A Pathfinder Society Scenario designed for levels 1–2.
More than 400 years have transpired since the Pathfinder Society began in a humble tavern that has quietly weathered the centuries without incident. When a routine errand there uncovers a clue left behind by one of the founding Pathfinders, it’s up to the PCs to solve a puzzle whose pieces are scattered across Absalom—and whose prize dates back to the Society’s darkest years.
"The Wounded Wisp" is an evergreen, replayable scenario designed to help introduce players to the history of the Pathfinder Society and Absalom’s greatest sites.
Written by Thurston Hillman.
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This is a semi-closed "campaign".
More details to be coming later...
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"Keep the change. Thank you" A long haired Tien man steps away from the flower vendor and tucks the white lily in his lapel, winking at the attractive lady merchant. He looks at a small slip of paper for the 17th time, not caring that he can recite the words contained from memory.
Skyreach, skyreach... can't miss it right? Oh... this way...
He continues to move towards the society's headquarters with a slight spring in his step. It seems he will make it on time.
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First a pointless trip to help some chick make money...and she wants me to buy a puny scythe for my troubles? then a murder investigation? who honestly cares about some merchant being murdered for money.. The bosses better know what they are bringing me in for this time....
Big Strong and Ugly - not unusual descriptions for Lady BroKhan. Meandering through the Grand Lodge with very little regard for anyone in her path. Though heaven help anyone in a scrum...
"Mortargh - where ya been you dainty little man?! Still amusing the locals with your fire tricks?"
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Methodios looks around at the situation, just four others stand around the Grand Lodge taproom readying themselves for the next mission. Six. Six is the number that these strange folk seem to want to gather in. I guess I must, then.
A slim but well built man with the typical Chelaxian's widow's peak approaches the group. "Greetings. I am Methodios," he inclines his head, "While it seems you do not lack for martial might, Madame Dralneen has nevertheless seen fit to send me here to discover if you are in need of my services. This would appear to be the case. Tell me, has anyone approached with a proper mission description yet?"
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The Tien man looks up at the Chelaxian as he speaks, breaking from his inspection of the shabby artwork hanging on the wall of the waiting chamber.
"Not yet, but I've heard stories of this Valsin fellow. Especially how he seems to treat new recruits."
The pale skinned man does not elaborate, but goes back to his quiet contemplation of the painting in front of him.
poor brush stroke there. clumsy. Just what was he trying to do with that color? It just feels, incomplete. rushed. I've seen more inspiration in a 5 year old's work.
Ping involuntarily crinkles his nose, his internal disdain for the poor work expressing on his face. He crosses the room to inspect and critique another painting as the pathfinders idly wait to be called.
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A young man enters wielding a smile with the careless courage of youth, the smile wavers of a brief moment a returns broader than before.
Are these the heroes to build a saga? They look to be able enough to get into trouble, let's hope I can get them back out... and live to tell the tale.
"Let's go do something our grandchildren will sing about!"
You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
"Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?"
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
"Sorry about that," he says with a wink. "I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?" Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
”Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
”The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.
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Ping gives a polite chuckle to the venture captain's attempt at brevity, and listens closely to his request.
"A mighty oak starts as a tiny seed." he replies to the insulted half-orc. "It could be worse. We could be cleaning the woolly rhino stalls." Ping says with a smirk before grabbing the map and tucking it into the dry side of his tunic.
"We shall be back shortly, Sensei."
With nary another word, Ping starts down the alley in the direction of the bar, not looking back to see if his newly assigned companions are following.
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Theron shifts his attention from the Venture-Captain and watches Ping take his first steps away from the corner.
The Wounded Wisp?! I would do anything to get in good favor with one of the most storied taverns in Absalom! Takes unknown musicians like me months of waiting to get into a place like that!
"Wha...Wait for me!"
Theron shoulders his pack, adjusts his belt, hoists his pants and tries to catch up to his new companions.
