Welcome, intrepid explorers. For you select few who are bold or foolhardy enough to reach for ancient glories despite the terrible danger that faces you, the fabled Isle of Dread awaits!
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The room is dark, and the smoke from the burning incense drifts lazily up to the ceiling, highlighted by the flickering of the candle hanging from a sconce on the wall. A figure sits in a simple wooden chair, tucked up to a desk, staring at a flattened piece of parchment. The writing on the parchment is sloppy, and barely visible under the dim light of the candle.
"...been chosen for this daring expedition. Compensation is as previously discussed. Get your affairs in order, correspondence will follow with timing and directions to meet the other members of the team. Do not dissapoi..."
The parchment is crumpled quickly, followed by a fist slamming the table.
Do I really have a choice?
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Hmm... this isn't the most comfortable of logs.
The line of the dwarf's fishing pole pierces the lapping water of the expansive ocean in front of him as he rests upon a large piece of driftwood.
"Moooo..." echoes behind the man as his eyes loll.
He waves off the creature, but the yak approaches and nudges his master. "Ugh... lemme nap, ye infernal beast."
"Moooooooo..."
"Fine! What d'ye..." his eyes go wide as he jumps from his rested position to grab his pole anchored in the sand as he sees the tip of his pole bending at nearly a 45 degree angle.
"Looks like a biggun, Barley! We feast tonight!" he exclaims with excitement.
"Moo...
"Well, I feast. Stupid herbivores din't know what their missin'." the dwarf mutters under his breath as he starting reeling in the catch of the day.
he yells as the line suddenly yanks the dwarf off his feet and drags him through the surf, but the stout dwarf holds on to his pole as Barley's teeth grab the hem of the dwarf's tunic.
"Reel me in, ye big lug!" he yells at Barley.
The pack animal slowly pulls the dwarf and his catch ashore and the dwarf sees that it is a scuffed glass bottle, no bigger than a yak milk glass. "Eh... What in Gozreh's beard is this?" he asks to no one in particular.
He pops the cork and finds a letter tucked inside. Written below the wax seal "To: Elon Steelkeg"
The yak and dwarf look at each other quizzically.
A scrawny man walks out of a building into a sunlit, dirty street. He takes a deep breath, as if breathing in the sunshine, and promptly sneezes absurdly loud, doubling over from the suddeness of the violent action.
He wipes his watering eyes and nose on the inside of his tunic and turns to the stable attached to the building he just exited. A small boy offers the end of a rope from inside the shadow of the building, to which the man nods curtly, without offering a word.
Clucking his tounge twice, he turns to walk down the street. After a few steps, the rope pulls taught, jerking the man backwards as though he expected whatever was on the other end of the rope to move with him.
Annoyed, he turns back around, and clucks his tounge again. When nothing happens, he snaps the rope, clucking again, paying no attention to the snickers around him. Finally a brown colored mule saunters from the shadows on the other end of the rope. With a satisfied huff, the man resumes his walk with the mule at his side.
Neatly packed and arranged on the back of the mule are several full bags, a bedroll, tent, and a whole array of scroll cases that dangle down beside the beast as they walk. The man looks forlornly at his nearly empty belt pouch for a moment, but dismisses it just as quickly and continues his stroll.
Stubborn animal. Hopefully there is some civilization where we are going. Though I should get a proper spell to carry my belongings wherever I travel. This mule will have to do for now.
A black raven circles out of the sky, diving towards the frail man pulling the stubborn donkey, pulling up with a flap of his wings to land on the man's head. The weight tilts the foppish hat he wears enough to knock it off kilter, forcing the raven to hop from the precarious perch onto the man's shoulder.
"**Caaaw** Arth wyneb yn syth ymlaen ! Mae'n chwilio am rywun ..." A shrill caw comes from the beak of the raven, followed by an odd flow of sounds that one wouldn't expect to hear come from a bird, or any animal for that matter.
"Alright! I get it. You don't like my hat." the man says, tossing the fop hat into a nearby gutter.
With a grimace, he tugs on the rope to turn down a side street, hoping the mule will follow, looking over his shoulder to make sure "bear-face" hasn't noticed him yet.
From somewhere far to the south, a warm breeze blows through the unprotected western portion of Magnimar. It is not a pleasant breeze, carrying with it the smells of the Shores District and it seems to also bring in the humidity of far off Garund. Summer, it seems, has begun early this year. The city wakes with its usual cacophony of moving carts, peddlers trying to get to unwary travelers first and the screams of the thriving Thieves' Guild's victims realizing too late that they aren't carrying as much wealth as they did upon setting out in the morning.
The juxtaposition of modern buildings, shanties and crumbling ancient ruins are lost on most Magnimarans who walk past all three types of structure with equal inattention. Unbeknownst to any of these citizens, or even to themselves, a group of eight would-be explorers is soon to find one another amidst this sprawling jumble of apparent chaos. As the priests of Abadar would freely tell them, though, there is no chaos in Magnimar, only a misunderstanding of all the factors at play.
The unseasonable summer heat continues today. A herald sweats profusely as he hurries along the crowded streets of Magnimar towards the town square. He clutches his broadsheet with such excitement - he can barely contain himself until he reaches the podium. Finally, his moment has arrived. The man ascends the steps to the main platform. Pride swells in his breast as he prepares to deliver the most interesting speech of his career. Sure, the fact that his master - the usual herald - is sick today is the only reason he gets to do this, but if he does a good job... well, perhaps he'll even get to take over. All these thoughts whirl within his mind as a small crowd gathers to hear what the apprentice herald has to say.
"Ah..." he begins, clearing his throat, "... erm... ah..." Come on, Dmitri, you can do this. You've got this. "People of Magnimar," he begins at last in a clear and sonorous voice and many previously distracted heads turn to listen, "Captain Rory Barbarosa has discovered the fabled Isle of Dread and travelled there aboard his modern ship, The Audacious! The location of the island is a closely guarded secret, but the Captain himself is having a public showing of the magnificent treasures he has brought back from the long-thought mythical Isle of Dread! Gemstones the size of a fist, diamonds that sparkle in never-before seen hues and golden carvings of worth beyond measure! Weapons and artefacts from alien civilizations thought lost to time and legend. Five silver is the pittance that is being asked for entry at the Hall of Wonders! Do not miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to catch a glimpse into ancient Golarion."
