GM Ladile's TL;DR: A Pathfinder Society Campaign

Game Master Lady Ladile

The continuing adventures of a select group of agents from the Pathfinder Society...
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The invitation delivered last night was remarkably simple, especially given the importance of the occasion: “Start where it all began. Meet us at the Pig’s Paunch one hour before dawn.”

You had already heard rumors that in order to meet growing demand the Three Masters, responsible for the training of new initiated at the Grand Lodge, had begun to advance the promotion of some of the Society’s most promising initiates. Could the invitation you received be related? Whatever the reason, you now find yourself outside of the Pig’s Paunch - a run-down building sporting a fading sign of a large pig standing on its hind legs, arms folded over an immense belly.

It hardly seems like the proper location for an important gathering, but another quick peek at your invitation confirms that you’re at the right place. From within, you can hear the sounds of clattering plates and muffled voices as the staff busy themselves preparing for yet another day. As head inside, you reason that at least you’ll still be able to get a proper meal in during the proceedings!

Inside, the air is thick with the scents of human sweat, stale tobacco, and food - leftover and fresh alike. Several tables are scattered about the room, some empty and others occupied by the inebriated sleeping off a night of revelry and the early-riser sitting down to an early breakfast. A slightly harried-looking woman waves to catch your attention.

"Mornin'! I bet you're one of them folks here for th' meetin', aintcha?" she calls. She gestures to an old battered table near the fireplace. "Jus' have a seat an' I'll be round to getcher order in a bit," she smiles before hurrying off to the kitchen.
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Feel free to settle in and begin character introductions!

On one of benches for the battered table is a young woman curled up in a blanket. Her head is resting on a folded up cloak and under the bench rests a worn pack with a sword belt and a warhammer laying on top of it. Her snow-blonde hair is held in a loose and messy braid that looks long enough to fall almost to her hips. Despite the uncomfortable bed, she is sleeping soundly.

"Kan jeg få den søde hvalp, mor? Vær venlig?" She mutters sleepily as she pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Intent on making a good impression, Zithembe arrives at the Pig's Paunch with plenty of time to spare. His traveling robes obscure most of his features, but with a moment of manipulating the copper and silver cuffs at his wrists, the robe melts away to become a comfortable, loose fitting shirt and a boldly patterned shendyt kilt.

This being the City at the Center of the World and home to the main campus of the Pathfinder Society, he is probably not the most exotic person to ever patronize the Pig's Paunch. However, his smooth, green marble skin and the metallic celestial tattoos down his arms certainly makes him uncommon.

"I am," Zithembe replies in a deep voice with an exotic accent that pulls strongly toward Garundi. "Take your time. I have all of it."

Politely ignoring the sleeping patron, he takes a seat at the table near the fireplace and removes the heavy pack from his shoulders, depositing it on the floor beside his chair with a thud.

The young woman continues to sleep on the bench, perhaps curling up a little more as she mumbles something under her breath at the thud.

A surprisingly muscular halfling steps into the Pig's Paunch staring at a piece of paper in his hands. After a few moments of what looks like intense concentration, he finally looks up, his bright green eyes scanning the room and it's patrons. His fresh face, freckled from too much time in the sun, looks far too young to be the grizzled warrior his dusty old armour and weapons would initially lead you to believe. Heck, his mutton chops haven't even grown in yet, the wisps of hair on his cheeks looking rather sparse. After a moment, the young man swiftly turns on his heel and pads back outside on his bare, fuzz topped feet.

Just as the halfling in samurai armour leaves, you hear a ruckus from outside, "Buk buk BAHGAWK!" And a white chicken comes careening into the room, clucking loudly as it runs around the tables and chairs before jumping on the table next to the jade gentleman. "Buk?" It's head tilts from side to side, seemingly appraising the man.

You look funny! You a Pathfinder?

"Sori! COME BACK." The flustered looking halfling yells as he runs back into the Pig's Paunch, ducking under tables and bouncing off the legs of sleeping patrons. "Sorry, sorry. Coming through!" Finally, he stops beside Zithembe, looking up at the chicken on the table. "Excuse me, sir. That's my chicken. Do you mind if she stays there for a bit? Only, once she finds a place to roost, I have a heck of a time to get her to move again." He smiles apologetically at the man and extends a calloused hand up to shake. "I'm Tupp by the way, Tupp Thistledown. I'm supposed to be at a meeting or something for the Pathfinder Society, but I'm a bit lost." He then passes his invitation to the man. "I don't suppose you know where this is, do you?"