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"That Ping is an eager one isn't he?" Methodios comment nonchalantly, showing no signs of following along and turns to Venture-Captain Dreng, "So, the Wounded Wisp is the famous Pathfinder tavern, is it? Huh. I always thought it was the Pig's Paunch. Just goes to show, this chaotic Absalom place has many false histories. Not like Egorian. I think I prefer Absalom. Far less stuffy."
Methodios looks down the street at his rapidly disappearing companions, and then back to the highly amusing venture captain. He decides to remain a little longer. "How will she know we're allowed to pick up the parcel anyway? And what kind of parcel is it? I wouldn't want to pick up the wrong one for you."
"Excelent question, Methodios. The Paracountess has taught you well! Always ask for details about the quest you are about to undertake!
"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,"
He chuckles to himself, and continues. "As for your other questions, if you just identify who you are fetching the parcel for, and that you are Pathfinders, then I am sure nothing will go wrong
"any more questions, younglings?"
Logg starts singing about how the Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another.
He continues by singing about how many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.
Finally, his ballad continues about how Selmius Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels. His celebrated exploits first appeared in Volume 1 of the Pathfinder Chronicles.
He does wonder whether someone more versed in history might know more?
Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng is quite amused by Logg's song, but wanders away mid-tune.
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"Well I guess that will have to do for question time, then," Methodios notes sarcastically at the disappearing Drandle Dreng, "But your cheery tune covered most of what I wanted to know anyway, thanks Logg. I hope your singing is equally inspirational when we enter combat! Oh don't look at me like you're one of those green-faced pups... if one of the high-ups sends you on a mission, you know there's always going to be combat!"
Methodios can't help but hum Logg's tune to himself as he makes his way after the already-departed comrades and towards the Wounded Wisp. And the heroes were brave; with a maiden to save... DAMN, that's going to be stuck in my head all day.
When Methodios arrives at the bar, he first pretends not to notice his fellow assignees. "Waitress, a glass of your finest Chelish red if you please," he calls to the nearest unburdened female server. Glass in hand, he finally makes his way over to his companions.
"So, I know we're on a mission, but there's no rush, right?" Methodios sniffs his glass disapprovingly and takes a small sip, "Fie to the harbor master! This has been left for too long in the heat... or perhaps elsewhere along the journey to the Isle of Kortos. The nose has hints of cat's piss in it and the finish is of... drowned elf. I can't imagine the kind of uncivilized fool who would drink this swill and call it wine.
"Waitress! This so called Chelish red has turned. Just bring me a beer instead. Seems to be what this place does best anyway."
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Ping slows his pace when he senses that his companions aren't directly behind him, and chides himself internally for not staying to ask questions. When the group arrives at the bar, he sighs at the barbaric manners.
it takes all sorts to run a society as diverse as this. She may not be your type, but at least she looks like she can handle that weapon.
Approaching the bar, Ping flags down the bartender. "Is Heryn Gale in? I have a specific request, my companions and I are here to pick up a package for Drendle Drang. Oh, Saki, if you have it please."
They may be harsh, but I can't argue with their logic... Ping muses as he tips his glass of saki back with a smile, leaning against the bar.
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Theron takes a seat at the bar and removes his lute from the leather thongs that attach it to his backpack. With a smile he deftly and confidently fingers the base G chord and takes a breath when he is rudely interrupted by the cacophonous sound erupting from his instrument.
"Oh! Awful, just awful... why these things don't stay in tune...Panflute! Should have learned to play the panflute!"
After a few turns to the tuning pegs, the lute begins to make crisp, harmonious sounds as Theron adds a light aria to the drone of the Wisp's patrons
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.
When you enter, the chatter around the bar is about Sir Reinhart of Genabres, a MEndevian crusader who recently arrived from the north. Evidently, he has been boasting that he is going to attempt the Test of the Starstone!
Methedios and Lady BroKhan rush to the bar where a woman is pouring drinks.
