Here is where I will pull the strings of fate to decide the future of our heroes!
You are going about your daily lives, enjoying a momentary respite from the life or death situations that are common place as a member of the Society, when a courier arrives to deliver a missive.
Gathering your gear, you hurry to the lodge where you are escorted to a small meeting room, and left to wait… and wait…
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"It must be handy having your own breeze," the little gnome thinks. She takes off her fancy gnomish hat of greens and browns, as gnomish males tend to wear, to reveal an elaborately braided hair, as gnomish females tend to wear. A few leaves and flowers are woven in deliberately, and a few more seem to stick here and there as if she has slept outside under a tree. Her hair has a few traces of its old green but is mostly silver-gray after ... well, after that night...
Norine shudders and makes a funny face, ears twitching.
As if to comfort herself, Norine puffs up her cheeks and purses her lips in what seems to be a silent whistle, then takes out a small, very shiny buckler emblazoned with a purple butterfly, carefully polishing it to a fine finish.
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" Norine!! Hah! It seems we are off on another fine adventure...." He stops as he notices the tiefling.
" Hey! Its a devil spawn!" He pauses and scrunches up his face in concentration..." Or a demon spawn, or daemon spawn or .... Bah.
Soo fiendling! What's your name? Are you to adventure with us as well?"
Soon, a page comes to escort the group to the Venture Captain. Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng’s pinched face is hard to see from behind the stack of books that divide the front of his office from the space behind his desk. A shockingly old man with white hair and slightly milky eyes, he is surprised by the appearance of outsiders in his office, and looks up, half startled and half relieved.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’d been meaning to give this assignment to you at a later date, and with less pressing time constraints, but it seems that time has conspired against us.” Dreng mumbles to himself as he passes out a stack of notes and maps from behind the wall of books. “These notes are from a recent Chronicle—it contains some interesting finds, but one of them is now the utmost priority to the Society.” Dreng lightly taps a bony finger on a map, on which can be seen a section of Absalom with a small corner townhouse circled in deep red. “This townhouse is a façade for an underground vault. The vault belonged to an old noble family of Absalom that was expelled a decade ago—the Decklands. The family was forced out when their patriarch—a man known as Orias—was discovered to have written documents detailing the city’s defenses, documents he intended to hand over to hostile forces loyal to Cheliax. The Chronicle indicates that a copy of these documents exist within the vault.
“A Pathfinder looking into the Decklands and their Chronicle references in Cheliax was attacked and killed ten days ago. The thugs made off with a copy of his notes— fortunately, he’d already sent us another. We have reason to believe it was the work of the Decklands’ oldest child, a young woman named Celeena, and she’s the reason this assignment is now urgent. The fact that Celeena and her forces were willing to kill a Pathfinder for this information shows how desperate they are to retrieve the documents. If she were able to get these documents and return them to Cheliax, it would undermine the defenses of the whole city, as well as cause the Society undue headaches. Find Celeena, find the documents in her vault, and prevent this situation from turning into one big mess for the Society.”
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A tall, brawny man wearing a freshly burnished cuirass leans on his spear as Dreng briefs the team. His expression is stern, as as he gazes about the room he seems to be measuring each member of the team. And not just a physical measurement, but a spiritual one as well, for Talwin Bernhold serves the church of Abadar in its Inquisition.
"Well then, Captain Dreng, this assignment does sound rather pressing. I was beginning to get bored of resting in Absalom, no matter how much I needed it."
"What do we know about Celeena specifically? Is she a warrior? A mage? Does she have any known associates?"
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Rushing once again to the meeting, Targost comes to a halt with the rest of the group. He looks over some of the newer members, and warmly greets his old friends. Those who know the half-elf will discern a subtle change in him. Gone is the softer, 'scholarly' man who accompanied you before, and a more toned individual stands with his bow and quiver very prominent. Still not wearing armor, he none the less gives off a more martial feel.
"Sorry I am late. I was waiting on a merchant for my new bow."
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Norine looks back at the new tiefling with some bemusement, her green eyes twinkling with their flecks of silver and gold, but without a precise take on the woman's true views. "Greetings," she replies chipperly, "Coincidentally, I have been a denizen of Lower Absalom for several years now!" she replies chipperly, then returns to her possibly-imaginary whistling.
Norine sits a little straighter in her chair as Talwin walks in, though she is not exactly sure why.
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A rather impeccably-dressed and stand-out woman is also in Dreng's office, standing by as she listens to his briefing. She's stand-out in the sense that, well... mostly that she is (in many ways) the opposite to Alexia, though they obviously both have some kind of otherworldly nature to them. The attractive young woman's short-cropped hair is blue and slightly wavy like a dark and stormy sea, while her eyes shine bright like sapphires, seemingly illuminated from within. Though she has the hint of an elfin physique--pointed ears, a lithe and agile frame, and tall cheekbones--she is most definitely not of the same stock that Targost hails from. Dressed in a fancy navy tabard gilded with gold, a luxurious dark coat (for fluttering extravagantly in the wind, you see) and a garish blue cavalier hat - complete with massive plumes of white feathers - there's no questioning that she's a Taldan duelist of some sort.
