Olandil puts his head in his hands again at Noam and Niome’s apologetic replies, muttering something in frustration. Eventually he looks up. “Okay… Okay. I can work with this,” he says, apparently thinking out loud. His attention is broken when Arthur begins his boast. He looks at the noble skeptically. “Maybe I haven’t heard of you… and you haven’t heard of me… because the Society abandoned me here for five years,” he snaps. “Are you going to whisk me away with all these new recruits without having to tangle with that blockade? Because if you’ve got an easier way out, I would love to hear it.”
Despite his frustration, Olandil nods at Lord Arthur’s request. “Yes, I have plenty to go around. Unless you think such a successful Fortress Master as yourself doesn’t need the help,” he jokes bitterly.
After passing out his magical brews, Olandil answers Arisha. “Well, you saw my little speech up there. I managed to get my hands on this thing,” he says as he gets out the white rod he held aloft during the speech. “It took some doing, but I managed to piece this rod of influence together. It can plant an idea or a suggestion in a crowd’s heads. I was hoping I could sow enough confusion to allow me to escape and burn all of my alter egos. Once that died down and everyone realized that all the ‘Jacks’ were the same man, they would realize everything they told me was compromised. So I would be free from the Loyalists’ control and could lay low until it was time to escape.
“My other plan involved, you know, asking the Society for help. I didn’t think they would respond at all, but the fact that they sent rookies feels like an insult,” he concludes. He quickly adds, “No offense. Sorry, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of passing a Confirmation or something, but things are more complicated here.”
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A gang of a lightly armed thugs wait at the top of the ladder leading out of the Guts. Past the rocky outcropping where the grate opens to the salty air, a small fleet of sailing boats flying the Chelish flag swarms the coast all the way to the harbor’s entrance, the Pinch.
“You’re too late, Pathfinders,” their leader shouts. “The Navy’s just sneaked its picket boats in under the Shorewall cannons and halted fishing. Your escape’s cut off! Just give up and we’ll send you our nicest one-way ship out of town.”
The two thugs, their swords already drawn, now both draw daggers from their belts and throw them down at the Pathfinders from their higher ground on the rocks above. The one off to the side on the north side, wearing a cyan belt, knicks Till’s hand with his thrown blade. It’s a small wound, but it starts bleeding profusely. The other one, wearing patched orange pants, sticks his dagger into Noam. The dagger flies perfectly and hits the half-orc where his neck joins his shoulder. Such a wound would instantly fell most of the other Pathfinders here, but Noam stays up. “HA! Got ‘em! See that, Gellius? I deserve a bonus for that!” he brags to the leader.
Olandil scrambles up the side of the rocky outcropping, getting to the top on level with the thugs and drawing a shiny rapier when he gets there. “You won’t lay a hand on them if I have anything to say about it,” he snarls at the thug.
Till begins a boisterous, rousing speech, emboldening his fellow Pathfinders to action!
---
Aggie
Olandil
Arisha
Lord Arthur
Till (-4) - inspiring courage
Niome
Noam (-12)
---
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Arisha meets the eyes of the orange-belted thug, beginning to fade from his consciousness, even as she concentrates on the ambient light around her to generate a swirling kaleidoscope of color that sprays over the closest two thugs. She then moves to the back of the group and hides behind them.
Swift: Hypnotic Stare/Solipsism vs. Orange = 50% miss chance, and -4 Perception
Standard: Cast Color Spray DC 13 Link
Move: Half speed move 10 ft and Hide
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Niome's meekness from Olandil words disappears as soon as Noam and Till gets hurt. Standing straight and firm, she weaves her hands in controlled patterns, then with a finger raised to the thug who threw his dagger so well, she opens her mouth. The resulting wail only he can hear is sharp and shattering. Bringing a smug little smile from her lips.
|
More out of shock than out of a steady will when his head is almost taken off the half-orc simply looks at the dagger sticking out of him and then up to the thug that threw it with a bemused expression on his face.
"Seriously?!" he calls out while throwing his arms up in exasperation. Running on the adrenaline flooding to his brain instead of life blood at the moment before his arms fall he grabs the dagger and yanks it out to toss it back at the thug who threw it.
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‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖ • • ‖‖‖‖‖‖‖‖
As soon as he spots the thugs blocking their way, Arthur’s first thought is to find a quick way to talk his way out of that dangerous situation. Anticipating the possibly bad outcomes of the situation at hand, Arthur drinks Olandil’s barkskin extract. When the thugs start throwing daggers from the rocks on which they stand, Arthur grins mischievously and prepares for the fight, his mind already focused on finding a way to impress Olandil rather than analyzing the risks of the battle.
