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Being a former slave, the fact that sick and defenseless children are made to work irritates Herman to no end. He listens and watches the drunkard old woman carefully as she explains the "light work" the children are required to do making sure she isn't lying.
If he can't tell anything else is amiss, he looks over the more sickly children upstairs. He sings some songs to earn the children's trust and then asks to make sure they are getting all they need and there is no funny business here.
If none of that searching around reveals anything more amiss, Herman will agree to give the medicine to the woman for the children's use. He will however, be making a negative report to the Silver Crusade, recommending the children be relocated to a safer more compassionate place where they don't have to work.
Herman senses that the she is lying, and that she knows the children aren't supposed to be farmed out as laborers in the community.
As Herman searches the house, Auntie Baltwin becomes increasingly agitated, but is still cowed. He does not, however, find anything more obviously suspicious or incriminating.
It does seem that the children are getting what they need, mostly through Auntie's healing abilities, consisting mostly of home remedies and magic, based on the items you see and what the children tell you. Of great annoyance to Auntie Baltwin, the children are most eager that Herman come back and visit them with more songs and stories.
Back at the temple to Sarenrae, the paladin Ollysta Zadrian listens to your reports with increasing concern. "Thank you for your reports. These are weighty matters to consider. While it appears that she is doing good for the children, the drinking and meanness are of great concern. Even more so, she is using them as unapproved child labor, and likely pocketing significant profits, especially given that most of the children have families that pay for her services."
You make your way to the south of Absalom to the seedy Docks district, and find the shop, The Pickled Imp. This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
“Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases.
“There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway.
“My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me.”
"Yes, that retrieving the goods would be most welcome, but I don't think anyone has taken anything yet. Your prompt help is thus most appreciated."
The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. A few local fishermen and some kids sit scattered along the pier casting nets or bobbing lines into the waters below.
Perched on the end of the long (100') pier fifteen feet above the water, supported on pilons, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building’s windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene. (These are a style of warehouses called "pelican warehouses", sitting at the end of long piers, out of the way of the busy dock region.)
A small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope.
Many of them either accommodate smaller vessels that are in a hurry or larger ships unable to find an open dock. Rare these days, most pelican warehouses lie in disrepair, withered from storms and salt, and every year it seems another one falls into the harbor.
An increased tax on this type of property keeps many of the owners from rebuilding and some have even relinquished the titles to their small warehouses, allowing them to fall into the hands of squatters and smugglers—or into the bay itself.
Smugglers sometimes use small boats to slip under the warehouse, sawing a hole in the floor or prying boards in the night, and sneaking in to loot the place or just drop a crate into their boat from above and paddle away in the night.
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"These old pelican warehouses are falling into disrepair and disuse all over the city. The tax code makes them less attractive than others. No surprise our shady friends are using this place, they not even own it, just found it abandoned and co-opted it."
Herman sneaks up to take a look in a window or listen at a door.
There is a filthy, oily film on the windows, inside and out, that prevents any view of the interior. Listening at the door reveals no sound coming from within.
The warehouse is locked, and the door appears study, but Amaruu perceptively finds a hidden key sits sandwiched between two rickety slats on the building near the doorframe. Amaruu does not hear anything else from the inside, either.
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled.
Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows arranged in a triangle —the very crate you have come to find. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain (just from names on the crates, what is visible between boards, and various open crates) simple sundries including beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons.
A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.
Detect magic finds nothing magical about the crate. As you approach the crate, however, you can tell the boards around the hole and, especially, the boards leading to the crate are rotted and splintered and that the wrong move could send the crate tumbling into the harbor.
You would guess that the crate, depending what is in it, could weigh 200 lbs., more or less.
As you are inspecting the hole and considering plans for getting the crate, some creatures come stealthily scrambling at you and are upon you before anyone notices them! They are three filthy rats, each the size of a small dog, with coarse fur, long scabby tails, and eyes that seem to glitter with malicious, ferocious intent.
Surprise Round (1 Standard action or Move action): *Rat Creatures
Round 1 (next round): Herman, *Rat Creatures, everyone else.
Treat squares with barrels or crates as difficult terrain and as providing the creatures with Cover unless you are adjacent to the creatures or have a clear path between you and them.
The animals are dire rats. Fairly obviously...
The bite of a dire rat can inflict a disease called "filth fever", with symptoms showing in 1 to 3 days.
The three rats strike, biting the legs and arms of Amaruu, Boomkin, and Tromos!
Round 1: Herman now, then the Rat Creatures, then everyone else.
Herman squirms through the crates but misses the rat, nicking a crate.
The rat bites back at his new attacker, nipping Herman on the arm.
The rat attacking Boomkin misses, but the rat attacking Amaruu seems determined to give the inquisitor a worthy opponent.
Storn enthusiastically splits one rat into two neat halves, and Amaruu slices his rat into ghastly, serrated halves.
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Tromos cries out in horror as the rat sinks its teeth into his calve. He shakes his leg free and jumps backward.
"Dire rats!" he shouts to his companions. "Their bite transmits filth fever, an... urg." He grits his teeth. There will be time to explain the symptoms afterwards.
A hand dives into the alchemist's bag fumbles around for a moment, and retrieves a flask of multicolored liquids. Two layers of opaque liquid swirl inside, segregated by sheet of some thin crystalline subtance. A plug of cork with a needle embedded on the interior side stops the top of the flask.
Tromos presses his thumb down on the stopper, shattering the separator. As the contained substances come into contact, they begin to froth and bubble violently. He flings the flask at the ground, aiming slightly behind the rat to mitigate friendly fire.
The giant rat is caught in the explosive, firery splash, but it is quick and nimbly dodges most of the deadly rain. Still, it is gravely wounded.
Xeno stumbles badly over the crates and barrel, and desperately tries to make it look like she meant to do that.
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Herman takes the bite, but disengages the rat before any filth can infect the wound. (hopefully). It's the first wound of his Pathfinding career, and his dramatic side takes over.
"Oh, it bit,me! Ouch, that hurts! Take that you foul biting rat!"
Herman slashes at it again with is longsword managing only to scratch it, if that, with his feeble strength.
The rat is poked by Herman and just manages to nip Herman back!
The rat is probably cleaved in twain, although there is so little left of it that it would be difficult to tell for certain.
Now, as the mists of blood settle across a sea of carnage, you assess your wounds, and likely turn to matters of healing.
Eventually, you turn your minds back to the purpose of this mission, rescuing the crate.
As Amaruu approaches edge of the hole, bits of wood break of and fall into the bay and the crate shudders a bit on its precarious perch.
Amaruu might be able to get there without disaster, and he might not.
Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain (just from names on the crates, what is visible between boards, and various open crates) simple sundries including beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons.
A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.[/ooc]
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"My thanks," Tromos nods to Storn. He frowns at the hole in his leggings where the rat's teeth had made their mark.
"Anyone bitten by these creatures would be wise to seek further healing after we finish our business," he announces. "Some can resist the effects of the disease, but for others, it can bring enfeeblement, paralysis, and even death." He mentally reviews the directions to the Temple of the Shining Star.
"I would be sorely disappointed to lose our cargo now, having come all this way," he says. "How many tool we have on our persons, I don't know, but perhaps we could cobble together some sort of rope-and-pulley system with this crane."
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Herman looks about for how to control the boat lift. He wonders if it's possible to maneuver the lift over the crate, hook up the crate, and then move to safer ground. So he's looking for controls, a net or hook to attach the crate, or anything along those lines.
"I think the crane can be moved over this crate, if we can figure a way to connect the box to the lift. Then we can slide the boat crane back out of way of the hole."