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You've been stationed in 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 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.
"Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?"
The question hangs in the air for only a moment when the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Drandle Dreng himself. He gives a crooked smile despite being soaked head to toe from the rain and smelling faintly of cabbage.
"Sorry 'bout that." He winks,"Always like to play a little joke on agents when I cross 'em during my jaunts into town. Now...why did I summon you all here again?" He shakes his head, trying to knock water out of his ears despite the constant rain.
"Yes, the Wounded Wisp! I'm undercover now, and can't stray far from the site I'm to watch, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment! 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 it all began. Well, I could drone on, but standin' in the rain is doing nobody any favors!"
Not bothering to ask if you agree, the bedraggled Venture-Captain produces a small slip of folder paper from on of his stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page's contents, a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar, in the Foreign Quarter.
"The bartender is a woman named Heryn Gale, fine lady who inherited the Wisp from her father passed from - bah! It's gettin' too cold for a history lesson, go to the Wisp, tell Heryn you're there for my parcel. If ya got any questions, ask 'em quick, I got more rain to collect!" He chuckles a bit, but you can tell he'd like you to move on sooner rather than later.
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Ai giggles politely at Dreng's 'joke', and a bit less than politely at his discomfort in the rain, ignoring for a moment her soaking brown-and-green robes and drenched, ankle-length crimson hair. "I appreciate the effort, even if the result is less than intended, and I am certain Picoperi does as well." She's in her human form, the better to avoid soaking her fur in the rain.
"I do have one question. Well, maybe two or three. First, can you tell us what your package is, or will curiosity get the best of me? Actually, don't tell me! I'll just be surprised later. Second, can we take the map? I for one have never been to the Wounded Wisp, not being...from around here. Third..." She thrusts out a delicate hand, grinning. "Hi! Ai. Jian-Wei Ai."
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"Any special precautions with the package? I mean, is it breakable? If we say the wrong thing near it, will it turn us into vegepigmies?"
Turning to her companions, Nerika says "Hi, I'm Narika. I'm a follower of the arcane arts, particularly interested in water and cold. Any height jokes, and you'll find your shaving water is icy cold for a week. Or worse. Hurt my friends, there isn't enough fire in Asmodeus's boudoir to hide you from my anger."
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A young Kellid man stands soaking in the rain. His clothes and light armor—utilitarian, military, and cut for maximum mobility—hang drenched over a lean, powerful, athletic frame. Underneath a long weather-coat you see an odd assortment of gear. A leather hip-bag, bulging with what looks like a few books, a series of pouches of the sort you’d expect to see on a mage, and a scroll case. Strapped across his back is a long, heavy greatsword.
At the beggar’s request, the young man uncrosses his arms to reach for his coin purse, but tries to cover it uncomfortably when Dreng’s joke is revealed. He gives an awkward half-laugh and looks around at the group.
He listens mutely to Dreng’s instructions, wracking his brain for anything he’s read or heard about the Wounded Wisp.
Then the young man nods to Ai, Ollo, and Narika in turn as they speak. Despite the rain—and despite the seemingly simple nature of the task given—he responds to his fellow pathfinders’ levity with a reserved grin.
”I’m Talon,” he interjects, his voice carrying a youthful quality. He holds up a hand to catch some of the rain, cutting a sheepish grin over to Narika, ”So this is your doing, then?”
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A mature human male stands nestled in the back of the group. His long grayish hair blends loosely with the edges of his unkempt beard. His stalky visage is heavily encumbered by a well-crafted breastplate, which is half covered by a heavy metal shield that hangs from his left arm. Strapped firmly to his back, is a well provisioned backpack that looks as if it’s ready to burst at the seams. Predominantly displayed on the shield is a golden angel with its wings spread proudly in front of a blazing sun. The symbol stands out brightly in the center of the heavy barricade, separating a solid black backing to one side and a white backing to the other. A similar symbol is displayed on a wooden pendent that hangs from the man’s neck.
As the Venture-Captain unveils his charade, the older gentleman stands calmly in the back and appears to be unmoved by the Captain’s joke. The man’s face seems solemn and scared by a history untold. His expression reveals a distinct distaste of hummer. The serenade of the rain striking the man’s heavy shield seems to be his only auditory contribution to the briefing. In the end the he nods, confirming his understanding of the Venture-Captains instruction.
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Ai hears the short little woman start to ask details about the package and covers her ears theatrically. "I'm not listeniiing. Don't ruin my surprise!" Once Dreng's done, she begins to crack a joke, only to stop in the middle of the first word and mime buttoning her lip theatrically. "Does Asmodeous even have a boudoier?"