”Hello,” Zithembe remarks calmly as the chicken jumps onto the table. ”Someone’s breakfast making an escape?”

He turns his attention to Tupp when the halfling returns. ”Oh, your chicken? I do not mind.”

He takes the offered hand in his cool grip and squeezes firmly. Looking over the letter, Zithembe smiles and nods. ”You are in the right place.”

Tupp is a little surprised by the coolness of the man's hand, his eyes widening slightly as he stares at there clasping hands. "Oh! Really?" He takes another quick look around and shrugs off his battered backpack. "Do you mind if I wait with you? Oh, wait a minute..." He exclaims, the cogs visibly turning in his mind. "Are you an initiate too?"

The chicken simply sits down in the middle of the table. "Bok."

A growl from the other side of the table is the only warning Tupp and Zithembe get before a feminine hand wrapped in leather slams onto the table, shortly followed by its mate. Slowly, like a leviathan from the deep, a head crowned with snow-blonde hair in disarray appears followed by narrowed eyes that glimmer like arctic ice.

"Somethin's tellin' me I'm havin' chicken for breakfast," she says as she sits fully upright and glares at the chicken. Her clothing, hair, and eyes mark her as ulfen, though she seems a little shorter than normal for the hardy people of the north. She appears to be barely into womanhood, no more than late teens at most. Its also clear that she's just woken up and hasn't noticed her tablemates yet as she begins to tense for a lunge at the object of her ire.

A well-appointed hackney cab pulls up in front of The Pig's Paunch. The driver looks around suspiciously, speaks soothing words to the horse, then gets down and opens the door.

"Is his Lordship certain that... this is where he'd intended to be dropped off?" The driver looks over his shoulder with apprehension.

Inside, the passenger looks up from a card, craning his neck to look at the sign. "Well, I'm supposed to be at 'The Pig's Paunch,' and it seems that we're here!" A very stylishly-dressed and somewhat portly man steps out of the cab, fishes out a gold coin for the driver, shakes his hand, and waves him off. With a shake of his head, the driver jerks the reins, and the cab clops toward classier streets.

Standing on the curb outside the bar, the man watches the cab depart as the white plume jutting from the his jaunty hat flutters slightly in the breeze. He looks at the card and back up at the sign again. With a grin, he mutters to himself, "...and since Mother has cut my purse-strings, I'll be frequenting more places like this... Well, the Dawnflower will provide!"

He strides up to the door, pushes it open, and steps inside.

Recognizing a few other fledgling Pathfinders from earlier training, he approaches their table. "Good morning! I'm not sure if we've met formally. I'm Lord Theodric DeSoldon, late of Taldor. Please, call me Theo." He offers his hand, and those who shake find that he has a firm grip, but not crushing.

The heavy clomp of boots scares the chicken just as Ylva lunges for it. Unfortunately for both Theo and Ylva, she doesn't know her own strength and goes sailing over the table to smack face-first into the nobleman's chest and take him to the ground with her. She dazedly rolls off the man and groans as she pulls herself up to a sitting position.

"Blodig, overgroet, dum fugl vågner mig op i denne uhøflige time," she grumbles before noticing that there are three others at the table she'd been sleeping at now, if one counted the noble lying on the floor next to her as at the table. Her cheeks color more than a little as her shoulders slump.

"Nu skal de tænke mig galskabens kvinde," she mutters under her breath as she hops up from the floor.

"Pathfinders," she states as much as asks before reaching down and hauling Theo to his feet with one hand.

Now that she's standing, it's clear that she's willowy, with long graceful limbs filling out with muscle hidden by clothes that are too large for her. Her hair, now only in a token of a braid falls well down her back to her hips. Her blue eyes are more alert as they look over each of the other three, with no hint of apology when on Theo.

"I am," Zithembe replies to Tupp's inquery. "Although I find the term initiate amusingly ironic."

He takes Theo's offered hand once the wizard arives at the table, his green flesh again cool to the touch. "Zithembe Six Paths, late of Axis," he replies to the Taldan. He releases the man's hand and then shifts slightly in his seat a moment before the Ulfen girl pounces, allowing her unimpeded progress across the table. He watches her and Theo tumble to the floor with a dispassionate gaze.

"Yes. Pathfinders," he answers the girl, lifting his jade wayfinder from his belt to show her the glyph of the open road on its lid.