Around the bar are several people that you may recognize. The first is a perky halfling woman who is entertaining a group of Pathfinders with the tale of Society founder Durvin Gest and the fabled Lens of Garundari.
There is a Kellish man, sitting at a table by himself, wearing the sunburst of Sarenrae upon his chest. There are several empty chairs at the table, and he has a pitcher in front of him, as well as several empty glasses.
At a third table are a pair of half-orcs... twins by the looks of them.. one male, one female. The two look a little rough around the edges, and the woman is plainly heard to laugh and say, "That's nuthin' that an axe can't fix! Har har har!" Both chuckle at that.
At a final table is a man that has several scrolls unfolded in front of himself. He is using his tankard, a table lamp, as well as his eating utensils to hold the scrolls open as he mutters to himself.
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What a perfect setting for the tale of the Lens of Garundari. I should love to hear the telling!
With a slightly awkward flourish, Theron scoots out of his seat at the bar and, without discontinuing his softly-played music, moves to within good earshot of the Halfling entertainer. He attempts to tailor his playing to the ebb and flow of the story so as to "accompany" the storyteller.
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Ping takes in the bustling bar, full of pathfinders of all walks. He leans over to Theron without turning to look at him, "Seems like a good place to get a gig, does it not?" When he turns to see if the half elf acknowledges him, he notices that Theron has already made his way over to try to accompany the bard, and didn't even hear him.
eh... could be worse he remarks at the valiant attempt.
Taking his bottle of saki, he moves back across the bar to have a seat next to Methodios.
"You'll never be able to accuse one of these bottles of smelling of cat's piss." he says as he offers a drink to the chelaxian man.
"I didn't see Gale, though I imagine that voluptous barmaid might be able to help..." he says, not taking his eyes off help as she walks by. He waves his now empty bottle of saki and smiles at her to get her attention and wave her over.
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"Warmed rice wine for the tourists, or is this one properly done at room temperature?" Methodios tries perhaps a little too hard to prove his worldliness, "Either way, I'll share a bottle with you. Thank you. How about we talk to that spritely halfling over there? Lady BroKhan, perhaps you're best to speak to those boisterous orcs."
With a full glass, Methodios walks over to the halfling's table, "Hi there, friend. Durvin Gest, eh? Quite the Pathfinder from all acounts. I think I saw a statue of him somewhere..."
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Mor’targh splashes in. Literally. The rain seems to have landed all on him, but he casts prestidigitation and it quickly evaporates and fills the room with a cloud.
"Shoulda taken a left turn at Albaqurqe" He says, then orders a Flaming Moe, informing the poorly under trained bartender on what that is, and listens to the story.
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Ignoring the silly entrance by Mor'targh, Lady BroKahn walks up to the half-orc pair "While an axe solves some problems, nothing truly finishes an arguement like blunt force trauma or a solid heavy pick."
...sitting down at the table and taking a solid drink of her ale clearly pleased with herself for being clever. Mental note - Methodios doesn't know how to utilize my skills any more than any other captain
As Mor'targh talks to the "poor, undertrained bartender", he realizes that she very well might be the person that the were sent to talk to. After all, Drandle Dreng said she was a woman bartender at the Wisp, and this is the only woman bartender that you can see!
Methodios and Theron make there way to where Janira Gavix is telling her story. "Yes, Durvin Gest, one of the truly great Pathfinders. If only I could have even one adventure as daring and successful as his!" She turns towards the two approaching her, and asks, "Are you two Pathfinders as well? Maybe you could join us, and tell us about one of your adventures. Did I ever tell you all how I was almost killed by a minotaur up in the Kortos Mountains?"
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To Mor'targh, the bartender says, "Flaming Moe? Phew!" she exclaims, spitting on the floor. "Where I come from that's a Flaming Homer." She starts pouring the drink.
"You're Tien friend over there... not too observant is he? You lookin' for Heryn Gale, bartender at the Wisp?" she says, with a smirk on her face.
