Having recently completed your initial classes, some of you having been sent on a few missions before graduation. You were deemed by non-other than mutton chops himself, Ambrus Valsin, to be some of the best and brightest that had ever come through the Pathfinder Boot.
He gave each of you a simple order and enough crowns to secure passage to Padiskar in Jalmeray. You may seek out Venture-Captain Vasuman Mihir and assist him further.
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A man, well-on in years, and wearing traditional wizard’s garb barely manages to keep hold of his haul of tomes and scholarly materials as he makes his way through the bustling market of Padiskar. ”This so-called ‘Shimmering Jewel of Jalmeray.” the wizard mutters with heavy breath, his senses assaulted by the sights and smells of the market, ”Once you were a prize claimed by the archmage Nex. Yet, now you are little more than a realm of fishmongers and farmhands.”
As if on cue, the man’s face is covered with the spray of fresh entrails released by the unartful stroke of a nearby merchant’s blade. The beleaguered wizard huffs in disgust, blowing a few wisps of hair on his thick, white beard, which now is matted with the blood and innards of some manner of piscine creature.
Spitting out a few of the smaller pieces, which had managed to find their way into his mouth, the wizard pauses while still in the middle of the street. He allows the sack containing his scholarly materials to drop to the stones below and, upon doing so, begins to gesture. A brilliant flash of light, the reflection of the bright Jalmeray sun caught by the finely-crafted, signet ring adorning the man’s finger, accents his movements as the man’s lips recite a formula both ancient and arcane.
Almost instantly, the pungent, oily remains that covered the man’s face and clothing vanish as do the stains from sweat that had penetrated his robes during his long trek in the heat of the day. With an audible groan, the man picks his sack back up once again, and continues through the streets in the direction of the Pathfinder Lodge where he was instructed to meet Venture-Captain Vasuman Mihir.
”What need could be so great? What circumstance so dire? What expedition so worthwhile?” the wizard ponders aloud, ”As to require that I, Golthwur Strath, Master of Mysteries, Sovereign of Spells, and Archivist of the Arcane, descend from my tower, take leave of my studies, and venture nearly-half-a-world away?’
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Nuethro is sitting down on a barrel, cross-legged, watching people go by while munching on a local fruit. A weird fruit that looks like a colorful egg but has a juicy pink and white center. He is well muscle but lean, looking like he can handle himself in a brawl with ease.
While eating, he spots a scholarly type person get entrails splashed in his face and spits out a mouthful of the fruit in laughter. He gains control of himself quickly and wipes some of the juice from his chin. Seeing that time is getting on, he finishes the fruit, thanks the child nearby that recommended it and proceeds to his meeting.
The city of Padiskar near the northern tip of the Isle of Jalmeray is not so much a city as a ring of small villages surrounding a massive, howling ruin, from which terrifying screams of whatever the Vudrani Maharaja Khiben-Sald left there in ancient times can still be heard. The new Venture-Captain Vasuman Mihir maintains a small safe house for the Pathfinder Society here, taking over from Padiskar’s longtime Venture-Captain Aamina Shahrazad, who was recently murdered by men loyal to Zamir, a bandit lord and rumored Aspis Consortium agent who operates out of the nearby jungles.
You all arrive at the safe house you were given directions too. Before you stands Venture-Captain Mihir cutting straight to the thick of it, his briefing is short and serious.“This is a fake scepter of the arclords,” he says, hefting a bejeweled staff in his hands bearing glowing runes across its surface. “You will lead a caravan toward Niswan carrying this false relic and several crates of minor magical items. My porter, a young boy named Waman, will give you a detailed travel itinerary, which you must follow with care." He lets the importance of his words linger.
"Except that it is almost certain that you will be ambushed before you reach your destination, since young Waman is a spy for the Aspis Consortium and has sold out and murdered a dozen or more of our brethren and associates, including our former Venture-Captain—I’m sure of it. The scepter is bait in a trap, and you are the teeth. Do not let on to Waman that you know of his transgressions—we need him to lead us to his master, the bandit lord Zamir. We’ll either make Zamir our man or disrupt his business permanently. I’ll deal with Waman myself once this affair is resolved.”
