The Pathfinders continue down the hall, Noam and Lord Arthur leading the way. As they walk down the hall and reach the next branch, however, the stone floor beneath them sinks slightly under their weight and there is a faint ‘click’ before the tunnel floor swings open beneath them into a dark pit.
In the cramped tunnels, with little room to move, the two tumble down to the bottom of the pit fifteen feet down with a ‘THUMP’ as they hit the hard stone floor. Lord Arthur grumbles, “Well, it’s just one unpleasantness after another, isn’t it?” before getting up and offering Noam help as well. He brushes himself off and frowns as he looks around, wincing as he feels large bruises forming on arms and legs.
---
|
Aggie yelps as Noam and Arthur both collapse into a pit. She glances over the edge, looking down. "Are you okay?!" After deciding they are, she calls again. "I can get a rope across the pit, maybe there's a stalagmite or something to loop it around."
She looks around before grinning at Aratare, her goat. The goat bleats in response. She grabs some rope before loosely tying it across Aratare's waist. "Okay, go across little one. Let me know if you see anything."
Aggie's weird star-goat begins to glow like a candle, and it bleats, clearly uncomfortable as it floats slowly across the pit. Once across, it looks southwards.
Till acknownledges the compliments with a flourish, but seems a bit pensive at the sudden conclusion of the fight. "Really, a struggle that is over so soon lacks suspence. For better effect, there should be some back and forth, to increase tension. And then, when the audience doesn't expect it... the deathblow!"
--
As he hears a commotion down the corridor, Till puts his head around the corner. "Everyone around. Ah..." He takes stock of the pit trap. "It seems our colleague had quite a dangerous path ahead of himself. Or maybe he planned it this way, to shake off any pursuers?" As Aggie explains her plan, Till moves forward a bit. "If there is something, I might be able to create a knot at range. I've dabbled in some magic, and know basic telekinesis. Also, if worse comes to worst I could try jumping across. It's not too far, really."
|
|
Niome is nothing if not completely unphysical. So other than making a squeaky worried noise when they disappeared, she stays out of the way.
Well she does exhibit enthusiastic wonder at Aratare flying ability once again, and raised eyebrow interest at Till mentioning dabbling in magic. All done still from the back of the line, meaning completely unnoticed.
|
"Okay is not I will describe my situation, my friend", answers Lord Arthur, his eyes already trying to find a way out of the pit.
"Good, let's see if this works...." The Taldan Pathfinder pulls up his sleeves. "OK Niome, hang on to me. We will climb our way out of here, I promise". Arthur looks confident and grins boldly, although inside he hopes not to fail and cause another fall. When Niome is on his back, Arthur starts climbing the pit.
_______________________
Aratare flies over the pit, rope dangling from its mouth, looking for anything sticking out as Aggie directs. A little bit to the west side of the pit, illuminated by the light of the starry goat, is a bit of pipe sticking out of the wall. It looks old, but Aratare loops the rope around it (while only nibbling a little bit on the rope) and it proves solid as Aggie tugs on it, one end down in the pit.
Through this bit of cleverness, the Pathfinders can all make their way across the pit and then into the southern tunnel without too much hardship.
---
As the Pathfinders progress down the hall, there is a faint smell of rotting flesh mixing with the slimy smell of the saltwater-fed mold on the walls. A tiefling corpse lies in the corner, curiously with much of the flesh missing and the white skeleton showing underneath. Something stirs from a dark, collapsed staircase nearby, and a pile of rocks scurries out - no, actually, it appears to be some sort of bug. It stands over its apparently prized corpse, making chittering noises and leveling two huge claws and a menacing stinger-tail at the Pathfinders.
==========
==========
The bug moves quickly enough from its hiding place that the Pathfinders are too slow to react when it makes the first aggressive move. It moves forward towards the actor, Till, simply because he is the closest. It snaps at him with its huge front claws and jabs its stinger at him. Luckily the claws and stinger don’t manage to pierce Till’s armor, with only a few tears in his clothing here and there.