Logg makes his way to the two half-orcs, along with Lady BroKhan, as they seem like a hearty pair. Logg notices that that the sister has a hearty pair, indeed.
She looks up, "Yeah, maybe. We've never had a problem with a snake once his head has been cut off, have we Garl?"
"Nope. Never, sis. Though since we joined up with the Pathfinders, it seems we've been spendin' more time here than in field. 'We're not murder hoboes, they say. We don't have to kill everyone we cross, they say. Even Master Farabellus tells us we're to... brutish... for most missions. I don't think he's talkin' 'bout the tusks, neither."
The sister then says, "So, you two... whatchoo in for? Pathfinders, or are we gonna have a problem here?"
Garl chuckles, and says, "Delivery boys? What in the name of the Seven Hells? It's like they look at us, and judge us only by our strong and supple sinews, ignoring that we have minds behind the tusks!"
Shrade continues, "Yeah, minds that are focused on one thing... well, maybe two..." She pauses a moment, looking at the beer stein in front of her. "Okay, three. See? We can focus on three things! We ain't no 'murder hobos'! 'Sides, those snakes needed some murderin' down in Bloodcove. Sure, maybe we left the town in a bit of a mess, but we thinks it was pretty much messy before that. And hot. Too g$*$%&n frickin' hot!"
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"I suppose you could call me a Pathfinder, Janira," Methodios says casually, "Paracountess Dralneen gave me a field commission, so that counts. Still need to stop by the Lodge and pick up my Wayfinder, though. Didn't Gest make off with the Lens of Garundari in a ship called the Shorn Scrotum?"
When he is corrected, Methodios grins slyly, "Oh, yes, the Silken Purse, of course. I was paraphrasing.
"Now, the only adventure that stands clear in my mind is when we travelled to Qadira recently for the funeral of some Trade Prince. Now, that was some good and proper heat - not like what that half-orc over there is complaining so loudly about. We had to deal with all these nobles and self-important officials. This one wanted us to steal from that one, that one wanted to embarrass the other one, the other one was indebted to the first one... and some of them just wanted us to open the windows for them. Not exactly what I thought I'd signed up for. It was something of a relief when the horde of undead poured out from the crypt below..."
Janira is practically quivering at Methodios's story in the making... "Ooo! Tell us what happened? What is glorious? Did you learn interesting things? When is your story going to be published? I'd love to be published!"
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"... well, I'm not sure if it will be published, but there was a point when this undine watersinger we were traveling with actually swam through the door!" "Anyway, turns out the Trade Princess's high priestess, or whoever was behind it all. Didn't take too long to dispose of her or her undead minions when it came down to it. Given that it was Trade Princess Zarmina Bahjari who died and this was the Pathfinder's Society's only effort on the matter, I'm assuming it will be published, but I tend to neglect my duties somewhat when it comes to the 'report' aspect of our credos."
Methodios takes another hit of sake before grinning at the halfling again, "So, tell me about this minotaur that nearly killed you? How did that not get published?"
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So many important people in here. I think Theron has the right idea. This appears to be a place to get noticed...
Despite coming to that realization, Ping tries to keep quiet, simply listening to the stories and the words from these sage, seasoned pathfinders. He is suddenly ashamed that he neither carries a wayfinder, nor does he have any stories to tell.
"This is my first task as a pathfinder. I haven't yet had the opportunity to write my own tale." The truth spills out, to his further embarrasement when during the conversation the eyes turn to him.
"Pardon me, I will just go up and try to find Heryn Gale once more. I will feel much better when we have our task in hand."
and my bottle of Saki is empty...
Jin Shu Ping moves up to the bar, and realizes that his question was never answered, asking it once again. . "Is Heryn Gale in? I have a specific request, my companions and I are here to pick up a package for Drendle Drang. Oh, Saki, again, if you have it please."
The bartender responds, "Sorry... missed your question in the din before. I am Heryn Gale, but we only have a couple more bottles of sake... not sure what this Saki is." There is a twinkle in her eye, as she realizes she's being a bit... funny. She does grab another bottle, which appears to be a little dusty.
"So, who sent you and your friends? What sort of item were you stupposed to pick up?"
The female half-orc stands up and slugs Logg. "Didn't I already that I am Shrade, and this is my brother, Garl? We're the Boartusk twins... just how we've always been referred to as... as if we weren't worth dealing with separately.
"Though there was this one time... when a little ratfolk guy by the name of 'Luscious Lucius', as I recall, offered me a little 'sidework'. Only thing I've ever been scared of, to be honest was what sort of work that... rat pimp... was offering."
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After noticing Methodius and Janira spark up a conversation about their various exploits, Theron finds an opportune time to end his song.
I have no stories of my own, and I am new to the Pathfinders and Absalom entirely. My great-uncle Kirian's exploits were few, and not of enough renown to be notable in this company. Maybe I should just meet back up with those of us discussing the details of our mission...
Theron returns to the bar where his pack was left, secures his lute to the side, and rejoins Ping and Heryn Gale's conversation.
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"excuse me, lady, despite the reputation of the establishment I did not expect such quality knowledge of firey drinks" Mor'targh says to the bartendress. "please allow me to introduce myself, I am Vargh, lowly errand boy happening to work for the Society. I am here to pick up a package, and I hope my errant behavior has not sullied the exchange."
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"Yes." Ping bows politely as Theron and Mor'targh join him in conversation with the bar owner.
"A good friend of yours, Drendle Drang, is looking for a package and asked for us to bring it to him. We, new pathfinders, have been smitten by the society fame who grace your establishment. It appears that our stories are few, and pale in comparison to the grand tales we have already heard. Except for the part where Methodios' friend swam through a door. Honestly, I don't know how anyone can top that." Ping is suddenly distracted by the remarkable feat.
"I digress. Alas, we have a long road before we have earned the reputation to garner the missions that would produce such wild and entertaining tales. And so we start here, humbly requesting a package to deliver to the prankster Drang."
Ping dips into a deep bow, showing respect to his elder the way he was taught as a child in Tien Xia.
"I am Jin Shu Ping. Theron, Mor'targh, Logg, Methodios, and the elegant lady BroKhan." Ping says, indicating each of his companions as he rattles off their names.
Wow, I remembered them all!
Heryn Gale merely chuckles at the half-orcs attempts to make amends. "Fret not, younglings. I mean no harm, just havin' a wee bit of fun, don't you know? This would not be the first time the ol' codger has sent his trainees out to fetch him a bottle! Dressed as a beggar, I am sure of it!
"Well, sit ye' down, enjoy our little bar until I get the chance to take a break. I'll bring ye' down to get the package. Until then, the drinks are... well, not on the house, but on yer Venture-Captain's tab! Why don't you mingle a bit, like your friends are doing over there," she says, pointing to Methodios, and then to Logg and BroKhan.
"I think half the point of these 'missions' is for ye younglings to be lernin' the ways of Pathfinderin' from the patrons here!"
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Methodios takes the proferred drink and downs it. "Thanks Ping, 'preciate it.
"So, Janira, other than that minotaur tale, whish I bet is a mighty one, you got any stories to tell? Hmm?" asks a rapidly becoming inebriated Methodios, "Y'see I reckon you've got... 'scuse me... a whole lot more experience th'n anyone here combined... 'cepting of course fee that old guy over there. Man, what is in this sake?!?"
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With all that is happening in the Wounded Wisp, Theron notices that the man with the emblem of Sarenrae sits alone still, surrounded by empty glasses.
Since Heryn Gale recommends to "mingle", perhaps this man will have some insight to the life of a Pathfinder...
Theron asks the bar for a mead, then decides to approach the solitary man.
"So, my good fellow, I cannot help but wonder if you await the company of friends, or if they have already left you with the tab. In either case, would you welcome some company and conversation with a new Pathfinder such as I am?"