Venture-Captain Mihir holds up a second item, a plain-looking but easily recognizable wayfinder. “This wayfinder is also a fake, although unlike the scepter, it does have real power. The dial always points to the scepter.”
Mihir demonstrates, moving the wayfinder in a circle around the scepter, the needle pointing unerringly at it.
“Waman gave Zamir information that enabled the bandit fool to steal artifacts from dozens of our caravans and even from safe houses such as this one. Zamir has a method of disassembling the artifacts so that he can smuggle them off the island with ease, bound for ports of call in Cheliax. What we do not know is where Zamir is, since he never attacks with his men.”
“I gave Waman the information about your journey, so at some point along the route, Zamir’s bandits will ambush you. Previous experience indicates that his bandits will not kill if they don’t have to. Let them steal the scepter. You must put up a small struggle, maybe even kill or injure several of his men, but most importantly you must let them escape and they must escape with the scepter." His stern eyes tell you this order must be followed.
“Give them a few hours after the ambush to escape and then use the wayfinder to track Zamir to his hideout. Zamir is an arrogant man whose loyalties lie with whoever can make him famous to the people of Jalmeray. Right now he believes the Aspis Consortium is the answer. You will either convince him that the Society is the answer—as he could be a very powerful ally in the region—or you’ll end his operations for good. How you handle it, I leave to you. Good luck on your journey and may the gods guide your hand.”
You can recall from speaking with a few persons that Zamir is rumored to be a weretiger or perhaps a rakshasa.
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The petite elf nods as the Venture Captain explains their mission. She had been to Jalmeray several times in the service of her father, a less than respectable merchant. In fact, she had been many places through the civilized world... except for Cheliax. For a minute, thoughts of leading the Pathfinders to the homeland of such vile people as the slave-mongering Chelish danced in her head, but she quickly came back to the here and now.
"Who else will be with the caravan? Are we to protect them? Should we allow their wares to be stolen as well? Or should we only permit the scepter to be taken?" she inquires.
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Golthwur seems overjoyed at first to see the ornamented staff within the Venture-Captain’s hands, only to become crestfallen when told that the object is a fake. Oh, bother thinks the old man. There had better be an opportunity to study a few items of magic once this bandit lord has been found or else my entire voyage will have been for naught.
The wizard’s disappointment continues to heat up until it reaches a boiling point. ”Negotiations with a wanted thief and a revolutionary as well, good sir?” he asks, ending his inquiry with a pleasantry, yet with little, actual deference. ”Even if he indeed be an outsider or beast... Why it seems hardly the sort of task worthy of the talents of Golthwur Strath, Securer of Secrets and Manipulator of Magic!” The wizard bellows.
”Furthermore, had the Society told me in advance that I was being summoned for a mission to coerce or persuade, I could have suitably been prepared. Obtained scrolls of enchantments and the like! Truly any problem can be solved by magic, but only once that problem has been identified.” The mage crosses his arms in a slump. ”Were proper preparation not merely the hallmark of mages, but the practice of all.” the mage softly mutters.
A few moments of time seem to temper Golthwur's attitude towards his perceived indignities. Seemingly consigned to the fact that he will not be leaving the island without his given mission attempted, he asks,"So, when is this caravan-that-is-not-a-caravan scheduled to depart?"
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A young, athletically built Sylph woman sways through the crowd in the marketplace-so comfortably that it almost seems as if she commands it-a few careful steps behind a stodgy looking old man in wizard's garb.
"I cannot believe they assigned this insufferable old coot to this mission, he just makes me so..."
"...Angry? Good! Just remember..."
"I know, i know. When I get angry, I just get better! But still, he's so, so...Ugh!"
Up ahead a merchant is carving some sort of beast for piece peddling. Every once in awhile he looks up to acknowledge the sparse crowd watching-he's good, he knows it and he's putting on a show. Almost as if timed by design, she strides into his visage as he looks up. She flips her hair, winks at him, and swings to the right as an otherwise perfectly executed slice goes errant, splattering entrails all over the wizard. A smile curls on her face for the first time that day-possibly for the first time that week. If she had grown up with other sylphs they would have called her natural expression "Hvetjandi tík andlit"- roughly translated in Common to "Resting face of rabid female jackal."