==========
==========
After this initial attack, the Pathfinders have a chance to react before the bug continues its attempted predation.
---
Niome
Lord Arthur
Aggie
Till
Arisha
Noam
---
|
|
Aggie lets out a squeal of delight as Aratare finds a bit of pipe and the clever goat manages to loop the rope around. Once her star-goat returns with the rope, she manages to get the group out of, and over the pit. On the other side, she retrieves her rope.
---
Seeing her poor goat far too close to the scorpion... bug... thing, Aggie quickly moves to encircle the bug before lunging at it with her falchion.
|
|
"Oh my goodness! A scorpion! And a cave adaptation at that! I've read..." Niome's excited rambling dies abruptly as the creature tries to stab Till with it's tail. Which would be bad she decides if it hits.
Switching to information over observation, she quickly fills the others in "Useless but interesting bits, natural camouflage, loves eating dwarves of all things. Immune to mind altering spells again, sorry Arisha. They can rend prey apart if they catch them in their claws. Lastly the tail is filled with venom to drain your strength away."
As she tells everything she knows that might help, she pauses to weave her hands in a simple gesture accompanied with muttered arcanum. In it's end a green blob of acid shoots out toward the chittering lovely.
|
|
⁞⁞⁞⁞ ⁞⁞⁞⁞
‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖ • • ‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖
Arthur never liked bugs of all kinds, but unlike many people in the world of Golarion, his first reaction in front of fear is not to freeze on place, but instead to attack the source of fear. And this scorpion is no exception.
The Taldan Pathfinder bravely moves forward, drawing his rapier as he advances. “Fear not, my fellow Pathfinders, ‘cause we’ll prevail!” Taking advantage of Aggie’s position, Lord Arthur quickly places himself in an good position and tries to pierce the scorpion with his rapier. “Take this, vile and disgusting being!”
_________________________
==========
==========
Aratare scurries away bleating as the scorpion attacks, and the Pathfinders are quick to respond. Niome’s spell goes wide, and Lord Arthur’s sword-hand is coincidentally knocked away by the scorpion’s swinging tail as he tries to pierce its hide. Aggie has better luck, landing a blow with her falchion. The large sword connects, but leaves only a glancing blow; still, she manages to sever the tip of a couple of the creature’s many legs. It squeals in pain as a clear liquid falls out and quickly turns light blue when exposed to the air, then lashes out at the half-orc.
The first claw connects, tearing a cut into Aggie’s leg. The second can’t maneuver around the half-orc’s large sword, but its stinger lunges at her chest and pierces through her armor. As the sharp stinger enters her flesh Aggie can feel the wound start to burn, and as the scorpion withdraws its tail it is tipped with blood and some dripping clear fluid.
---
Niome
Lord Arthur
Aggie
Till
Arisha
Noam
---
|
|
The acid dangerously veered near Aggie's head, nearly stopping Niome's heart. Firing into combat was nothing like casting at rabbits she thinks. She considered leaving the hacking and slashing to those better at it, when the scorpion slams its tail spike into Aggie.
"No No no no no" Niome mutters, gathering her concentration and then her weaving fingers. A split second later a stunningly loud NO! takes form almost physically from the angry arcanist's mouth, smashing into the large insect.
"Good, good, Lord Ockham," Till comments after the Taldan's encouraging words. "You're really starting to feel it." He swings his morningstar with bravado. "Have heart, Aggie. Together we will prevail. The disgusting slug before was merely a diversion, compared to this. An actual foe that shows that it's a threat. This is drama!"
--
==========
==========
After the scorpion attacks, Till revels in the drama, providing encouragement to lift his fellow Pathfinders’ abilities. Arisha slips past and the scorpion blindly lashes out with its tail stinger when it sees sudden movement. However, Arisha is far too quick and dodges out of the way. Noam makes a move and smashes into the scorpion with his sword. It slices through the bug’s carapace, splitting the creature clean in half as its innards leak out onto the stone.
