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Introduction - First Steps, Part 1 "In Service to Lore"
Fresh off your induction into the Society and the completion of your basic training within the organization, you find yourselves in the office of Ambrus Valsin, the venture-captain in charge of daily operations in and around the Grand Lodge. The efficient and straightforward chamberlain greets you curtly and motions for you to sit before jumping straight into your assignment.
“All right, Pathfinders, Listen up!" He says, looking you over like a military officer looking over green recruits. "I know you are new, and eager to make names for yourselves in the organization, but first we need to make sure you are up to snuff and won’t get yourself killed out there. I have a number of small assignments for you and your team, and it would be best if you could finish them before the day’s end." Ambrus takes a moment to size you up, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Every day we get some doe-eyed hopeful or some sniveling bootlicker willing to do anything to join up with the Pathfinders. Most of them are good kids, but not all of them have the salt to make it in a world like this. It’s rough out there and I’m not just talking about the ruins, tombs, and wilderness Pathfinders find themselves in on missions. We’ve got people who look down their noses at us, folks who think we squander our resources, and agents who want to take everything we have collected. This wealth of knowledge and these items of lore make us powerful. That said, since we are fractured and widespread, it’s difficult for that power to light on anything for too long. For every friend of the Society, there are two enemies." His warning given, he allows the gravity of his words to settle in before clearing his throat and getting back to the business at hand. "Your first mission, to test your mettle and loyalties, sends you to meet a few people important to the Society living here in Absalom. These are other venture-captains or close allies of our organization, so follow their orders as you would mine. I’ve prepared a list of tasks I want you to do. They’re not arranged in any particular order of importance, but I want them all completed as quickly as possible. Only report to me once you complete them all. Included in the envelope you hold in your hands is the list, complete with the name of your contact, and directions to the meeting location.”
Venture-Captain Valsin briskly deflects any questions, instructing you to see your contacts on the list in the envelope for more information, reminding you that those contacts are to be treated as authority figures that should be both respected and obeyed. He then excuses himself and leaves you to look over the information contained within the envelope. What you find is the following:
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Task 1
A man named Guaril Karela runs a curio shop in the Docks called the Pickled Imp. Go to him and fill his request as a favor to the Society. I believe it has something to do with a set of rare books.
Task 2
Ollysta Zadrian requested aid and is expecting you at the Temple of the Shining Star in the Ascendant Court. She needs someone to deliver a parcel of medicine and curatives to a needy orphanage and verify the character of the recipient.
Task 3
Visit the offices of Osirian nobleman Dremdhet Salhar in the Wise Quarter. The Pathfinder Society needs to obtain permission to delve the Salhar ancestral vaults beneath Sothis. He has made a verbal agreement, and your visit makes it official. You will receive an official charter and detailed maps. Do not embarrass the Society in this matter.
Task 4
Chelish Paracountess Zarta Dralneen possesses an item loaned from the Vaults. Meet with her in her estate in the Ivy District and retrieve the item in her possession.
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You are currently in the Grand Lodge, located in the Foreign quarter of Absalom. You have until the end of the day to complete these tasks, which are located in different places throughout the city. It might prove wise to first determine the order in which you handle them.
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"We won't let you down, Captain." You see an Ulfen man who stands tall at 6 feet 4. His hair is dark blond and cut short. His beard is neatly trimmed and accentuates his otherwise rough face well. You notice a tattoo of the symbol of Kurgess, The Strong Man, on his right bicep. He seems to be comfortable in his scale mail almost like it's a second skin to him. There is a large hammer that looks like it could break the earth strapped to his back. "Name's Adamus. Pleased to meet'cha." He extends his hand for a hearty handshake."What do y'all want to do first?"
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Taurus is a barbaric Shoanti, a native to the Velashu Uplands. He has dusky sunburnt skin that is heavily tattooed with tribal designs and is shaved bald except for the shadow of dark growth across his chin. With a physique true to his namesake, the hulking warrior stands well over two meters tall and weighs nearing four hundred pounds of rippling muscle and power. Strapped to his back is a large wooden shield painted with a pair of crossed swords and hanging from his hip is a deadly battleaxe.