"Now, now, I led you to your second family so you could learn to take shots for your allies, not direct shots at them!"
"Only the lethal ones, and that's a far cry from lethal. Besides, I'm sure someone as stately as him has some sort of a cantrip locked and loaded in case something like that...yep...see!"
A monk slobbering all over some exotic fruit busts out laughing,
"Now that's my kind of people!"
They all eventually end up at the safe house which they were directed to assemble.
Mei listens to the Venture Captain as he lays out the mission. She perks up a bit when he mentions that they are allowed to kill a few of Zamir's men.
"Yummy!"
When Golthwur expectantly bursts out in distaste of this tawdry task obviously beneath him, she pipes up,
"I think sir, the rumor of Zamir being a weretiger, or possibly even a rakshasa is the reason they have called one so adept as yourself. Most likely that or it is to simply make sure the rest of us cretins don't screw it up! Either way, at least we are sure this outburst of yours isn't fear driven, as you have already proven you got the...guts."
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'Guts'? Golthwur questions within his mind. Whatever could the elementress have meant by that? Regardless, I shall pay it no particular heed. The wizard treats the thought dismissively. After all, does one converse with the wind? Or chat with the breeze? Certainly not. Why then, attempt to assign meaning to each gust that utters forth from one of the elemental kin?
The wizard subconsciously begins to rub his face and beard. Coincidentally, though, her words do remind me of that most unfortunate incident earlier today in the market. It was a good thing that none of these... what word did the woman use? Ah, yes... cretins …were witness to my run in with those fish remains. Otherwise, they might have been tempted to make me an object of mockery. The wizard smiles at the thought of his seeming good fortune.
Why just imagine... Gulthwur considers, his thoughts giving rise to an audible chuckle. The very thought of someone daring to poke fun at me, Golthur Strath, Warden of Wards and Steward of Sigils? Surely, it is an impossibility too preposterous to ponder!
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"Wait... wait..." the young looking elf stammers. she continues pointing at the aging wizard. "You are Golthwur Strath! The Securer of Secrets?!? THE Manipulator of Magic!?!" she stands up quickly and moves gracefully to his side. Bending over ever-so-slightly to look him square in the eyes. "Nope... never heard of you..." she continues with a curled lip and a bewildered look as she begins to return to her seat.
Just then, she lets out a big laugh and turns and hugs the old universalist and places a loud smacking kiss on his forehead. "I'm kidding! Your reputation precedes you, Master Strath! So happy to have you with us," she proclaims as she holds him tight with his face pressed firmly to her chest.
As she lets out soft sigh, she looks over the wizard's head towards Mei Du Xiao, shrugs and mouths something... I have no idea who he is! With a final pat on the back, Blossym returns to the matter at hand. "My apologies, Venture-Captain Mihir. Where were we?"
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"I'm kidding! Your reputation precedes you, Master Strath! So happy to have you with us," she proclaims as she holds him tight with his face pressed firmly to her chest.
Well, , the mage has heard of me. confirms the legend-in-his-own-mind. How unfortunate for the others. Indeed, for all those ignorant of the ways of magic. To be so close to the fruit of grandeur, yet never have chance to partake.
Despite the discomfort and indignity of being touched and squeezed by a stranger, Golthwur seems to endure it all rather well. But, that is mainly due to the fact that his mind is elsewhere. If the deception is to be pulled off this very day, I have already prepared illusion spells to trick ear and eye. Were we to delay until tomorrow, a cloud brought forth for the purpose of providing obscurement should allow the deception to be completed both swiftly and with ease. Indeed, such a scheme should be child's play for one with my talents.
But I suppose, as huffed by the windstress, that my skills are needed to make up for the shortcomings of others. If the Venture-Captain wanted a theatrical production, he should have sought retainers from amongst the practiced bards and thespians from the colleges in the Guilded City of Oppara or even amongst the vagrant street performers of that eclectic chaos known as Almas. Either would have been far more suited for the stage than this lot.
