When the dwarf enters the halls of the Venture-Captain Adril Hestram’s wide looming face opens and he begins to speak. “The Blakros Museum is cursed. Some darkness has descended upon the place and those who enter are blasted with evil and left raving through its halls, more beast than men. The curator, Nigel Aldain, is an old associate of the Society, though he chose to leave our organization some years back after a
disagreement.” A sheepish look crosses Hestram's face.
“Nigel has long denied the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s considerable collection of relics and scrolls, using his extensive contacts to nab several excellent finds right out from under us... he always had a nose for the hunt. Whatever is past between Nigel and the Society, he needs our help now.
"Perhaps if we can come to his aid, he may think on rejoining the Pathfinder Society, or at least offering to share his discoveries with us."
“Apparently the trouble at Blakros Museum began this morning, shortly after a wayward Pathfinder named Lugizar Trantos returned to Absalom after months spent in the Mwangi Expanse. Supposedly, instead of coming straight to the Lodge to report in, he went to Blakros, sold his finds to Nigel, and then disappeared with a hefty sum of gold. The few who
glimpsed Lugizar claimed he was much changed by his time in the Mwangi... gaunt, his eyes yellowed and unfocused, a strange rasping cough that seemed to wrack his now wasted frame. Whatever he brought back with him, we believe it is the cause of the Blakros Museum’s ills.
Root it out.”
"I would not have called you out this late in the evening if we had time to spare. Any questions while you pack? You can introduce yourselves on the way over. "
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Thovar packs his gear - a process he has clearly practiced and refined over the years, for it takes mere moments - and falls into stride next to the Venture-Captain. "Blasted with evil, eh? Turned in'ta raving beasts? As unpleasant as that sounds, I must reluctantly admit that I can help," he says, clasping the large wooden key hanging by a cord at his belt, "or rather, Abadar can help! And besides, if those treasures were rightfully brought back to the city, only to be lost again, it would be quite a shame..."
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"Ah, it's like my uncle Miro's place then. He had some weird old stuff. Probably on a bigger scale, like everything the giants do.
Anyway, what are we getting into here? This place had staff? Guards? Visitors? Do you know how many people might be raving in there? When did this start?
What about the layout? Have you been in there? Can you sketch us a map?"
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"The Blakros' eh? They've quite a reputation. Hopefully none of the family's lovely daughters are caught up in this mess. Be a shame for such beauties to end up as beasts."
Elwyn looks to the others as they hurriedly gather themselves. "I'm Elwyn, a pleasure to make your acquaintances. I've been a member of the society for a while now but have not been as far as the River Kingdoms, I wonder if our duties will take us there?" He asks rhetorically.
Do we know what he brought back exactly? and where is Mr. Aldain now?
"We do not, and we have agents searching for him right now."
So ummm, just in case it's important, what's a museum? I'm pretty sure we didn't have any back in the River Kingdoms."
Hestrem nods to the dwarf, "As Standstill said, it is a place where things of the past, beautiful artwork and other culturally important things can be kept, studied, and shared.
"What kind 'o trouble we talkin' 'bout at them Black Roses?"
[/b]”that’s what I’m sending you to find out. We’re told a mist is pouring from the doors and all we know is everyone that has gone into the mist has not come out unless it was screaming mad.”
" Anyway, what are we getting into here? This place had staff? Guards? Visitors? Do you know how many people might be raving in there? When did this start? What about the layout? Have you been in there? Can you sketch us a map?
”It did have staff, but they seem to all have gone mad or disappeared. It seems to have started this morning shortly after they opened and Trantos’ visit. Nigel has not contacted us, we are just hoping to make an in-road with the man. But he is the person I would start with. He should be in the offices, which are through the door in the west exhibit hall. He hands you a quickly drawn map.
"Has there been any reports of demonic activity within this museum? And of those affected, do they seem to have a goal or focus, or do they simply go insane?"
"Are they expecting us, or shalt we arrive and need to make arrangements to enter said museum?"
"Who can say if the source is demonic or something else, but no no horned winged creatures of extreme violence have come from the museum. Only the folks who entered. Look for Nigel, that’s all I can answer at this point.
Knowledge: history
deep-seated hate and wild madness. These Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of anyone who spends too long in their presence.
Knowledge: local or Diplomacy: gather info
Mwangi. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead.