An elf woman comes quietly into the room, and looks around. She's tall and lithe, with an angular face, and braided black hair

"The Pig Pauch"? Really? I don't remember this place being called like that last time I came here. Twas "The Piper's Den", I think. Or was it "The Blue Moon"? "Piper's den", I'm sure. But it was a few years ago. Thirty five years, give or take one or three years.

She looks around, amused by the commotion around a table, where a woman, maybe overcomed by lust, just threw herself at a man. There's a chicken not far. The whole scene brings a smile on her lips, and a twinkle in her eyes

The difference between erotic and kinky is the difference between using a feather and using a chicken... Humans continue to amaze me, after all these years

Thanks you, Terry Pratchett.^^

She comes closer, and hears the strange man talking about Pathfinders

I'm looking for some Pathfinders too.

Know PLanes about Zithembe: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Trying to know what kind of outsider he is

With all the new sounds around, Sori looks around just in time to see the groggy about to pounce. "GAAAWK! bok bok buk." In a trail of feathers, the sprightly chicken leaps from the table and through the legs of the portly noble who has just arrived. After the crash that follows, Sori flutters up to the top of a nearby table and turns to look at the prone humans. "Bok buk." She clucks happily as she watches the ensuing scene.

Ha! Serves you right.

Tupp finally opens his eyes again now that it's all over, his arm still raised halfway towards where Theodric's hand was moments before. "Pathfinders." He agrees, craning his neck to look at the Ulfen. "I'm Tupp! Pleased to meet you." The young halfling steps forward and raises his hand up again for the two of them to shake before turning to Thodric. "Are you alright, sir... Umm, Theo? That looked like quite a tumbl- Oh, hello!" He smiles warmly at the newest arrival. "We're Pathfinders! I'm Tupp." He then makes another cheerful introduction.

A slow, rhythmic tap can barely be heard from the street.

*tap*...*tap*...

It steadily grows louder, but never to much more than a half-hearted clap.

*tap*...*tap*...*tap*...

Finally, an aged man with light blue skin and thick, stiff hair shuffles into the tavern, clutching a weathered walking stick. He neatly steps over the, well-dressed floor rug and takes a seat at the table and exhales deeply, the intricate, wooden mask hanging from his hip swaying softly as he does.

Pressing his lips outward enough to press against his nose, he takes in each of the faces. "hhmmmmmmmmmm..." Many times have I walked the jungle, yet still there is always more to learn and see. It is the first I have seen an uncooked chicken upon the table and a man in the place of the mat. Absalom, the city in the center of the world indeed.

"I am Kiango," he says in a quiet, deep voice, a gentle thrum on a worn out drum. "This is the Pathfinder Society, yes? I have walked for a long time to be here, from the mighty Nantambu." He supplies an incredibly worn piece of parchment with the Glyph of the Open Road on it. "They tell me to come to this city, and so I come. Then the paper tells me to come to this den, and so I come."

In the midst of the commotion another person enters the Pig's Paunch and, bypassing the barkeep, approaches the table by the fireplace.

There is some resemblance between the sprawled young woman and the new arrival whose azure blue eyes are set off by long golden-blonde hair. Standing just over six feet tall, with the pointed ears and refined features of an elf or half-elf, it seems a safer bet that this is a man though he is surprisingly androgynous, even for an elf. He wears midnight-blue silk armor, contrasted sharply by a yellow cloak and a golden holy symbol.

His voice offers little reassurance of his gender as he interjects, "Hi, sorry I'm late. I'm really more of a night owl than an early bird. I trust this is the Pathfinder meeting; I've made it a point to try to learn all the other new recruits' names and faces... I'm Sylvak."

Awkwardly stepping around Ylva and Theodric, he gestures towards an open spot on the bench and asks, "may I?"

"I think that you may be more than dinner," Zithembe murmurs quietly to the surprisingly attentive chicken, eyeing it with the solid copper globes that serve as his eyes.

The man who better resembles an exquisitely made jade golem returns his attention to the most recent arrivals. "Nantambu! Beautiful city. I love their art, and the libraries are delightful. Did you come from Sharrowsmith's Exports?" he asks as he touches the metal cuffs at his wrists and transforms his own outfit into a colorful Zenj robe.

He nods to the elf, interrupting himself for a moment to answer him. "Yes. This is the meeting."

