Each of you is an aspiring adventurer, who has had some contact with a curious and capable half-orc explorer named, Ulisha. For years, Ulisha has devoted her efforts to the study of the River Kingdoms, a tumultuous land of bloodthirsty bandits, treasure-laden ruins, and self-proclaimed kings. She has a reputation for being a rather successful treasure hunter, although her methods are reputed to have put her on the wrong side of the law on more than one occasion. Perhaps the most remarkable treasure that she is known to have obtained is Silverhex, an enchanted sickle sued by druids millennia ago, which she claims to have only recently recovered from a collapsing stone circle located somewhere within the River Kingdoms. From what you know of the woman, Ulisha often goes to great lengths to protect and retain her treasures. On those few, very rare occasions when she has willingly parted with an item of value, it has only been in exchange for an exorbitant amount of gold coin.
Thus, the latest message that each of you has received from Ulisha is, indeed, rather quite curious. For in her message, Ulisha has offered to part with the famed Silverhex, what may be her life’s greatest find, for a price of just a few small chests worth of gold pieces despite the fact that, by all indications, the value of the object must be at least three times that amount! Further, not only does the message contain an offer of sale, but it claims that Ulisha is prepared to provide you with information as to the locations of a number of lesser treasures that you may obtain beforehand in order to secure the funds needed to purchase the famed weapon from her. However, as the message cautions, the recovery of such treasures is not without some amount of peril. Thus, the message warns, it would be unwise to attempt recovery of them on one’s own. Finally, the message includes a map to a meeting place—the location is a hovel on the banks of the Dagger River to the north of the town of Daggermark.
On those occasions when you have had contact with Ulisha, she has never given you any cause to suspect that she would ever seek either to defraud you or to bring upon you ill. Her offer appears genuine. And, if the offer be genuine, then it is too great an opportunity to forego.
Now, having arrived at the location disclosed within the message, you have found only a rundown, wooden shack, slowly deteriorating on a secluded bank near a fast flowing portion of the Dagger River. Its walls are barely strong enough to hold the wind or other elements at bay. Upon entering the shack you find signs of recent use, but other than yourselves, no other persons are present. Indeed, other than a few discarded tools, spent embers, and scraps of food, you find little of note, but for a single exception.
Closed, on a ramshackle table, lies a tattered journal. Its pages gently blow with the breeze periodically rushing through the dilapidated structure. This wagging movement brought on by the wind is slightly reminiscent of an invitational gesture, as if the pages themselves were now beckoning you to come toward them and to discover just what secrets within them they are willing to impart.
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Having arrived at the meeting place first, Selfi Appleblossom child of an isolated community of barbaric elves sets about to make it a proper camp for the late arrivals. Sensing a nip in the air she constructs a fire pit out front of the shack. She collects wood and then finding the discarded book-thing tears several pages out of it crumples them and sets them among the sticks to help start the fire.
Won't the others be glad for the light and smoke to guide them.
She pulls the flint and steel from her pack, and sets about to producing a spark.
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"Ah very good, nothing like a shack in the middle of no where to start an adventure." Zordlon chuckles to himself. "Another Elf, nice to meet you. I am Zordlon, Archivist and Book Enthusiast for the Dark Archive. I was sent along to help with any mysteries of the arcane and history."
Looking over at the Elf, "I am guessing that you are to be the muscle?"
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He looks taken aback at the gesture, but then decides to continue the line of questioning. "I see, a strong silent type. Well no matter, I think I can talk enough for the both of us." He pulls out a roll of parchment and sets it on the table, then retrieves a ink pen and ink and puts it to parchment. "So....Other Elf, what tribe or clan, whatever you like to designate from, are you a part of."
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A tall male in a dark green cloak, bow slung over his shoulder, silently enters the shack and observes the two who arrived before him...he pulls back the hood covering his head to reveal long wavy brown hair and sharp Elven facial features. The Elf smiles sheepishly, "I am Lync. Is this party to be made up of just Elves?"
