, at one pound per day and four days per goblin.
|
|
Farg returns the greeting of his fellow pit spawn but soon has his attention turned to the Orc babbling with the Goblins in their rotten little language. And from what he grasps it appears that the wizards odd display has left some sort of impression on the little buggers.
He actually enjoys the company of goblins to a certain extent, their rotten and chaotic ways have a sense of amusing him.