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A sardonic eyebrow was raised at the banter, and a wry smile was on her face under the hood of the oilskin cloak - having seen firsthand what being wet and cold for too long can do to an individual, the young half-Tien woman was not inclined to get wet if it could be avoided. "It does bear asking", her voice cutting through the banter for the moment with her precise enunciation, "why it would take this many of us to retrieve a package?"
Giving a polite nod to the group, she looked around those assembled. "Tao-Shan Bo", she said stretching the look of amusement into a brief smile. "Nice to meet you all." There was not much else to be discerned from her under the ankle-length cloak that was currently keeping her dry, save for her boots, which seemed to be fairly well-fashioned.
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Aarion's eyes cut through the Halfling, focused on some point fare beyond the sorceress as she concludes her sexual innuendo. His look is cold and obviously dark. Staring aimlessly beyond any reason, the cleric seems to be having some sort of inner conflict. The expression on his face seems dangerous, but restrained. Memories of past deeds reflect of the man's glassy stair. Memories of days long gone.
As the briefing comes to an end, Aarion catches himself being distracted. With a quick shudder, he turns and begins heading towards the location indicated on the map.
(A package, simple, and to the point. Nothing more, even if the intoxicant seeking dwarf insists.)
Aarion takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly.
(The wounded wisp, may Sarenrae’s light give me strength. I will not stray. Not this day. Not ever again.)
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"Well I did say be quick with your questions!" The man laughs as he falls under the barrage of inquiry.
"The parcel is a special vintage of wine, from the cellar. I've been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not leave my current role, but you can't blame me some of lifes comforts can you?"
"As for why so many of ya. Well, you were just sitting around the lodge weren't ya? Better than doing nothing at all! Now off!"
With a roll like that, you have all the knowledge apparently.
The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Society before it was even formed. Inside the Wisp acquaintances would share stories about their adventures exploits with one another.
Many volumes of the pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisps roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for drinks while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Pathfinders often receive discounts and quick service due to the bars unofficial affiliation, which in turn has provided the bar with steady patronage, keeping it afloat.
Selmuis Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels.
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Talon misses much of the interaction, his mind working through everything he’s read about the esteemed tavern. He follows along.
”I heard the Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the society … before it was formed. There’s a lot of history there, if you’re interested.” He shrugs and shifts the weight of his massive blade, ”I like to read.”
It seems he knows more, but his quiet nature asserts itself, and he follows quietly along.
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Ai giggles again as she hears a bit more about the Wounded Wisp. "You all heard about the elf, the halfling, and the dwarf in the bar? Flies fly into their drinks, and the elf refuses to drink anymore, the halfling plucks it out and keeps drinking. The dwarf starts shaking the fly violently over his mug, shouting 'SPIT IT OUT, YOU LITTLE BUGGER!'" She looks around, hoping for a good laugh or two from the others, and then continues with her jokes. "Two orcs walk into a bar; the halfling ducks."
After a moment, she stops her laughter enough to look at Narika, mirth still in her amber eyes. "I'm not really one for the biting, vicious humor, but it does work well sometimes. As for the Wounded Wisp, I'd love to hear more, if we can work on getting out of this rain first."
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"I understand about wishing for gentler humor. I usually agree, but for Asmodeus and the Thrunes, as well as those who enslave others, there is no humor too harsh."
As Narika gets ready to go with her companions to the tavern, the long robe covering her shifts slightly, showing old scars on her wrist. They appear to be from manacles. Noting the eyes of her companions, she shrugs it off. "A little souvenir from my master before I escaped. Not things I wish to remember or tell of. Let's just say my hatred of those who keep slaves, as well as Asmodeus and Queen Abby, are from hard personal experience."
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"Two orcs walk into a bar; the halfling ducks.”
Talon looks down at the small woman, cracking a smile. ”I wouldn’t think ducking would be necessary.” He looks over at Nakira, and his features sober once more. His dark eyes take in her scars, and he shakes his head. ”I’ve dealt with … well … I can’t imagine life as a slave.”
As they near the Wounded Wisp, Talon begins to retell what he knows of the place. His shy tone begins to thaw a bit as he gets lost in one of his interests. History.
”As I mentioned before, the Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Society before it was even formed. Inside the Wisp acquaintances would share stories about their adventures exploits with one another.
”Many volumes of the pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for drinks while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Pathfinders often receive discounts and quick service due to the bars unofficial affiliation, which in turn has provided the bar with steady patronage, keeping it afloat.