"This seems like work for women and children", the Shoanti giant snorts looking over the information in the envelope. "I see nothing in here about plumbing forgotten tombs or wrestling with mad cults for artifacts".
The massive warrior notices the others around him - seemingly for the first time, "Call me Taurus", he grunts.
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"Falyf Nightwing", the elf introduces himself. He is tall but slim, wearing a chain shirt, and a short sword at his side. "I hope it is good honest work." Nodding towards Taurus, "just go ahead, it looks like if you rush into battle, there's not muc left over. If that's the case, I can then make minemeat out of it."
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Saying to Taurus, "Big guy, I'm the guy who's gonna patch you up"
To all, "I'm also the guy that will intergect a little thought into the process". "Why don't we start by going to the Docks and tackling task one"? "Once we've attended to that dudes request we can take this safari in the direction of all our other tasks and can pick which one is most convenient".
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Seeing that the elf is eager to get to work Taurus picks up his things. The hulking warrior tightens the straps on his armor and adjusts himself one last time, before bidding farewell to the Venture Captain and exiting the Grand Lodge.
Once outside, on the streets of the Absalom, the big Shoanti looks the map over and then leads the way to the Pickled Imp.
"So Curraine, you're a healer of some kind. Is there one Diety you serve above all others?", Taurus asks while plowing his way down the Patchwork City's crowded streets.
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"Aey! Wait for me!!" Harris shouts out to his new companions.
A lean long-limbed human dashes skillfully through the crowd. The motion of his body exhibits a natural athletic inclination; controlled feet placement in anticipation of the chaotic crowd ahead; arms and fingers reached out to balance on passersby but never needing them. His face is jovial, drawn white teeth upon a face used to smiling.
Harris saunters to a stop and exhales excitingly, “Phew! Thought I’d missed you lads! I tell you, that old woman could not pull that cart any faster even with an extra coin. I could have run faster, and I did!” He pauses to pull out a length of lanyard and bridles it in between his lips, then presses back his loose dirty curly blond mop to tie off. “I'm Harris Hawkson. The Venture Captain gave me the orders and said you were head south. Impressive mustache isn’t it!”, suddenly commenting on Ambrus’s appearance, “Like a privet hedge!!”
“I’m assuming the Docks first? A good idea, wouldn’t want to be down there after sundown.” He straps on a few armor pieces of hard cured leather as he greets and marches with the five squad-mates. “I know a few roses down at the Grog Pit, I’ll introduce you.”…
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Taurus stops as the duo call out for the party.
The burly Shoanti pays little attention to Kalin's apology or Harris's story. "You're late", he growls at the newcomers as he towers over them and glowers. "See that it doesn't happen again".
Taurus snorts in anger and resumes leading the group to the docks.
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Guaril Karela, the head of the Absalom-based Sczarni, runs his curio shop—The Pickled Imp—in the seedy, harborside Docks district.
The cheapest method of getting around the city is walking, which is exactly what your group does, either from habit or necessity. Being new to the Society, most of you do not have the wealth to toss away on transportation, and the size of your party would mean a very cramped ride, assuming you could convince a coachman to risk a half dozen armed and armored men scuffing up his seats. The Grand Lodge is about a mile and a half from the Docks as the crow flies, but since none of you can, the trip takes about 45 minutes to navigate the winding crowded streets to your destination.
As you arrive outside the Pickled Imp, a few of you notice a short figure back down the street slip from the crowd and vanish down an alley. You're pretty sure he was among the crowd outside the Lodge a short time ago, and you suspect he might have followed you here. Checking the alley reveals an exit to another crowded street, but no sign of the short man. It could have been a coincidence...
Eventually you return to the Pickled Imp and step inside. Within you find a creepy shop that 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. 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."
With a smile as greasy as his hair, Guaril slides a small square of parchment across the counter towards you. On it is written the pier number for the warehouse. "Any Questions?"
