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The bartender doffs his cap, revealing his smoothly polished, bald pate, and grins.
"Of course! Once you've tasted Deigo's soup, you won't want anything else. For new customers, the first bowl is always free, but thereafter, it is 2sp per bowl. Ol' Deigo has a special mix of herbs and spices which makes your tongue feel like it has been doused in the ambrosia of the Gods!"
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The barkeep's grin widens.
"Of course M'lord; we only serve the best here!"
His gaze then settles on the rest of the party.
"Will the rest of you be needing bowls as well, or are you wanting something a little stronger from behind the bar? We have Caydenbrew, of course, but also Dwarven Stout, Orcish Rotgut, Corentyn red wine, and a fine Kyonin white wine, to name but a few..."
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"I should certainly hope so!"
The bartender moves down to one end of the bar, carefully dons a pair of thick leather gloves, and then cautiously fills an iron tankard from a small keg, carefully insulated from movement by several inches of cloth padding.
"I'll admit, we don't get much call for this, but I like to have a little on tap for the young bucks who come in and start problems... It is a quiet way to get them to stop being a problem, quickly!"
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"Of course M'lord. Coming right up."
The bartender moves over to the row of kegs behind the bar, and fills a tankard with a rich, chestnut-brown ale, which he slides across the bar to Aldred.
"So, you've had some successes today? Any tales you would care to share?"
“Oh, all in a day’s work ... we did defeat some gnolls who were attempting to start an illegal slaving operation here in Absalom,” brags Aldred modestly.
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"What sort of problems are you having? Just regular rambunctiousness or something worse than that?"
"Just the usual problems. I find that a dose of the good stuff tends to head things off before they degenerate into a brawl; it also means that I tend not to get the Watch dropping by, and that is good for business!"
“Oh, all in a day’s work ... we did defeat some gnolls who were attempting to start an illegal slaving operation here in Absalom,” brags Aldred modestly.
The bartender glances at the group with a bit more respect in his eyes.
"Oh, that little fracas down at the docks was you lot? Impressive. Not many locals could go up against an adult Gnoll and live to tell the tale... Alissa told me that you lot would be heading by. Your drinks are on the house."
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The bartender looks around at the very flammable kegs behind the bar, and the wooden cladding of the building, before glancing at Wadi with a trace of concern in his eyes.
"Riiight. Well, please do not try burning anything in here, please. We have overheads to take care of, and tavern reconcstruction is not something I would like to have to deal with, as well."
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The party is able to spend a pleasant evening in The Flying Goblin; the fire is warm, the ale is tangy, and the soup is delicious. Thanks to the Venture Captain, the drink flows freely, as you reminisce about all that you have accomplished. When the time comes to return to your accomodations at the Lodge, it is with a full belly and a pleasant fog clouding your thoughts, some staggering a little more than the others, that you manage to wend your way home, where clean sheets and warm beds await.
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Each of you is woken the following morning by an insistent knocking.
When you finally manage to stagger out of bed, you are greeted by an extremely apologetic errand-boy.
"I am terribly sorry, but Venture Captain Eliza Petulengro wishes to see you at once; you need to go to the Autumn Reading Room, right now!"
Snatching a few minutes to gather your thoughts and possessions, and to rub the sleep from your eyes and make yourselves presentable, you eventually enter the main library, and, with the help of a passing librarian, find your way to the Autumn Reading Room, a pleasant, west-facing room with tall windows, desks outfitted with green leather, and luxurious, padded chairs.