By the time the Dimitri has finished, not a one in the town square has not turned to listen to what the herald has to say. Nailed it. A seagull lands on Dimitri's shoulder. It looks at him quizzically. "Dot!" it seems to say, moments before it pecks him in the face.
Pulling the stubborn mule down the side alley, Gado happens to come close enough to the square to hear the herald make his announcement. He chuckles at the sight of the seagull, but is quickly lost in the implications of the news.
An Exhibit? This is more than I have been told so far. If I can get this mule back home anytime soon I must go... What treasures could be there to chronicle and study? Oh... yes... I suppose that is why I am going on the next expedition... I'll be sure to put the five silver on my expense report.
” Ynys torri i ffwrdd oddi wrth y byd am ganrifoedd . Mae'n ddiddorol , onid yw Koney ? Hyd yn oed os ydym yn cael eu gorfodi gan ein cysuron yn erbyn ein hewyllys . Efallai y byddant wedi esblygu y tu hwnt i ni , dilyffethair o squabblings gwleidyddol a rhyfeloedd gludiog . Allech chi ddychmygu yr hyn y gallai cymdeithas gyflawni heb y toriad o anhrefn a gwrthdaro ? Tybed beth darganfyddiadau hudol y gallent ei wneud . A ydynt yn torri i ffwrdd hyd yn oed o'r awyrennau ? Neu dim ond y gweddill ein byd ?”
The frail man continues his trek down the streets, losing himself in thought as he speaks to what seems like no one around him. In his self made distraction, he fails to notice the pace of the mule picking up, and he no longer is straining to drag the beast behind him.
”Yr wyf yn meddwl ein bod dwlu am hyn?“ The crow caws from his new perch on the head of the mule
” Rydym yn dal yn cael eu. Byddaf yn dod o hyd i ffordd i ad-dalu'r ffafr i hen wyneb arth da. Dyw hi ddim yn hoffi gennym lawer o ddewis . Ond o leiaf bydd rhywbeth diddorol pan fyddwn yn cyrraedd yno.”
A begger looks up from his rags as the odd procession passes him, face screwed up in confusion as the man and raven non-chalantly continue their conversation in the flowing, archaic language.
A slender (possibly Kellish) woman makes her way around, an animal, possibly a stoat, poking its head out of her handbag. She hears Gado speaking in draconic, and just rolls her eyes at him.
'Magnimar... such an uncivilised town. I am to consort with hoodlums and pirates? Very well, if that is what is called for. All that matters is magic... recovering old magics, and learning of new ones. Remember, Sebastian, that is why we are here.'
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A dwarf and yak paddle ashore in their rowboat at a fairly established harbor, but the town looks a hint too small.
"This don't look like Magnimar, Barley." the dwarf comments to his first mate.
"Moooo..." responds the yak.
"What?! I'm just saying that I always pictured Magnimar as bigger." the dwarf counters. "Hmm... Hey! You! Have we landed in the great Magnimar?" asks the dwarf of a passing labourer.
The man guffaws as he sees the dwarf and yak piled overzealously into a tiny rowboat for one. "Magnimar? You're in Kintargo, mate! Magnimar is about 100 miles north of here around the Nisroch Bay!" the man laughs as he tells the dwarf this.
"Mooo...."
"I've about had it with you! If you think you can find it, then you take the paddles!" the dwarf says irately, half listening to the man. He let's the paddles go and waits patiently for the yak to start rowing. The man looks on oddly.
Time passes as the man shrugs and moves onward, chuckling to himself.
"See! I knew you didn't want to paddle!" he says self-righteously. "The bloke said 'North', so north it is!" states the dwarf firmly as he paddles back out to sea.
Th labourer looks back and sees the men travelling away from the harbor and yells out. "But that's not north!"
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Strutting through the streets of Magnimar with his dark curls well oiled, Bazsil Grimalkin ('The Grim' as he likes to call himself) smiles at the sea of humanity that flows in the city. He mostly hides his frowns at the various lesser races: dwarves, elves, halflings, & gnomes, (completely ignoring the halfsies altogether), but nothing was going to ruin his good mood this day.
He had finally received orders worth having and a mission worth doing. Leaning his well-tended lucerne hammer against a wall, he pauses to re-read the mission briefing again...
Baszil, it is with great honor we invite you to join the expedition to Barrier Peaks. Rumor has it that a strange vessel has been uncovered...one that we believe comes from beyond our skies. Your mission is to join our team of explorers, find entry to the vessel, determine if it is, indeed, an otherworldly vessel, and most importantly, to see if our thoughts are true: that Aroden had a presence above and beyond Golarion. We are trusting you with this, we are expecting you to comport yourself in a way consistent with our beliefs and serve the Prophecy to the best of your ability....
...before folding the note and stuffing it again into his belt pouch. Whistling, he goes to check his bearings and get to the meeting spot. Nothing was going to ruin this day.
* * *
A slumped and defeated Baszil leaves the docks. He no longer struts nor prances with delight and pride. He drags. He drags like there is an anchor made of pure disappointment shackling his soul.
It was a mistake. They thought I was the mwangi warspatula specialist. Damnit! I can't believe this. This was my big break, but...but...ah piddlespot! Failure.
"GAH!!" Baz roars aloud, trying to vocalize the depths of his pain and hurt. He wipes away a few glumdrops that fall from his eyes lest they cloud his vision and prevent him from finding what he needs. Entering the nearest bar, he orders two drinks, then two more when those are done. He sits alump in his stool, head down...a broken man.
All that training. Wasted.
All that energy and focus. Wasted.
All the thought, all the planning. Wasted.
I WAS CALLED BY PIDDLESPOTTING MISTAKE!