”Thank you, Zithembe,” Sylvak answers as he sits. ”I take it this must be Tupp’s chicken? I’ve heard several stories about it... and, unless we’re waiting for it to lay eggs for us, should we order breakfast?”

Ylva, who'd been waiting for a break in the conversation to introduce herself snaps her gaze onto the chicken, then on the halfling who'd introduced himself as Tupp.

"Yeah, might better order something since chicken's off the menu," she mutters as her face heats with embarrassment, her pale skin showing the brightening pink rather well.

"Ylva Whitescale," she introduces herself in a stronger, more melodic voice. "I went to join and the Pathfinders told me to come here. Sorry about knocking you over," she says to the portly noble, "I was after the chicken. I'm like Sylvak. I much prefer the night, and the wanna be rooster woke me up." Which as about as much of an apology as the chicken was likely to get from her.

Kiango perks up a bit by Zithembe's well informed question. "The libraries are but the tip, the Magaambyan masters the haft of the spear that is the knowledge of Nantambu." Nodding his head, he continues. "I seek much knowledge and Sharrowsmith tells me of one mighty repository and the path to more. Pathfinders find knowledge themselves, through this society I shall learn what the Magaambya does not and help keep Nantambu safe from the demonic denizens of the Mwangi."

He makes that same gravely, contemplative noise again, "hmmmmmm," as he appraises the Zenj garb. "You have many tricks, I see. Handwoven cloth is what I wear, but having many pieces in one is useful. Tell me of this trick and your story. What path have you taken that has led you to cross with mine?"

”Godmorgen, Ylva, eller så god som en morgen kan være,” Sylvak replies with a bit of a smirk.

Tupp greets the two final Pathfinders as they take their seats, then hops up onto a chair of his own, flushing slightly on hearing that his chicken is gaining a reputation. "Well, she can be a bit of a handful." He admits, thinking about a certain incident during training when Sori took a disliking to an instructor. "But she does lay the best eggs you'll ever eat, so it's worth it! Although... I'm sorry she woke you up, Ylva." He's trying his best to be polite, but Tupp can't help occasionally staring at the marbled man with the copper eyes, even while talking to Sylvak and Ylva. "Maybe I can offer you one of her eggs sometime, as a sort of apology from Sori herself? It'll have to be on another day though... I ate this morning's one for my first breakfast."

The chicken clucks a few more times and shakes her tail feathers at Ylva, apparently not a great fan of the idea. She then settles down near Tupp, as far from Ylva's reach as possible, before focusing her attention on Sylvak.

Know. Religion: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14

"What path causes the moon to cross the path of the Wagon?" Zithembe asks the samsaran rhetorically. "Given enough time, all eternal things will meet, Kiango. Possibly more than once in the case of your people. However, the story would take more time than we have if shifting of the skies outside the tavern are any indication. To be brief: you know of Irori to be certain; do you know of the dwarven philosophy of Rivethun?"

The jade-skinned man removes the cuffs from his wrists, forcing his clothing to return to a loose fitting, linen shirt and a colorful kilt. He slides them over to Kiango. "You are welcome to try the trinkets, if you like. Envision the clothing you would like to be wearing."

"Why, I am glad to meet your—OOOFFF!" Theo is suddenly knocked off his feet by the Ulfen woman, and sprawls backward. He grabs onto her waist for nonexistent support as he falls, landing on his back with Ylva atop him in an extremely awkward embrace.

He then laughs jovially. "I say— It's been quite some time since a young woman leaped into my arms like that!" He sits up and slowly gets to his feet after she rolls off of him. He dusts himself off with his hands.

He doffs his hat and bows, with a very wide grin. "Madam, while I know most of the popular ballroom dances in Taldor, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one. Perhaps you could teach it to me later, so that I'm not all left feet again!"

Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

If Theo is taken aback by the appearance of the blue-skinned man or the person who appears to be some kind of living automaton, he does a fairly good job of covering it up.

He then glances at Sylvak's holy symbol...

Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

...but it doesn't ring a bell.

"And, so it would appear that we're all in the right place. Other than that, do any of you have an idea on the nature of our mission?"

Kiango's brow furrows in response. "Rivethun? I cannot say that such a word has entered my learning. The Dwarven kind are not common in the Mwangi. Please, share the story of this Rivethun," he asks as he gently fidgets at the mask on his hip.