As the Pathfinders progress through the tunnels of the Guts, they find a few small, unoccupied rooms. They contain some old, rotting wooden furniture and assorted broken junk. A few rats scurry among small junk nests, but they flee at the sight of any people coming in.
The end of this tunnel leads to a ladder, and the ladder leads to a rusty but functioning grate to the outside. As the Pathfinders emerge the scent of fresh sea air clears out the musty smell of the Guts. They find themselves among a small, rocky outcropping on the coast, having made their way to Whaler’s Point. Despite the dark night, the moon illuminates a few small boats in the distance, as well as the ever present blockade.
---
---
Till breathes in deeply, happy to be in clean air. "Well, that must be called a success, doesn't it? It seems like everything is in place for Jax's daring escape. Dashing!" He shows that he's not totally oblivious to his situation. "Aggie, that wound must hurt. Do you have magic of your own to heal? If not, I have a wand that should help. My own magical talents aren't in the healing department, but a wand should be easy enough to handle..."
--
==========
==========
At the warehouse, a sizeable crowd has gathered to hear Jaks Arunai’s in-person, and not just published, poetic debut. There are familiar faces among those gathered, including Lorrin Meese, the proprietor of the Inkwell tavern. He must have been busy, as the flyers he was handing out at the door on Moonday have been plastered all over the city in the past day. A couple of women act as guards at the entrance to the warehouse, both with sprigs of thistle stuck through their jacket lapels or buttonholes. They relieve any obvious or known Chelish Loyalists of their weaponry, as advertised on the flyer, before they can enter. The guards give the Pathfinders warm smiles as they enter and find some empty canvas-backed folding chairs set up.
Jaks Arunai arrives on time for his reading, and Lorrin Meese goes up to the stage (made up of stacked up pallets with a board over them) and gives him a brief introduction: “Thank you all for your attendance, poetry lovers! It is my pleasure to present an up and coming poet’s debut public reading! He is quickly proving to be a master of the form, and I hope his words instill a fiery passion in your hearts for truth and justice as they do in mine. Without further ado, I give you Jaks Arunai!” The crowd gives the man his due applause as he nods to Meese and clears his throat. He shuffles through a few papers, and he is a pale, middle aged man (or perhaps early wrinkling with stress and worry) with black hair that is pushed back in a way that accentuates his large forehead and small black eyes. He wears a fetching patterned coat, crimson with abstract marigold thread marbled throughout, structured with a large collar and gold-colored clasps.
He begins his reading. Whatever clout he has as a poet to attract this dozens-large crowd, it is not on display with this particular reading. His poetry is incomprehensible gibberish (similar to Madge’s poetry, with far too many “oddle eedle liddle toddles” and such). The crowd murmurs discontentedly, then when someone throws a rotten fruit the whole crowd joins in with dirt clods and a loud chorus of booing. Having their attention, he turns away as a mushy peach flies toward him and splats on his back. However, he quickly turns back around, having produced from his pack a long, white ash rod tipped with an onyx gem.
The sunlight spilling through the barred upper windows splits on the gem and spreads a pale prism across the crowd. With a supernaturally booming voice, Olandil declares, “Today, I shed light upon one of Pezzack’s greatest secrets. Jacks, the man you trust as a member of your very own faction, is the Printsmith! And Jacks has been hiding his identity from you all. All your secrets are laid bare to Pezzack’s greatest journalist, soon for the entire city to see! Panic! Panic and regroup! Pay no attention to outside affairs!” He gestures emphatically as he speaks, but his gestures do not match his words; instead, they are a series of Pathfinder hand signs. “Follow me into the warehouse. Secret passage to underground, back left corner, behind fish barrels.” He continues to sign as he steps off the stage, but the meaning of the signs becomes more difficult to discern.
After promising to reveal the true identity of Jacks/Jaks/Jax to the crowd, Olandil slips away toward the secret trapdoor that the Pathfinders explored two nights ago. Among the rising confusion and hubbub of the crowd, it’s easy to get away and follow him.