Baszil drinks with his head down and spirit broken. He wanted that assignment. That was a chance to prove himself to the Harbingers, those who would propel prophecy.
Drinking, and finding some resolve and hope in the mead, he peruses the Adventurer's Notices to see if anything catches his eye.
.
.
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Need meatshield to explore a Keep near the Borderlands. -See Bard/Elf/Wizard 3/4/2.
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Need two brave souls. Found map to Tomb of Horrors...how bad could it be? Let's find out.
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Clerics will hate you with this one simple healing trick! Ask about infernal 'healing' from your local Asmodean.
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10 dungeons you should explore now. #6 will blow your mind!
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Looking for rouge[sic] who won't steal from party like %@#$@$@%@* Cyrus did. Full share of loot promised. See Lort.
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HALP! Slavers took my sister to the Slave Pits! There are spiders! HALP! Ask the barkeep.
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See White Plume Mountain as it is meant to be seen...from the inside! Meet up south of Dragotha.
.
.
.
Not finding anything of interest, Baszil turns away, disgusted and disappointed...but what could he really be expecting?...except the one recently posted want ad:
Need Anthrogologist. Voyage to Isle of Dread. See Captain Barbarosa in Magnimar by 15 Desnus 4715 AR.
Baszil tears the want ad off the wall, reading it twice and twice again. His smile returns.
* * *
Baz looks at the want ad again, sighs, and folds the parchment up and returned it to his belt. Taking up his long hammer again, Bazsil returned to thumping.
Thumping was easy. It cleared his mind.
Thumping took away his rage and disappointment.
Thumping gave him time to think. Time to ponder.
So he thumped. He thumped and practiced until his arms hurt and his legs sore. He thumped, thinking on the unfairness of things, thinking on what he was going to do with his life.
Thinking upon it more, he raged. He raged and raged again, this long hammer thumping the punching bag (decorated like an orc) again and again, plumes of dust escaping with every hit.
And he decided to go. To go to the docks and find Captain Barbarosa. This would be a new beginning.
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Sumaru had been pacing the city since dawn. Rising up its grand staircases, winding down its streets, learning the ways the shadows slip across the street-canyons as the sun moves steadily through the sky. Avistan was quieter than she had expected, but stinkier than she had imagined possible, rank with the fear-smell of thousands of people in a constant state of anxiety from being packed together like ants in a mound. But for that to affect her she would have to stay still, so instead she paced, and lost herself in the eternal, shuffling movement of the herd.
By the time the sun had risen as high as it could at this ridiculous latitude, Sumaru's mind was sharp as a hyena's teeth -- she had marked three spots in the city where she could set an ambush and two where she could reverse one. She felt ready to return to the harbor where she had arrived two days earlier, and begin looking for the Barbarosa. He had called her here, he and the winds, and Sumaru was ready to leave this blighted continent and get on with the mission they would set her to. So she turned her path back to the sea.
Emerging into the harbor from the protection of the shadows, Sumaru presents an unusual sight. She wears a tailored blue suit in a high Chelaxian-style from at least six decades before. It is faded and patched, but in surprisingly good repair. Perching on her head is a hat that appears to be a pheasant wrapped around a pumpkin and exsanguinated. Beneath this finery are glimpses of patchwork armor and multiple weapons close at hand.
She sniffs the air, and feels the tang of salt in her nose. And somewhere close a...stoat? Or maybe a weasel, or ferret. Her teeth bare in a smile.
"Barbarosa," Sumaru says to the wind. "You are here, somewhere? Or your other servants perhaps?"
By the time the Dimitri has finished, not a one in the town square has not turned to listen to what the herald has to say.
Bazsil turns to listen to the herald though it is unlike him to do so. Usually, he is happy to ignore hawkers and peddlers alike, but this herald clearly said "Isle of Dread" and that cut through Baz's disattentive walls quickly.
Baz struts over to the herald, offering cloth for the man to tend his bird poop. He stands confidently with his hammer.
"Tell me, Herald," Bazsil asks obsequiously, "Did you just mention the Isle of Dread? I am looking for Captain Barbarosa. I hear there might be need for skills like my own."
Bazsil shakes his dark coils of hair, internally anxious to find Barbarosa and secure a position on the expedition.
The press of the crowd in the strange southerly heat is cloying to say the least. The Hall of Wonders' location in the Capitol Sub-District, centerpiece of the wealthy Summit District, is no coincidence. It is where politicos love to go to tout this or that famous explorer. It is how they win over public opinion, and public opinion is how they curry favor with the Lord-Mayor. The press of humanity is all there for the same thing: a glimpse of the treasures from the famous Isle of Dread.
Dimitri the herald shows Bazsil the way to the entrance. "There it is," he says grandly, "The Hall of Wonders, and the treasures of the mysterious Island lost even to history itself. Inside you will find treasures beyond belief, and the most intriguing of which shall be presented by Captain Rory Barbarosa himself! I am sure the man will be happy to talk with you after you have seen the exhibits. He is quite the storyteller, as well as an expert explorer. If he does indeed have need for your skills, then this is where you should approach him!"
Then, just like that, the doors open and the crowd presses inwards to get a closer look. Those lucky few who have the silver to spare squeeze through the onlookers to pay the price of admittance and get a better look than those at the threshold are afforded.
"Welcome!" cries an unseen voice from within, "Magnimar is indeed blessed this day! Even the famed city of monuments has never seen wonders like this before in its lifetime. Come in, come in and marvel at the glories of a land untouched by civilization... a land lost to time... a land that only the ingenious Captain Barbarosa has ever been able to reach! Come in and be amazed! Come in and see treasures from the Isle of Dread!"
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A halfling stumbles and squeezes through the close standing cluster of people at the entrance to the Hall of Wonders, and immediately begins to secret away the remains of his coins after gladly paying the entrance fee. He takes a moment to adjust the tightly fitting straps and restraints of his gear, which seem to cling to every inch of his body. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he attempts in vain to straighten the mess of tangles, and begins to regret traveling straight to hall after arriving in the city.