A wrinkling hand picks up the cuffs and his eyes close. His clothing changes several times, from the furs of a jungle cat, to regalia of a Magaambyan wizard, then a fisherman's work clothes, before finally settling on a brown robe with trees and a river expertly stitched along the outside. With a smile, his eyes open. "This is a good trick. As the water shifts the light, so do the clothes shift over me. The robe that I wear, but do not wear, is that of a former master. It makes all the jungle around him his vessel, he could appear in one place, then another, as the trees placed him where he wished to be." Curiosity sated, he slides the cuffs back to Zithembe. "You have my thanks for such an experience," he says, the robe melting away and revealing his simple traveling clothes again.

Going back in time a bit.
"Er, that was no dance," Ylva admits with a deeper blush. The awkward position she'd found herself in was not one she was used to. Still, the man was in good humor, so it wasn't all bad, right.

[i]I guess being blessed with a pretty face and a slender waist has some benefits. At least he's not angry with me.[i]

Now
"Bedre når sulten og tørsten er slukket!" Ylva laughs as she responds to Sylvakand beckons one of the servers in the place to the table. She rolls up her blanket quickly as the others find seats around the tables.

"About as much as I do of this Rivethun thing they speak of," Ylva answers Theo as she finishes getting her things together, and just in time for a young serving girl to come scurrying over.

"Mead and whatever you have to fell a mighty hunger," Ylva says at the unspoken question before taking her seat and stretching the last of the kinks in her back away. "Oh and Rugbrød, uh, Rye bread, honey, and butter if you have any," she adds before the girl can scurry off with everyone's order

"Tupp, Master of the Bird of the Dawn," Ylva says, suddenly serious, "this will not do." She gives the halfling an impressive glower for a couple of seconds before her composure starts to crack, and one corner of her mouth twitches in a grin before she can get it under control. "Oh yes, you must have more chickens, One for the high sun, one for the dusk, and one of the high moon." Then she can take no more and bursts out into a gale of laughter and flings her arms wide, almost knocking her neighbors senseless. "Nay! You should have one for every star placed in the skies by Desna herself! Imagine the bounty of gold and ivory then!"

”Are you likening egg whites and yolks to ivory and gold?!?” Sylvak remarks with a chuckle, ”you must have woken up hungry!”

”That does sound good though... waitress, add a bunch of eggs to everything she just ordered, please.”

"Yes, but my people have an under appreciated sense of poetry," Ylva replies with a grin. "Everyone always focuses on how tall and well-muscled we are and don't ever appreciate the beauty we bring to any language we deign to learn."

Know Religion: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18

Hepsubia looks at the holy symbol. There is the glimpse of a memory, but it flies away quickly.

Something to eat and drink would be great. I'd like some honeyed milk, if you have, some bread and ham, and maybe a few fruits of you have.

The elf woman sits at the table, smiling quietly

As everyone settles in at the rather large table near the rear, the serving woman from earlier bustles over and quickly begins taking everyone's breakfast order. "Let's see...eggs, ham, rye bread, butter, fruit, honeyed milk, mead, more eggs, bacon, more bacon, more eggs, more bacon, an' taters..." the woman huffs, repeating everyone's order. "Alright, it'll all be out 'n two shakes," she smiles before hurrying off back to the kitchen. But then she pauses as if something just registered. She glances back over her shoulder and spots Sori, still perched atop the table.

"Oh no...no no no no, off th' table," the woman declares, flapping her arms to try and shoo the chicken away. "Don't care if it's yer best friend, we ain't lettin' any critters sit up on th' tables! If we let th' bird do it then we'll have to let everyone else's animals do it!"
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Breaking up the posts a bit, please stand by!

About this time the door of the Pig's Paunch opens and in strolls an elven man who looks quite familiar to most of you - Kreighton Shane, the Society's Master of Scrolls. Following closely behind him is a young halfling woman, all manner of tools and implements about her waist and carrying a backpack stuffed so full that it looks ready to burst. He quickly spots the group, loosely congregated in the corner, and heads over. Pulling up another nearby table, he nimbly hops on top of it and sits down cross-legged as his halfling companion takes a seat in one of the chairs.

