The missive from Osprey is as vague as ever:
The Grog Pit. Sundown. Ask for Gris.
|
"Val, it is good to see you! Desna smiles. I'm not sure when we last saw each other. Timber may have been a fair bit ...smaller. Rumor has it that Faeron is joining us. The enemy will tremble by bow and bullet this mission."
Bishop bets Timber affectionately as the wolf bends down to nuzzle the cleric.
"The winds tell me that Skybek will be joining us. I've not run with him, but friends of mine have. They say he's a dwarf's dwarf and a solid cleric in his own right."
Bishop turns to Terrill, there is obvious respect in the ranger's expression, but his words are those of an equal, "Terrill, we've not had the pleasure. I am Bishop Shepherd of Andoran, and this is my best friend, Timber."
|
|
Terrill smiles quietly as the Desnan cleric enters the Grog Pit and makes his way over to the table where a grizzled woodsman sits with a large wolf. If those aren’t Pathfinders, my instincts have surely failed me.
He collects his drink and crosses the room, where Bishop introduces himself. ”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bishop,” Terrill responds, laying a hand on the Desnan star that hangs on his chest, ”and to hear Lady Luck’s name spoken with such joy. I too am from Andoran, though I had to leave that free land long ago, to serve Desna in my own fashion.” Terrill's a touch on the short side for a half-elf, but his arms and shoulders are corded with muscle. He wears a beautifully crafted breastplate of blackened steel, and a graceful curving blade runs across his back, its haft rising above his right shoulder, while a stout, black bow can be seen over his left.
He turns and extends a hand, saying, ”Val, is it? A pleasure to meet another servant of the Starsong. On my most recent missions, I suffered the company of a devil-worshipping Chell, and nearly came to blows with him, which I expect would have ended badly for both of us. I’m happy to be traveling with some who believe in freedom, whether by land of birth or chosen faith.”
|
|
A rapping sounds on the door. A moment later, it burst open and a dwarf steps in. He is dressed in gleaming mithral breastplate and wears a headband with two gems on. An impressive masterwork battleaxe of cold iron swings at his belt.
"Greetings! Did Ahh find the richt place?! Osprey tauld mae tae come tae the Grog Pit. Ahh didnae recall meetin ana one o' yae b'fore, but Ahh had a feelin that Cayden Cailean wanted mae tae join this expedition fer some reason!"
Turning to the porter behind him at the door, Skybek exclaims, "Aye Nubwit, bring those kegs richt in here. Ahh didnae pay yae tae stand aboot!"
"So, mae friends, Ahh'm Skybek Odeon, master brewer and ane o' Cayden Cailean's faithful and Ahh'm hear tae keep yae all safe and refreshed! So, what will it be, stout or amber fer yae folks?"
Diplomacy (Gather Info) or Knowledge (Local) or Perception (at a -10 penalty):
|
|
Skybek...my good friend Harnac Lucridous speaks very highly of you. I'm eager to see his opinion proven true for myself!
"Oh Aye, Harnac is a fine dwarf and a gud friend o' mine. The twa of us went tae a place called the Valley O' The Veiled Flame wid a company of fine Pathfinders. We fought a wicked effreet tyrant while we were there and Ahh nearly got mae beard burned off! If it wasnae fer his blade and mae fly spell, Ahh dannae think we wid be havin this wee blether here today! Ahh dannae ever recall such a dangerous adventure. So tell me aboot yerself. Hae yae been on a fair amoont o' adventuring yerself? Dae yae ken whae we're workin with today?"
The Grog Pit turns out to be one of those seedy establishments with ale bad enough to make even Skybek a little uncomfortable. The first mention of 'Gris,' however, gets the heavily armed party shown to a back room with rotting table, some rickety chairs, and a deck of greasy playing cards. The door is promptly shut and everyone glances around at each other, uncertain whether they're supposed to start playing.
Fortunately, it's a short wait before the backroom door suddenly slams open and the game’s mysterious host appears--the enigmatic Osprey, an agent of the Pathfinder Society with unclear objectives likely known only to the Decemvirate. Two strangers accompany the lean-featured Chelaxian: a tall man wearing dark robes and a black mask that conceals his face, and a grizzled, prune-skinned gnome, with a slight facial palsy.