---
|
|
Niome is a little stunned by the appearance of the man they have been waiting so long to meet. He seems so sinister in person. Appearances she mutters, clearly getting on to herself for judging books and the whatnot.
The spell is beyond her novice comprehension, though it quite lovely. She'd like to ask him what it was, but suddenly she has to concentrate on his wiggling fingers. Oh! she sits up with sudden excitement. Hand signals, her favorite. She concentrates with abundance, then clues anyone else in about the obscurity of some of them. He was telling us about all the things we already ran into down there. That's all. Still rather impressive he could say so much with just his fingers. she wiggles her own in mild bafflement.
|
Having actually been looking forward to the reading Noam was... something, when it actually began. Though he did let out an interested "Ooh." when the man drew the scepter.
As Niome gets excited and hurriedly explains what's going on the Id Rager gets a look of understanding on his face. "Ah, so he knew beforehand... we probably should have left them alone then... oh well, time to follow?"
|
|
Aggie yelps as she is stung and shouts her thanks as the group comes to her rescue, killing the scorpion. She keeps quiet about the nasty stinger wound, but the poison works its way swiftly through her system, and she collapses under the weight of her armour on the way back. When she finally gets back she is shaking violently, her green skin almost white.
---
The following morning she manages a healing spell, but leaves her armour back being badly weakend by the scorpion. Aggie is a far less chipper half-orc, and remains quiet and solemn as she follows the group. She also makes sure to memorize nothing but healing spells.
---
At the warehouse, Aggie remains with the group, watching with interest and keeping her little goat close to her.
Aggie's mouth drops open as the place bursts into confusion, and she gets what she can out of the hand signals before moving along with the group as fast as she can!
|
|
"I see no alternatives, we have to follow him", simply states Lord Arthur. The whole poetry reading was a huge disappointment for him. He had hoped to get a taste of fine living even in this Gods' forsaken land, but when it all turned out to be a mere expedient, Arthur almost joined the folk throwing rotting fruit. He only desisted because right when he was preparing for the throw, the man started making hand gestures. Although he didn't grasped anything about a desperate request of help, Arthur knows perfectly that, as a Pathfinder, his duty is to complete the mission, and hence to protect the man.
"Let's go..." he says, rather unconvinced...
______________________________
==========
==========
Back in the Guts that the Pathfinders visited a couple nights before, there are still lit, sputtering torches illuminating the dank tunnels. They find no further impediments or threats, having dealt with the bugs and trap already. They eventually manage to catch up with Olandil, who they find upon hearing his footsteps near the end of the path, just past the corpse of the scorpion. The man’s skill at disguise becomes clear when the Pathfinders catch up with him. He is no longer the passionate, dark-haired Chelish poet Jaks Arunai. His skin is peachier, his hair now blonde (and wet - he apparently washed out whatever dye was in it), and his outer coat reversed to show an unassuming dark gray. Most of all, his facial expression is no longer that of a fiery poet but of an exhausted man. He also appears to be a little confused - likely he wonders who eliminated the giant bugs along his escape route.
He whips around as the Pathfinders catch up and get to about ten feet away from him, his hand defensively going to a rapier at his belt but not drawing it. “Halt!” he demands. He is clearly on edge, but his voice is confident, if tired. “Not a step closer, now, alright? Identify yourselves immediately.”
At the word “Pathfinder,” Olandil is visibly relieved. He relaxes his tense shoulders, releasing a large portion of the weight of five years of imprisonment in this chaotic city. “Pathfinders! Better late than never, I suppose!” he exclaims, exhilarated. He runs over to Noam and thrusts his arms under Noam’s raised ones in a hug. He releases the embrace quickly, placing his hands on the half-orc’s shoulders and beaming at him. “You’re a strong one, eh? I bet you’d have no problem smashing through a few hundred strix in the mountains. Oh, but wait!” Olandil rushes over to Naomi, able to restrain himself this time not to rush her with a hug. “You… you’ve got the look of a mage. Am I right?” he asks with a grin. “There’s no need to be humble with this ‘apprentice’ nonsense, surely you can cast some sort of teleportation spell without breaking a sweat.”
