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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.”
The Pig’s Paunch is a run-down building with a faded sign of a large pig standing on its hind legs, arms folded above a corpulent belly. Inside, the air is thick with the scents of human sweat, stale tobacco, and leftover food.
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A happy dwarven lass with long brown hair, braided neatly on the sides, rich brown eyes, and a wide, bright smile stomps into the Pig's Paunch. She wears a simple brown cotton dresses with some worn out studded leather armour overtop. She wears no make-up or jewlery and, although pretty, many would call her plain. She’s well-prepared for danger, with multiple weapons and a bulging backpack.Over her shoulder is a well-worn lute.
She looks around the bar, sidles up to a central table, plops her backpack down onto the floor with a loud THUD! and takes a seat. She pulls out her lute and begins to tune it, plucking away quietly with a dazzling smile while she waits for the others.
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Deacon is of medium height with a slim build; young in age. Short brown hair in your every-day traveler's outfit.
Deacon walks into the Pig's Paunch and scrunches his nose. Looking around he wonders if he'll have to avoid rats. He finds the cleanest looking spot to sit at and rereads his invitation.
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" Hi, I'm Oli. I'm eleven and being a Pathfinder is the coolest. I can't wait to see how awesome all of you are. I have read about soooo many pathfinders in my books."
Oli is a stringy 5ft 8-inch tall very young half-orc. His arms and legs a little too long for his body. His face is overflowing with an all to eager smile. Across his back is a homemade greatsword made of 2 pieces of driftwood nailed together.
Over his armour, he wears a white cloak with red trim.
Oli approaches the bar, "Milk, neat!
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Walking in through the doors of the pub is a short creature standing at about two and a half feet and covered in leaves and flowers, wearing leather lamellar armor. A spear, club, dagger and heavy shield at its sides, and a leather sling attached to its belt, the creature seems to be a walking bundle of natural weapons and armor. Reaching out a vined hand he greets the others with a surprisingly deep voice. "Popit got letter to come here. It you here because of letter too?"
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Following Popit, a small leafy creature follows, humming a tune to itself before bumping into Popit. "Ack! Sorry master! I wasn't paying att... GIANTS!"
Hopping back in a defensive stance the leaf leshy strikes a pose before calming down and edging closer to Popit. "You, you all got the same letter Master did?"
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Patting Butternut on its head with one hand, Popit shakes Deacon's hand with a firm grip. "Popit glad to meet tall flesh ones here. Maybe will learn more ways after teachings. Also, sorry for Butternut. Gets scared at fleshkind bigger than it." Turning towards Oli, the leshy walks up towards the bar tilting his head to the side before shaking Oli's hand. "Never had milk, even at learning classes. Poppit shall try it."
Ordering a glass of milk, Popit looks at the group, and dumps some the liquid on the floor before stepping in it. Splashing his feet in the puddle for a moment, the milk begins to absorb into the gnarled vines that the leshy has been walking on, with his eyes growing wide. "This! Popit enjoys this! Butternut, you come and have some!" Just as he finishes, the druid pours the rest of the milk onto the floor, waiting for his companion to come and partake in this "milk."
"Master isn't going to trick me with bad food again, is it?" Seedy eyes narrow for a moment as the leaf leshy walks onto the puddle of milk, slowly feeling the coolness on the plant's feet like appendages. A few moments pas as the milk is absorbed by Butternut before walking up to Popit, and holding its master's face before talking in a serious voice, "Master, you get more of this after we done with whatever we need to do here. Milk. Is. Delicious!"
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In the center of the room a familiar elven man stands high upon top of a large round table. “Welcome! Welcome, my students! Please, have a seat!” With that, Kreighton Shaine, the Pathfinder Society’s Master of Scrolls, nimbly drops down to sit cross-legged on the table before looking about the tavern with a sense of reverent wonder. “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."
“But today! Today you will begin your Confirmation! Master Farabellus, Master Zey, and I all agree you each have shown your worth and dedication to the Society, so there’s no better time to see if you can handle becoming full field operatives. Allow me to introduce you to Janira Gavix,” he says as he motions for an excitable halfling woman to approach. She wears a large backpack and carries all manner of tools, pouches, and scroll cases around her waist. Shaine continues, saying, “Janira here will be going with you on your Confirmation. She was one of my brightest pupils and will no doubt be an invaluable resource on your journey, for she discovered the caves you are about to explore during her own Confirmation.” Janira speaks up in an enthusiastic and cheerful voice, “Greetings, aspiring Pathfinders! Six months ago, while I was mapping cave entrances in the foothills of the Kortos Mounts, I witnessed a lone gillman entering a concealed cave. I thought little of it at the time, but I saw another one enter the cave again a month later as my Confirmation stretched on. A few days later, after I completed my assigned task, I entered the cave system, but was unable to find the gillmen.”