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"The Ulfen speaks the truth. We'll recover your things but I will not have any part in taking any unclaimed goods", Taurus declares. "I am a lot of things - conquerer, killer, adventurer but no petty thief or scavenger".
The big barbarian looks to his companions, "Let's get going. The sooner we get this over with the better", Taurus says casting one last furious glance at the greasy Varisian.
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Heading towards the warehouse, Haris comments on the task ahead at the three law-abiding citizens, "You know,... we are already committed to breaking into a legally seized warehouse?", pausing to let the obvious sink in. "There's probably a reason it's called Pathfinder, not Spotfinder. You bricks do what you want but the Capt said 'so follow their orders as you would mine' and I'm following orders to the letter on this first jaunt. The Pickled Man says grabs - I'll be grabbing."
"Yes, that's a good description," Haris suddenly remembers the holy soldier's question, "I'm a grabber", said amusingly with a nod as if finding a mental nugget. "Adamus, I'm a grabber of all things - ropes, chains, things-on-fire, coins, gems, wealth, prestige, women. Heck, even some men! Most of all, I'm a grabber of life!"
Continuing to walk on, "Have I told you about my show? Just found myself a ten minute spot at the -"... [blab]
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Guaril doesn't seem to be hiding anything (at least from your party). If a city guard was in sight, you'd suspect a much different attitude from him. Basically, he's a greedy slob taking advantage of the contacts and knowledge granted to him by membership in the Pathfinder Society to line his own pockets.
Guaril couldn't help but notice the general attitude taken towards his suggestion to loot the warehouse after finishing your task. "Must be a bunch of idealistic cubrangers they sent me." He chuckles with a smug grin, waving you off on your business. "Do what you will, just bring me what's mine."
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The location Guaril has directed you to is a 10 minute walk from his shop through fish markets, trade warehouses, seedy dockside taverns, and large crowds of people moving, loading, unloading, sorting, haggling, and a few vomiting or sleeping off a night of shore leave. But the hustle and bustle of the Docks fades as you approach your destination, and the pier itself is almost desolate in comparison, with only a few local fishermen and some kids scattered along its length, casting nets or bobbing lines into the water.
Perched on the end of the pier fifteen feet above the water, 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. Called pelican warehouses, these buildings perch at the end of piers, allowing a ship to load and unload farther out from the busier docks. 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. The pier this pelican warehouse sits on stretches 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, and stands 15 feet above the water. The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty and provide no view into the structure’s interior. Out near the warehouse a small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope.
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The locals glance at Falyf as he walks by, but show no real interest as he approaches the warehouse and rattles the handle on the door, discovering that it is locked. He also notices that a narrow ledge seems to surround the structure to the south, providing access to loading doors normally used by docked ships.
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Upon hearing that the door is locked Taurus moves to force it open but decides against the idea when he reviews the building's poor condition - One good blow might bring the whole thing down.
"Haris, your kind has a tendency to be good at getting into places you're not wanted. Any chance you can crack the lock?"
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First upon Haris's face was the look of alarmed apprehension as Taurus brought his meaty hoof up to smash the frail door; then relief that the poor door had escaped destruction; then embarrassingly offended at the quip about not being wanted.
"I happen to be an entertainer", corrects Haris as he casually flips open his small box of masterwork tools. Then to Adamus, Taurus and Falyf, "Please avert your sensitive eyes."
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Looking the door over, Haris sees no sign of any traps. Applying his skills to the lock, he performs a little wrist acrobatics with his tools and soon feels something fall into place.
The lock on the door opens.
Inside 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 beyond some crates to the south. 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.
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No sign of followers can be seen from your vantage at the end of the pier, but the range makes picking out details from the distant crowd difficult.
Inside the warehouse, Taurus finds many barrels, boxes, and crates stacked along the walls. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. By the smell of them, most of these smaller crates and barrels seem to 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 simple sundries including, but not limited to beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, 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.
Perched in the middle of the hole in the far side of the structure, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows arranged in a triangle—the very crate you have come to find.