”Selmuis Foster was one of the founding members of the Pathfinder Society, known to have frequented the Wisp often and occasionally taken up residence in a spare room between his travels.”
He shrugs, his tone once again becoming reserved, ”At least that’s what I read.”
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Narika turns to Aarion. "I see you wear the symbol of the Lady Sarenrae. Do you follow her?"
Aarion holds out his hand in an attempt to catch a couple droplets of rain and then glances down at Narika. “I found the lady of redemption at a point in my life when there was no hope. A time when all other options had been used up. She was my savior, a second chance when no others would dare think of it. In her embrace, I paid my penitence and now I serve others in her stead. I embrace life now instead of death.”
Aarion pauses a moment to consider his own motives.
"I watch as all things before me wither into the shadows of yesterday. The erosion of time is eminent, leaving behind nothing in its wake. Death exist within this endless void of time, which in itself is the only true immortal. With only one exception, nothing can escape the withering of time."
"The beginning of new life is the only true exception. The one infinite truth that defies the relentless degradation of time. The one reoccurring phenomena that finds a way to sprout and grow even in the most impossible circumstances. It’s this life that continuously offers a new beginning. A true opportunity for redemption, even for a wretch like me. I carry the lady’s emblem, and I offer the option of life for those wise enough to embrace it. That is the price for my redemption. To that end, I follow the lady without hesitation."
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”I wouldn’t think ducking would be necessary.”
"Of course not!" Ai slaps her forehead theatrically. "Mental note: Change orc/halfling joke. I've heard some good ones about the Society, too. I'll be sure to mention them later; you hear a lot of wonderful jokes in my line of work." She smiles at Talon, revealing pearly-white teeth, and then shivers, sending a ripple of motion down her hair. "I'm a big fan of Cayden, actually. Not a worshiper, you understand. I just appreciate his, um, carefreeness? Yes, lack of care."
"Do you have a minute to hear about the glorious word of Picoperi, the Merrygleam, Lord of Laughter? Perhaps later?"
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Aarion appears gloom at the mention of the carless, self-made god, Cayden Cailean.
“The Test of the Starstone.” Aarion slowly shakes his head. “I suppose everything has its price."
"I respect your choice Narika, but Cayden is to care free for my taste. Besides, I doubt he would have accepted someone of my background into his flock.”
The cleric once again stairs off into the distance. “I have a lot to atone for and Sarenrae has shown me a way to embrace what humanity I have left.”
After regaining his focus, Aarion looks over at Jian-Wei. “Perhaps the drunken god would appreciate your fly joke.”
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As the party alternatively banters and discusses religious beliefs, you make your way to the foreign quarter with the help of a map you were given, stopping as needed to check it underneath anything that may protect it from the rain.
Much of what you see is familiar to you all, given that the Grand Lodge is located not far off, and you easily find the Wisp by it's distinct wooden sign which anchors a lantern, looking almost like a wisp in the air even through the rain.
The Wounded Wisp itself seems hardly special from the outside. It's built of dark discolored wood and has barred windows that bleed ruddy yellow light into the street, obscuring a direct look inside. It looks like many a tavern, and many a tavern look like it.
You enter the Wisp via a long wooden hallway that leads north into the building. The walls are covered in various decorations and trophies left by Pathfinders who have donated paraphernalia to the bar during its lifetime. You pass by a tired looking teenaged human sitting beneath a sign that says 'Coat Check'. He barely seems to notice you as you pass by into the main hall.
The small of smoke and ale assaults your senses as you step into the room. Worn wooden tables dot the area and can be seen above in a raised area presumably for seating guests looking for more than an easy drink.
The northern area of the bar is dominated by the bar, which is held up by kegs instead of the traditional wooden panels. Rising above it is a cracked class showcase, housing many different liquors.
You also vaguely recognize a few faces enjoying themselves in the bar. A young halfling woman who waves your way when you come in, a pair or loud and jovial half-orcs, and a couple humans that you recall being of some note among the Lodge. It occurs to some of you that, though you still need to retrieve your parcel, rubbing elbows with a few fellow Pathfinders may not be a terrible idea, and of course you still need to find the bar owner.
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As Ai steps into the Wounded Wisp, she immediately looks for a bathroom, privy, or something of the sort to at least get the worst of the rain off her hair, which threatens to turn into a truly tangled mess. Once finished with that, she takes a few moments to scope out the patrons, eventually settling on the half-orcs as fun-loving, good-to-know people.