Venture-Captain Mihir raises an eyebrow as you all ask him your questions. ”The Caravan although fake comprises of you and a single wagon driver. The Wagon contains a few crates of minor magical trinkets and the false copy of the legendary scepter of the arclords. You should protect the wagon driver but the cargo is not worth fighting to the death over. But you do need to make the defense of the cargo look good before they make off with the scepter and what else they take.” His stern eyes stare coldly at the Elvish waif before him unleashing a barrage of questions.
”Listen…..” Mihir continues his ict cold gaze at the Boastful wizard.”Whatever your name is, your a pathfinder, you accepted the job duties like the rest of us. You completed your Confirmation, Yes. You are here to Explore, Report and Cooperate.” He seems to put extra emphasis on the last part of the Pathfinder Motto.
Answering the now cowed Wizard he answers his question ”The Caravan is set to leave tomorrow in the morning, so you can prepare yourself before you venture off.”
The Venture-Captain looks proud that the sylph seems to have continued putting the Wizard in place and offering a more direct account of information.
Looking to the elf again Mihir states ”Unless you have any further questions you best set off and ensure you have what you need. Lest you be caught unprepared.” the last remark seems to be directed solely at one person.
Having been excused you all find yourselves back in the market district of Padiskar and have a few hours before nightfall comes and you must check back in at the safe house. Even in the evening hours the Market district is still loud and active.
Towards nightfall each of you has a brief encounter in the city.
Inside your pocket or coin pouches you find a note and small package on your persons.
The Note reads:
"Champion of Freedom
This man Zamir is a smuggler and a bandit. It’s clear that he trades in slaves, and rumors persist that he has captured and enslaved arcanists in his employ. The ideals of freedom must blossom in the tyranny of Jalmeray and you must find and free these prisoners! Return them to Padiskar when they are free. Since you’ll be in the so-called Kingdom of the Impossible, my superiors want you to deliver a letter to the Thakur himself. Since this isn’t possible, you’ll need to do so through his agents. Take the enclosed scroll, and should you encounter any of the Thakur’s men, convince one to take the missive and deliver it directly to the Thakur. The Eagle Knight seal on the scroll will likely make this a difficult task as we are not popular there."
May the Fires of Freedom Burn Bright,
Captain Colson Maldris
Opening the missive you find a letter addressed to you reading:
"Exquisite Flesh Morsel,
I sent a Chelish diplomat named Sananda Florez to talk to Zamir some months back and it seems to she’s been enslaved by that beast instead. Though the idea of Sananda in chains is... thought-provoking, I need you to find her and ask what message she has for her sweet mistress. This is our code, and upon hearing it, she will share with you what she knows. You decide if she deserves to be free. She was likely captured placing a small device (a smooth black stone) beneath the ruined gate of Zamir’s hideout. While we can hear what’s going on around this device, it does not tell us its location—an oversight to be sure. Find this device and return it to me—there’s too much attention on Zamir now and it no longer serves a purpose. Ensure that none of your pathetic Pathfinder colleagues sees you retrieve it."
Paracountess Zarta Dralneen
The Next morning you find Waman in the safe house and get the map and instructions from him regarding how to guide the caravan to Niswan.
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Stonelance seemingly engrossed in making adjustments to a crossbow in his lap, quietly places his tools aside, rises and makes his way over to the map.
Giving the map a once over he announces "Looks good to me."
Walking away the from the map he resumes his work on the crossbow "I just got a couple more adjustments on Servana here and we should be ready to go."
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Looking to the elf again Mihir states ”Unless you have any further questions you best set off and ensure you have what you need. Lest you be caught unprepared.” the last remark seems to be directed solely at one person.
It wise of the Venture-Captain to chastise the others about preparation. thinks the wizard. Though it will likely do them little good as they seem unable to pick up on subtleties and nuances within speech.
"All well and good then." says the wizard. "I go to prepare."