Slung diagonally across his shoulders, and resting against the bag on his back, a thick strap secures a finally crafted lute. It appears this instrument may be the only item of value owned by the halfling, as the remaining trinkets and baubles look weatherworn and ragged from extensive use, or perhaps they are simply hand-me-downs. With one arm, he pulls the loot to his side and begins to ever so faintly pluck at the strings with one hand. The halfling does not grasp the instrument's neck with his free hand, and instead rubs his jaw in thought while turning to look around the hall. From the lute, his gentle fingering of the strings produces almost no sound but instead creates a background melody teetering on the verge of comprehension, underwriting the atmosphere with an air of calming, delicate notes.
Where are these treasures, he thinks to himself, while continuing to pluck gently at the strings. And where is this Barbarosa, so I can find a way to weasel my way onto the next crew...
"Excuse me, have you seen Captain Barbarosa?" he asks a random, and continues around the Hall of Wonders repeating the same until he finds what he is looking for.
"Here we go Koney..." Gado says as he passes the 5 silver coins to the ticket taker at the entrance. It had taken him nearly an hour to press his way through the throng of people, several times requiring him to crawl on the ground just to make progress towards the door.
Ha! Made it. Who says I need to work out just to push people around? That's for chumps like bear face.
Once inside he peruses the items on display, dismissing the majority of them as trinkets and baubles. He moves from display to display, looking for the story behind the items, taking notes as he goes.
More than once he hears people asking about Captain Barbarosa, and involuntarily winces each time. Even the mention of the name serves as a reminder of a task to which he is now bound, outside of his choice. At least as he walks around, observing the items on display, he can lose himself in the acedamia of it all.
I am sure Barbarosa will find me soon enough. I wonder if she will be there to make the introduction? Gado shudders with a mix of trepidation and excitement at the thought, and quickly refocuses on a slab with some very interesting runes that he doesn't recognize.
The runes conform to no known language or dialect that Gado is familiar with. There are some similarities with both ancient Azlanti and Thassilonian. Gado even notices some slightly draconic-styled symbols (though their distortions render them unreadable in draconic). However, in large part, the runes are completely foreign and indecipherable to Gado without further reference material and study. He doesn't even know where to begin with the sentence structure.
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"No, listen here, Barley! 'Come to the great seaport of Magnimar to try and join the crew of Capt. Barbarosa.' It said 'seaport'. Pretty sure we weren't supposed to take that river 'shortcut' you saw." the dwarf chastises the yak taking up most of the room in his one-person rowboat.
"Mooooooooo..." responds the yak.
"I know we are back at sea, so it worked, but isn't sea water supposed to be salty?" the dwarf asks his companion as he drinks some of the freshwater from beneath the precariously-close-to-the-water's-edge ridge of the hull.
Barley continues to chew on some wheatgrass they scavenged from a while back, not deigning to give the dwarf his attention.
---
After a few hours of bobbing along, the dwarf spots a harbor. "Ach! I see it! Great Magnimar!" he yells at his yak buddy.
He begins to paddle harder and they pull up to a fairly established "seaport". The dwarf tries to flag down one of the dockworkers. "Oi! We've come looking for Captain Barbarosa! Help pull us in!" he yells as he tosses the anchoring rope on to the dock.
At the sound of his voice on the oddly quiet dock, all of the robed dockworkers turn while carrying their goods and sundries. Tens of bronzed masks stare back at the pair without a single word being said. Slowly, they start to converge on the pair while chanting.
"One of us... One of us..."
Both the dwarf and the yak stare at each other unnerved and immediately about face as the over-loaded boat flees back on to the water. "I don't think that was Magnimar, Barley!"
"Mooo..."
As the herald leads Bazsil to the Hall of Wonders, Baz puts his hands on the herald's shoulder. Baz smiles at the man.
"You know what would be good? If you introduced me to Captain Barbarosa," Baz says, leading the man into the hall. "I think *your* introduction would make me very happy."
Baz's hand grips the shoulder tightly as he leads the man, his eyes scanning for the Captain. He reaches into his pouch and removes to 5 gold pieces.
"My name is Bazsil Grimalkin. I am a foremost expert of man and humanity and would appreciate your help." Baz drops the coins into the man's hands. "Now, make it a good introduction."
Gado crinkles his nose at the mysterious runes.
If only I could take that back to my office... I know I have a reference document that might help...
He looks around again, slightly crestfallen at the apparent lack of the extreme items. In other words, the ones he might be interested in.
Oh... doofus...
Realizing his problem, he mumbles some words and casts a spell to detect magic, and slowly scans the room. A halfling glows as he walks past, his armor hidden under his tunic obviously enchanted. Gado shakes it off, and tries to focus on the items in the cases.
At last, one of the clay pots he had originally dismissed shows an aura as he brings his gaze about.
A pot? Really? Interesting... What would a lost civilization need a magical pot for?
Gado's spellcasting draws a few sideways glances and some rolled eyes. While casting minor magics wasn't illegal, it was so terribly gauche.
"...If you introduced me to Captain Barbarosa... I think *your* introduction would make me very happy."
"Uh... I've never met the capt... erm... oh, five gold? Are you sure? I mean... err... yes! I'll take you. I just need to get my bearings," says the herald, "My name is Dimitri by the way, nice to meet you Mister Grimalkin."
The herald and the anthropologist join those rich enough to pay the five silver and depart the throng amassed outside. It is somewhat easier to breath once inside the Hall of Wonders and all who enter are struck by the beauty and quantity of valuable artefacts on display. In addition to large sparkling gems of all kinds - some of which cannot even be readily identified - there are a number of savage and tribal items belonging to a strange civilization. The use of gold for decoration is evident throughout, and the vast majority of the weapons are carved from wood with blades of bone.
"The best way to give a good introduction is if I know some more about you, actually," prompts Dimitri as the pair walk past a particularly interesting matching pair of bone-tipped spears. The tips are actually teeth, belonging to an enormous shark - if the plaque in front of the item is to be believed. Bazsil looks more closely and notices that there is some relatively fresh (within the last month) blood smeared into the leather on the grips of the spear on the left. Inspecting the rest of the weapon, he sees minute amounts also left in the head and in the wood grains along the shaft. The spear has been cleaned for display, but the cleaner was either incompetent or in a rush. Of course, not everyone has Bazsil's keen eye for detail.