"Do you have a moment or two to hear the glorious word of Picoperi? Yes? Excellent. Picoperi said 'In the village I grew up in, there was a clumsy wizard who was changed into a half-man/half-horse creature. No-one was sure how it happened, but his wife left him. Though he was oo self-centaured.'" With the joke over, she sits down next to the two half-orcs. "Now, you two haven't seen the owner of this fine establishment, have you? I've got a friend with a thirst and a thirst to be helping that friend."
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Talon stops in the long hallway, rainwater pooling at his feet as he looks at the collected Pathfinder paraphernalia. Then his dark eyes shift down to the bored-looking teenager. He unslings his greatsword, leaning it against the wall long enough to pull the soaked overcoat from his shoulders and hand it to the coat-check boy with a nod. When the boy takes it, Talon hands him a couple of copper, nods again, and slings his blade back over his shoulder.
Then he walks into the Wounded Wisp, pausing a moment in the main room to appreciate the moment, freeze-framing it in his mind’s eye. With Aarion heading straight for the bar keep and Ai heading to engage the half-orcs, Talon hangs back, taking in the other patrons.
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The two Half-Orcs share a grin with each other and chuckle heartily at Ai's joke. They each take turns talking and drinking, finding an easy rythm that almost assuredly marks them as siblings, twins even. The sister speaks up first while her brother swigs deeply of his ale.
"Who needs a wizard and magic when you have an axe? Won't catch me with horse legs anytime soon!"
"Or me with a wife who can't horse around!" Her brother shouts slamming his mug on the table and laughs at his own joke. "I'm Garl, she's Shrade, and you can find Heryn at the bar, but why not pull up a seat and drink instead?"
Elsewhere in the bar Aarion inquires about the bartenders location.
"That'd be me hun. Can't say I know who you are though. Any particular reason I should be meeting you for something other than to give you a drink?" Heryn smiles and points to the cracked glass cabinet behind her. "We got plenty to choose."
Narika spies a rudimentary shrine to Cayden, a hastily made thing, in a dark corner, seemingly placed less out of reverence and more because of the expectation that it should be there.
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Talon watches a few of the other patrons quietly as he walks the bar. He noticed an older man drinking from an oversized flagon and studying a ominous tomb.
Another is quietly drinking by himself, seemingly lost in thought while listening as the female halfling a few tables away weaves tales of some of the societies past members to a group at her table. From where he stands Talon can see the symbol of Sarenrae hanging around the man's neck.
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Stepping in out of the cold rain, the dwarf shakes himself like a dog, flinging water in every direction. Noticing the myriad unamused glances and glares directed at him, he sheepishly grins and gives a bit a of wave. "Ollon Hammer-song, at yer service. Me nose tells me theres good drink to be drank, and me ears be singin o' good fun to be had!!" Swaggering through the annoyed crowd, he bellies up to the bar next to Aarion and claps him on the back. "Bah, yer too high minded, man. Sit fer a few and relax! Two ales, if ye please, miss. I promise to get the stick out from under this one's armour.." he gives the cleric an appraising glance.. "After a few kegs anyways!!" he concludes.
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The large, oiled cloak was a bit unwieldy to remove, but it kept her drier than other cloaks that she had owned. Once it was, Tao-Shan followed Talon's example and offered the kid a copper once it was hung. Underneath the cloak, she wore a bandolier strapped across her chest, the several pouches across the front holding a clay bottle, while the small pack on her back was neatly organized, two latched cases organized so they would not be unwieldy.
The leather she wore was well-worn, and well cared for, the buckles polished somewhat, though the shirt and vest that she wore kept her arms free past the elbow. With the cloak removed and drying, she now smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and chemicals, something that she had not quite figured out how to remove just yet. As she entered the tavern room proper, she began to smile, feeling the atmosphere. As the others dispersed, she headed to the bar to get something warm.
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Looking around for a moment, Ai sees that the conversation with the bartender is well-in-hand and relaxes a bit. "Very well, but does this place serve anything special. Something to surprise a body, perhaps?" She clambers into a chair, wriggling a bit to get comfortable, and then continues with another joke. "The Pathfinder rode into Korvosa on Fireday, stayed for three days, and rode out on Fireday. How?" She pauses. "Horse's name was Fireday!"
Calming down a bit, she looks the two half-orcs up and down, searching for a sign they might be Pathfinders themselves. "Are you with the Society too? I've been here a while, but all it's done is rain and rain; Dreng finally called for us, and we got errand-duty. Don't stab the messenger and all that, right?"
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Aarion looks over his should at Jian-Wei and then sighs. “If we stay here much longer, I’m afraid intoxication will become necessary to endure the rot-humor that won’t seem to dissipate.”