With his usual bravado, the Pathfinder climbs the rocky outcropping in front of him and pops up in front of an enemy, his rapier ready to strike. “Prepareth to square! I shall heave the gorge on thy livings, naughty mushrump!”
_________________________
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Aggie yelps as the thugs appear, calling out their ominous warning. She blinks and then frowns at them.
"These are a bunch of scaredy-cats! They've never met Pathfinders of our mettle and they won't last a second. Someone give 'em a shout and they'll run."
As quickly as she can, Aggie scampers northwards before she thrusts forward her falchion and lets out a powerful color spray!
==========
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Aggie bellows at the Gellius, and he swallows hard. Seeing the triumphs of his two subordinates though appears to help him embolden his resolve. Olandil scrambles up the rocks and Arisha blasts the him and his grunt with a spell. Gellius blinks hard and seems unaffected, but the thug in the orange pants rolls his eyes up and falls over, unconscious.
Lord Arthur hops up on the rocks and stabs at Gellius, now that his original target is out. His blow glances off the leader’s half-plate, though. Niome, also hoping for revenge against the braggart, shifts targets to the other dagger-thrower. He grunts and clutches his head with his non-sword hand as a small amount of blood leaks from his ears. He seems distracted by the pain for now. Noam, still up despite his wound, hurls the dagger back. The original thrower now down, he instead chucks it at the distracted other thug, since the leader isn’t a clear shot. The dagger hits the man square in the torso. The pain of this proves too much, and that man also falls.
The leader Gellius finally reacts after this explosion of resistance. He levels his halberd at Lord Arthur, carefully defending against his attacks. As he does so he steps back slowly, then when he has enough distance hops down off the rock and runs away along the shore. His heavy armor clanks loudly and his scared, labored breathing can be heard as he flees.
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The thug hit by the dagger lies bloodied on the ground. The dusty rocks are darkened with red, although it’s hard to say how he’s doing.
---
Aggie
Olandil
Arisha
Lord Arthur
Till (-4)
Niome
Noam (-12)
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Niome watches the other two dash after the last ruffian, but does not follow. She is far from athletic. And a quick mathematic algorithm shows the man is significantly outside her spells range as well. Niome sighs, hoping they won't get into worse trouble, then moves off to check on the two thugs bleeding out. The precise dagger throw in Noam's chest spoke they meant our end, but why? And how did they know we'd be here? We need answers. Aggie will you help me make sure they don't go to Pharasma before we get them?
Till nods at Niome's words. "If you take care of those two, I'll follow Lord Arthur." He raises his bow in the air. "Right behind you, Lord Arthur. Together we'll apprehend this villain and we will call him to account" He spits in his hands and tries to climb the slope as fast as he can. Which is, unfortunately, not at all...
--
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Olandil shifts over and draws his bow, taking a shot at the fleeing Gellius. The arrow flies true and sinks into the man’s shoulder. Gellius cries out in pain, but Olandil is not a strong enough man to fell the man with a single shot. Most of the other Pathfinders can’t make their way up the cliff faces before Gellius speeds away, ducking behind other rocky outcroppings and disappearing from sight.
---
Olandil sighs with relief as the man flees, and the Pathfinders all eventually make their way up the rocks to investigate the fallen thugs. They have a number of obvious useful items, and they are easily subdued. Among their things, each of them has a folded piece of parchment that appears to be redeemable with the Chelish Loyalists for payment, “for services rendered.”
Olandil is nervous to leave, though. “Listen, that one got away but they already knew that I would be here. There’s no doubt that they’ll be sending reinforcements. We have to leave, now,” he insists. “We’ll go back through the Guts, we’ll find a place to stay and lie low; I know of a good one. Let’s go.” And with that Olandil climbs back down the rocks and heads back through the tunnels.
Just as the Pathfinders have reversed direction traversing the Guts, so too has Olandil’s mood flipped. “I, uh,” he starts with a sheepish smile, “I have to apologize. I was frustrated earlier when I learned that the Society hadn’t sent agents who could get me out more directly or immediately. I’ve been trapped in this nightmare of a city for five years, and I was angry at the Decemvirate for leaving me to die; I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. I apologize.” Olandil’s smile widens. “Also, thank you. It’s been so long since I had someone fighting at my side, and I am truly impressed by all of your ability to cooperate. I underestimated you, and I’m truly grateful that you still defended me.”