The rest of your companions slowly arrive, some still yawning, and you are beginning to wonder where VC Petulengro is, when a tall, dark-haired and olive-skinned Varisian woman, whom you immediately recognise as Eliza Petulengro, Absalom's newest Venture Captain, renowned for her composure under pressure and the author of more than two dozen Pathfinder Chronicles entries, suddenly breezes into the room, a stack of chronicles in her arms, and looks you over before speaking:
“My greatest pupil, Pathfinder Bodriggan Wuthers, has gone missing. He followed a cleric contact back to Wuthers’s home city of Oppara to work on a massive dig beneath the House of the Immortal Son, Oppara’s famed opera house and once temple to the dead god, Aroden. That was a year ago. He sent monthly reports, hoping to see their publication in a chronicle, before all contact dried up a few months back. I’m worried something has gone wrong, and the Society has a vested interest in the artifact he was researching and seeking. We want you to travel to Oppara and find Wuthers. We’d like to know exactly what he was seeking, too, since he neglected to inform us through his monthly correspondence. He hinted only that the cleric of Irori he was working with told him the object was the world’s greatest ‘living’ artifact—whatever that means.
I have a few tidbits of information to pass to you before you go: the House of the Immortal Son is nearly impossible to access. It took Wuthers months and countless bribes to get where he did. For you, I have a much simpler idea. Go to an opera, wait for an opportunity, and then exploit it to find Wuthers and his dig site.
Be sure to wear something festive—the Taldan nobility are arrogant on their best days and if you arrive at the opera dressed like that,” she waves her hands at you, “they’ll surely lose your tickets or regret to inform you that the opera house is oversold. Your boat is the Silenced Harpy, and it is due to sale at third bell this afternoon. Make whatever purchases you deem necessary, and then head straight to the boat.
She nods to herself, before adding, almost as an afterthought:
"Also, I have some news for you: Sekhemre has been temporarily seconded to a different field unit, investigating a story about unusual alchemical elixirs coming out of Varisia, so for this task, you have been assigned another Pathfinder; she should be here any minute..."
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“You’ve had some experience treading the boards Wadi?” Aldred asks. “I’ve not acted myself, and while Taldan opera is far different from the sort we favour in Andoran, I have been involved in some minor productions in Augustana ... I can probably give some pointers too.” He grins and looks at Alie. “Oh yes, I think there is going to be a fun element to this mission!”
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The VC nods to Aldred.
"The tickets have been taken care of. Ambassador Salhar was very greatful for the service you rendered to him yesterday, and when we approached him this morning, he was more than willing to foot the bill."
She then shrugs.
"As for the clothes, I will leave that to your discretion. If you are trying to fit in, I would recommend purchasing some jewelry to go with it, though."
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In the middle of discussions about clothing and jewelry, a short woman in a homespun dress of black and gold over a white linen dress shows herself into the Reading Room. Her dirty blonde hair is roughly cut, she has dark circles under her eyes, and her Ustalavan accent is thick, "This tower is too big, no? Still I am finding myself lost. I am thinking maybe you want to anger the gods with your pride in building such a thing. Is unnatural." She briefly bows her head and traces the Pharasmin spiral over her heart.
"What is this I hear you saying with buying new dresses and jewels? What mission is requiring such waste?"
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"Looking nice occasionally is certainly not a waste. Its a wonderful change of pace after being on trips to the jungle, and getting peppered with arrows, and taking control of iron golems...Well, nevermind. We are heading to the opera, so we have to look presentable. I haven't had a new dress in ages, and Im gettnig ready to go find something suitable. And not wasteful," the sorcerer explains her position in her typical run on fashion, hardly taking a breath while positing.
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At Wadi's comment about broadening her horizons, Magda's face flushes and she opens her mouth to retort, but Eliza deftly chimes in to explain that the clothing is required to get access to the opera house in order to find her missing pupil. Magda frowns and nods. Then she addresses the chattering gnome, "It seems you know a lot of this kind of thing. You will choose something appropriate for me?"
"It is good to be meeting you Father Darksmiter." She extends a handshake which is surprisingly firm for such a small woman, "Magda Marinova of Carrion Hill.
"Your student, Bodriggan... What does he look like that we may identify him?"
"This cleric of Irori... Does he mention in his letters a name, man or woman? Any lead we might follow to aid us in tracking Bodriggan?"
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The VC nods to Magda.