"Ah, here you all are and already plotting to slay breakfast," he grins at you. "Good, good, it wouldn't do to send you all off on an empty stomach now would it?" He looks around the dingy tavern, a look of reverent wonder on his face. "Can you believe it? It all started here years ago - well, over four hundred of them at least! Under this very roof, the Pathfinder Society was born." Shane continues gazing around until a gentle cough from his halfling companion seems to remind him that he in fact has more to say.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why we called you here today and at this early hour, yes?" he says as he turns his attention back to the group. "Today! Today you will begin your Confirmation! Master Farabellus, Master Zey, and I all agree that you've each shown your worth and dedication to the Society - and what better time than the present to see if you're ready to become full field operatives," he continues, clapping his hands excitedly. Turning to the halfling woman, he smiles. "Allow me to introduce Janira Gavix. Janira will be accompanying you on your Confirmation. She was one of my best and brightest pupils and I'm sure that she'll be a valuable asset to you on your journey, especially as she was the one who initially discovered the caves that you'll be exploring as part of her Confirmation!"

As she's introduced Janira excitedly jumps to her feet and bows to you all, wobbling as she tries to balance the enormous pack still strapped to her back. "Greetings aspiring Pathfinders! It was six months ago that I was out mapping cave entrances in the foothills of the Kortos Mountains. While I was there, I saw a lone gillman entering a concealed cave. At the time I didn't think too much of it, but as my Confirmation stretched on and a month passed, I saw another one enter that same cave. A few days later once I had finished my work I entered the caves myself but wasn't able to locate any gillmen. Of course I really only had time to just have a peek inside before I had to return here to Absalom. But that's where you come in!"

Hopping to his feet and ignoring an indignant cry of, "'Ey! Them tables is for eatin' on, not for standin' on!" from the serving girl, Shane waves his arm with a flourish. "Initiates, for your Confirmation you will travel to these caves and explore and document its many passages! Additionally and most importantly, you are to try and learn what the gillmen are up to in there." He pauses and then adds almost as an afterthought, "Oh and you need to return alive as well, that's quite important too." With that, the Master of Scrolls jumps off the table and strolls out of the tavern, humming a jaunty tune to himself.

"Buh buk bok." Sori complains a little, flapping her wings back at the serving woman. However, she quickly gives in to the shooing and jumps off the table and onto Tupp's old pack, sending up a plume of dust and dirt. "Buh-gawk!" She clucks sourly as she wiggles around, trying to make a little hollow to lay in.

Bah, it's more comfortable down here anyway.

"I'm sorry, as much as I try, she just sort of goes where she wan-" Tupp starts to get up to help shepherd his chicken off the table when the Master of Scrolls and Janira enter the room. All thoughts of his troublesome bird are momentarily forgotten as he watches and listens to the jovial elf. "Woop!" The cheer creeps out unbidden, overcome with the excitement of this being his confirmation. As soon as Shane strolls out the tavern, Tupp approaches his fellow halfling with a wide smile, extending his his hand to shake. "Have you eat yet? We've just ordered breakfast! Come sit with us, I'd love to hear more about your confirmation and gillmen."

"Hmmmmmm" Kiango groans. "The foothills we shall go," he says to nobody in particular. "Many questions. What creatures call our journey and destination home? What is the story of your Confirmation?"

Pleased to remain seated for at least a little while longer, Kiango attentively listens to any of the stories shared while slowly but deliberately eating his vegetable laden breakfast.

Another trip! Thanks Desna! Let's just finish this meal.. I'm Hepsubia, by the way, wanderer and Jill-of-all-trades.

"It seems even brief was too long and we will need to table our discussion," he says to Kiango as the Master of Scrolls and his star pupil enter the Pig's Paunch.

Zithembe listens attentively as their confirmation task is explained.

hmm... I'd take ruins full of ancient items over a cave full of gillmen any day, but I knew when I signed up this wasn't going to be a glamorous life... still, it does beat living in subjugation under the children of Baba Yaga... I hope these other Pathfinders are competent, I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to trudge through the wilderness and delve into hidden caves without some guidance...

Sylvak listens attentively to all that is said about their assignment, and about their guide's previous experience. While he does, he slowly picks at a soft-boiled egg and a single slice of toast with honey.

As Kreighton Shane makes his exit, Janira beams happily at the group. "Well, there you have it! I’ll explain a little more about what we’ll be doing in a few minutes but first, we should get to know each other a little bit. Building a sense of camaraderie with your fellow Pathfinders is very important, you know. ‘Cooperate’ doesn’t just apply to the peoples we encounter on our missions but to each other as well."

When Tupp approaches she grins and shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, Tupp! No, I've actually not eaten yet so I'd be happy to share breakfast while we chat and get to know each other." She moves to pull up a chair at the already-crowded table. "I’ll start first, if any of you have any questions for me - or any questions about what Master Shane had to say. Yes? You, the Blue Man," she continues, nodding at Kiango. "What sorts of creatures, you ask?"

