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Stag comes in fresh off the boat, smelling like fish and stale ale. "What up, party people of Absalom."
He stumbles around the alleys of Absalom looking for Drendle Drang.
"This ol' coot better have something good lined up. I haven' even had time to work on my gun or visit the ladies over in the Puddles... I bet they miss me..."
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”Mister Stag … Stag … wait up, fella!”
The young Taldan man hustles in his lopsided gait to catch up, his pack jangling and the butt of his longspear thunking on the cobblestones with every few steps. After a few more long, mismatched strides he finally catches up to Stag ... trying to match his own limping gait to his fellow pathfinder's more steady one.
”Where’s the fire, Stag?” Kiddrik mutters as he tries to settle his gear back into place. ”Ain’t no reason to make a fella run so much. Mister Drang’ll find us when the job’s ready, I reckon.”
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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”I heard-tell about that place,” Kiddrik says, pulling his wide-brimmed hat lower to protect from the drizzle as he looks at the paper. ”The first pathfinders used ta go grab some grub and a pint or three to swap stories. Heard that was back before the Society was a thing, though, right?”
He looks back up at the Venture-Captain. ”Nothin’ else? Just get yer package and bring it back here?”
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A stout man with a barrel chest and thick arms covered in burn marks approaches the party during Dreng's briefing. His leather smock with several hammers and tools hanging from it reveal his profession as a blacksmith.
He is followed by a taller and more menacing figure whose form is not quite clear when you look directly at him, although the shimmer in your periphery solidifies into a strong translucent-skinned figure with burning eyes: certainly a powerful jinn if ever you saw one.
"Greetings!" the first man grumbles in a deep but hearty voice with a Qadiran accent. You notice the gray tint to his skin and the red volcanic quality to the way his veins pour down his arms. "You can call me Djezet and this is my associate Alloy. We mostly do metalworking and blacksmithing but about a year ago I had an urge to see more of the world so we joined the Society together."
"Enough about me though! Let's get this parcel and see what this place is all about. Drinks, anyone?"
Taking your leave from Drang, the party has little trouble locating the tavern in the Foreign Quarter. Built from dark, discolored wood, the exterior of the Wounded Wisp is the image of an iconic dive bar. Stained and barred windows obscure direct vision into the establishment, though ruddy yellow light bleeds from a window in the front hall. In the hours just before dawn, the building closes long enough for menials to clean and to give staff a rest. The only distinguishing feature on the Wisp’s exterior is a thick wooden sign hanging from above the bar’s entrance. A brass ring fitted onto the sign anchors a lantern—referred to by the-staff as “the wisp”—that hangs there during the evening hours.
Entering the Wisp, 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.
A handful of patrons are sitting around the tavern, enjoying food and drinks provided by the staff. The current talk of the bar is that Sir Reinhart of Kenabres, a Mendevian crusader who recently arrived from the north, plans on attempting the Test of the Starstone, the legendary trial by which one might ascend to godhood.
Heading to the bar, you hail the barkeep, Heryn Gale. She welcomes you and offers to escort you to the cellar to reteive the package, but asks that you wait for her replacement, so that she can step away from the bar. "Have a few drinks..on the house, and perhaps mingle a little while you wait." She says with a smile.
Looking around the tavern, you notice a young, halfling woman scribbling furiously in her journal, a Keleshite man wearing a symbol of Sarenrae, an older middle aged man reading a heavy tome, and twin half-orcs telling tales and slapping each other on the back.
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As Dreng leaves, Kiddrik gives the newcomer a warm handshake and tip of his hat. ”Nice to meet ya.”
As he limps his way to the Wisp, he switches between peppering Djezet with questions about the strange creature following them and asking questions to no one at all about what they should expect when they arrive. When they do, Kidd stands looking at the dive, his tone is a bit underwhelmed, ”This ain’t exactly what I expected.”
His demeanor changes once inside, though, and he gawks at nearly everything, giving Stag a nudge in the ribs when he overhears the rumor of the knight attempting the Starstone Test. Leaning his ungainly longspear in the corner—and unshouldering his pack while getting a free ale—he leans back on the bar top to look over the tavern’s occupants.
He eyes the halfling’s notes and older man’s tome warily, then heads towards the half-orcs, putting on his most charming smile.
”Hi, I’m Kiddrik. Folks call me Kidd. Mind if I sit for a spell while I wait? Yer story sounds excitin’ .. I’d love to hear the whole thing.”
Kiddrick introduces himself to the half-orcs, who introduce themselves as Garl and Shrade, twin brothers from the "Hold". The two a gregarious for half-orcs and assail Kiddrick with stories of battles and their martial prowess. "We earned field commissions, about three years ago, after saving the lives of a Pathfinder group deployed in Lastwall." Garl says. "We usually called in when brute strengtht is called for." Shrade adds. "There’s nothing an axe can’t fix!" Garl says laughingly, to which Shrade's face takes a serious note. "Unfortunately, that means we've only been on a handful of missions, as we lack much of the finesse skills." Garl nods in agreement and both take a long pull from their tankards.
Nodding to his tankard, Shrade says. "We come here quite often, taking advantage of the "Pathifnder discount", though we still end up owing a bucketfull of money each month!" Eyeing Kiddrik, Garl says. "What of you? What's your specialty? You look like you can handle a weapon."
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Kiddrik loves every bit of the stories, grinning and laughing along. And obviously impressed when they talk about their hard upbringing.
”Oh, me?” he responds, his tone self-deprecating. ”I reckon I know which end of my spear goes in the other guy.” He looks over at Stag, ”Now Stag, here … he’s the tough guy. Seen him face down a whole tribe’a savages and a roomful’a undead things. Like it was nothin’. Well, him and Joesef over there. Stag, tell’em ‘bout those undead dog things. That weren’t nothin’.”
"So, you got a job for the Society now? Or just waitin' around?"
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Stag laughs loudly and takes a swig of ale and slams his cup down onto the table, face deathly derious. "So there we were, I had just eaten and we come across these wights. Ever seen a wight smile? Shit is terrifying, but I'm looking him dead in the eye, like 'What? You want some of this, buddy?'"
He points at both of his eyes and turns his had to point at Garl. "Of course, he thinks he is the cock of the walk, trying to come in and betray our agreement about the Orb of Stars, so I pull out the greatsword and start slashing left and right, stone chips are flying, undead body parts are hitting the floor. We kept the wight's head, so it could talk to us. Pretty crazy stuff."
The two half-orcs shrug at Kiddrik's question. "Just waitin' around." Garl says, mopily.
Once Stag starts his tale, the two stare transfixed by the story. When the climax of the story comes, Shrade slaps Garl across the back, knocking his brother forward and upturing most of the tankards on the table! Garl responds by slapping Sharde with the back of his hand across the nose, knocking his brother backward and tipping his chair over. "Spilled my drink, oaf!" He roars. Shrade jumps to his feet and rears back for a punch, but a sharp word from Heryn cuts short any further escalations. "You two better settle it down over there!"
Both men look abashed by the scolding and quickly clean the mess and bring back fresh drinks for the table.
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Joesef approaches and introduces himself to the Keleshite man. The man nods in response to Joesef's questions and motions toward an open seat. "Son, Sarenrae welcomes the faithful to her fold and warms them in her soothing light. I ould be remiss if I were to try to dissuade from service to the Dawnflower." He says, then takes a small sip of his wine. "I am Aram bin Kaleel, Pathfinder and owner of Kaleel's Curiosities, in the Coins District." Aram says, then asks. "How long have you worked with the Society? Where were your latest missions?"
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Kiddrik tries to dodge out of the way as the fracas starts, spilling a bit of his own drink on his sleeve in the process. Grinning as the two are reprimanded and begin putting the table back in order, Kidd picks back up one of the conversation’s earlier threads.
”Yah, other’n that bit of fun Stag just told you about, I only really done one other job for the Society.” He wipes his sleeve on his shirt in an ineffectual attempt to clear away the ale, ”Nasty little job here in Absolom. Over at that Blakros Museum, actually. Cra-zy stuff, I tell ya what. I ain’t likely to enjoy walkin’ in thick mist for a while yet, but it was an excitin’ job none-the-less.”
He sits back down, stretching his left leg out onto a chair as he begins massaging the calf. ”And then I guess there’s now. Ole Dreng sent us here to fetch somethin’ for him.” He looks back across the tavern to whatever door through which the tavernkeeper disappeared. ”Just waitin’ on Miss Heryn, I guess.” He looks back across the table at Garl and Shrade, his twangy speech taking on a conspiratorial tone, ”What about you two? Keepin’ your ear to the ground? Any bits of useful whisperin’ you can let us in on?”
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As Dreng leaves, Kiddrik gives the newcomer a warm handshake and tip of his hat. ”Nice to meet ya.”
As he limps his way to the Wisp, he switches between peppering Djezet with questions about the strange creature following them
"Well you see," Djezet begins, "I call him my associate, and that's true enough; he helps me out at the forge. But my family's had the blood of the jinn in it for quite a few generations, only we couldn't trace where it was coming from. Well, I started studying in my spare time and learned a bit about magic and whatnot and I think I finally traced down the jinn who imparted the power of the oreads into my family. Alloy here is the manifestation of that jinn's power. Just a taste of it, you know; jinn are powerful creatures."