Having been excused you all find yourselves back in the market district of Padiskar and have a few hours before nightfall comes and you must check back in at the safe house. Even in the evening hours the Market district is still loud and active.
Golthwur looks forward to a few hours alone as that is time that he can spend both without mundane distractions and with his favorite person. Having found a note of interest, but no items of magic during the evening's visit at a local reseller, the wizard goes about unravelling a scroll of identify that he had recently purchased during a brief stopover in Katapesh. Contented with its contents, the old wizard spends an hour of his time engaging in one of his favorite pursuits. Opening his spellbook, the Copier of Conjurations attempts to add the scroll's spell to his collection.
Having successfully deciphered the spell , he spends the next hour studying it before attempting to copy it.
Golthwur Strath, the Speller of Sigils, smiles, pleased to have added the spell to his growing collection.
Satisfied with his work, the wizard jots down the spells that he plans to prepare before setting out the next morning and then looks forward to a peaceful night's rest.
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When Nuethro watches Blossym kiss Golthwur on the forehead he lets out a chuckle and then lets slip, "I wonder how those entrails taste." He then looks away in embarrassment but still chuckles.
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While waiting for the mission to get started, since he has no need to purchase anything. He pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket and begins to read it. "Zamir huh... Thakur." He pulls out a scroll case also and twirls it around before pocketing it again.
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"Entrails?! I don't know what you mean... why would I know what fish entrails taste like?" the spry, young elf quips at Nuethro, raising both hand with her palms to the ceiling and shrugging quite vigorously. "Oh! I get it... when Master Strath," she pauses briefly and waves to the old wizard. "When he was splattered with the fish guts at the market? Yes, yes. You would think that it might make him smell like the fishes, but see, he used prestidigitation..." again pausing she leans into Stonelance.
"That is magic... Prestidigitation! It is this cool spell that I learned from my uncle," she continues as she draws a bolt from the bolt-ace's quiver. "So, with this spell I can make you arrows or bolts or whatever these thingy-do-dads are... and I make them like turn pink or maybe I make then shoot sparkles out of the fletching when they are flying through the air!" Turning back to the monk, she continues rambling on, "Or in his case, it can make you all clean and smell like you took a bath... Ooh! ooh! or smell like rose petals!" she excitedly climbs up on the table and wiggles her petite fingers at Golthwur. "See! Now he smells like roses! It's true... smell him," she says to the monk.
"So, yea... my Uncle Ghrezzd... he's a famous wizard among the Pathfinders like Master Strath is... well, he taught me prestidigitation and some other really cool spells. He told me, 'Blossom, it's time you stop making a fool of yourself by acting like a common thief and learn the arcane arts!' she says in the deepest voice she can muster. "So, I said,'Sure!'. I figure it will only help me be more sneaky and let me pull more pranks and tricks.... Ooh! Like the one Mei did in the market today! It was so funny!"
She bursts out in laughter and slams both hands on the table. Burying her face in her hands, she convulses in mirth. Finally composing herself, she waves a hand at the bloodrager. "I followed you from the boat using my vanish trick... I mean spell... and when you sliced... Haha!" Once again she falls into violent laughter holding her tummy as tears begin to stream down her face. "We are so gonna be friends, I think!"
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While preparing for the necessary business of the next morning, Golthwur leans back in his chair and goes about formulating a plan.
First, he considers what he knows about the abilities and weaknesses of lycanthropes...
... as well as rakshasa.
Satisfied with the flashes of insight provided by his own brilliance, Golthwur Strath, the Pasha of Planning and the Potentate of Preparedness, begins compiling a list.
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As they walk through town, Mei muses about Blossym's talk about her Uncle and what he taught her to do...
"Awww, isn't that adorable! Maybe you should tell her what your "uncle" taught you to do with your hands."
"I think if I did, she might not want to be friends so quickly. Sometimes I wonder why you led me there...why would a little girl need to learn those types of things?"
"All in good time!"
"That's what you always say. Why can't I get an answer now? Just a small piece..."
A small halfling bumps into her, she probably saw it coming but her thoughts distracted her. Though not the area she keeps her money, Mei checks her pocket by reflex. Unfolding the note, her eyes zero in on one thing.