With his typically cordial but informal manner, Osprey requests everyone be seated and offers all a mug of Absalom's worst grog. He doesn't wait for an answer.
"My fellow Pathfinders, I appreciate you making yourselves available on such short notice. I trust the accommodations here are sour enough to keep others from our business. As usual, I prefer to get right to the point."
Osprey slams a large sack down on the table (which shudders horribly), a high-pitched yelp bursting from within the bundle as he does so. Osprey darts a hand into the sack and drags out a tiny, pestilent-looking creature by the throat. As it struggles, he beats its head against the table a more times, and chides, "Settle down now, before I get careless and snap your neck!" Then he pins it down against the table, where it flounders weakly, a bony clump of glinting scales, hollow-eyes, and leathery wings. With his hands still locked on the creature’s throat, Osprey raises his eyes, looks across the table, and says, "So, what do you know about demons?"
|
|
Val's eyes narrow in chagrin at the first squirmings and rough treatment of the diminutive prisoner--this type of infringement of freedom is, almost without exception, intolerable. Upon seeing the nature of the creature,his nose wrinkles in disgust. Indeed. It took an army of skilled Pathfinders to repel this scum from Nerosyan a while back--they nearly spelled the end of my band! Why do you have such a creature?
Osprey nods. "Oh, I believe that this little fellow will soon tell us some very important information, if it wishes to live." Osprey's grip tightens, eliciting a pathetic squeal from the scaly thing.
Osprey continues before stopping himself suddenly. "Our friend here--oh, but where are my manners. I forgot to introduce my guests." He waves to the gnome, who steps forward with a curt bow. "This is Xersus Abergis, a foremost demonologist and historian. And please give your complete attentions to my most esteemed guest..."
The tall, cloaked man steps forward, utterly obscured behind his mask. He speaks in an eerily dry monotone: "I represent the Decemvirate. I have come to oversee these proceedings as they are of personal interest to me. Osprey and Xersus shall speak on my behalf, unless I find it necessary to intervene. As far as you all are concerned, you have never seen me. Do I make myself clear?"
|
|
Terrill’s eyes narrow as Osprey enters the room with a bang. The famed Osprey is a Chell! How had I not heard this? Let’s hope he’s not got some mission in mind that furthers the goals of that damned slaver-nation. With an effort of will, he opens his eyes and his mind, giving the man the benefit of the doubt – for now.
When Osprey pulls the small demon out of the sack, Terrill’s mistrust grows deeper. ”You’ve brought a quasit to our meeting? From your treatment of the damned thing, I can only assume you’re not its master. So who birthed it here?” With a quick aside to his companions, he says, ”I learned a thing or two about demons fighting them at Nerosyan as well. If you don’t know of them, quasits are lesser demons born directly into the material plane to serve the will of a mortal master.”
As the others in the room are introduced, Terrill gives a nod in return, acknowledging the masked man’s request for secrecy. He turns back to Osprey and gestures at the pathetic creature in the man's grip while saying, ”I can keep a secret well enough. But what do you seek to learn from this creature? And what would you have us do, that calls for such dealings?”
Osprey turns to Xersus and nods. The gnome steps forward again and explains. "One of the problems with demons is their complete lack of organization. We sages have very little to work from when investigating and cataloging them. Devils of course, keep lengthy records, but with these things," he pauses to disdainfully poke the quasit, "these things couldn’t tell you the name of their own mother. This makes the job of studying and cataloging them very important. Many years ago, I used to work with a cleric and expert demonologist named Baldimar Trud. Trud was also a revered cleric of Cayden Cailean," and here Xersus glances at Skybek, "and guided all of his research to assist in the fight against these infernal brutes. Still, the church had few available funds for his elaborate studies, and thus he sought out and received funds from other investors, including significant patronage from the Society. Over the course of several years, he built a research laboratory and compiled an extensive archive. Unfortunately, we have seen none of his work since he died before revealing its location." The gnome shakes his head in obvious irritation.
"After Cayden’s Hall burned down the last time, I thought his works gone forever. Though a few days ago, I came upon this little fellow going through my personal notes--notes concerning my old friend Baldimar. I don’t believe this is a coincidence and strongly believe this fellow shall soon tell us why he was in my possessions. After that, I’m sure Osprey has a plan for you."