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At the tavern, Djezet follows Joesef to speak with the Keleshite man.
"How long have you worked with the Society? Where were your latest missions?"
After letting Joesef answer first, Djezet responds, "Well, this is actually my first foray into the Society. Curiosities, eh? I'd like to take a look at your shop some time. If you need any metalwork done, come see me and Alloy here, we can make whatever you need. My name's Djezet, by the way."
The half-orc frown and shakes their heads. "Naw, like we said, unless its brawn that is needed, our numbers don't get called very often." Leaning over, Garl says. "If you hear of anything, let us know! Likewise, if you know of any classes or lectures we can attend to "round out" our skills, let us know!"
The Keleshite takes a patronly posture and says. "The best advice I can give is this. 'A Pathfinder should stand on his own two feet, but be able to lean on a fellow agent when needed'. Understand?"
Nodding to Djezet, he says. "It is nice to make your acquaintance. Come by my shop anytime, and I will keep the metalwork in mind."
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Kiddrik nods a response to the half-orc twins. ”Will do, fellas.” He takes a pull from his stein during the conversation’s lull, then stands up. ”Welp. Mister Garl. Mister Shrade. It was right pleasant meetin’ ya. Here’s to livin’ to tell the tale, huh?” He drinks to his own toast, picks up his hat, and limps away from the table.
Drawn as much by curiosity as anything else, the young Taldan man makes his way to the halfling’s table … where he does his best to unobtrusively take a seat across from her. Which is to say he only bumps the table a few jarring times on his way to a seated position. Once there, he waits calmly for a few seconds, sipping his ale. Once again curiosity gets the better of him, though, and he leans forward, using his height to get a better angle of whatever it is she’s writing … while poorly trying to look like he’s simply leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm.
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"I did my Confirmation with ... uhh... is that her over there? Short girl, comes up to my thigh... What's her name..." Stag has already forgotten his Confirmation from long ago. What's it been, like three weeks?
"Either way, I'm sure we can find some missions for some tough guys like you. Especially with your skills with an axe!" Stag jovially states while sloshing ale.
The halfling looks up and smiles in greeting. Reesa and Stag recognize the woman as Janira Gavix. She blinks in recognition, her smile widening. "Hello Reesa! How are you? How have you been?"
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Dalangi watches from the shadows of an alley as he listens to the Venture Captain. Curiously he turns his head from side to side as he watches the rest of the party begin to head to the inn.
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In the Wounded Wisp Dalangi silently follows the group in through the door as he sticks to the shadows. He hides near the Orc's table as he listens to his companions stories.
As Kiddrick moves to Janira's table the shadows in the inn seem to begin to grow and move all on their own as if reaching out to grasp the table like the limbs of a spider.
Dalangi smiles as razor sharp white teeth appear from near the wall. Out steps a very thin dark gray creature that gives a slight bow. In a raspy voice the frail wayang bows as his joints click and clack. His long fingers move uncontrollably at each joint as if in a spasm.
Greetings. I am Dalangi, master of shadows. I apologize for the sneaking around and deception but I had to make sure everything was safe first.
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After the shock of the small ... man's sudden appearance, Kiddrik quickly recovers.
"Well, Dalangi, as I was just tellin' Miss Janira, here, I'm Kiddrik Brown. Pleased to meetcha."
He looks back over at Janira, "Wait ... so you're like some kind of teacher in the Society? Whaddaya teach? Do you teach anyone willin' to come learn? Or do folks have to have some kind of reference?"
Janira smiles in rememberance. "Yes, how could I forget the minotaur! Stag! How are you! Staying out of trouble I hope?" Janira nods to the tome. "I was just rereading tales of Society founder Durvin Gest and the fabled Lens of Galundari. You know it all started here, right?"
Responding to Kiddrik, Janira shakes her head. "No, not a teacher, just a lover of learning, and always willing to pass on what I know!"
Janira nods. "Yep! The Society started right here! Isn't it exciting?! I know some people say it was the Pig's Paunch, but that is incorrect."
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Responding to Kiddrik, Janira shakes her head. "No, not a teacher, just a lover of learning, and always willing to pass on what I know!"
Kiddrik listens to the back-and-forth, genuinely interested in the discussions of past missions and relationships. When the opportunity presents itself, he responds to Janira.
"Gotcha. Well, I got some friends wantin' ta pick up some useful skills or lessons on bein' better pathfinders. Ya got any ideas for me?"