Once the Pathfinders make it back through the Guts, Olandil thanks them one last time. He explains that he has one more escape plan: he knows that Poppo has been working on something, and thinks it is their best shot to leave the city. He encourages the Pathfinders to leave the warehouse one by one so as not to attract attention, explaining that he will wait until the Loyalist heat has died down, then meet them at the Academy.
---
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When the junior Pathfinders return to the Academy, they find that Olandil has managed to get there before them. They come upon him and Poppo in the middle of some kind of argument.
“Sail the whale, now!” Olandil pleads. Poppo paces around the Academy basement, his only response a faint, anxious humming. “I know you don’t want to stay here. You’ve been working on that thing forever. Let’s get in it and get out of here!”
“No!” Poppo marches up to Olandil. “I’ve been researching for months, but I need time to actually perform the last stages of the ritual properly. If I try to rush it, the whale might collapse, or explode, or sprout feathers, or any number of things that would normally be fascinating but aren’t going to get us out of here. At least not in one piece. And I like being in one piece! Don’t you? You’re just going to have to wait a while. And then we’re all going to need to pray to Gozreh and Nethys that it works.” Poppo’s voice drifts off, his bright eyes losing focus for a moment, before he clears his throat and announces with renewed optimism, “What I’m saying is, my ritual is a work of art. Just give me a little time, and I’ll have our flawless escape plan ready.”
It’s then that the senior Pathfinder turns to address the group, as if they had been there the whole time. Olandil says, “There’s no need to worry. Poppo is one of the most skilled wizards in the Academy. He’s just a bit prone to nerves when he’s put on the spot.”
Poppo interjects, “Hey! I’m right here! And like I said, flawless escape plan.”
Olandil continues, “There is one more factor we still need to take into account. The Loyalists we met at the docks are going to be watching the harbor like hawks. We’ll need to create a diversion, and for that, we’ll need allies. Go to one of the factions. See if you can cut a deal for them to help our escape. A distraction maybe. If I know Pezzack, all of the factions are on guard after my announcement, with spies all over the town, so I doubt that you’ll get a chance to speak with a second faction. I would come with you, but honestly, someone needs to protect the professor, and I don’t trust any of your abilities as much as I trust my own.”
Poppo says, “One word of warning! Once you leave here, the Passfinders are going to be blamed for everything, right?”
Olandil shrugs. “Your point is? I don’t care if the Loyalists tell all of Cheliax the Pathfinder Society caused everything that has ever gone wrong in this town. Once we’re out of here, I want nothing further to do with the Society, and if you all have a lick of sense, you’ll make this your last mission too. The Society doesn’t care about its agents. Why do you think they sent such an amateur team for my rescue?”
Poppo replies “Hey! They’re right here! The most-definitely-not-perfunctory Passfinders! At any rate, if you want to counter the Loyalist’s lies, one of the factions might be able to help you there too.”
---
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"I am right here, though sometimes I'm hard to notice, so no hard feelings," she says to Poppo. "And Olandil is understandably frustrated by the situation."
She looks to the others. "We might try the White Thistles. They have a way with words and seem relatively popular, so they might be most effective at undoing whatever gossip the Loyalists spread. They also have a big, scary iron golem."
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"If we could use the golem, that would be great!" enthuses Aggie, who then pauses for a moment. "We need to make it worth the White Thistles' while - how do we die this into the idea of a free Pezzac? Failing that, I'm sure we can trust the Galtans to do something worthy of a distraction. I'd prefer to work with the Thistles though."
Till barely hides his amusement at the situation. Is he going to summon a giant whale, to swim us out of here?
He finds himself agreeing with Arisha and Aggie, sort of. "I think the White Thistles would be a good candidate to try and work with. They seem reasonable. Still, I would suggest a different course of action. He grins. "What about the Galtans? Like Aggie said, they should be able to provide a decent distraction. And..." He falls out of character briefly. "If things go South for them, I think we can all agree that Pezzack wouldn't lose much to be rid of those rabblerousers." Just maybe, we can both get something out of it.
"One thing again that, though, is that I don't really trust the Galtans to speak for the Pathfinders if the need should arise. And it seems we have to find one faction to do both for us, don't we?"