Master Shaine hops to his feet. “Initiates, for your Confirmation, you will travel to these caves to explore and document its many passages. Additionally, and most importantly, you are to learn what the gillmen are up to in there. Oh, and you need to come back alive as well.” With these parting words, the Master of Scrolls jumps off the table and strolls out of the building while humming to himself.
Mounts, the points on the island.
constantly vie for territory up and around the Mounts,
with harpies being the most common at higher altitudes
and centaurs controlling the lower slopes and foothills.
an amphibious humanoid race believed to be the last
descendants of the ancient Azlanti people.
and destroyed the human empires of Thassilon and
Azlant. It is said that gillmen’s ancestors survived the
cataclysmic event because they received the blessing of an
aquatic entity that allowed them to breath underwater.
were responsible for the gillmen’s transformation. Any
alliance between them appears to have fallen apart over
the millennia, however, and the gillmen are now an
independent people.
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Raising his vined hand as the master of scrolls leaves, the druid cries out! "Master! Don't leave Popit with..... Miss Janira." Lowering his arms, Popit glares sideways at Janira, before reluctantly heading towards the table where they were supposed to gather. "No plucking of leaves this time. And no making tea from my friend!" Pointing a barkish tendril of a finger at the halfling woman, Popit makes sure to keep between Butternut and Janira. "Popit still is glad you came back from your Confirmation. We missed you not teasing us during learning classes."
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The invitation delivered last night was remarkably simple, especially given the importance of the occasion:“Start where it all began."
It was so simple that Droo could name her destination after reading just the first five words. Without reading any further Droo crumpled and tossed the invite over her shoulder and headed straight for the tavern Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng had mentioned once in passing.
**harp music, wavy lines, harp music, wavy lines**
"More than 400 years have transpired since the Pathfinder Society began in a humble tavern that has quietly weathered the centuries without incident."
Yes, Droo made straight for The Wounded Wisp!
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A few hours (and drinks) later Droo finds herself explaining to the Boartusk twins how "This 'confirmayshion thingy' is just a-- just a--a err--a wuzz name. Starts with 'P' or maybe 'T'. It's definitely one of those top-heavy letters. It has a 'Y' at the end, and rhymes with-- rhymes with something tha's got a 'Y' at the end. 'Formality'. Tha's it, a formality."
"Hey Heryn, you seen Shaine or Zey or any of the other big robes? They're supposed to be presenting me with my confirmayshion this morning.... The Pig's what? In the Merchant's what? Merchant's Quarter? You sure? .... Bugger."
Droo rushes out the door. Rushes back in and downs her drink in one long gulp. She rushes out the door once more. A moment later, she rushes back in. She grabs her lance and rushes out again.
Droo hops on her wolf mount Vinegar and wheels him about over the objections of her stomach.
What ensues is a mad dash in the predawn dark from the west side of the Foreign Quarter to the east side of the Merchant's Quarter.
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At seeing the antics of the others, Molly puts down her lute and moves to offer them a handshake, when suddenly she notices Master Shaine. She picks up her lute and backpack and moves over to sit in front of him. She gives everyone a nod in greeting.
At the end of the briefing, Molly smiles. "Why, thank you for the invitation, Mr. Shaine! And Janira, it sure is a pleasure to meet you! I've heard so many stories about you both, that I'm just... thrilled!"
She turns and looks at the others around her. "My names Molly, but folks down at the Wounded Wisp call me Molly Fairsmile. You might have seen me there. I work as a waitress, and try my hand at singing on occasion. But, I suppose today's the day I get to try making an adventure of my own, hey?"
She smiles again, then remarks, "Now, I have heard all kinds of songs and stories in my time at the Wisp! So, let me tell you what I know! Knowledge plucked from the tongues of other Pathfinders, and passed on to you!"
"At the center of the Isle of Kortos stand the Kortos Mounts. It's said that entire tribes of centaurs, harpies, and minotaurs constantly vie for territory up and around the Mounts, with harpies being the most common at higher altitudes and centaurs controlling the lower slopes and foothills. Now, all those stories I've heard say that you'd better watch out! They're all dangerous and fierce!" With a twinkle in her eyes, Molly adds, "Personally, I've never met a person I couldn't make friends with, but if even 'Raygar the Silver-Tongued' and 'Dahlia Deluth' say you can't make nice with them, then I believe it!"