"Why don't you let me know what it means to be a 'foremost expert of man and humanity'?" asks a nervous Dimitri. The man is clearly stalling for time. Still, it is impressive that he remembered what Bazsil said to him word for word - a useful trait in a herald.
The hall is laid out in the shape of a figure eight, with the whole arrangement leading patrons at first from the entrance to the center of the room. As the inside crowd makes their way from the first set of exhibits, a black satin curtain is drawn back to reveal the center of the exhibit. As if on cue, a blood curdling screech echoes throughout the hall. Even those outside the Hall of Wonders freeze for a moment as their primal instincts cause them to become paralyzed with terror at the sound.
In the center of the hall, tethered to the floor with massive chains, stands a twelve-foot tall bird with a tall, elongated beak that looks to be unbelievably sharp for a natural weapon. Its relatively small wings could not possibly allow this creature fly, but its long and powerfully muscled legs hint at a bird that could perhaps outrun any land creature on Golarion. The colorful rainbow feathers do nothing to detract from the vicious savagery of the bird in chains. It screeches again, accompanied by gasps from the gathered audience. One woman who was eying of a flame-coloured ruby prior to the curtain being drawn back actually faints from fright.
Written in large enough print that one doesn't have to get too close in order to read it is an inscription on a plaque at the creature's feet: "Sword-Beak".
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Ciaran's rubbed his aching head and sat up on his rough straw cot. The movement, as it always did, sparked a bout of hacking coughs that, as it always did these days, made his aching head pound. His mouth tasted of blood and bile. He spat the bloody phlegm into the corner without looking at it.
He dragged himself to the chamber pot, relieved an aching bladder (mostly accurately), and then began stretching, joint by joint and muscle by muscle until he could move nimbly.
He coughed again, more softly this time, and wiped his hand savagely across the back of his mouth. He hated his own weakness.
He pulled a ragged and stained shirt over his head, scratching at his broad chest through the thin fabric. Although large, the shirt was tight across his broad chest. Scratching his crotch for good measure, he picked up a pair of daggers and strapped them to his thighs, and then surveyed the yellow and black lacquered breastplate lying on the floor.
A month ago, it had been a suit of full plate. He pawned it, piece by piece - greaves, then gorget, and so on, until only the breastplate was left. He'd pissed the money away on fine brandy and potions, then whiskey and curatives, and then ale and purgatives, until finally he'd more or less pissed away any credit he had left with the inn on cheap rotgut and forgetfulness.
Breakfast, served by the tired-looking innkeeper's wife with a side of impatience and the beginnings of resentment. He made a clumsy grab for her equally tired-looking bust, but his heart wasn't in it and she evaded him easily and shot him a tight lipped scowl.
Ciaran drained the rotgut, ate the sawdust-and-rat sausage, picked moodly at the black horsebread, and waved her over for another clay mug of drink.
"Why don't you try some work instead?" she asked savagely. "Some captain or other's calling for some guard work at the Hall of Wonders. You can pick up some coins and drink yourself to death on your way to the arse of Mwangi instead of my storeroom."
Ciaran sat back in his chair. Maybe she was right? It'd be the long way around, but it might get him enough coin to get his armour back, get home, and make good his vow to Calistria after all these years. The muscles in his jaws tightened and his teeth ground with remembered pain and frustration.
Yes. He'd have his vengeance before this black crab ripped him apart, or he'd die on his feet like a man.
Feeling suddenly much jauntier, the big auburn-haired man returned to his room, strapped on his breastplate, greatsword and buckler, and strode out to the Hall of Wonders.
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If you've never been on a Dwarven made ship it just goes to show why they aren't in greater demand. The dwarves build ships like they build everything, stable and sturdy. You wouldn't feel any but the largest of waves in one of these boats, and if you've never made it across the seas without losing a few pounds, then you should probably give one of these boats a try.
However, there is also a "race" of dwarves known as the green gill dwarves. For their ilk there is no manner of sea travel which isn't upsetting... while they are aware of it.
Gratum "Green-Gill" remained below deck for the journey. His eyes so accustomed to the dark caverns of his home. His liver slightly worse for wear as he tried to forget that he was traveling by boat.
"No matter..." he'd repeat as he drank, "The King's Engineer will be needed." But once the ship was tied down again, and the plank dropped to reach the dock, Gratum arose. Born again, blinkingly stepping into the sun.
With a renewed spring to his step, he leaps across to the dock and says with a chuckle, "That wern't so bad. Now to find this other captain"
There was no Barbarosa at the docks. Some captain he is, Sumaru thought. Perhaps it is an honorary title.
Sumaru suppresses a growl and resumes her pacing, keeping it to harbor area until her eyes light on a series of handbills posted to the wall of a nearby tavern. "Captain Rory Barbarosa" they said, and "Isle of Dread" and "Hall of Wonders". Now she allowed her growl to emerge, full-throated.
"As much a showman as a captain," she complains to the salt air. "How...Avistani." All the scorn in her heart drips into that final word, and then is gone, as she regains her calm.
Having already paced past the Hall of Wonders, Sumaru knew exactly where it was, and began her journey there again, eager to see what treasures this Barbarosa had defiled in his initial voyage.
Much more accustomed to spending hours upon hours in a library, or summoning room where magic is commonplace, Gado flushes red with embarrasment when he starts hearing whispers about the pretentious spellcaster.
This is either why I need to get out more, or exactly the reason why I don't...
All at once he senses a mocking form of pity, and snaps his head to glare at his raven companion who continues to rest on his left shoulder.
When the exotic Sword-Beak is revealed, Gado shudders and involuntarily backs up a few paces, bumping into a pair of women who were just whispering. The snickers and chuckles as they walk away cut almost as deep as the whispers before, and Gado's face flushes red anew.