"Good to see that you could finally join us, Magda. Bodriggan is a young Taldan male with prematurely balding blonde hair, blue eyes, and large, horn-rimmed glasses. He tends to be a little forgetful with regards to his appearance, and his finger-tips are frequently covered in ink-stains."
At the mention of the cleric, she frowns.
"I do not know, beyond the fact that it is a 'he'; Bodriggan never referred to him by name. I suggest that you simply attend the performance, and either during the intermission, or immediately after the play has finished, attempt to slip back stage."
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“A pleasure to meet you Magda, I am Aldred, of Augustana,” says Aldred, taking the woman’s hand and bowing in a courtly manner.
As Alie begins dragging Magda from the room for a shopping trip, Aldred murmurs to the gnome, “Don’t neglect a hair stylist and some good foundation and blush for our new friend ...”
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The VC nods to Magda.
"I certainly hope so. Now, be off with you! Do not be late; it was difficult enough to arrange passage on the Silenced Harpy, and I doubt that the Captain will wait past the agreed departure time."
She then collects her papers, and storms out of the room, with as much force as she entered it, leaving the party to make their own preparations.
"Excuse me, Miss. Are you Magda Marinova? Venture Captain Valsin asked me to give this note to you..."
He then hands over a neatly sealed envelope, inside of which is a hastily penned note, attached to an even smaller envelope, sealed with a wax seal impressed with the image of a scarab.
Greetings stalwart servant of the Society!
A friend of the Society has asked for a small favor, in return for permission to access a particular crypt beneath the city of Sothis. Please complete the following task as if it were one that I had given you myself.
Fight On!
Venture Captain Ambrus Valsin.
Once the seal is broken, inside you find the following, written in a neat, decisive hand:
The faintest of whispered rumor has reached my ears and they say to me that you are to be sent across the Inner Sea to decadent Taldor’s capital to attend an opera. I won’t spend a moment of this letter wondering why the Pathfinder Society, in its wisdom, has determined that your time is better spent in fine clothing, on soft cushions, and sipping fine wines when you could be dressed in armor, slogging through jungles, and finding the rarest of the world’s objects and bringing
news of their discoveries to me.
It occurs to me that your vacation in the gilded city could be of some use to the Ruby Prince. Emperor Stavian III of Taldor himself is said to sometimes attend the opera at the House of the Immortal Son, and it would benefit Osirion greatly if we could listen in on his inane conversations while he relaxes and watches his subjects perform for him. I’ve enclosed a small stone, a trifle no larger than your thumb that I wish for you to leave behind after the opera is over.
Specifically, there is an entrance to the House of the Immortal Son that is bedecked with a violet carpet—this is the Emperor’s exclusive entrance. Leave the stone there—in a crack of granite, under the rug, inside a lamp, the choice is up to you. Be sure where you leave it, though, is somewhere not easily discovered by the opera house’s cleaning crew.
One last thing: it is forbidden for anyone not of the royal court to enter the hallway in question, so you’ll need your finest subterfuge to gain access. I’m sure you will succeed.
The document is signed with a heiroglyph in the shape of a scrab, printed with sapphire-blue ink.
When you unwrap it later, however, tucked inside the package on top of the neatly folded dress is a small note:
Agent of the Glorious Empire,
My jealousy knows no bounds. It has been a decade since I saw our glorious capital, the gilded city of Golarion. And to return to see an opera at the famed House of the Immortal Son, no less—you will be the envy of all your brethren.
I have it on good authority that our Emperor’s consul for the fourth district of Oppara Prefecture, Magistros Sebastus Hustavan, will be attendance for the opera called Among the Living at the Immortal Son the night you arrive. Be sure you attend that opera specifically and give Hustavan a message for me—tell him Baron Dalsine is aware of the secret account, that we know who funds it, and that he’d best be ready to tell me everything when he travels to Absalom next month as
part of a diplomatic mission. Do it quietly, out of earshot of your companions, and you’ll have my thanks.