Drawing a leather-bound Pathfinder Chronicle from her belongings, the young woman begins to flick through it as Dreng continues his briefing, appearing to be looking up some information within it.
Once that's done, she puts the book away and glances around at her companions. To Norine, she winks; to Alexia, she stares for quite a while before eventually smiling; to the rest, she merely nods her head.
The Venture-Captain furrows his brow in thought over what skills the woman at the heart of this might have, ”She is a very persuasive speaker and manipulator of men. Her associates are a group of hired mercenaries called the Devil’s Claw Company, a group of failed Hellknights. As to what she can do herself, not much is known. The Decklands were known to dabble in the arcane, but there has been no indication she has continued that pursuit.”
Liadain’s mind whirls as she picks through all the bits and pieces of stories she’s heard, and a bit more of the story clicks for her. Orias was a beloved Absalom nobleman until 10 years ago, when he was forced out of the city. Rumors have it that Cheliax agents threatened young Celeena’s life and Orias felt he had no recourse but to betray the city’s defenses for the safety of his family. Delving further into her memory she recalls that the Decklands were an expanding noble family within the social hierarchy of Absalom, owing much of their rise in fame to close ties with the nation of Cheliax. Led by a powerful patriarch, the last leader of the family in Absalom was the esteemed Orias Deckland, a bear of a man who tried to distance his family from their Chelaxian relations. For many years, Orias was considered to be one of the more influential nobles in Absalom—a true proponent of the people.
It was during one of many periods when Absalom’s relations with Cheliax were most strained that Orias was truly tested. Covertly asked by Chelish agents to turn over important documents relating to the defenses of the city, Orias found himself torn between loyalty to his home and to Cheliax, whose support his family had benefited from many times over the years. Despite the ramifications, Orias stood with his city and refused to give any plans to Chelish forces. The arms of politically inclined Cheliax were longer than even Orias had predicted, and suddenly the Deckland patriarch found himself receiving constant threats against both his family and his own life. The final straw came when Chelaxian agents began to threaten Orias’ only daughter, a lovable young girl named Celeena whom Orias treasured more than all the gold in his family’s possession. In an act of both weakness and compassion, Orias Deckland promised to hand over several defensive plans for the city of Absalom to his Chelaxian contacts in exchange for sparing Celeena.
"but there has been no indication she has continued that pursuit.”[/b]
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After finishing her reading--some notes on the nobles of Absalom, apparently--Lia nods to herself and slips the leather-bound tome back into her belongings. She then turns to the other Pathfinders, deftly flips her wide-brimmed hat from her head, and greets the room with a flowing, deep bow.
"Greetings, fellows and friends!" she says in a strong and confident voice; she seems to have had some kind of vocal training, for every word is clearly enunciated and perfectly pronounced. "I don't believe I've had the good fortune of working with any of you before, so I felt it best to introduce myself at this juncture." The aasimar smiles widely and warmly, "My name is Liadain Serelion, but feel free to call me Lia if you so prefer! Are you familiar with the Taldan theatre scene? ... No? Ah, a terrible shame, truly. I used to be quite the household name in the gilded city of Oppara before I chose to take a break to see the world..."
"Oh, do excuse me! I diverge from the topic at hand!" Liadain gently returns her hat to her head. "I was just now doing some reading about these Decklands folks, and there is quite the story to tell there, let me tell you..." She proceeds to give a theatric and slightly exaggerated rendition of what she knows, complete with soliloquies at opportune moments and acting out some dramatic scenes as appropriate. It's very clear she's just showing off...
... but hey, she's damn good at it, you have to admit.
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" Harh! That was impressive! Even if I didn't follow all of it... Anyway! I am Ebon Kai! Warrior priest Of the Lord of Iron. Welcome to our band of Pathfinders. Though with three new members, maybe we are joining your band. If so welcome all around. Ha! Ha!"
Ebon seems genuinely pleased to make new friends, tho the look on his face suggests it might take a day or two to learn everyone's name!
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Norine smiles back at new Pathfinder, Liadain. Lia. She smiles eagerly at the introduction, and smiles a little sheepishly at being completely unfamiliar with the Taldan music scene - besides, that is, some particularly ribald sea chanties she learned on The Prancing Prince. "Maybe those would best be told to Lia sometime in private..." After it ends, Norine rises to her feet and stands on her chair, she applauds the performance. "I wonder how it is going to end?"
"And I, Lia, am Norine Pep-<Achoo!>farin Epfafeen, Sorry," she apologizes,"my middle name makes me sneeze. You can call me or Norine, or Nora, or Nor, or N', if you prefer."
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Talwin observes quietly, smiling at Liadain's storytelling.
"Well spoken, Liadain. I am Talwin Bernhold. I serve the church of Abadar by seeking out the unrighteous among our faith. I try my best to use my special talents to aid the Society. I am a holy warrior, much like Ebon Kai, though I'm sure that our methods and abilities are somewhat different. The Master of the First Vault is not often confused with the Lord of Iron, after all!"