"As for Gillmen, well I heard that they're also known as the Low Azlanti! That's right! The gillmen are an amphibious humanoid race believed to be the last descendants of the ancient Azlanti people. Isn't that interesting?"
Molly gives a nod of her head and looks at the others with eagerness, clearly expecting at least one of them to have something interesting to add.
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"Popit thinks Miss Molly means she listens good. Maybe be accepting of others as well," The leshy states more as a matter of factly before looking back at Janira. "Maybe was other half foot that tried to pluck leaves. Popit sorry about mistake, but lots of your kind look almost the same to Popit and Butternut." Bowing, he rummages through his bag, pulling out a few items. Two jars of dirt (trail rations) and an alchemist fire. "Popit all good.... Wait, maybe water bag would be good. Yes, Popit needs water bag."
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Someone throws up noisily outside.
A few moments later a high-pitched voice says "Don't look at me like that. You're not the judge of me!"
In walks the loudest colored gnome anyone has ever seen. She out fuchsias fuchsia. She's tall too. Nearly 4-foot counting the hair and all armored up like a hot pink knight. "Stay outside boy. You'd only stick to the floor in here." says the gnome over her shoulder.
"Squire Droo Nettlezum reporting for duty. Say, didn't I just see you at the Wisp?" the gnome says to Janira. Of course to Droo all half lingo sort of looked alike. They should be more colorful like gnomes, she thought.
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Janira takes some notes down in her notepad at the introduction of Squire Droo Nettlezum. Take your seat, please. We were just discussing the parameters of the mission. The group can catch you up. We are on a timetable.
“Now, before we head out, if there aren’t any more questions, we should take a moment to go through your gear and make sure nothing important gets left out. We can meet all manner of adversary out in the wild: some creatures are disperse like SWARMS and require splash weapons to be dealt with, some creatures are more susceptible to fire, but they all draw blood. Mind your defense and healing. Protect yourself at all times. Janira levels a serious gaze at the group. If her tone doesn’t instill some peril in you, it should.
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Excitedly Oli dumps his pack on the table. "Here's is my ADVENTURING GEAR" he says proudly.
"How is it, Captain? These are the things my last adventuring party said I should buy. It's all I could afford. The rest of my money goes home to my family."
Oli has forgotten to mention the wand on his hip, and the longspear on his back.
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Molly smiles.
"Oh, hey, Droo. I didn't know you were coming today. I would have dragged you out of the Wisp when my shift ended, had I known. Come on in, dear."
Looking at Oli's gear, Molly smiles. "That's quite a collection! You should be proud, lad!" She gives Oli a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I have plenty of different weapons, some acid and some holy water. I can offer you some healing. And a jaunty tune, of course!"
"Master, the bright one smells of yeast! SHE HAS EATEN OUR BREATHREN!" Pointing its leafy hand at the gnome, Butternut accuses Doo. the leaf leshy visibly shaking in rage.
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Placing a vined hand on his companion's head, Popit looks at it, squarely in the eyes. "Their customs different from ours. We eat dirt that so many of their kind hate. Besides, they make dirt when they pass on. It is circle of creation." Turning towards the gnome, the druid nods slightly at the loud gnome, "Popit sorry for friend shouting. You drink this, alcohol, from what Popit has learned it be called. Yet, from sounds outside, you did not like it. Why drink, if it isn't good for you?"
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Molly smiles.
"Oh, hey, Droo. I didn't know you were coming today. I would have dragged you out of the Wisp when my shift ended, had I known. Come on in, dear."
Droo nods weakly. Morning people....
Droo tones out Janira. Honestly halflings are just less interesting gnomes.
"Master, the bright one smells of yeast! SHE HAS EATEN OUR BREATHREN!" Pointing its leafy hand at the gnome, Butternut accuses Doo. the leaf leshy visibly shaking in rage.
Droo turns to the shrill shrubbery trying to work the bad taste out of her mouth. "Say, you aren't made out of mint leafs by any chance are you."
"Popit sorry for friend shouting. You drink this, alcohol, from what Popit has learned it be called. Yet, from sounds outside, you did not like it. Why drink, if it isn't good for you?"
Droo stares woodenly at the err--wood. The vegetable girl might as well have asked why breathe air.