"A slaver..."
Her mind darts back to the past. A small sylph girl of the streets running away from some thugs known for their business of trading in "found" children, guided only by a whispering voice that suddenly erupted in her head.
"Your small piece Miss Du Xioa!"
She stops at a weapon shop and looks into getting a silver Tri-bladed Katar.
The only thing she can manage to say to Blossym at this point,
"Your uncle was right Blossym, don't be a common thief. If you're gonna be a thief...be a good one!"
With your itinerary in hand and your course set the single wagon caravan makes its slow way through the woodland area of the jungle on its way to Niswan. The first day is uneventful everyone seems to kepe to themselves for the most part. The Varisian Mogwani driver not offering even a single word of conversation. The first night is even more uneventful with not a sign of any one or anything as you might expect.
At the end of the second long day of travel through rough hills, a campsite comes into view. Smoke curls upward from a small fire, where a man is tending a roast on a spit. Three more men are setting out bedrolls and four mules are picketed beside a pile of sacks and bundles nearby. They are camped exactly on the site described in Waman’s itinerary where you must stay for the night as thext acceptable camping area is nearly a full day and part of the night away.
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The morning after the initial meeting with the Venture-Captain, Golthwur awakens at his usual after a peaceful night’s rest. He hopes to speak with the other Pathfinders in private to announce his plan for fooling Waman and the bandits. Unable to locate them, he decides he is most likely to find them at the safe house.
The Next morning you find Waman in the safe house and get the map and instructions from him regarding how to guide the caravan to Niswan.
However, once there, he finds that Waman is already present and offering instructions to the other, earlier rising, Pathfinders. With the list of instruction that he had prepared earlier in hand, the wizened wizard decides that he will try again the following morning.
With your itinerary in hand and your course set the single wagon caravan makes its slow way through the woodland area of the jungle on its way to Niswan. The first day is uneventful everyone seems to keep to themselves for the most part. The Varisian Mogwani driver not offering even a single word of conversation. The first night is even more uneventful with not a sign of any one or anything as you might expect.
During the uneventful night, Golthwur takes time to engage in his favorite pastime. He unfurls another recent purchase from Katapesh and sets about trying to add it to his spellbook.
However, he is unable to decipher the spell.
The next morning, after a peaceful night’s rest, Golthwur awakens slightly earlier than his usual time. He hopes to speak with the other Pathfinders in private to announce his plan for fooling the rest of the caravan and the bandits. Unable to locate them, he decides he is most likely to find them around the wagon.
However, once there, he finds that the rest of the caravan has already awakened and are present with the other, still earlier rising, Pathfinders. With the list of instruction that he had prepared earlier in hand, the perhaps-not-as-wizened-as-he-thinks wizard decides that he will try yet again in the evening.
At the end of the second long day of travel through rough hills, a campsite comes into view. Smoke curls upward from a small fire, where a man is tending a roast on a spit. Three more men are setting out bedrolls and four mules are picketed beside a pile of sacks and bundles nearby. They are camped exactly on the site described in Waman’s itinerary where you must stay for the night as thext acceptable camping area is nearly a full day and part of the night away.
With the list of instruction that he had prepared earlier in hand, the hopefully-somewhat-more-wizened-than-before wizard thinks, Once we settle in for the evening, I will at last find an opportunity to speak with the other Pathfinders in private to announce my plan for fooling the rest of the caravan and the bandits.
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"Your uncle was right Blossym, don't be a common thief. If you're gonna be a thief...be a good one!"
"Oh, intend to be the best one, Mei! I can hide real well... and my uncle's vanishing spells makes it even better! Then there are other spells I know... like the one where I can open and close doors or lids to chests and things... ooh, ooh... or the one where I make light shiny lights bounce around. It is all great fun!" Blossym continues to ramble on about her spells and the antics of her youth for some time as she spends the day looking at the trinkets and shiny things in the market.
Over the next two days, Blossym practices her cantrips and studies her spellbook as her uncle had taught her. She knew a fight was coming and all though they were to intentionally lose the fight, it would likely prove deadly for those that were unprepared. Having satisfied that her choose spells were the right mix, she settled down and tried to get to know the other Pathfinders as the opportunity allowed.