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@ Toren "I have. It is all too familiar, I fear. In my homeland, strange, almost living mists are common horrors. Abominations dwelleth therein, and the various damned use the cloak of fog to smiteth at the innocent. Rumor's from the fearful of Pharasma hold that the mists art the ambitions and raw power of the Whispering Tyrant, locked away but ever seeking escape. Likewise, in Mendev, there are also other strange mists. There, my brothers and sisters have long ago erected massive divine ward stones, aimed at keeping the fiends of the Abyss from gaining more ground into our realm. Formed of primal chaotic energies of the other worlds, it ushers forth, corrupting all it touches. We aught be cautious."
As the other's are getting prepared, I'll step out for a moment to ask around about this Lugizar Trantos fellow. Returning, I'll pass on the info I found (in the above spoiler). "It seemeth that this Mr. Trantos had been a Pathfinder himself in the past, though he hath forsaken the Society some time ago. Apparently, he is know for venturing unto the vast Mwangi regions, and disappeared therein after a few months. He had been writing posts to his wife, and also a brother, but discontinued even those after a short time. Up until he returned, showing up at the Blakros Museum out of no where, he'd been given up for dead. And according to thine report from Nigel, he appeared in a fervor, sickly with cough and complexion, disorientated."
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"Shoo...Sounds like I should be that I never been a place to see that. I thought that shadow thingy at Thornkeep was bad enough...but a Whisperin' Tyrant? Mist that's power and ambition and an evil one ter boot? I'll be stickin' close ter yah if'n yah don't mind, Mr...?"
His beard shifts around a bit as various expressions cross his face—but are ultimately lost in the overgrowth—and what little skin shows turns red. "Name's Toren."
When he gets ready to leave the halls he looks back and says to anyone listening, "Know where I can find a good, cheap meal? Never hurts but always helps to leave on a full stomach. 'Sides...never know when yeh'll get yer next one."
A page enters and Hestram nods. She looks around briefly then hands a rolled parchment to the aasimer holy-man.
You light the way to a better age with your continued bravery. I can’t express enough how grateful our nation is for your
peerless service. We once more have desperate need of your talents. An agent of ours is in peril. His name is Sheg Wraithbane,
a half-orc adventurer of note who was keeping tabs on the Blakros Museum for us, posing as a nightwatchman. We fear for his
safety. A strange curse has befallen the place and we’ve no word from him.
Find him. If he lives, bring him safely from that accursed place. If he has perished, then you must bring his collection of keys
to me immediately. He wears them on a ring on his belt. I would trust this task to no other. May your sword arm know no equal,
may your wits prove thrice as fast as your foes.
Sincerely Yours,
Ollysta Zadrian
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"Mine apologies. I am Beckett des Laurant, a Medevian crusader of Iomedae's Order of the Sword, of Ustalav. Ironically, I hath been senteth on a sort of sabbatical from the before mentioned mists, and was summoned here." he says with a less than enthusiastic chuckle. "And it is said that the wicked hath no restings. . ."
"But come brother, we cans top at the Lodge's mess hall, and I shalt treat thee to a quick meal before we depart. No need to walketh into the belly of the beast at half strength."
It is, and you should leave if you have no more questions. As the venture captain says this a gnome enters the discussion, places a hand on Elwyn's elbow and nods to Jak. The gnome passes Elwyn a small package.
The true ancestor of the Matl family was one Taltuma-Matl, a wise servant of the pharaohs. His true will was never discovered, and in it he most likely names a distant cousin as the beneficiary of his family’s wealth and honors (knowing full well his closer kin, Lakma, was nothing but a vile self-serving wretch). It has come to our attention that Taltuma’s remains are housed at the Blakros Museum, beyond our reach. We believe his last will was interred with him. Find it. If we can prove Lakma had no legitimate claim to his family’s holdings, we can embarrass his descendants at court who vex the DECEMVIRATE, thus solidifying his power and perhaps even paving our way to glory.
Abrus Valsin, Venture-Captain
A dark haired man calls to the gnome and the two leave together.
We are, as ever, interested in the ebb and flow of great treasures. The Blakros Museum in Absalom houses some of the world’s most interesting oddities and trades them freely with the world at large. Our satrap would know where these treasures flow to and at what cost.
As you pursue whatever dust devil of foolishness the Pathfinder Society would have you chase in Blakros, be sure to keep an eye out for the museum’s accounts and records of transactions. Retrieve them for me and your glory will know no bounds.
A Fellow Servant of the Satrap,
Pasha Muhlia Al-Jakri
A scarred old man stands by the door as if waiting for something. Several times he starts to get up only to settle back against the frame. When the party decides to leave he does get up and approaches Julien. He whispers into the ragechemists ear.
