The step off the wharf brings the brisk reminder of every Pathfinder's second home. The smell of Absalom air rushes the nostrils, the sights and sounds of the busy Docks district already leaving the thoughts of the ship far behind. The great Irorium looms in the distance of the Foreign Quarter, but there are a hundred thronged streets filled with jubilant revelers between here and there. A stop at the Lodge first to pay respects at the Wall of Names? To the Coins, to spend on that which could not be bought in the field? To the Temple of Cayden Cailean for a quick ale and some good cheer?
But then again, perhaps all the good seats will be taken...
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It had been a long trip back from Cassomir, the young man reflects silently. Fortunately he had managed to stay alive...and unattached as well.
A good thing too...be easier to escape from Pharasma's Boneyard than Olga's grasp!
As Masym notes the attractive female already waiting for the mission briefing he gets a wary look at first before relaxing. She (and the others) see this young man has a hard look about him. He has short cropped blonde hair and dark brown eyes. His body is lean and muscular and he carries himself with a quiet confidence. He has a grim expression on his face usually though when he smiles his face is transformed. His weapons and gear are well cared for and kept close at hand, but otherwise unremarkable.
He does smile at her. "Name's Masym. And you be?"
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A black feathered Tengu steps off of the boat and looks around at the situation in front of him. Having arrived from Irrisen, he is simply wearing traveling clothes, an odd sword and morningstar at his sides, and a musket on his back.
He does acknowledge everyone's presence with a nod, though he says little else as he sits down and begins maintaining his musket.
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The young warpriest, fresh off his last adventure where he had fought and killed many undead arrives in Absalom and to the place where the party meets, his holy symbol of Rowdrosh, proudly worn. Seeing his companions he introduces himself I am E'li, servant of Rowdrosh. he says with a smile. He slaps the massive young man on the back in a friendly manner. You grow potatoes? I am a shepherd by training
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The City of Absalom is abuzz with excitement.
The streets are full of revellers and feasting, as residents celebrate the city’s independence from tyranny. All seem most eager to witness the evening’s biggest event, the annual Passion of the First Siege of Absalom, where hundreds dress in elaborate costume, don fake armor and weaponry, and crowd the Irorium floor to participate in a mock combat, reenacting the first siege of Absalom.
* * *
Finding themselves walking together in the direction of the Irorium, the small gaggle of Pathfinders are soon trading various agricultural techniques and ruminations on the nature of hero-hood. As they make their way through the streets, a lean-faced man hiding behind a long cowl slips alongside to interrupt the discussion. "A moment of your time," he says and pulls them aside into the shadows of a nearby alley. "It seems we have two things in common, an eagerness to participate in good celebration, and this..." He punctuates his sentence by holding out an elaborately carved wayfinder, the type only granted to Pathfinders of great importance. "I assure you, it's mine," he adds quickly, closing the device and tucking it back into the folds of his cloak with a quick, easy motion. Then he continues, "I know a good number of you are already planning to attend the festivities this evening. I need but a casual favor. An old associate of mine, Charvion Eater-of–Bones, is set to make an elaborate display of some artifact he claims to have recovered. I’ve not had contact with him in a year or so, and I’ve a curious feeling about the event. More I cannot say; however, I’d appreciate you keeping an eye on whatever stunt he’s considering. He’s a natural charlatan that one. Just keep an eye out is all--nothing serious. Don’t let him know that you’re watching, and do not approach the artifact during the showing. Most importantly, tell no one of this conversation."
"I am Osprey, known to some," the strange figure replies. "An itch must be scratched, but not taken away... and Eater-of-Bones is a Pathfinder. An eye out is all."
Osprey considers Miranda a moment. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see." He steps back a few paces, into the deeper shadows of the alley. An osprey takes his place and vaults over the rooftops on rapid wings.
The steady hum of excitement around the Irorium has grown perceptibly during this briefing conversation, and the Pathfinder group decides to enter the stadium to find seats. The Society has granted each of its local agents a ticket to the mezzanine seats, with a decent view of the sands below, but those looking for higher altitude could trade tickets with someone in the stone terraced seats or rickety wooden grandstands above. Of course, there's also easy access to the exits to consider, which would be found nearest the mezzanine seats or those fancier field seats reserved for those with a little more money and clout.
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Shawn wanders into the stadium looking for the group described to him by the mysterious Osprey fellow.
At a time of scanning the crowd Shawn spot the party. Though he's come in on the ship with them just a little while ago he wasn't certain he'd found the right group in the crowd.
I sure hope that's the group in question or this may get awkward fast. But don't worry old boy remember that time you actually were right about the affair the king was having, that was awkward and all you did was make'em laugh.
Shawn in purple and yellow garb stands out from the crowd as his approaches the party.
"Hey I think I'm with you. I'm fairly certain we arrived at port at the same time but the boat ride made me very sick and up until now I've been standing over a bucket waiting for my constitution to catch up to me.
Anyway on the way here a shadowy fella, kinda thought he was a pickpocket but I kept all my stuff so I guess not, held out a wayfinder and told me a story and where to find you."
"Shawn's the name, being a charming sincere, entertainer is my trade. How do you all do?"
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Masym nods in reply to Shawn. "Pleasure to meet you Shawn."
I hope he knows some funny stories...this looks like it will be a long event!
Seeing the group splitting up, he hesitates briefly before taking a seat next to Miranda in the mezzanine. "I hope this Osprey is on the level." He comments out loud.
Ushers in the stairwell leading down to the field seats stop Ed and E'li before they can get closer to the action. "Sorry mates, those tickets only get you mezzanine seats. These down here are reserved." Fortunately, there are a couple seats by the others in the front rows of the mezzanine, which overhangs above the last two rows of field seats.
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A booming voice rings through the Irorium:
The Passion is long, tediously so, though the rowdy crowds more than entertain themselves, booing and cheering the performers and throwing rotten cabbages. In all, it turns out to be a fine afternoon of celebration.
Following the performance, a large stage is wheeled in to the west side of the Irorium. The stage is covered with a large curtain. Beneath is a scaled set of a ruin and in the center stands a bizarre, cage-like structure of weathered metal covered with strange runes and other ornate etchings. A man who fits the description of the Pathfinder known as Charvion Eater-of-Bones stands next to the cage.
Charvion touches something on the cage, and it falls open, slowly unfolding like a blossoming flower. He steps inside, and the cage begins to close around him, crackling with swirling tendrils of mystic, silvery ether.
In an ominous and unearthly voice he bellows,
A crowd of thronging onlookers soon floods the stage from the field seats, with many curious attendees leaning dangerously over the mezzanine for a better look. Barely audible over the excited clamoring, Charvion can be heard answering questions curated by his assistants...
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Masym glances at E'li yet does not say anything immediately. As the onlookers start to flood the stage he then turns and whispers to Miranda, "Looks like your friend Osprey may be right here. This whole performance looks staged to me...but for whom?"
He then focuses his attention on the crowd, looking for anyone acting suspicious.
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Ripping through reality? Sounds like a terrible idea.
Miranda nods to Masym's observation and replies, "Con artists are well known for distracting you with a performance to mask their true intentions. I haven't the slightly idea at the moment what the purpose of this would be, but I suppose we'll find out. It's still quite peculiar that Osprey would entrust us with this information..."
Faithful to their word, the Pathfinders keep an eye out -- or several, to be precise. Among the crowd here and there are those less interested in the display, but no one acting any more suspicious than the lookouts themselves.
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Masym glances at Shawn with a concerned look on his face, remembering the warning from Osprey not to approach the artifact.
"Shawn, I am not so sure that is a good idea. If this whole show is one huge distraction then that is exactly what they want us to do here! Besides," He finishes with a grin, "We all know the chicken came first!"
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Shawn considers Maysm's answer to his question.
Well that's one vote for the chicken, lets see that makes 41 for the chicken came first and 39 for the egg came first. I just don't think I can draw a conclusion without more data or a sound source of authority.
Shawn concedes.
"Ok we probably should watch from here."
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A low, droning horn suddenly rises over the cacophonous throng. Soon after, it is joined by a second horn, then a third, then dozens.
As the horn-blowers by the exits dash out of the stadium, the crowd looks around in bewilderment. Someone nearby points at the skyline over Absalom. "There! What's that?" Her outstretched hand points out tiny black dots littering the cloudscape, coming rapidly closer. In a matter of moments, they're clear enough to make out: dragons.
A massive black dragon dives through the center of the Irorium, spewing gouts of acid onto the arena floor. She heads straight for the small stage where Charvion stands within the cage. Striking with both claws, she plucks the artifact free from the base, shattering the stage and sending remnants of the mock ruins everywhere. The creature lifts into the air, with Charvion clinging to the bars and screaming in terror. The great beast continues her flight, winging off toward the Grand Lodge. A few short moments later, rattling explosions shake the city and a shimmering column of pale, silvery light shoots up out of the grounds of the Grand Lodge and into the night sky.
Unfortunately for the crowd in the Irorium stands -- and the assembled Pathfinders -- that's not all. A veritable flock of lesser black dragons come in the ancient one's wake, bearing on their backs goblins full of sharp grins and teeth and knives. The dragons streak over the throng, bombarding the panicked onlookers with gleeful goblins who jump, crash, and squeal to the attack!
Three goblins divebomb the Pathfinder group as those nearby streak for the exits! Ed and Masym both take a cut across the chin, though E'li lucks out with a clumsy runt.
HIT
MISS
HIT
Round I -- bold may act!
1. Goblins
2. Celdrexen, Ed (12/14 hp), Masym (13/14 hp), E'li, Shawn, Miranda
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Miranda's already expressive eyes grow wide as the massive dragon turns the floor of the stadium into a pool of acid, audibly gasping at the wanton destruction. As the goblins divebomb into the stands, she scoffs, placing her hypnotic stare on the goblin at the group's west flank and casts a Daze spell on it.