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He looks taken aback at the gesture, but then decides to continue the line of questioning. "I see, a strong silent type. Well no matter, I think I can talk enough for the both of us." He pulls out a roll of parchment and sets it on the table, then retrieves a ink pen and ink and puts it to parchment. "So....Other Elf, what tribe or clan, whatever you like to designate from, are you a part of."
So, he is one of those elves.
The thin pages of the book-thing take the spark quick, and soon a small fire begins to burn. Selfi rips out a few more leaves to feed the fire with.
"I am Selfi Appleblossom of the Forest People."
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"Oh good you do speak." He takes a moment and jots down the name and clan. "I thought for a second, I thought you would be one of the mute and illiterate savages that are alike to the superstitious human kind."
"And Lync, was it, where is it that you hail from" He takes a moment to look him over, "I would guess from a city of some kind."
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After the half-elf, follows a very pale young human. Despite his age, his hair are mostly white. His round face bears numerous scars and piercings.
His voice is hoarse - like someone who have smoked too much - as he introduces himself.
May Darkness and Pain be on us. I'm Yevgheni, follower of the Midnight Lord.
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A heavily muscled half-elf, with a morningstar at his belt, and a shield emblazoned with a foaming tankard on his back, wanders into the room, whistling a jaunty tune, and grins broadly.
"Greetings! The name's Cayden Barleybrew! It's good to meet you all!"
The savage elf girl looks about at sky above and shack behind her, confused for a moment. "Are you one of those mummers, Kay-Den Barl-Eey-Broo half-human? The way you pretended to close the air behind you and sit down on that squirrel.... Do you do shadow puppetry!? Once the fire is ready and it grows dark, you can do deformed rabbit!"
"Why is everyone's hair so white. Does living in the city do that to elves, suck the color from them like old gnomes? Is it a mark of some sort of 'club'?"
After the half-elf, follows a very pale young human. Despite his age, his hair are mostly white. His round face bears numerous scars and piercings.
His voice is hoarse - like someone who have smoked too much - as he introduces himself.
May Darkness and Pain be on us. I'm Yevgheni, follower of the Midnight Lord.
"Look it happens to humans too!" Her voice catches in alarm at Yevgheni's approach. "Perhaps there is ghost in forest? Stay here and I will slay whatever it was that frightened you all." She stands but so quickly it looks like she did not go through any of the intervening steps. She was crouched, building the fire one moment, and standing the other. She casts the remains of the worn journal she had been tearing at for kindling into the fire pit, and pulls a great broad-bladed sword from her back as she prepares to stalk off in pursuit of whatever it was that has scared everyone else so.
It is strange she thinks, among birds it is usually the male who bears the most-colorful plumage. Will none of these men be able to hunt the wyvern for their betrothed when the time comes? If so the ghost has much to answer for!
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A young woman enters the room, with a longsword belted to her hip and a shield on her back.
"I was tasked to join this! My name is Flaith, Flaith Festung."
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"Um, we're out here by the fire!" shouts the she-elf wondering why so many people walk past everyone outside and then introduce themselves to the inside of an empty shack. City people. Are their eyes so bad? There isn't even kindling in there, only a draft. She had seen to that when she had begun building the fire outside.
At first Selfi looks aghast at the new arrival's hair then squints at it for a moment as if undecided about something. "Did you only see it out of the corner of your eye?"
"Is Ulisha with you? There is a ghost. Look here at these frightened men." She grabs Cayden's* hair to show the paladin.
"It has made their hair white. Only the one called Link has escaped, Flay-Thah." She says tugging on the male elf's wavy brown hair. "See? We must find Ulisha before the ghost finds her too."
As a gust of wind roars around the shack, likely brought on by the approaching cool of night, Cayden is the first to notice a singed piece of paper, the scrap of a book, blowing on the breeze and landing near his feet.
... Ulisha"
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"But what of You-Lish-Ah? Are you not also here to meet with her, Zor-Duh-Lon? Why travel 70 leagues cross-country to Gralton?" Selfi asks.