Olandil backs off and looks off wistfully into the distance. “I’m finally going home!”
|
|
Lord Arthur grins slightly, knowing that Olandil is going to face a big delusion soon. Very soon. "We eliminated the scorpion of your path, sir. But as far as I can tell, no one of us is able to cast any teleportation spell. I'm sorry."
Arthur shrugs with an indifferent air. "As a result, we need to find another way out of this city, possibly not involving fighting our way through a hundred strixes...Our Noam is strong, but I fear not enough for that kind of feat. We depend on your insights, Mr. Olandil."
Olandil’s brows knit together in confusion. “A boat? You mean, just sneak out? But why would we…” he starts to ask, before a realization dawns on him. His face falls back into an expression of exhaustion, and he droops his head, covering his face with his hands. “By the gods. You’re all rookies.”
He stands silently for a few seconds, immobile. When he looks up, there are tears welling up in his eyes and he snarls, furious. “The Society abandoned me for 5 years, and they send you?” he sneers accusingly. He begins to pace, angrily muttering, “Great, now I have to worry about baby-sitting rookies and get us all out of this hellhole alive.” He continues to pace, holding a hand up and clutching his forehead in thought.
Eventually he stops and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Okay, I can work with this…” Turning back to address the Pathfinder neophytes, he says, “Alright, if I’m going to be stuck with rookies, I’m at least going to make sure you have what you need. I stashed some supplies down here, come with me.” Olandil leads the Pathfinders to one of the abandoned rooms, tapping on one of the walls. He removes a loose brick and reaches inside the vacancy, producing various bags and boxes. He opens a few up to check their contents, nodding as he finds everything in order. “I stashed some goods down here, but it’s better if we split it up. Here,” he says, passing out parcels of spices, scrap metal, and other various trade goods. He also removes a battered, slender wand and offers it to the group.
“Is there anything else you need? I have some other things that can help you all not get yourselves killed.”
2nd—barkskin, cure moderate wounds, invisibility
1st—disguise self, expeditious retreat, heightened
awareness, shield (2)
“We should get moving,” he suggests once everyone is supplied. As they walk through the tunnels together toward the exit at Whaler’s Point, Olandil explains his mission, obviously still upset but willing to cooperate as a fellow Pathfinder. “You came just in time, at least. A few weeks ago the Loyalists figured out who I really was. They’ve been blackmailing me, threatening to reveal my other covers unless I used them to spy on and undermine their rivals. They like to pretend they’re on the up-and-up, but they’re all crooked as a dog’s leg.”
|
|
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I actually wasn't supposed to even be here, I'm still in my probationary period. The lady that was supposed to come got food poisoning though, so they sent me. Don't worry though, we'll get you out." Noam offers apologetically.
----
"Well they're loyal to House Thrune so that's a given." he says when Olandil talks about the Loyalists.
|
|
Lord Arthur raises an indignant eyebrow at Olandil's comments. "You should talk with more respect, Mr. Olandil. I, for one, I'm a confirmed Pathfinder field agent. I have a long and successful career inside the Society. You must have heard about the Master of the Fallen Fortress, the one Pathfinder who saved his colleagues from certain death and explored one of the most impenetrable siege castle outside of Absalom! Well, you have the honor to speak with him in person. On the contrary, I believe I never heard your name in the Grand Lodge..."
Arthur's game is something in between a serious joke and a joking seriousness. "But yes...these people...They're rookies," comments the lordling with a faked disgust. "But they're the most talented rookies I've ever met, so you have nothing to worry. We will get you out of here! Now, to the boat my friends!"
As soon as they start moving, Arthur comes up beside Olandil. "Mr. Olandil, I could use one of your extracts, if we run in some trouble on our way to the boat. Are you willing to share the products of your work with a fellow agent?"