Here, Janira offers an enigmatic smile - that of a teacher wanting to see if a pupil can answer their own question. A rather maddening expression, depending on one's feelings about study as well as getting to the darn point. "Hmm...I do have an answer for that but maybe one of your companions knows it too. Anyone? What about gillmen, are any of you familiar with gillmen at all?"
__________

At this point, you also have the opportunity to try and recall any knowledge you might have about the Isle of Kortos (which you are currently on) or more specifically about the Kortos Mountains themselves. You might also know a little something about gillmen.

Zithembe reaches into his pack, removes several tomes and sets them on the table. He selects a well worn, leather bound text with many dog-eared pages and opens it to an early chapter. Those close enough to him and willing to lean in while he scans the words with his finger can read the title: The Historical Significance of Demihumans in and near the City at the Center of the World.

He then folds his hands and exhales slowly. Once more, those of you closest him are able to feel the air cool and the smell of sea salt and fish at the wharf tickle your senses. A multicolored sheen like oil on the surface of the water coats his copper eyes.

"The spirits of the water remember well the gillmen--the last of the people of Azlanti. Their ancestors dove into the water to escape Earthfall and were blessed by a powerful aquatic being to gave them and all their descendants the ability to survive and thrive under the sea.

"The spirits of the island know well the creatures that call this island home, too," Zithembe continues. "Tribes of centaur, harpies, and minotaurs skirmish for territory across the soil of Kortos."

The sheen recedes from his eyes, and the jade-skinned man appears physically drained. He takes long, slow breaths and grips the side of the table for support. "I hope that helps," he says with a shaky smile.

I came close, but I did not reach the hardest Knowledge (history) check threshold.

know it all

Sylvak casts a sidelong glance at the jade-skinned outsider, slightly miffed that this stranger was able to recall more information than he was.

"Gillman?" Ylva ponders the strange word as she half listens to Zithembe. She felt a little embarrassed at not being able to recall anything about the strange sounding creatures from her time sailing with her parents as they worked on merchant ships sailing back and forth. Inevitably, those thoughts brought her to darker times, but they only pained her a little now. Now, though she had a question of her own.

"A fish does not live long out of water, no matter its form. Where are these fish shaped as men coming from?"

Tupp groans inwardly as Janira turns the breakfast table into a classroom Aww, I didn't know there'd be homework! Fortunately, there appears to be a teacher's pet at the table, and the less than studious halfling just nods along to everything Zithembe says - even though he's only half listening as he distractedly looks around to see who ordered the fish. A few moments after the copper-eyed gentleman finishes his run down on the history of gillmen, Tupp suddenly perks up. "Wait... Did you say harpies and centaurs!? Should we be expecting trouble on our way to your cave, Janira?" He asks, perhaps a little too excitedly, his own knowledge of the area being desperately poor having just moved here from Tian Xia.

Know. Geography (untrained): 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (5) + 0 = 5

Know Geography: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
Know History: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

While Hepsubia has a precise recollection about the sitution of the island of Kortos, she doesn't remember anything specific about the situation on the island.

Besides, she's eating and drinking.

Between mouthful, she manages to ask

Do you think we might need specific equipment for our trek? You seem to carry a whole lot of things in your pack yourself, Janira

Kiango looks at Zithembe with purpose as he speaks. Many stories are held within this one, I would do well to learn what he has to say. "Thank you for your words Zithembe. Another trick? Your eyes shown blue and this sharing has made you unwell," he asks with concern. Does he bear a cost for his stories? One must not over-harvest the plants lest they cease to grow again.

"Gillmen is new to me. When what Ylva speaks of Gillmen," looking slightly cross at the woman, "is true, her question is very good. I am new to Kortos Isle, but I too know water is not plentiful beyond the coast." Our words shape the perception of our reality. Too soon does that one trivialize the being of others.

"No trick but a calling," Zithembe answers Kiango with a wan smile. "To speak with--to speak for the spirits--is a blessing, but letting go can be hard on the body, even mine. It takes a moment to catch my breath."

He nods at Kiango's subtle chastisement of the Ulfen youth. "The Azlanti were proud, and their descendants are no less proud. Be mindful of that if we meet any. They are men blessed with the ability to withstand the deeps not fish transformed."