She stirs the fire trying to get the scorched journal's leather binding to light. "I understand that the robbing of tombs is a common thing among the Pathfinder Society, Flay-Thah. Perhaps it might be easier to rob tombs in nearby Daggermark."
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"You guys are looking at it all wrong..We will not be robbing, we are retrieving artifacts. These artifacts could better the society's position." He says thumbing the hilt of his long sword. "Why should they be lost to history just because some noble wants to keep it for themselves even after the pass on."
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Lets find the clues Ulisha left us in Gralton. We will see there what need to be done.
Selfi stands. "What 'kloos'? Do you mean that You-Lish-Ah is not coming, or does everyone find the homes of the dead ones so interesting?"
"Whilst I agree that tomb-robbing is not my idea of a fun afternoon, it does seem like we may have to get our hands dirty on this occasion..."
"Kay-Din you can throw that scrap of parchment into the fire with the rest of the paper I used."
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"You mean she was here already and left us this?" Selfi spears the remains of the journal and any remaining loose pages with the end of her big sword. She holds the singed, wet papers aloft on the end of her blade like a dead possum that's been laying in a ditch for a week.
"Is that what it says--go rob a tomb in Gralton?"
She casts her gaze about on the ground looking for any sign of Ulisha's trail.
"If Gralton is our destination we should leave soon. It is a journey of a week," she looks over the members of the party whose mode of dress and bearing suggest the word 'city-slicker' and quickly adds, "maybe more."
"There are few good roads in these River Lands--though there might be one between big cities like Daggermark, and Gralton."
Lync manages to gather up a few other burnt scraps from the journal .
With no further sign of Ulisha, the party heads out toward Gralton. En route, you meet up with a caravan also heading toward Gralton that is more than eager to provide you with food and travelling amenities in exchange for protection from bandits.
During your travels, you may recall or be able to obtain from others in the caravan, more information about Gralton.
Lord General Halidan Tarne, one of the few ex-nobles of Galt who can rightfully consider himself a noble of Gralton, has been gathering an army in Gralton for years to invade Galt by force and has erected strange, makeshift barracks that can hold 300 of his 500 soldiers.
Gralton is ruled by an oligarchy of six citizens consisting of the governor and five council members. The governor is generally considered to be the leader of the council. Current governor Marnius Cherlorne is best known for his assistance in Gralton’s recovery after brigands set much of northern Gralton on fire.
Some Graltoners choose not to follow the societies’ mandate of secrecy and are open about their plans and desires. Even those who are not privileged or interested enough to join a secret society are eager to see change, either in Gralton’s current state or back in Galt.
Adventurers in Gralton find themselves being coyly approached by a steady stream of citizens hoping to recruit, offering payment in gold or promises of wealth and renown as soon as they have been reestablished in Galt. Most of these recruiters are polite and accept rejection with little more than mild disappointment, though there are rumors that some of Halidan Tarne’s soldiers were bullied and threatened into joining his ranks. Beyond attempted recruitment, adventurers are generally ignored and allowed to do what they need to, as long as they don’t break any laws or cause any trouble. They may be privately hired to retrieve items or even people left behind in Galt, or to act as bodyguards for those who attempt the retrieval themselves.
If an adventurer’s actions directly benefit Gralton as a city, Governor Cherlorne dutifully rewards him, though the governor’s gifts are usually in the form of land and titles in Gralton in the hopes of encouraging the adventurers to settle down there. Although the governor is generally considered to be the leader of the council, as he is the public face of Gralton’s government, in truth the governor and the five council members share power equally.
After arrival in Gralton, the party and the caravan part ways. Once in town, you may recall or know more about Laban Tullivor.
You arrive at Gralton Cemetery just as the sun is setting . You find it to be a rather ostentatious cemetery for a small city, with the tombs of wealthy Galtan refugees evoking their lost glories. Two of the mausoleums in particular stand out, one of baroque marble barred by a prominent and ornate iron door and the other, an alabaster tomb sporting a ten-foot spire atop a broad dome. Both are made to look all the more imposing by the shadows they cast eastward that are lengthening with the setting sun.