Not really knowing when to leave well enough alone, the arcane bookkeeper walks straight towards the two women, who now stand in front of a flame coloured ruby.
Laugh at me will you? I'll show you how smart I am. Then you will inevitably swoon over my intelligence. Yea... Women like a guy for his smarts right?
"That is one breathtaking gem there." he says, flashing his cheesiest smile. "The ruby is pretty spectacular too."
It isn't until Gado finishes his line that he realizes the women aren't even paying attention to him, and seem to be captivated by the Sword-Beak.
"Why don't you let me know what it means to be a 'foremost expert of man and humanity'?"
Bazsil smiles at the man...a mean smile that does not touch his eyes. His eyes do dart to the spear and along the shaft, but they immediately return to the herald. Baz's hands grips a bit more tightly on the man's shoulder.
"I could tell you about much of this stuff," Baz says without a lie in his voice. "However, I'm much more keen on my gold you have in your hand and full of wonder why you haven't introduced me yet to Capt'n Barbarosa."
Baz awaits his introduction.
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Pieces of the rowboat go flying as another tentacle pierces its hull, trying to grab the meaty cargo inside as the dwarf swings his scythe in a huge arc, slicing off more rubbery flesh.
"You gonna help, Barley?!" he asks, exasperated as his tiny boat takes on water.
"Mooo..." responds the yak as he gores the newest tentacle of whatever creature is attacking the S.S. Yonder. Acidic green blood tarnishes the paint job as it splashing across the bow of the rowboat.
A set of thirteen eyes stares back from the depths as the dwarf swings his scythe in a huge downward arc, cutting deep into the body of the beast. "We taking too much water! Save yerself, Barley!" the dwarf says in a last act of heroism.
Barley looks to the left and right and only sees open water on the horizon. "Mooo..."
"I know, but it sounded good, right?" the dwarf laughs as a tentacle wraps around his ankle, hoisting him off the ship. He slices through this tentacle with his blade, crashing into the stout floor of the boat.
"Blech! *cough*" spouts the dwarf as he begins to take on water as well, sputtering on the salty seawater that got into his mouth.
A roar echoes from the deep as Barley gores another of the creature's tentacles and all of the tentacles quickly pull out from the rowboat, causing it to sink faster. The abberation clearly decided that dwarf and yak might give it indigestion.
A quick prayer to Magrim for allowing his soul to stay longer in the Material Plane and the dwarf quickly patches the holes with a swift Wood Shape. He tosses two buckets at Barley before grabbing one himself, chucking water overboard, trying to keep from sinking. The buckets hang from the yak's horns.
"Moooo...."
"Yeah, yeah. Maybe we should have asked for directions at the last town, but Magnimar is close! I can feel it!" the dwarf responds determinedly.
Ciaran ground the footpad's teeth beneath his boot and cracked the knuckles on one hand. The teeth were no longer attached to the man's jaw; an elbow jabbed behind him when the man had jumped him had doubled the footpad over, and a pivot, hair grab and raised knee had seen to the rest.
There was blood on Ciaran's knee, of course, and it ached a bit where the man's teeth had impacted. The question was, would it help or hinder him with this Captain Barbarosa job?
Ciaran flexed his knee again experimentally, and with ruthless efficiency turned out the man's pockets. The fact that he had been desperate enough to jump someone Ciaran's size - 6'3" and almost 4' across the shoulders, imposing even beneath his well-worn cloak - suggested he hadn't been successful recently. The fact that he'd done so alone suggested he didn't have companions nearby, but Ciaran still didn't want to hang around.
There was a handful of silver and 2 gp in the man's purse, which Ciaran tucked into his cloak. His boots were nearly new, and surprisingly well made - probably stolen too. Ciaran took those, stripped off his rough brogues, and tried on the boots. Not bad.
2 glints and 8 would easily get him entrance to the Hall of Wonders, and cover a shave and bath as well, maybe a change of clothes. Or he might pay down some of his debt at the inn.
But the footpad - when he came round - would have nothing, and would, today or tomorrow, try his luck with someone else. Probably someone less likely to defend themselves with the brutal efficiency Ciaran had shown. He knew what it was like to live rough, and had done more than a few jobs on the wrong side of the law in his time; enough to feel a little bit of sympathy of the unconscious man.
He would have to get a shave, Ciaran decided, rubbing his jaw to produce the sound of sandpaper. Barbarosa might not care either way, but Ciaran's foster father had drummed that much into him. A swim might solve both the bath and the clean clothes issue, and perhaps make his new boots stretch a bit into the bargain. If he pawned a dagger, he'd be able to cover entry to the Hall...
With a sigh, Ciaran pulled out the footpad's purse, took a gold coin from it, and tucked the purse back into the man's clothes. He took the man's knuckledusters and sap - maybe that'd be enough to save him from pawning the dagger? - and tossed his old brogues onto his chest.
He'd be unconscious a good few minutes longer, if Ciaran was any judge, and dazed for some time after that. Pharasma held his fate now; someone else might rob him, or slit his throat, or turn him in to the guards, but that wasn't on Ciaran's hands. Two boots, 1 gp, and three teeth were fair payment for trying to rob him.
He left the man unconscious in the alley, and headed towards the pawnbroker, the river, and then the Hall.
The animalistic noises from within the Hall of Wonders echo throughout the Capitol District. Even the stuffy council must hear the beast from within their thick-walled Usher's Hall. The crowds draw in more than ever, threatening to overwhelm even the extra large squadron of guards at the entrance to the exhibit. Getting into the hall is proving ever more an exercise in contortion.
- The women are way out of his league.
- The Sword-Beak is a never-before seen species and would be worth many, many thousands of dollars amongst exotic animal traders. If it can fight as well as it looks like it can, perhaps even tens of thousands in the Korvosan gladiatorial arenas.
- The ruby is of a most unusual color (orange flame is heretofore unknown color for a ruby), but it is indeed a ruby. It would be worth easily 15,000 gp on the open market.