--
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Arthur listens intently to the discussion, but in a quite unusual way for him, he decides to ponder his options carefully before opening his mouth to speak. "Considering what Till said, I think the White Thistles would be our best bet as well. They are far more suited for defending the Society's name than the Galtans, and they could even provide us with the distraction we need. I propose we to speak with them."
The Pathfinders, deciding their best bet for assistance in escaping lies with the White Thistles, seek them out. The contact is obvious: Lorrin Meese at the Inkwell. The iron golem bouncer nods at them as they enter, and the White Thistles aligned proprietor seems glad to see them. “Oh, it’s the students again!” he greets you. He invites you in and gestures for you all to have a seat at a nearby table. “I think I saw you at Jaks Arunai’s poetry reading briefly, didn’t I? Or I suppose I should say the Printsmith’s reading! Who could have seen that coming!” he wonders. “Can I get you anything? I don’t suppose you’re here to deliver more of that wonderful performance skill of yours?” he asks Till with a warm smile.
At the request, Lorrin Meese raises his eyebrows. “Ah, I see,” he says pensively. He does a quick look around before standing up and gesturing for the Pathfinders to follow him. “Follow me,” he instructs, leading the Pathfinders behind the bar deeper into the tavern and to a more private room. Once inside, he locks the door and smiles, although more nervously, and gestures for his guests to have a seat on the available chairs. “This is… quite the task you’ve asked. Not that it’s impossible, but it would be difficult to get the people required for such a task on such short notice. I’ve heard through the grapevine about some of the things you’ve been up to - it’s been a busy week for you, hasn’t it? I know I’ve heard some White Thistles talking, but not everyone trusts you - trusting someone too quickly in this city is a dangerous prospect, you understand. So, I propose a deal!” Meese declares, smiling and clasping his hands together in front of him.
“Near the edge of town is an abandoned tower. Or rather, abandoned by the folks who used to be there,” he starts to explain. “Nowadays, a number of strix inhabit it. I trust you’re familiar with them? People like us, only they have large black wings. The other thing about strix is that, well, they tend to hold a grudge against humans. The White Thistles have been trying to find a way to make that area safer, so that the strix stop attacking random people who get too close, but we haven’t had the resources. If you could drive them off - and you should expect a fight - I would happily put together the people to get you out of here and counter the Loyalists’ propaganda. Also, those wings aren’t just for show - they are skilled flyers. I highly recommend you bring some sort of polearm or some way to fight them at range. Also, there is one more thing…”
Lorrin holds up one finger to ask the Pathfinders to wait, then goes over to a nearby trunk and pulls some items out. “Also, the balance of power here is a bit delicate, but I think you could help shift things in our favor. The others - the Loyalists, Docktown, even the Galtans - all have their reasons for what they do, of course, but none of them quite share our vision. A free Pezzack, with poetry in the streets instead of blood and cutthroat trades. If you, ah, planted some ‘evidence’ that they were colluding with the Strix, you may be able to discredit them and hurt their causes,” Lorrin sheepishly concludes. He lays out the “evidence:” there is a forged set of record books showing trade deals between Docktown leadership and the Strix, a forged letter “signed” by the Galtan leader Habar Curl offering to pay the Strix to destroy the Chelish blockade, and some repurposed Chelish naval documents praising the Strix for their assistance in razing the city during the Second Ashes, and promising ongoing support. “This part would be appreciated,” Lorrin notes, “but I leave it up to your discretion. The main thing is clearing the Strix out of that tower. Do that on our behalf, and you’ll have proved yourselves sufficiently trustworthy for us to assist.” Lorrin smiles. “So, what do you say?”
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Happy to be received with a warm smile for once in this city, Niome fails to read anything past it.
She listens quietly without questions. I guess it was too much to hope for, help without anything. She thinks about anything she read about the strix...
...but can't recall much other than what Lorrin already mentioned. She doesn't relish the idea of pushing creatures out of their home, but she understands if they are attacking people at random, it is not good.
The forged documents causes her stomach to flutter in a hundred butterflies. This is exactly what they were warned not to do in this city, wasn't it? she thinks, before verbalizing Um... we don't have decide on the evidence now correct? If so maybe, we can discuss it on the way? she looks to her fellow pathfinders.
Till basks in the compliment Lorrin gives, then turns his expression grave. "No, unfortunately I'm not. You see, we're actually here on very important business. We're taking a chance in coming to you, but I have faith that you won't betray out trust." He puts an arms around the fellow's shoulder and explains the situation they're in.