You must prove yourself worthy of bliss: something strange is afoot at the Blakros Museum. Evil spirits vex the place and foul mists run its corridors driving men mad. Driving men mad is a deep interest of mine, as you well know. Find the source of this infestation of power and bring me a sample of it, so I might study it. Do this and you shall know Hell’s most lustful delights.
So says Grandmaster Torch.
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Elwyn smiles as he observes the gnome's actions. He leans over to Jak and quietly says, "Looks like we have orders, be a pleasure working with you on this." and passes the not to him.
"Ready when you all are. I am a bit worried about this mist though, I wonder how we go in without it affecting us. Perhaps it emanates from a source somewhere and its effects are weaker nearer the entrance of the museum."
Angruf, Julian, Thovar, Toren:
Aside from one brief stop for Elywn's purchase , the party arrives at the famed structure within the hour. The Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within.
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Along the way Elwyn chats up the others in the group, "Names Elwyn, Elwyn Cintras. I'm handy with a Rapier, fancy myself as quick on the draw and pride myself of being the eyes and ears of the group. I like to get the jump on the enemy and consider myself a second line fighter, though my truest talents tend to be a bit more clandestine."
He is rather tall, maybe a couple inches taller than 6' and has olive skin and dark brown hair. He clearly looks human, but there is something elven about him, more so than just his name.
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"Light will be nice, since it's already night. Not all of us can see in the dark."
"They call me Jak" he continues, patting the (relatively) large axe slung on his back. "Mostly I hit things. I'm also a pretty good scout, though I'm more used to hills than to dark museums."
Then, as we approach the museum, "I don't like the look of that mist. Shall we take a look around the building, see if there's another way in? Another door? Windows? Even something on the second floor?"
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The tall man leans over and says in a quiet reserved tone I am Julian of Cheliax, I am a scientist and pharmaceutical creator by trade. I trained under some of the great Sahir-Afiyun in Katapesh. I have refined my pesh to bring on a most interesting state however. . He goes silent for a moment. Shut up, shut up, shut up. You are a drug dealer. Plain and simple. It is I who came to you in that strain of pesh. Now get of your butt and help these people. . Those looking at him then notice that his posture visibly changes in to a more erect more proud bearing. He holds his head up high, and you think you see an eye change color before he states proudly, projecting his voice. Maul. pounding his chest, Crusader of the people, seeker of peace and serenity. My the teachings of Korada fill your lives.
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"We should be wary of things related to apes. Apparently the bearer of these scrolls also encountered, and possibly retrieved, three dark wooden statues of bearded monkeys. His letters bore strange marks of monkeys' paws, and the insanity he bore with him apparently also infected the monkeys of the Absolom zoo. I can't say I'm partial to monkeys overall."[b]
Angruf sizes up the rest of the group briefly, [b]"Fortunately it seems we're not all over tall. Well, with some exceptions." A twinkle in his eye gives the lie to his dwarf-centric comments. "Though I'm a stalwart of deep halls, I'm much more a scholar and advisor. I find I'm much more inspiring and useful from a rearward position - I have decent aim with my crossbow, a talent for inspiring others to great deeds, and some occasional sparks of arcane talent including some wholesome healing."
"I have to admit, though there is a madding mist, I look forward to touring the famous Blakros museum. I hope none of the breakable bits, nor too many of the learned scholars, have been broken irretrievably."
"Julian - Jak has a good point - do you have any speculation as to whether the mist might rise or fall? In a mine, pockets of bad air can collect either at heights or in depths."
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"HAH! Well, they don't call me Toren "Stand" Still fer nothin'! Just get behind me an' Tessa here" Toren shakes his tower shield at this, "an' we'll make sure yer gettin' back home to yer...er...gods and goddesses, or potions, or books. Whatever be yer fancy."
He strokes his beard thoughtfully and mindlessly pulls a speck of bread from it, sniffs it, and puts it in his mouth. He grins at Angruf's joke, "Too true, too true. Height ain't a problem fer some of us! Can't say the same fer some of our taller friends."
He looks at his Bec de Corbin while walking, "I can't say as I think this'll be too useful inside a small museum. Well, good thing I never really took much of a shine to it anyways."
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Elwyn, casually glances over at Julian, and rasises a single eyebrow as he observes him. 'Well, this one has some flavor to him, doesn't he?' he asks himself rhetorically.
"I agree, it makes sense to avoid the mists ... if they have the effect of making one go mad. I'll take a quick look around the perimeter."
Elwyn looks for an alternate entrance, a window, or back door.