You also find that the entire property is contained within a sturdy, metal fence, but that the gates are ajar and that no guards appear to be on duty.
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"My sources tell me this Laban Tullivor was mean and crooked...he bragged about how his tomb's treasure would be guarded by a magical trap only bypassed by one who's earned his family's gratitude..."
Upon arriving at the cemetery, Lync frowns at his discovery...
"Hmmm...lots of tracks, both humanoid and equine...odd that the gates are open and no guards to be seen...be alert..."
Lync draws his bow...
From your vantage point at the cemetery gates, you can identify the mausoleum directly to the west as being that of the Tulliver family.
Not far from the entrance of Tulliver mausoleum, close to a nearby tree, you spot a human form slumped over a small marble pedestal.
Upon closer inspection, you can see that the slumped form is the lifeless body of a young human male dressed in a noble’s outfit. His dead hands are bound with rope. The body is slumped over what appears to be a small marble pedestal.
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Lync nods at Yevgheni and examines the scratches....
"Looks like he was struck in the face by hawk talons..."
"...and he has a sharp, prominent nose...just as depicted on the pedestal here...perhaps he is a Tullivor? And there are humanoid footprints around here as well....his killer may still be on the grounds..."
Lync looks sharply around the area for hidden foes...
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Cayden looks around, wide-eyed.
"How utterly dreadful, and uncivilised; leaving the poor man draped over the pedestal like an ornament. Such shocking, distasteful impropriety!"
He then moves to shift the body, carefully laying it down on the ground, and putting it into a more respectful pose.
"Anyone have any idea whom he might be, poor lad?"
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Observing the tracks around the pedestal, Yevgheni found something.
Look! there is two sets of humanoid footprints that surround the pedestal. The prints match a set that Flaith observed earlier near the cemetery gates that had been accompanied by hoof prints.
The prints seem to lead westward, away from the Tulliver mausoleum and in the direction of the spired tomb...
after a short silence, he adds Somone want to remove the corpse form the pedestal?
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During your travels, you may recall or be able to obtain from others in the caravan, more information about Gralton.
After arrival in Gralton....
Yeah, I just said as much.
"You, ugly human-thing, tell me of your filthy constrained homeland. Now."
"There are tracks here."
"And no guard to accept deliveries."
Upon closer inspection, you can see that the slumped form is the lifeless body of a young human male dressed in a noble’s outfit. His dead hands are bound with rope. The body is slumped over what appears to be a small marble pedestal.
Cayden looks around, wide-eyed.
"How utterly dreadful, and uncivilised; leaving the poor man draped over the pedestal like an ornament. Such shocking, distasteful impropriety!"
Selfi looks around, wide-eyed.
"But... this is civilization Kay-Din."
He then moves to shift the body, carefully laying it down on the ground, and putting it into a more respectful pose.
"Anyone have any idea whom he might be, poor lad?"
Selfi investigates the body.
"He looks to be one of the nobles. You can tell by his lack of chin, and the fact his blood is not clotting."
"In fact he appears to be inbred with the man whose bust he is resting upon. The people here have some strange funeral customs."
"Someone has no doubt left him here as bait for wyverns. It is a shameful practice used by cowardly hunters. Better to fight wyverns honorably sword to sting. We should all urinate around the site to warn off any wyverns from approaching with our scent."
Look! there is two sets of humanoid footprints that surround the pedestal. The prints match a set that Flaith observed earlier near the cemetery gates that had been accompanied by hoof prints.
The prints seem to lead westward, away from the Tulliver mausoleum and in the direction of the spired tomb...
"I shall go Ghost-haired One."
Selfi charges off in the direction indicated sword in hand.
You follow the tracks towards an alabaster tomb that evokes a past age of Galtan architecture, including a ten-foot spire atop a broad dome. Its awnings teem with sculpted white raptors. An iron gate bears the motto, “Last to Fall.”