With Sincerest Gratitude,
Baron Jacquo Dalsine
When unfurled, you espy some all-too-familiar penmanship:
Sweet One,
I’ve missed you terribly these past months and even today spent hours longing for your company. Alas, I’ve been told you’re being sent to dreary Oppara, the so-called gilded capital of loathsome Taldor. If only you could see the frown upon my face, you would know the sadness I feel at seeing you sent away again.
Since you’re headed that way, I’ve enclosed a letter I’d like you to deliver for me. It bears the seal of a Qadiran merchant prince we bought ages ago, and I’d like you to make certain it ends up in the hands of Taldan nobility. I care not how they receive it—in their pocket, slipped onto an official’s desk, dropped on a well-dressed corpse... how you choose to serve Cheliax is entirely up to you.
One last thing: open the letter and I’ll personally see to it that you burn in the fires of hell, and I will use *your* skin to send the note requesting the services of my next play-thing.
All my love,
Paracountess Zarta Dralneen
The enclosed messages are identical, and to the point:
Fellow Patriot,
Word has reached my ears that you are to be sent to Oppara to attend an opera. Try not to let the decadence of Taldan society sway you from our cause—Taldor is our mortal enemy and to that end, I ask you to spy on them. Many members of the Taldan elitist nobility will be present at that opera. Befriend one and convince him that ours is the greater cause—for his money pouch. Enclosed you’ll find a satchel of gold trade bars—be certain that he knows this is just a taste, and receive assurances from him that he’ll give us what we ask for when the time is right. It’s probably too much to hope for, but if he’s a civil servant, an underpaid member of low nobility slogging away in service to his retched bureaucratic Empire—why, that would serve Andoran the best.
Sincerely,
Major Colson Maldris
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Once you have collected your things, and been dragged (willingly or unwillingly) around the Street of Silks for a fashion upgrade, it is time to make your way to the docks, the ring of Second Bell echoing in your ears.
The Silenced Harpy is a three-masted cog, a typical merchant vessel for plying the waters of the Inner Sea. Blocky and riding low in the water, she is clearly not built for speed, and is apparently carrying a heavy cargo.
When you approach the plank, you are greeted by an old human sailor with a scraggly grey beard, and a smile that reveals fewer than the normal complement of teeth.
"You lot would be the Pathfinders we be ferrying to Oppara, yes? Captain Davidson is up on deck. The name's Jonah. You best be hurrying aboard; he's not one for waiting..."
Hurrying up the plank, you see the deck is abuzz with activity: Sailors rush to and fro, shifting barrels below deck, washing the decking with seawater, and retarring ropes.
Amidst all this frenetic activity, stands a tall Taldan male, with a big, bushy black beard, wearing a navy blue great cloak.
"Move lively, lads! I want to be underway as soon as those blasted Pathfinders put in an appearance..."
He turns as you approach, and frowns.
"Speak of the Devils! Well well, it is about time too! We don't normally take passengers, but I've had the forward compartment cleared for your use. It might be a bit snug, but at least it is private. There's three meals a day, served at dawn, noon, and dusk. Other than that, try to keep out of the way of the crew."
Captain Davidson then returns to harranging the sailors, leaving you to find your own way to the forward compartment...
...located in the nose of the ship, it is everything you would expect from cargo vessel; 15' long, and 15' across at its widest, with a ceiling barely six feet above the floor, it swiftly tapers down to a point. There is just enough room for six human-sized individuals to bunk comfortably in hammocks. Illumination is provided by a single oil lantern, hanging from a short chain in the middle of the room. Still, at least it is dry, even if nothing can be done about the smell, which mixes pitch, salt, and old fish.
Still, over the course of a week (and with the judicious application of Prestidigitation), the smell gradually fades away. In fact, the voyage almost begins to feel like a holiday; unconscionably, there are no violent storms, and no hostile sea monsters see fit to attack your small vessel; there is just bright sun, steady breezes, and the occasional albatross or dolphin pod. When the coast of Taldor finally comes into view, you are feeling rested and refreshed, and ready for anything!