With that, Talwin lets out a hearty chuckle. H turns to Norine.
"Well, little one, I am glad to have you among our number. I hear that gnomes bring good luck!"
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"This gnome, most certainly, sir, or I will not be well representing my god, Desna, Lady Luck," Norine bows to the well-armored knight of his faith. "Also rarely to be confused with Abadar. ... But, um, I also use a light crossbow, as does Abadar ...", Norine struggles to find common ground, "And, do I sense a love of a travel in you?"
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"So many servants of so many deities," Liadain murmurs, looking around the group with a bemused smile. "Myself, I would tip a glass or toss a coin to many a lord or lady as it suits. Perhaps Shelyn, the Eternal Rose, as patron of the arts; or maybe Arshea, Spirit of Abandon, for freedom and physical beaty; Falayna also, the Warrior's Ring, patron of we women who forsake traditional roles and take up the blade; or simply plain old Cayden Cailean, for one can never do without a touch of the Lucky Drunk's bravery."
"Perhaps it's my... indecision that leaves me without a touch of the divine," the Taldan duelist laughs merrily to herself. "I simply cannot decide on but one... in many a way indeed."
"Friends, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you, and I hesitate to push us along, but sir Drandle Dreng here surely tires of our presence." She shoots the old man a teasing smile. "Do we have any more business here before we set out for the vault?"
Dreng nods slowly at Liadain's remark as an assistant opens the door for the group to leave. Following the map, the house is a bit of a challenge to find; Ebon, Talwin, and Targost lead the party in circles and refuse to ask for directions while the ladies of the group roll their eyes and eventually lead the group to their target. Sitting on the corner of a quiet street, the red brick Deckland townhouse melds in with the middle class buildings in this portion of Absalom. A small, flickering candle can be seen through a barred window on the building’s west side and a single door can be seen on the building’s south face.
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Despite the roundabout route, Liadain enjoys the trip around Absalom, professing rather dryly, "I do not often get the chance to leisurely sight-see on Society missions very often..."
When they arrive, the bard confidently strides up to the southern door and lightly raps upon it. If there's no answer within a few moments, she tries the door knob to see if it's locked.
Liadain hears no response to her knock, and the door is locked when she tries to open it.
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"Well then," Lia informs the group merrily, apparently unaffected by the failure of her straightforward (or, as she would insist it, civil) approach, "it seems that whomever lit that candle otherwise has no interest in our presence. Are any of you skilled with a lock-pick, perchance? Or shall the 'barbarian hunter types' prove their mettle against the door instead?"
She begins to search around the doorway, looking for any keys left under the doormat or some such.
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On the way to the vault, Talwin continues to exchange pleasantries with Norine.
"Yes, Abadar does favor the crossbow, but it's a bit too refined for my personal tastes. And yes, I do love to travel! And protecting trade routes, merchants, wandering minstrels, and all the rest is critical to the growth of civilization...and the church!"
He views the offending door with an appraising eye.
"I suspect that Ebon and I could make short work of that if we deem it unworthy to bar our way. But alas, picking locks is not in my expertise."
Circling the house to the best of their ability, their suspicions are confirmed that there really isn’t any alternate means to enter. No back door, no second window. Liadain searches for a spare key, but comes up empty. Norine looks into the window with Ebon’s help and spies a small room that looks to be a makeshift kitchen and living area. A small table is set up with cards dealt for three hands. She also spots, lurking behind a small crate, the head of a man, who seems focused on the door Liadain knocked on. From her unique angle, she also spots a sturdy looking bar across the inside of the window.
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"If the guard comes, don't worry, I'll deal with them," Liadain says breezily, waving away the little gnome's concerns with a grin and a flip of her deep blue hair. "You see, we're here to chase out some terrible squatters who have taken up residence on the Decklands' estate... and they are really not wanting to comply with orders!"
Lia stands back, rapier in hand, to allow Ebon to smash the door in.
Ebon nods as the group comes to the agreement that he should bash in the door. Choosing the earthbreaker over his fathers sword, the mighty shoanti takes a few focusing breaths before bringing the hammer hard around, connecting with the door near the hinges. Wood splinters and cracks, and after another thunderous strike, the door is easily pushed over with a thump. The now doorless opening reveals a 15’ long hallway that splits off into two rooms, one on either side. Targosts arrow buries itself in the back wall of the hall, revealing not much beyond the two rooms.
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Before entering, Talwin looks over his new companions.
"If Ebon leads us, then I can still strike over his shoulder with my spear. I see that he and I are the most heavily armoured among us, but perhaps it would be wise for me to occupy the rearmost position. Our large Shoanti friend seems far sturdier than me."
Ebon, followed by Talwin creep forward, wary of potential ambush. Just as Ebon reaches the doorways, a shout of "Now!" comes from the right, and two men emerge from the shadows, flanking Ebon as they bring their longswords to bear on the mighty Shoanti.
For all their planning, the fearsome warrior clerics defenses are too hard to penetrate, and their blows are horribly ineffective.