Osprey himself gazes around the table expectantly. "Well, anyone want to take a crack at it? No? Oh, I suppose I don't mind then." Osprey slams the creature's head against the edge of the table, sending a shower of rotted wood to the disgusting floor below. "Now, what were you doing looking in my friend's notes?"
When the creature gives only a pained groan, Osprey repeats his violent tactic a couple more times. "GAAHHH! AIEEEE! OW OW OW!!!" the quasit yelps in sickening cries. "ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I WAS THERE BECAUSE I HEARD MY MASTER'S VOICE AGAIN!!! COMING FROM INSIDE CAYDEN'S HALL!!!"
|
|
Terrill turns an ear well-practiced at catching lies to the gnome’s description, and the corner of his grimly-set mouth quirks up in a smile. ”There’s a cleric of the Drunken God who is revered? Must have been quite a fellow, and hated demons to boot. Sounds worth looking into.”
When the quasit finally succumbs to Osprey’s abuse and answers the man’s questions, Terrill follows up with another, ”And who is your master? I don’t want you to be hurt more, but you will answer these questions. It’s just a matter of how hard a road it is before we get to that destination.”
"AAAIIEEEEE!! OH!!! MASTER IS GRAZ'ITH UR MAURGITH!!! NASTY, NASTY DEMON LORD!" squirms the quasit from beneath Osprey's vice-like grip.
Osprey peers quizzically around the room, sensing if there are any more questions the others want to pose to their imprisoned guest.
"CAAYDENNN'S HAALLLL!" the quasit wails.
Osprey happily hands the quasit over to Bishop, in whose hands it squeals pathetically. "PPLEASE!!! NO! I DON'T KNOW!! SOMEWHERE DOWN! I WAS SEARCHING IN THAT ONE'S NOTES TO FIND OUT!!!!!" It waves a mad finger at Xersus in desperation.
Once again, Terril does not sense a lie from the quasit. However, he does sense that Osprey is holding something back--but the druid brings it up on his own.
"Our interest was piqued a few weeks ago when there was a string of seemingly unconnected murders around the city that had one common feature: they were all former backers of Baldimar's research. Pathfinder investigators were also able to determine that, while each murder was different, most deaths could have been caused by supernatural wounds. Catching this little fellow snooping in Xersus' study was the last bit we needed before assembly your team to investigate Cayden's Hall itself."
|
|
I knew it, another reason not to trust a Chell. Slavers, devil-dealers, he decides to leave out the bit about the murders when telling us our mission, Terrill thinks, giving Osprey a cold-eyed glance.
He turns to the druid again and says, "How do you mean each of the murders was different? Tell us about them, would you?"
Once they have their answers and are ready to go, Terrill steps away from the table a few paces. He draws his blade and holds it low, laying a hand on its shining length. When he mutters a few words, the metal glows briefly before he sheaths it with practiced ease.
Osprey shrugs. "Didn't seem connected. One was an apparent mugging in Eastgate, another was an apparent suicide in her study over by the Ivy District, a third was faked to look like a ritual sacrifice at a shack in the Puddles. Or maybe it was a ritual sacrifice? Who knows. Anyway, different. Xersus here was instrumental in determining the connection and patterns." Osprey reaches over and grabs the squirming quasit from Bishop, stuffing it back in the sack.
"But that's not important now. Go to Cayden's Hall and find any evidence of this thing's demon master." He points at the sack, still wriggling. "Ask for High Priestess Saphira and see what she knows first, if anything." As everyone stands to depart, the cloaked stranger gives a curt bow, slips out a back exit, and vanishes.
Osprey turns to follow, but stops. "Oh, and Pathfinders? If you find anything, do be quick to contact me--especially if you get in over your heads. I will be at Skyreach, helping Xersus put his notes back in order."
***
The swift journey to the Ascendant Court, and the magnificent Cayden's Hall of Absalom now stands before the party. A cacophony of drunken revelry and Faire music bard songs pour forth from the open double doors of the temple's entrance, behind which two long bars and huge casks of drink can be spotted. A doorman in the robes of the Accidental God greets new arrivals at the door.
|
|
Bishop looks at the doorman, then Timber, then back at the doorman. He leaves the question hanging unsaid.