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Janira observes the exchanges and examines the contents of everyone's kit. She pinches her nose as she passes Droo. Yes, well most of you seem very well appointed. Especially you, Oli. That is quite a range of remedies.
Janira grabs her gear. Alright let's head out. Use the privvy now if you must, it's just trees and trail till we get to the cave.
Janira grabs her gear. Alright let's head out. Use the privvy now if you must, it's just trees and trail till we get to the cave.
A big wolf wanders in, and relieves itself on the corner of the bar.
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"That's Vinegar. He's with me. Don't worry, the acid will help get the stickiness off."
Droo turns to the barkeep. "You're welcome."
She hops on the wolf's back, looks around a bit and then asks. "Say, anyone know where we're going? And can I get another sprig of mint off of one of the salad people? Saladmen... Saladfork--folk, saladfolk... Vegepygmies.... Neither of them are assassin vines in disguise are they?"
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As the party progresses deeper into the forest, the trees
towering overhead begin to shield most of what remains
of the day’s sun and the vegetation beneath grows denser.
Janira pauses a moment and pulls out an intricate silver
compass emblazoned with the Pathfinder Society logo: the
Glyph of the Open Road. “I received this wayfinder when
I successfully completed my Confirmation. Should we be
successful on our journey, you will get your own as well.”
She flips open the device and holds it in front of her; the
initials J. L. are engraved into the inside of the device’s
lid. After studying the compass inside for a moment,
she remarks, “We’re on the right path. We need to keep
heading northwest past those large rocks up ahead.”
Most of the trees in this section of the forest have
trunks that are too big for any creatures to share their
space. Sporadic patches of light undergrowth provide
areas for creatures to hide while restricting movement for
those passing through. A large rock outcropping to the
east rises nearly 20 feet above the forest floor, and a small
sinkhole to the northwest drops off sharply, descending
to the ground 10 feet below.
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Molly shakes her head at Droo. "Oh, dearie me, you need an education! Here now, listen to this!"
As they leave the Pig's Paunch Molly straps on aher lute and begins to play an educational song, all about the differences between plants, goodly plant creatures, and evil plant creatures.
"So don't PUUUUUT them in your MOOOOOUUUUUUTH!"
While it's a jaunt little tune, Molly has to sing so high over the crowds that her voice cracks. Still, she doesn't seem to mind, and sings her entire song with a bright smile.
"That's a tune taught to me by the great druid Mossfeather and her brother Toothtail! She was a real sweetheart. It was downright impossible to get her brother to behave, though. He spent nearly all his time as a beaver. Cheeky thing gnawed on all the tables..."
Once they're on the road, Molly continues to strum away on her lute during the journey, humming happily while she plays.
As Janira pulls out her wayfinder, Molly ends her playing with a flourish.
"That's a beauty, Janira!" she remarks happily. "I don't think I've ever own something so fine!"
She listens to Janira's directions, and then follows along, picking her way carefully on the trail.
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"We not food, color lady, but Popit might know who has good mint." Packing his things, the leshy watches the wolf expel fluid from its body with amusement. Adjusting his pack, the druid scruffles the leaves on Butternut's head as the group starts off. Head bobbing to Molly's traveling music, the sudden flourish startles the small plant creature. "Why would you stop..... music...... pretty bobble. Wait!" Reaching his hand out, Popit clotheslines Butternut! Shrugging a bit, he turns back towards Janira, "It likes shiny things. It likes to take shiny things."
As they travel further down the path, and into denser brush, the druid brings out a club and shield. "Even with learning mates, Popit likes being prepared."
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Amid the banter and singing, you hear a loud CRACK and a tree tumbles directly in front of you. The event startles the majority of you, but Janira lowers her stance, ever at the ready.
Just as the sound of the crash and critters begin to abate, a low buzz gets louder and louder as you see a cloud of mosquitos take shape and come in your direction!
Droo
Deacon
Swarm
Popit
Oli
Molly
Janira turns the the group, Well, this your first big test. Make the Pathfinders proud!
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Droo rides along on her wolf. She puts her great helm on shortly after Molly begins her song, and tries to ride ahead a bit to--you know scout ahead.
"So don't PUUUUUT them in your MOOOOOUUUUUUTH!"
Droo removes her helm. "That's incredible, Molly. I imagine singers run in your family. Otherwise audiences would have caught and killed them all by now."
"Look bugs! They probably can't travel all that fast let's just leave."
Then she looks back at Molly. "Well, here's hoping they do run in her family."