A pale-faced Dimitri turns to Baszil at the repeated mention of Captain Barbarosa, "Oh, of course, Mister Grimalkin. Erm... perhaps we should wait for the sword-beak to be removed first," fear-induced perspiration beads on the man's face. When he looks back at the determined Baszil, he begins to creep around the massive bird, giving it as wide a radius as the room will allow, onto the exhibits in the rear figure-eight of the room. That accursed captain has to be around here somewhere!
Dimitri's fears prove founded as one of the onlookers, a grey-haired man in noble's livery wearing a monocle, steps too close to the beast. The sword-beak proves its ferocity by breaking its neck-chain and pecking down upon the man with its razor-like beak. Blood sprays the crowd as it twists its head and tears a massive chunk of flesh from the hapless noble. It flings the man-meat into the air and swallows it down. Almost immediately, the remaining chains tighten, pulling it to the ground and the platform begins to sink into the floor. Guards rush in to ensure that no-one sinks down with it. A cleric rushes to the nobleman, though whether he will be in time or have power enough to save him is unknown.
A high pitched scream pierces the atmosphere of the room as the beast takes its pound of flesh. Several heads turn to the two women and skinny man near the flame coloured ruby, assuming the scream came from one of the women. The terror on the face of Gado is enough to convince the onlookers who aren't consumed by fear themselves just who really did the shrieking.
After briefly contemplating casting the spell with himself as the target, Gado waves his hands, mumbling a few arcane words as a pool of grease appears beneath the chained bird, just before the curtains close.
With a shudder, Gado quickly checks his robes to make sure they haven't been soiled, and moves away from the area as quickly as possible. He bumps into a man in his rush, nearly knocking him over.
"Sorry, sorry, Just trying to get through... Hey, aren't you the herald from outside? Never mind, pardon me, please let me through..." the flustered caster never stops moving, quickly putting more distance between himself and the avian beast.
No no no no no. Not going. What can they really do to me, right? Break my knees? pull out my fingernails? Can't possibly be as bad as whatever else is on an island that has those things. Ooooh...... I don't want to die!
Sumaru was dropping coin into the usher's hand when the shrieks began echoing throughout the plaza. Birds coming home to roost, Barbarosa? she thought wryly, as she started loping towards the altercation.
The scent of blood was in the air, and the crowd was beginning to scatter as antelopes would. From the sounds of the repeated angry shrieks, Sumaru surmised the problem was an escaped roc, although no one was looking overhead. She pulled her bow as she ran and looked for cover.
Rounding the corner from the first exhibition hall, she saw the elder fountaining blood and the massive bird at the same instant. Madness, she thought, followed shortly by Sword-beak? Is there so little poetry in Avistani hearts? She spends a long instant studying the bird, trying to learn as much about it as she could.
Were Sumaru a sword-beak, she too would dream of snapping her chains and rampaging through this hall of decadence. Today such dreams could not be indulged. But perhaps this magnificent creature could be gifted freedom of another kind.
"From the Storm's fury you came," Sumaru shouted, pulling an arrow. "And to the Storm you shall be returned." And she let the arrow fly.
A particularly well-muscled guard that Gado thinks he might recognize steps in front of the departing lore keeper. "Oh, look here! Not enough to pay Mistress Lanvi, but enough money to pay entrance to the Hall of Wonders," now Gado recognizes him. This brute must have been following him through the streets and right into the hall, "Now, don't you have some kind of job to be getting hired for? I don't think you should be leaving so soon. Unless you weren't leaving, but checking out some item of lore that you'd heard about but missed on your way in?" Subtlety was High Priestess Lanvi's forte, but not that of her hired muscle.
Sumaru's arrow strikes true as the bird sinks into the floor. However, it does little more than a cursory amount of damage to the enraged beast.
"Oh, of course, Mister Grimalkin. Erm... perhaps we should wait for the sword-beak to be removed first," fear-induced perspiration beads on the man's face.
Bazsil keeps his polite, yet firm, grip on Dmitri's shoulder, angling the man away from the bloody chaos ensuing in front of him.
"Don't worry, Herald, I'll keep you alive until you can do what you've paid for..." Bazsil says, watching the arrow fly out of the crowd and toward the beast. "Looks like security should have it put down shortly."
Bazsil scans the room, looking for someone who might be in charge, or reacting like someone who had a financial interest in the beast (aka, the Capt'n).
"Just stay back here with me," Baz says, keeping his other hand on his hammer. "Ol' Lucy and I need that introduction to the Capt'n."
A panel slides over the wounded sword-beak as it is taken below, presumably into one of the storage rooms beneath the Hall of Wonders. The creature's shrieks continue for a while before abating.
In the corner, the beset nobleman is healed by the priest and walked from the hall. He is definitely shaken up, but seems not to be overly angry at what happened... at least not yet in his current state.
Gradually, the excitement dies down and the patrons move into the rear half of the hall. A heretofore unnoticed sign above reads, 'The Natural Wonders of the Isle of Dread'. Here, are bones and stuffed carcasses of similarly strange creatures to the one that has just been removed. None of the complete creatures are so large, but some of the collected bones would definitely have come from animals even bigger than the sword-beak. Most, however, are smaller creatures that have not been seen before on Golarion - at least not by anyone this century.
Skipping past all of these strange animals, Bazsil half-shoves, half-drags Dimitri to the very back of the Hall of Wonders, where Bazsil spied an enormous pair of jaws on a large platform - jaws easily big enough to fit a man inside - or for a man to step out of. Knowing something about humanity and their flair for drama, that seems the most likely spot to find Captain Barbarosa.
Behind the massive jaws, an elderly man in naval livery can be seen making adjustments to some of the decorations on the stage - mostly spears and strange-looking flora. His beard is long and grey, and his hands have liver spots over them. The old seaman stands straight and tall, though, and his wrinkly skin covers a well-muscled frame. He looks up as the two approach and smiles a big friendly smile, revealing more than a few golden teeth.
"Ah, you're early," says the sailor in a warm friendly voice, "Don't you like my creature collection?"