--
He listens intently to Lorrin's reply and the favor the man asks of them. He raises a fist and gives it a whirl as if fencing. "A noble challenge, that will aid Pezzack either way. Of course we noble adventurers will be glad to oblige!" He waits just a moment before responding to the second request, gauging his companions' reactions. "Fair enough, Niome," he adds when the apprentive spellcaster pipes up. Her words give him exactly the kind of delay he had hoped for. "Like Aggie says, we aren't too well-versed on the intricacies of Pezzacki politics. You asked the favor of us, so we will give it proper consideration, but ultimately we all have to stand by such a decision to interfere. We wouldn't want to be responsible for setting the town on another rampage, you understand." Meanwhile, he tries to figure out how his faction's order would apply here. Should I try and have us plant the evidence implicating the Docktowners and the Loyalists, so that the Galtans and White Thistles stand up favorably by comparison? That might work...
Till checks in with the others. "Shall we go and deal with the Strix? My bow should come in handy, to deal with them. We can discuss about the 'evidence' once we're through with that. I have some ideas, personally, but I'd like to hear about the other's intentions as well."
Lorrin Meese seems relieved when you accept his offer. “Thank you for your help. Usually the strix stick to their homes in the mountains, but things have been topsy turvy since the Second Ashes,” he explains. He listens patiently to the concerns about the planted evidence before responding, “Ah, yes, well. The important thing is making the area safe again by driving off the strix. I don’t necessarily love how duplicitous these documents are…” he admits, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Still, I’m certain it won’t ‘set the town on a rampage’ as you suggest. We’re hoping that this subtle play will help shift public opinion, and drive people away from those other factions. Certainly no one wants more bloodshed in the streets than the White Thistles, I assure you.”
“Oh!” Lorrin adds, “And I think I could easily put you in contact with someone who maintains our equipment for self defense. I’m sure we could offer something like that for a reasonable trade, if you need a polearm or ammo or anything like that.”
---
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The Pathfinders make their way to the abandoned tower, following Lorrin Meese’s directions and looking for a dilapidated silhouette on the skyline. Most of the walls and floors of this tower have collapsed. Only fragmented pieces of the stone exterior walls remain standing. Near the center of the ruin, a pile of bones rests in a 15-foot deep open grave. Two strix stand watch atop the ruined walls: dark-skinned humanoids with huge black wings and odd faces. These two wear leather armor and perch holding longspears and nets, with bows slung across their backs as well.
When they spot the Pathfinders, one barks something at the other, clutching her things tightly as her wings start to beat. The other nods and lifts off as well as they both leap up from the wall and start to fly toward the Pathfinders with obvious hostility. They brace themselves, ready for the strixes’ assault.
---
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Arisha
Noam
Lord Arthur
Till
Aggie
Niome
"I doubt it, Noam," Till calls out as he pulls out his bow and checks his quiver of arrows. "We've gone this far..." Till clears his throat and then speaks with extra articulation. "And so, the bold companions ventured forth into the crumbled towers, to face these winged devils and make good on their word. They grit their teeth against the inevitable onslaught of an enemy with the advantage of reach and mobility, but know that their commitment, training and companionship will make all the difference."
--
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“OK, stand ready!” Anticipating the danger, Arthur stays in the front line, but quickly draws his rapier. He takes on a defensive stance, with the rapier’s handle held at his face’s height.
C’mon, show me what you’ve got strixes…
The young lord of Westex grits his teeth, ready for the attack…and to strike back!
_________________________
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The Pathfinders prepare and take a stand against the strixes’ inevitable attack - well, most of them. Neither one seems to notice Arisha sneaking up from behind one of the nearby ruined walls. The two of them, having leapt off the wall, fly toward the Pathfinders with hate in their eyes - specifically staring daggers at Lord Arthur and Till. The one on the left, wearing a bright teal armband, has a net in her hands: from this distance you can see that the net is covered in barbs, and has a rope leading from it. The one on the right holds his longspear below him as he flies, the yellow ribbon around it flapping in the wind.
---
---
Arisha
Noam
Lord Arthur
Till
Aggie
Niome
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Niome’s singularly heard scream rings hard in the net-holding strix’s ears. She screws her eyes shut tightly as blood leaks out of her ears and ends her flight early to land. She seems distracted for now.
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Arisha
Noam
Lord Arthur
Till
Aggie
Niome