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S'theno and Shallya have studied up on Society history.
The Wounded Wisp was frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before they had even formed the organization. Acquaintances at the bar would share stories of their adventurous exploits. Many of the early volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp's roof, and it has been frequented by famous Pathfinders, such as Eando Kline and Osprey, ever since. Though there's no official relationship with the Grand Lodge, the bar's owners provide discounts to Pathfinders, who form much of their clientele.
Shallya in particular knows that one of the founders most closely associated with the establishment was Selmius Foster, who rented a room there in between his expeditions. His famous race against a marid and efreeti was featured in the first volume of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
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Dreng replies to the Paladin, “Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling.
I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine.”
The Wounded Wisp is located in the Foreign Quarter district of Absalom, close to the grounds of the Grand Lodge. You have no difficulty finding the establishment with the map Dreng provided. Almost every initiate or member has heard of or seen the building at some point.
Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. In the hours just before dawn, the building closes long enough for menials to clean and to give staff a rest. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern—referred to by the staff as “the wisp”—that hangs there during the evening hours.
Arriving in the main room, the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink.
An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
A few groups of people sit, mostly eating and drinking. In particular, you notice the following individuals, labeled by the color of their borders:
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S'theno rests his guisarme against the wall and threads his way casually to a seat at a center table. Looking down into a pouch at his belt, he closes his eyes for a moment as he reaches inside. He sniffs and listens attentively to the sounds around him. He fishes out a pipe and some tobacco, lights it, and takes a puff, sending smoke out of his nostrils.
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On the way to the Wounded Wisp, Varg makes a point of handing out his hand carved wooden roses to every Pathfinder in the party. Some are better quality than others, as indicated by the craft checks above. Having given them out to Dreng and his teammates, he'd have run out by the time we get to the Wisp, unless someone doesn't want theirs.
Varg watches his teammates split up to talk to various people. As each leaves to a different table, he looks like he's about to say something, but ends up just staying quiet. He shrugs his shoulders and walks up to the bartender.
Seeing how busy she is, he waits patiently for an opening, wanting to talk to her and complete the mission he was assigned by Dreng.
"Are... you... Her-yn... Gale?"
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The chaotic noise of the bar makes it hard to make out too much, but one name seems to come up often among the patrons...Sir Reinhardt of Kenabres.
Janira Gavix is speaking to a group of other new Pathfinders.
"...and that's how Durvin Gest found the fabled Lens of Galundari"
Recognizing you from her work with new Pathfinders, she pauses for a moment. "Welcome, Wailan, join us! She gestures to a nearby empty seat. I heard your team was on assignment for Venture-Captain Dreng. Finished so soon?"
"'Course not! Always room for more at the table! Grab a seat," the female one says, clapping a broad hand on your shoulder. "I'm Shrade. This oaf here's Garl. Let's get you a drink."
Before you can respond, Garl shouts across the bar. "Hey Heryn! Three more over here! And some of what we had yesterday!" Somewhat quieter, he turns back to you. "Haven't seen you 'round here before. What brings you to the Wisp?"
"Always a pleasure to break bread with the next generation of field agents. I am Aram bin Kaleel. I do wish they'd stop sending you on such menial tasks. What is it this time? Has Kreighton Shaine lost his glasses again?"
He is interrupted by a half-orc near Tavagra, bellowing across the room. He briefly stares at the trio with a disapproving look, before continuing. "There was none of this nonsense back when Vilk was around. Anyway, I don't suppose you're hungry? He gestures to his plate, a simple arrangement of cheeses, breads, and vegetables with accompanying dips and sauces.
Once there's a lull (and after one or two people who got up to the bar after you have been served), the woman turns to you. "Sure am. What's yer poison?" As Grarg shouts out his order, she turns around, calling towards the kitchen. "Get me two Varisian chickens, a beef and pepper pie, and three orders of fried pickles. And another tray of clean glasses! She turns back to you, as she begins filling more mugs. "Where was I? Oh, yes. What do you need?
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"No, its ever so more important, he is thirsty and needs a bottle of wine. Ah well, I suppose most organizations haze their new members a little.
Thank you, I am a bit peckish. May I perhaps buy you another round?
You knew Vilk, did you? I've heard many a good story about him and some of the antics he got up to. Do you happen to have any good ones to share?"
My disguise is +17 (not bad for level 1:-))
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"Antics weren't really Vilk's style. He was the Master of Blades most of my career. Soldier and scholar both, unlike so many of your generation, no offense intended. The half-orcs in the corner get another harsh glare. "Held off a group of bandits in Isger, then wrote a book on the temple he was defending. He mentored so many great field agents. Valsin, Osprey, Sharrowsmith...they all got their start under that man's wing. Wouldn't have stood for the way they treat recruits these days."
Ah well, maybe I'm just an old man grumbling about the good old days."
Nonchalantly, he adds, "The Society is a tolerant place, you know, the Wisp even more so. There's no need to hide yourself here. I can't deny we've made progress in that respect over the years."
"Yes, Janira Gavix. I work with Kreighton Shaine, training incoming agents. I was just telling these bright young ones about some of the earliest Pathfinders who got their start sitting around tables just like these. The original furnishings are almost all gone, of course, between the fire of 4412, the great venture-captain brawl of 4592, and the 4698 earthquake.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Stories for the new agents. Wait! You're one of the ones from that awful incident in the alley, aren't you? I don't suppose you have any pearls of wisdom for these trainees?, she asks, gesturing to the group around her.
"Another bottle off the list, eh? Well if you couldn't tell, I'm a bit shorthanded right now. Alston and Pesca were supposed to be here half an hour ago, though the roads are always a mess on Test days." Heryn continues to juggle orders while talking to you. "As soon as they get in, I'll bring you downstairs. Be a dear and deliver this for me. she says as she presses a drink into your hands.