"C-c-captain Barbarosa?" stammers a nervous Dimitri. The man nods. Praise be to Desna. Dimitri clears his throat and speaks more clearly, "I mean, Captain Barbarosa. Please allow me to present to you one Bazsil Grimalkin, Foremost Expert of Man and Humanity. His knowledge and insights are unparalleled by any in Magnimar."
"Got yourself your own herald," notes Captain Barbarosa, "Interesting. I like a grand entrance myself. What can I do for you, Mister Grimalkin? Oh, and make it quick. I have an introduction of my own to make shortly."
Ciaran forces his way through the milling crowd. As was often the case with human nature, those inside were trying to flood out to safety, while those outside were trying to push in to see what the commotion was.
The burly warrior sets his jaw and his shoulder and ploughs straight through, leaving eddies of displaced gawkers behind him. The cries of the beast - some sort of bird or something, by the sound of things - are starting to fade.
Ciaran stops in the doorway and gives a low whistle as he sees the looted treasures crowding the hall. [i]Definitely a job we need to get, if pay's a share of this[/b] he says to himself. He thinks back to his eroding credit at the inn and adds ruefully, [i]Or even if it's not...[/b]
He looks around, and then strides up to the blood smear on the ground, a scarlet fountain - probably arterial - with gibbets of flesh polluting the expensive floor.
He examines the stain speculatively, and makes a face. "Must have been one hell of a bird."
Gado stops short at the sudden appearance of the meathead in front of him.
"I.. I.. I.. waaaas just going to have a slash! uhh.."
oh gods I hope he knows what that means...
His knees begin to wobble, his palms get sweaty and his breathing starts coming in shorter and shorter gasps.
I can take the torture... I can take the torture... anything but sword beaks and insects that crawl into your brain and lay eggs. Just. walk. out. that. door.
In an instant, Gado's head feels light and airy, almost as if he was floating on a soft cloud.
...
Several moments later, Gado snaps his eyes open when his face is slapped by the same meathead who was just standing in his way, though now the meathead's other hand holds Gado's tunic crumpled in his fist, which in turn is lifting the academic off the floor.
"Wha.... " Why was I lying on the floor? Oh my head is pounding... its so hot in here...
"'xcuse me for a minute. I need to go vomi... have a slash. Hit the head. Please just let me go before I wet myself. I'll go talk to the captain when I am done." the suddenly weary Gado squeaks.
I should have cast that grease spell on myself... missed opportunity
Bazsil does his own deep bow his hammer and arm outstretched, shoving Dmitri out of the picture so that he has the sole focus of the Captain. His well oiled dark curls nearly drip, framing his face and smile.
"I heard you were looking for an Anthropologist, and I, Bazsil Grimalkin, am your *man*," Baz flashes a smile at his pun and continues on. "I have studied man, and the Original Man for a decade. And, as you can see," Baz flexes his sizable bicep. "...I am a sterling example of man itself."
Acrobatics
He performs a display of martial forms and prowess with his lucerne hammer. A series of vaults and jumps accompanying his hammerwork. He finishes again in the same bow.
"You would do well to have me on this expedition, Captain."
Somewhere in the distance, Gado hears the gruff man say to a comrade, "... and then 'e says 'e was 'taking a slash'! What does 'e think 'e was, from some island penal colony from way down South? F*cking weirdo! Yeah, 'course I knocked 'is block off!"
The sounds of the altercation fade into the distance, especially as far into the hall as the massive set of jaws.
"Why yes, I am indeed looking for an anthropologist, Mister Grimalkin," says Barbarosa, raising an eyebrow at Bazsil's incredibly average display that the man performing seems overly impressed with, "You're a day late actually... but then again, so's this expedition... and I wasn't exactly reachable yesterday. Answer me this, and you're in: Which of Aroden's guises would you wear, if you were required to pick just one?"
"Must have been one hell of a bird."
"Indeed it was, my good man," says a rather austere looking old old man. His long and curly mustache wobbles as he speaks and his clothing - a suit with tails and a vest beneath - speaks of an older time, unusual in a city as new as Magnimar, and his bearing is regal but without effort. He raises a monocle to his eye and inspects the blood, "I do feel sorry for the poor chap who was caught here. Had a piece of him eaten, don't you know?
"Oh, but where are my manners," he says suddenly, giving Ciarán his full attention with his kind, blue eyes, "Lord Pellius Krinst, at your service. If you don't mind my saying, you look a little out of place at an exhibition like this. I'd wager a man like you would rather spend his five silver much more... wisely... than on a chance to ogle gewgaws and the like. Perhaps it is adventure that you crave, or some of this wealth for your own?"
The old man, Lord Krinst if he is to be believed, seems to know a little too much about Ciarán's reasons for being here. Then again, he does seem to be very observant.
Gado shuffles his robes as he walks out of the men's restroom, his face still pale and gaunt from his recent experience.
I don't have the courage to get on the ship, but I don't have the courage to back out and deal with the mistress. ohh.... Gado, what have you done. How do I get myself into these....
His train of thought is suddenly snapped short as his eyes catch a black colored rock, roughly the size of a small melon. The surface appears shiny at first glance, but closer inspection reveals it has... depth... in its inky blackness. Gado's breathing comes in short gasps as his recent fear instantly washes away and turns into wonder and awe. Labeled as a rare Onyx gem, the scrawny man knows that this is no gem. Only having read scant and cryptic notes about such items, he recognizes it immediately as having some connection to the Abyssal plane.
In his curiosity, he bends over and walks closely to the display. Much to his fortune, his timing is perfect as a lucern hammer swings over his head just as he ducks past, completely oblivious to the display he nearly interrupted with his head.
He scours his mind, trying to recall the notes in his suddenly excited state. "It truly does seem to stare back at you if you stare at it long enough." he mumbles to himself.
Without paying attention to who he is standing next to, he whips his head around, surprised to see a long bearded man with more than one golden tooth in his smile and stammers, "D.. d.. d.. do you know what this is? I can't believe it!" Gado verily leaps up and down as he addresses the strangers in front of him.