-Posted with Wayfinder
|
|
Many years ago, I used to work with a cleric and expert demonologist named Baldimar Trud. Trud was also a revered cleric of Cayden Cailean," and here Xersus glances at Skybek, "and guided all of his research to assist in the fight against these infernal brutes. Still, the church had few available funds for his elaborate studies, and thus he sought out and received funds from other investors, including significant patronage from the Society. Over the course of several years, he built a research laboratory and compiled an extensive archive. Unfortunately, we have seen none of his work since he died before revealing its location." The gnome shakes his head in obvious irritation.
"Ahh can get behind a mission of this sort. The revered of Cayden Cailean are an interesting bunch and Ahhm willing tae commit tae finding him. Daes anabody ken what pub the fellow use tae hang out in?"
The swift journey to the Ascendant Court, and the magnificent Cayden's Hall of Absalom now stands before the party. A cacophony of drunken revelry and Faire music bard songs pour forth from the open double doors of the temple's entrance, behind which two long bars and huge casks of drink can be spotted. A doorman in the robes of the Accidental God greets new arrivals at the door.
"Aye, Mae gud fiend. Ahhm Skybek Odeon at yer service. It is a pleasure tae meet yae. Ahhm lookin fer and o' oor brothers, Baldimar Trud. Dave yae ken if he's inside?
|
|
Bishop gives Tirrell a half smile, "I can catch the cut of a man's jib by how he handles Timber when I don't walk him through life with a horse-sized wolf
"
-Posted with Wayfinder
The doorman is quite taken aback by Skybek's question. "Baldimar? Did you say Baldimar? Baldimar... died... a while back. Are you a traveling sort of Caydenite?" he asks, eyeing Skybek's tankard around his neck. "What did you need him for?"
"Oh, and if you're coming in for a drink, I'm afraid the puppy has to stay outside," the doorman adds .
|
|
Terrill does what he can to explain away Skybek's request to meet a dead Caydenite, "Sorry, sorry, just a bit of confusion. We're here to see High Priestess Saphira, and we were just talking about Baldimar. You know how when you're in your cups things get a bit mixed and mingled? Anyway, could you point us to Saphira?"
A loud scrape of barstools being vacated accompanies the doorman's reply. "Oh, alright then. Um, she's probably inside some--"
"High Priestess Saphira is not accepting solicitations from visitors," interrupts one of two Caydenite priests suddenly appearing in the doorway. "You had best leave."
|
|
"High Priestess Saphira is not accepting solicitations from visitors," interrupts one of two Caydenite priests suddenly appearing in the doorway. "You had best leave."
Skybek casts guidance upon himself and steps forward to speak like a true Caydenite.
"Ahh dannae think yae ken whae Ahh am! Ahh'm Skybek Odeon! Ahh'm one of Cayden's most faithful servants. If yae doubt it, Ahh'm happy tae offer yae a wee nip o' mae Starstone Ale tae prove it! If that daesnae dae it fer yae, yae can always ask Cayden Cailean himself! He'll always vouch fer mae. Ahh've been servin him fer years!"
|
|
"We're not here about solicitations," Terrill says in a voice turned cold, "we're here to get to the bottom of a mystery, one that has already caused three deaths and will spell trouble for your temple if we don't sort it out. Now move out of the way before you're moved."
As he speaks, he keeps a careful eye on the two priests, to see if they're lying or just hiding something.
"Uh, can't they come in for a drink?" asks the doorman, who is ignored.
The priests both go white as sheets at Terrill's threats, but hold their ground. "You may be dressed in the robes of the Lucky Drunk, dwarf, but these lot clearly aren't here for solicitations. No. They're here to steal. To steal our sacred archives. Just like she said! Berro, remove these rascals and don't let them in."
"But--"
"I said don't let them in!"
|
Aside, away from the priests: Those two don't appear to be entirely in control of their actions. I'd rather not force our way in... Maybe there's another way?
Taking a quick look around the building, are there any other doors, or easily accessible windows that would be big enough to fit through?
If necessary: