Open for dottage.
You are each individually called to the Water Palace of the Grand Lodge in Absalom, where you are greeted by Venture-Captain Shevala Iorae, the famed Pathfinder who managed to break into the Spire of Nex. She usher you in and once all have arrived, dives into the details of you next assignment.
“Your task is rather delicate. The Decemvirate has something of a love-hate relationship with one of Absalom’s most notorious information brokers, a dastardly yet charming kingpin who goes by the name Grandmaster Torch." Her cheeks flush subtly as she says the name. "You have heard of him, yes? The Grandmaster’s life is in danger. While the threat is likely well-deserved, it may be more than he and his guard can handle themselves. And since he can hardly look to the authorities, he’s turned to us. Find out what the nature of the threat is and do what he asks. I have faith that the Grandmaster is one step ahead of any plot against him, but he needs help, and you will give it to him. Above all, keep him alive. While you would do well to withhold your trust from Ol’ Torch, he has been of immense value to the Society and we have something of a... history. I’ll see you again once you have resolved this little problem for us. Oh, and take my wayfinder. He’s expecting the team I send to come bearing it. And remember—I expect that wayfinder back!”
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"I've heard of Torch." The burly half-orc nods. The one known as Noble stands about 6 and a half feet tall with gray skin. He wears little except for a pair of breeches and a large amulet bearing the symbol of Cheliax on it making it well known who he works for. The only visible tools he carries are his wayfinder and some very finely crafted cooking utensils. "I'm guessing Torch has more information?"
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A sinewy half-elf, just over five an a half feet tall, speaks up. I know Grandmaster Torch by reputation only, he says. And that reputation is equal parts savory and sordid.
The half-elf wears a well-conditioned, silvery breastplate covered only in part by a threadbare, sand-hued cloak draped across his left shoulder. It is not difficult to see the brooch shaped like a beetle holding this cloak in place. He has a bald head — in fact, there is no trace of hair on any visible skin — and shrewd, amber-colored eyes. Strapped across his back is a wicked glaive.
He looks about the room at his fellow Pathfinders. Forgive my lack of etiquette. I am Hawthorn Candlewood, of the Absalom Candlewood family, at your service. Turning back to Venture-Captain Iorae, he pulls out his own wayfinder and asks, Will we need to show Torch your wayfinder, or will anyone's do?
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Killasavaranius looks up from his book, his pale green eyes providing stark contrast to his jet black hair.
"You may refer to me as Mr. K."
Where is long deep purple coat opens, an unholy symbol of Asmodeous hangs from his neck, over a thin black shirt.
Shevala nods and addresses the questions in turn. Yes, Torch will have much more information. We thought he was better equipped to plan for his own safety. You are just there to be shiel...ur..helpful. She says to Noble. She turns to Hawthorne. No. Just any old wayfinder won't due. Let's be honest, there are ways for people other than Pathfinders to obtain a wayfinder. No, my wayfinder has an arcane mark on it that Torch will recognize. It's neigh impossible to duplicate.
The Venture-Captain smiles at Gina's question. Always the women with an eye for attention to details. She muses to herself. Torch is holed up in one of his safe houses, the Crescent Manor, in the Petal District. Given that his life is endangered, that's not exactly the best hiding spot, if you ask me. She frowns before continuing. But, I'm told he is determined to stay put.
As the party begins to file out of the office, Shevala reaches into a vest pocket and hands each of you a letter. The party navigates the convoluted streets of Absalom and reaches Torch's safe house in a short time. As you arrive, you are greeted by the Grandmaster’s half-orc guards, who greet the party with suspicion. Tension is clearly in the air, but once the party produces Shevala’s wayfinder for inspection, the guards escort you to the Grandmaster’s receiving room.
The notorious Grandmaster Torch is once again soaking the burn scars that cover his body in a gigantic alabaster tub. He gestures for you to come forward. “Ah! There you are! Your timing is fortuitous.” Pointing to a well-dressed associate at the side of his tub, he says, “This blubbering fool here has failed me. I recently acquired four relics from the north of historic import. But a source of mine has revealed that the seller has been bragging that he has secretly sold me replicas. He will pay for that. But first, to protect my source, I need to prove each of these items is a fake so that I can claim I uncovered the ruse independently. He picks at a weeping pustule absently. You would have thought my expensive sage here could help but no. You Pathfinders, however, always know just how to ferret out the truth. That’s why I like you so much. Now, don’t just stand there—take a close look at each of these and let’s see what you can come up with.”
Torch directs the party to the first relic, a shield. The Shield of Varovan III Torch says sarcastically. You see before you on a the table, a ruby red shield with a Ustalavic crest.
Savage Noble and Hawthorne are ready to call the relic genuine, before Mr. K and Gina step in pointing out the flaws. Mr K notices that the shield is not masterwork quality, which of course is prerequisite for a magic item. Also Gina and K notice that, through the use of detecting magic, the shield emanates transmutation magic instead of enchantment.
Torch slow claps and nods enthusiastically with approval while his half-orc guards maintain their usual menacing glare.
Torch motions to the next item, aShard of the Tarrasque. This foot-long, jagged fragment is allegedly a genuine piece of the impenetrable hide of a legendary Spawn of Rovagug, the Tarrasque.
Who would be so bold as to try to pull one over on old Torch? A greedy con artist by the name of Elgar Tonoque from Cassomir as of late. He'll rue the day he ever tried this con job. He says, motioning to the relics.
Both Gina and Mr K know that the true Tarrasque carapace has a unique magical property that enables the beast to effortlessly deflect all cones, lines, rays and magic missile spells.
Irskin Jayorass flinches a little when spoken to, but quickly collects himself. As you have said, the real carapace has immunities. Try a simple spell, such as a frost ray, to test it.
Mr. K sends a missile of arcane force at the shard and the missile tears into it, proving it is fake.
Once again Torch nods enthusiastically, as his guards continue to glare.
Torch motions to the next relic, a humanoid skull- This skull is labeled as the recovered skull of Irgal Nirmath.
[spoiler=GM Rolls]
Mr K knows that Irgal Nirmath, was the simple trapper who rose to unite the disparate peoples of the war-torn wilderness of Nirmathas during the Freedom War of 4648 to 4655 The jagged fractures in the bone at the back of the skull bears testimony to Nirmath’s violent end. He also knows that Irgal was a half-elf.
Savage Noble recognizes this skull to be from a human.
Once again Torch nods enthusiastically, as his guards continue to glare.
Torch motions to the final relic, the Bloodsworn Declaration. This ancient-looking scroll purports to set out the formal declaration of war initiating the months-long Battle of Bloodsworn Vale, and the resulting near-extermination of the Shoanti in 4396. The scroll further bears 10 signatures and seals of Cheliax’s political elite including King Haliad of Cheliax, Field Marshall Korvosa, and Duke Sopaerin.
As Gina examines the declaration with Jayorass, she spies telltale signs that several of the signatures were made by the same hand. Mr K thinks back and remembers that the declaration of war was made in 4396. whereas Duke Sopaerin (the final signatory) actually died several years earlier in 4391.
The nods in agreement as the party finishes pointing out all the flaws on the fake relics. You have done well, better than others. He says with a glance at the sage. For a job well done, let me offer you some items to help you on the main task you are here for. Torch motions to one of his guards and the half-orc brings over some items, handing them to the party. The swag is composed of: a potion of water breathing, a potion of resist energy (electricity), a scroll of dimension door, and a scroll of freedom of movement.
Though the party outdid him, Jayorass appears mollified that the party asked his advice. He stands quietly, no longer glaring at the party.
After the group finishes examining the items provided, Torch calls you attention. “All right. Time to get serious. As you know, I make my living keeping tabs on who’s doing what in this city. A few weeks ago, my sources watched some new players move in north of the city: a team of Red Mantis assassins—nasty, bloody killers. Imagine my surprise when I learned I was their target. Me! I don’t intend to sit around and wait for the Red Mantis to strike. I want to hit them in the sanctity of their little base. We’ll only get one shot at this. If they survive, they’ll relocate, become invisible, and find another way to strike at me. “
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"Of course he has. Look around you. Mr. Torch this spa and resort a safehouse. Obviously, he's been using his influence and riches to get something done not caring if he pissed off the wrong people."
"Where exactly can we find these assassins Mr. Torch? Oh, and how can we identify them as the real deal?"
Torch turns to Hawthorne. Indeed, one of the liabilities for a person in my line of work.
Torch then smiles again at Gina's poignant question. She's sharp, she is. You all would do well to pay attention. The assassins are holed up in the abandoned remains of Allegro College, a cloistered bardic college hidden behind the curtain of a waterfall called Frothripper. It’s in the mountains just north of the city walls. I can sketch you a map. One of my people is camped there now. He has been watching the Mantis come and go from a hidden vantage point.
Torch shrugs at Mr. K. It's hard to tell about assassins, I don't have much more useful information other than they are known as the most effective and tenacious killers that can be bought. No wall is thick enough, no bodyguards tough enough, or safehouse hidden well enough to keep the Red Mantis from their prey. We estimate a dozen assassins but cannot be certain. So, how soon can you go? Now is good, right?” Torch finishes with an innocent look.
Torch shakes his head. No password, he knows your coming.
The party takes the items given to them from Torch and takes their leave. Passing through Absalom allows the opportunity to pick up any last minute gear before heading out. After leaving Absalom, it is only about an hour and a half hike to the general vicinity of Frothripper Falls. As the party is hiking down the trail, they are hailed by one of Torch's half-orc guards.
Oi! Over here. Keep you head down! The guard says. Once a safe distance off the trail, the guard speaks again. I'm Hraiken Bloodtrail. I've been watching here for quite awhile. He looks the party up and down. So this is who the Society sent? Heh. Not my business I guess. He shrugs. Anyway, if your going in, there is a hollowed-out space behind the waterfall forming a cavern that leads to Allegro College. I've seen the Red Mantis—typically disguised in plain clothes—come and go from both ends of the fall.