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"Well, a servant is greatly misbehaving. This happens from time to time, but you’re going to have to deal with it in order to get the trinket which Valsin asked for." She goes over to the desk in her study, opening a drawer and drawing out an exquisite silver letter opener shaped like a dagger (treat as a masterwork silver dagger). “You might need this to get it to submit,” she offers with a sly grin.
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Seeing her grin and recognizing the purpose of silver, Tabitha's eyes narrow, lip twitching and wrist wanting very much to snap back and release the dagger that lay hidden in her sleeve. Of course, that was not going to do her any favours with the Society, let alone with the guard when they came to arrest her for murder.
Instead, she bites her lip, tightens the grip on her bow, and turns to the others. "There's a devil in that room, in all likelihood. I suggest we very cautious, especially if between us, all we have to overcome its infernal defenses is a letter opener."
Hans nods gruffly.
"Very well, then; let's subdue this troublesome servant of yours."
He then gestures towards the door, before commenting to the rest of the party:
"Shall we?"
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Zarta’s bedroom is decorated in the colors of Cheliax — ebon black and crimson red. Silk, rare woods, and carefully carved marble compose every bit of furniture in the room. Goose down now litters the room, covering almost every surface and the silken shreds of the cushions that contained it lie about like flayed skin. A post on the massive screened bed is snapped in half, collapsed on the bed and drawing the screened curtains into a ripped slope of formerly fine cloth. Vials of perfume and crystal jars of other cosmetics sit smashed on the marble floor around the dresser. A prominent fixture in the room, a large “X” made of stout wood sits along the west wall, complete with leather shackles and chains. A table sits to its left strewn with various items intended for pleasure, but outwardly resembling implements of pain.
This formerly lavish boudoir provides the deviant Chelish diplomat a place to relax away from the neverending intrigue of Absalom’s political scene, and the decorations indicate she does a fair amount of entertaining here as well.
You can see a tiny imp crowching between the bed and the wall, trying desperately to open the box. The imp is enraged and totally out of controll.
Hans looks from the letter-opener, to his sword, and then back again, a moderately bemused look on his face.
"It will probably be useful, but perhaps, I think, for someone other than me. I will trust to strength to allow me to vanquish this creature!"
He then nods to Reginald.
"Ready."
"Indeed. The last thing we need around here is a limitless supply of imps," Hans remarks dryly.
He then steps forward, rages, and clubs the Imp!
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"'Litte bard' is the one who can put you to sleep with a wave of her hand, so I suggest you be a little less dismissive." She does, however, take the dagger, putting away her bow and preparing herself.
And then Hans swung.
Tabitha stares blankly at the Barbarian, who cut down the Imp in one swift strike. No need for silver, or even her to take in a breath and begin singing. She just stands there, holding onto the letter opener, nearly speechless. "That's impressive," is all she can manage, mouth open wide. Striding back into the room, she toys with the letter opener a little bit, staring rather unpleased at the noble. "If you don't mind I think I'd like to keep this. You were so gracious to offer us the aid we never used, and I would hate to see charity gone to waste." Her voice is heavy with sarcasm
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"You can keep it, but only if you come back and visit me when you have more free time." the paracountess says. After a few seconds she continues "I don't want to be impolite, but if you could leave now. I have some work to do. Aldor, please guide our visitors to the door." She walks over to her desk and starts reading in her papers.
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Tabitha waits until she's out the door to flick her wrist back, letting the dagger loaded in her wrist sheath pop into her hand. She slips that one to her belt and instead begins loading the new silver dagger into it instead. "That's three down," she says, glad to be out of the Chelaxian's house and away from all the demon worship.
"Only one more to go!," Hans remarks jovially. "At this rate, we should be back to the Lodge in time for dinner!"
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On the way to the Pickled Imp Jenya, Reginald, Oster, Garret and Tabitha get the feeling that they're being watched but can't pinpoint who or where the sensation comes from. Hans is still busy cleaning his greatsword from imp guts. Finally the group arrives at The Pickled Imp.
This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
“Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need.”
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
“Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases. There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway. My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me."
Hans looks up, startled, at Garret's comment.
"No, I did not notice anything..."
Once inside, he listens to what the man has to say, before quipping:
"It all seems a little... too... simple. What's the catch?"
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Despite sympathising with Reginalds concerns, Garret struggles to see his point.
"I'm not sure if you know this, but the Society isn't always above board. Sometimes you've got to take some questionable actions for the greater good."
Garret stares pointedly at their contact.
"And this is for the greater good, right?"
Hans, likewise, attempts to assist with scoping out the place...
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Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet above the water, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building's windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
The windows are dirty and provide no view into the structure's interior. When checking the warehouse the Pathfinders find he hidden key sandwiched between two rickety slats on the building near the doorframe.
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Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled.
Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows arranged in a triangle—the very crate you have come to find. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain simple sundries including, but not limited to beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons. Some of these materials, while certainly valuable, are more important to you as tools to help you get your real prize. A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.
"How delightful.," Hans remarks dryly. "Why couldn't it be simple, for once!?"
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Though the warehouse is supposedly abandoned, a trio of dire rats has moved in and now nests along the north wall. While you search the warehouse and formulate a plan to safely get the crate from above the hole, the dire rats lie sleeping. Irritated at the intrusion, they squeeze through the crates and attack you.
Garret
Jeny
Hans
Tabitha
Oster
Rats
Reginald