Then, Oppara, the Gilded City, swings into view.
Although, like the Empire's fortunes, the city is in decline, it is still a mighty, and awe-inspiring sight.
High stone walls surround the entire city, where it is not hedged-in by the Black Cliff of Porthmos, but several hills within the city allow glimpses of the its fading glory. Aroden's Hill shows off the the gleaming dome of the Basilica of the Last Man, whilst in the morning sun, the white-marble halls of the Senate seem to exude a wonderful, enchanting glow. The Silenced Harpy then sweeps in past Jadrishar Island, the home of the Imperial Navy, as it makes a bee-line for the docks of Eastport, and you are able to finally see one of the oldest engineering marvels of the Empire: The Grand Bridge. The Grand Bridge is a cantilever bridge set atop enormous stone piles sunk deep into the mouth of the River Porthmos. As the The Silenced Harpy passes beneath it, some 150' below the struts of the bridge, you are able to see that the rest of the span is made of magically strengthened mithral steel.
Aldred is able to tell you that the mithral was forged in the dwarven fires of Maheto and hauled over the Tandak Plains to Oppara, and that the bridge stretches 8,314 feet across the Porthmos. This massive undertaking took more than 200 years to complete, at enormous cost to the empire—a cost that many Taldan scholars believe was the impetus for Taldor’s invasion and establishment of Andoran as a vassal state the year before the project was completed.
When your vessel finally docks, Jonah comes over to the party, and grins.
"Welcome to Oppara, the City of Gilded Delights. Mind you don't peel back the varnish; you may not like what you find beneath."
He then shrugs apologetically.
"The Captain wants you off the vessel as soon as you can; he wants to unload the cargo, and he does not want passengers getting in the way..."
With that, you have just enough time to collect your possessions, before you are unceremoniously hustled off the ship.
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Shortly before the departure time from Absalom, Magda arrived at the docks carrying a small cage with a black rat half burrowed into a small shredded pillow and her carefully wrapped new purchase from her outing with Alie tucked under the other arm. Though Alie had pushed for brighter colors than Magda could imagine wearing anywhere, they eventually settled on a sky blue dress as a compromise. The Ustalvan woman had been insistent on something with full sleeves from the beginning. When she went to change and Alie saw the patchwork of scars crisscrossing her forearms she finally understood why.
Throughout the journey she spent a large portion of her time in their tiny communal room and more often than not when someone came to check on her she was seated staring intently at and whispering to the rat whose cage door was usually open during the day. When interrupted, both of them would fall silent and turn as one to stare at whoever had come back to check on them. One morning early on Magda burned a scroll in a bucket and collected the ashes, stirring them into a small cup which she then offered the rat who drank greedily.
After dark she would take the occasional walk above decks and what began as a conversation between her and a sailor binding a cut finger turned into a nightly appointment to heal the minor wounds the crew would take during the course of their work. Magda was well aware of the superstition many sailors harbored towards the arcane arts in general and towards witches specifically. A little good will had been known to go a long way in that regard and in general they were not wrong. The majority of the handful of witches she had met back in Ustalav were to be feared.
On arrival in the port of Oppara, she looks around taking in the sight and asks dryly, "So where we will be staying then? We will be needing a place to dress up for this opera. We buy tickets now or at show?"
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Whilst you are standing on the docks, wandering what to do, you are treated to a rather peculair sight: A young page boy, no more than 12 years of age, wearing a tabard better suited to an adult twice his size, emblazoned with the Glyph of the Open Road, and wearing a slightly tatty top hat, weaves his way through the dock workers, and stops, panting in front of Alie.
"M-mistress Saechel? Would you and your party please come with me? The Venture Captain is out, but he left specific instructions about what to do when you arrived; you had better hurry - you only have a couple of hours until the performance, and I am sure that you will want to freshen-up at the Lodge..."