As a general note for everyone, this is intended as a roleplay experience. We can spend as much or as little time doing this as you like. This format makes it harder to 'read the room,' so let me know when you'd like to move on.
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S'theno assumes Sir Reinhardt is some sort of mammal. They usually are, around these parts.
Shrade responds, "Ah. You just got to find your niche, so they know when to use you. If they need axes, they call us. If they don't want nothing smashed, they leave us to drink here."
As a large tray of food, and several more drinks, arrive, Garl asks. "Killed anything fun lately?"
"Wisely said. Attention to detail can save your life. That reminds me of Gilray Jandivan's expeditions to the Abyss..." Janira says as she begins launching into a retelling of his journeys.
"Over there, she gestures ambivalently.
The old man responds, seeming to continue to read his book at the same time. "I'm not actually a Pathfinder. I just work with the Society from time to time. I'm Yargos Gill, perhaps you've heard of me. I consult with Kreighton Shaine on questions of military history. Are you the scholarly sort? It surprises me how few in your organization are.
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"Nice eye. I'm impressed. Most don't notice. You're right, though, I shouldn't hide who I really am here"
Shallya resumes Kitsune form.
"I appreciate your insights into the Society's past. I can't help but agree that the Society has changed, and not necessarily for the better. While I certainly don't agree with their methods, everything I've heard makes me think that the Shadow Lodge weren't completely wrong in their goals. I was most dismayed to find that Torch was just a posturing bastard out for himself"
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Yargos is reading A Brief History of the Ascendant Court, though the "brief" definitely appears to be false.
"Yes, that whole incident was so dreadful. People on both sides seemed to lose track of what the whole Society is supposed to be about. Ollysta and Ambrus have been making some progress in repairing those old wounds, I think.
"There you are. I've been waiting for ages." Taking off her apron, Heryn calls back to Varg. "Hey you, chatterbox, grab your friends and I'll take you downstairs.
She leads you down a set of stairs, through a storage room into a larger room, with a crevasse cutting straight across. A lone, creaky board bridges the gap. Heryn gingerly crosses, and gestures for you to follow.
From there, you weave through the wine racks, as Heryn seeks out the right bottle. Heryn reaches for a nearby list. "Lets see, what's next? Ah. Chateau de Halcamora 4306. It should be over there, near the top, she says, turning to Tavagra. "Would you mind getting it down for me?"
When Tavagra starts to pull the bottle out, the rest of the wine rack recedes, swinging to the side with a grinding noise. Heryn gasps in surprise. In its place is a worked stone hallway, leading to a room.
A sturdy silver chain jutting from the ceiling ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across the rectangular room. A simple desk of polished wood, stacked with documents and scattered notes, shelters a pair of wooden chests against the south wall. A series of cracks along the eastern and western walls form makeshift entrances into exposed caverns.
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"I had no idea! People always said there were secret tunnels and stuff in the Wisp, but I've been here my whole life and never seen anything like that."
As Varg makes his way in a little bit, it's clear that the main room itself was deliberately constructed, but the side tunnels appear to have formed naturally.
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While the others fling their vials alll over the room Tavagra moves in and casts Burning Hands. S'theno and Grimn wait outside (it doesn't look like they can really assist here).
Ninja'd by Tavagra. Disregard this part.
The bats move over Varg, Wailan, and Tavagra.
The party doesn't look super well-equipped to handle this encounter. If you're desperate, you did just make friends with a bunch of Pathfinders upstairs, though I'd encourage you to take this on yourself if at all possible.
Party is up.
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"Owwwch!!!" Varg repeats again.
Varg runs out of the room (move action), activates his spring loaded wrist sheathe to pull out his wand of Cure Light Wounds (swift action), and taps himself with the wand to stop the bleeding (standard action).
"More... flasks... in my... back-pack. ... Grab... and throw!" he tells the others.
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Shallya watches as the previous flask of alchemists fire continues to burn for = 9 points. Thats better :-).
"Hah. Take that you bunch of flying rats."
If the swarm is still swarming, he takes out and throws his second flask
for
Well, that will miss.
He then takes a 5 ft step so some other brave person can step in,
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The combination of the new flask and existing burn fries enough of the remaining bats, causing the rest to flee back down the tunnels.
With things calming down, you're able to take a closer look at the desk. The papers seem to have miraculously avoided damage from the flying flames and acid.
Upon examination, these papers appear to have belonged to Selmius Foster. While they detail many of the Pathfinder's adventures, the most recent seem to have focused on a Pathfinder named Elysia.
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Shallya reads the notes
"Trying to find these old notes is going to be a whole LOT more fun than delivering a bottle of wine. Lets drop the wine off and then go see if we can find the notes. I suggest we don't tell anybody, if we do they'll just do it themselves and make us go clean the latrines or something. My people have a saying, "Better to ask for forgiveness than permission". If we can't find the notes in a day or two THEN we can tell the others."
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While Shallya is reading the notes, Varg doesn't say anything or wait for requests before he taps Wailan and Tavagra with his wand of Cure Light Wounds, then taps himself with it again.
Seeing that they're fully healed, he looks over the notes himself, taking longer than the others to read them.
"Ven-toor Cap'ns... would want... to know... 'bout this." You can tell Varg is conflicted between wanting to go along with Shallya and wanting to report their findings to Dreng and the other Venture-Captains. "Guess... can't hurt to... in-vest-i-gate... our-selves."
"We... should... leave... notes... here. ... If dan-ger-ous, and... we die, ... then... Miss Gale... can tell... Cap'n Dreng."
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The side tunnels quickly become too small for even Small creatures to move comfortably. The distinctive odor of the sewers wafts out of some of the smaller passages.