Aarion makes sure both incoming mugs of ale make their way in front of the hardy dwarf.
“Hopefully this won’t take long.”
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Heryn laughs as Ollo brings a little levity to Aarions serious nature. "Ah, Dreng, so that must make you lot Pathfinders then? Alright, I'll escort you to the cellar to pick it up, just give a moment for my replacement to get here. Shouldn't be but a moment. Here, have a couple drinks on the house, I see some of you are already mingling, why not take these and gab a bit, hun, socialize a little." She pours a drink for each party member at the bar and shoos them away so she can work while she tells one of her staff to go grab her replacement.
Garl and Shrade take a moment to see who can chug their ale fastest while Ai tells another joke. Shrade losses on account of the alcohol coming from her nose when she laughs deep into her drink and both slam their mugs down, knocking other empty ones onto the floor from their littered table.
"I don't know if they have anything other than ale." Garl says,
"We never asked. Aye, we're Pathfinders. Tough ones too." Shrade wipes the ale from her face. "They give us the fun missions, with all the fighting. Too bad they don't come around all that often, we spend a lot of time here at the Wisp." Garl winks at a serving girl as she passes by and she slaps him on the shoulder with a playful scowl.
Talon's investigation into the older mans research proves fruitless when he closes his book and looks Talon in the eye. "Me, no, I'm not a pathfinder. I'm assuming you are though, one I haven't met yet either. I'm Yargos Gill, military historian, and what's your name? Do you usually read books over the shoulder of strangers?"
As the party continues their conversations Heryn's replacement arrives and she waves over the few of you she has already seen at the bar.
"If you're ready, come on then!"
Heryn directs the party down a flight of stairs leading into the stonework basement and through the storeroom and into what looks to have once been a meeting room.
"The earthquake in 4698 took out most of the room. Intead of fixing it up and providing safe passage across all we have is this plank across the gap. One of these days I'll pick it up and get it it fixed but for now it's all we have." As she talks she points to a wooden plank on the ground, it had been lain over a deep pit between this room and the next and is the only path across.
"Parcel you want is in the next room."
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"My lord Picoperi would most certainly approve of this rickety bridge. It looks more than happy to surprise someone with a fall." Ai takes a cross-legged seat in front of the plank, contemplating it for a moment, and then springs across the gap, landing solidly on the other side. "Ah, this reminds me of the one about two stupid goblins sitting on the bridge. One fell off, the other didn't. He was a little more on. Now, to business. We'll need someone to walk across, to keep Dreng's shipment secure. Let me see...if we change how it's sitting, perhaps we could reduce the strain on it when you all walk across?"
Once everyone's across, Ai reaches out to touch Aarion's forehead, whispering in his ear. "Don't move. This won't hurt, I promise. It's just a little gift for you from me. You'll see! Don't want to spoil the surprise, do you? After all, who knows what rats or little creepy-crawlies might live down here, do we?"
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Ollo will drain his tankard, then shrug as Aarion pushes his tankard over as well.. before draining that one as well and finishing with a loud belch. "Well, that was just what the throat needed, and many thanks be yours, lass!" he calls after the bartender. Once the replacement shows up, he dutifully follows the party to the basement.
Ollo will do his best to try and help stabilize the board any way he can, but largely just gets in the way and almost topples into the pit himself..
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Talon’s face reddens at the Yargo's question. ”More often than is polite, sir. And yes, I’m a Pathfinder, if barely so.” He extends a hand for a shake. ”Talon, from Kenabres.
The young man’s dark eyes light up at mention of Gill’s profession, and he opens his mouth to ask a question ... when Heryn calls them to duty. He looks helplessly between Heryn and Gill for a few moments, then begins some regretfully towards the cellar door. He calls back to Yargos. ”I must go, sir. Pathfinder business, you understand. Could I stop back by when my assignment is complete? I’d love to pick your brain, if you’ wouldn’t mind. It’d be an honor.”
He barely has time to hear the man’ s answer as he rushes back through the door after the group.
Talon follows along, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the discovery of the rickety plank. ”Someone should do something about that,” he mutters looking to see fi there’s a simple solution.
If no solutions are found, he’ll try to carefully make his way across.
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Aarion inspects the repositioned plank and then runs his hand over his beard a couple times. “YAAaa…..I don’t think that made this rickety old board any more stable. I feel fairly certain it will brake under my weight.”
The older cleric backs up about ten feet, puts away his shield, and begins running towards the pit. At the last moment he jumps into the air and attempt to clear the three foot pit.