The boy then turns around and dashes off, stopping only to make sure that you are following. He leads you on a merry chase through the streets of the capital, before finally stopping in front of an imposing three storey mansion, constructed from sandstone blocks, and fronted by an impressive series of marble columns, topped by a frieze depicting a battle involving one of King Stavian's predecessors.
Inside, you find thick carpets, marble floors, and walls bedecked with oil paintings, a far cry from your accomodation these past few days.
Whilst you catch your breath in the foyer, a middle-aged Taldan male, dressed in a crisp black butler's outfit, oils his way in from a side room.
"Ah, the Saechel party. We were worried that you would not make it. M'lord left your tickets in my care, just in case you did arrive in time. I will have baths drawn for each of you shortly; you should have just enough time to prepare. I will arrange a carriage for when you are ready to leave."
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Wadi slips into the hot bath and allows the accumulated dirt and grime to be washed away from his body. Ever since his arrival to Oppara, he had noticed a tension between Alie and himself. To be honest with himself, he had no desire to see the rise of the Taldor Empire again. Like his own homeland which has fallen under the yoke of opression, he believed the Taldor government (and any government) tended towards tyranny. Unfortunately, he could think of no way to convince her of that.
Does she not see what has become of the Chelaxian people? Oh well, I still do like her.
Shrugging to himself as he dried off his body, he looked over his new outfit. Smiling to himself as he dressed up, he thought to himself, I will be looking sharp tonight! The outfit consists of a long coat and pants a dark maroon color with black stripes and embroidered with glittering red sparkles. The material is a soft velvet, custom fitted for his body. The material made him sweat somewhat, but due to his elemental blood, the heat did not bother him. Accompanying the outfit was the jewelry, a bloodstone ring paired with match silvery cufflinks. Glossy black leather boots completed the ensemble.
As he waits for the carriage to arrive, his long brown hair is tied back in a ponytail affixed by a maroon pin, nothing fancy he admitted, but his hair was never his best feature.
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Fog appears in the courtyard looking more like an agent of Sarenrae than ever. He wears formal robes of white, with a large sun emblazoned on the front, and his holy symbol down the back. The hem is ringed with cloth of gold.
He stands tall (for a dwarf) and holds himself with an air of confidence even the Taldans would be proud of.
At his waist his his new Scimitar. Peace bound with thin gold wire, it shines brightly in the sunlight. Looking at Wadi, he breaks into a grin. "And don't we just look like a pair of strutting Cocks! Do we fit into this city, or not do you thing?"
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"Thank you for the reception...it's good to be home. Yes, a hot bath would be wonderful. We have plenty to do this evening, so we might as well get to it," she happily chirps. Alie was excited for many things about this mission. She had noticed a bit of a chill from Wadi and the others, but that was only natural...they fly the same about their homes as she did hers. It'd get better again after the show.
She quickly bathed, slipped on her new emerald dress with accompanying emerald jewelry and tucked her leather bag of caltrops into her handbag, just in case things get crazy. She was usually weapon less, so that did not bother her.
DM
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Fog appears in the courtyard looking more like an agent of Sarenrae than ever. He wears formal robes of white, with a large sun emblazoned on the front, and his holy symbol down the back. The hem is ringed with cloth of gold.
He stands tall (for a dwarf) and holds himself with an air of confidence even the Taldans would be proud of.
At his waist his his new Scimitar. Peace bound with thin gold wire, it shines brightly in the sunlight. Looking at Wadi, he breaks into a grin. "And don't we just look like a pair of strutting Cocks! Do we fit into this city, or not do you thing?"
The butler pales slightly when he sees the way that Fog is attired.
"E-excuse me, M'lord, but do you have any other attire? I know that in the frontier towns, enforcement is lax, but the Cult of the Dawnflower is still officially banned in Taldor, and this is rigorously enforced in the Capital. The last time a priest was caught here, he was publically beaten, and then he and his flock were fed to the lions at the Arena... It is not safe to go outside attired so, especially to somewhere so public as the Opera..."