Seeing the soft glow of the campfire, Blossym goes on high alert. Gone is the childlike wonderment in her eyes only to be replaced by an intense stare. She moves quickly getting the wagon between her and the encampment they are approaching. When she is close enough to hear the mules baying as they graze, she slips into the growing shadows of the approaching night and disappears from view. Keeping to the dim light she circles the encampment and approaches it from the far side.
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Mei is somewhat preoccupied during the journey. Upon reaching the stopover, and discovery of it occupation she perks up again.
"This looks promising, I hope they're hostiles!"
She steps to Nuethro,
"I am guessing it's up to you and me to engage in the initial overt contact while our other members take on a more tactical approach...?"
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Nuethro approaches those gathered at the campsite and greets them. "Hello. Looks like we will be sharing company while we rest this night. I am Nuethro, one of the guards for the caravan I am with."
I takes a good look at those at the campsite, to see if they look like travelers and what type of weapons they might have visible.
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Noticing that the planned campsite is occupied—this being the first unexpected encounter with humanoids thus far during the trip- Golthwur Strath, fancying himself as the Dean of Divination and Principal of Prognostication, concludes that there is a strong probability that the anticipated ambush will be taking place soon. Believing that his plans will best be understood by the other mage in the party, he searches for Blossym…
… but does not see her anywhere, only the growing shadows of the approaching night. Still somewhat wary of any prospects for fruitful discussion that he may have with elemental kin, Golthwur contemplates which of the remaining party members to approach. He settles on Stonelance for, as the wizard notes, at least he has sufficient wherewithal to groom a respectable tuft of facial hair.
Realizing that subtlety is not his strong suit, Golthwur nevertheless attempts discretion while speaking within possible earshot of the rest of the caravan. ”Pssst.” the old man peeks from behind the covered portion of the wagon attempting get Stonelance’s attention. ”I understand that we have stopped for the night and that the presence of other campers suggests that we should…*ahem*… prepare for whatever the evening may hold.” says the wizard attempting to speak in code. He continues, ”Should all go as… *ahem*… expected, my own magical means are more than sufficient to complete whatever… *ahem* … set-up is necessary. If you understand what I am … *ahem*… trying to say, then cough twice. Otherwise, I have written everything out on this piece of paper.“ The mage pauses and lays eyes upon the more muscular member of the group, before adding, ”For ease of comprehension.”
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”I suppose there is one other … *ahem*… small matter we may need to contend with.” notes Golthwur, still from within his place of concealment. "For, you see, I am a mage of more-than-some reknown and though my fame has not yet expanded as far as my skill, there remains a risk that even here, in this remote jungle on this far away isle, that one of this evenings…*ahem*… guests, may recognize me. Were that to be the case, there is the risk that ... *ahem*… no one will believe that such… *ahem* ... guests were capable of having … *ahem*… dealt with…. *ahem* … he who is the Magister of Might and Purveyor of Power.”
The wizard pauses for a moment, then concedes, ”Without access to a scroll of disguise self I may be forced to utilized less… *ahem*… desirable means to conceal my true identity.”
Your time spent in one of your favorite classes, Lesser races of the other planes, provides you further insight into the habits of Rakshasas. Rakshasas are born on the Material Plane, but they are not of it. They possess the powers and shapes of fiends, but their fates are inexorably tied to the mortal world, and it is there that they seek to rule. The reincarnations of manipulators, traitors, and tyrants obsessed with earthly pleasures, rakshasas are the embodiments of the very nature of materialistic evil. After dying violent deaths, these spirits are so tied to worldly decadence and selfish concerns that they take shapes that better reflect the baseness of their lives and are reborn as fiends. Thus have sages come to know these beings as the “earthbound evils."
There are many kinds of Rakshasas to contend with on the face of Golarion but you know for a fact you would be able to identify the type and recall more information once you come face to face with one.
As you all approach the camp feeling that the Ambush is niegh everything seems off. In a random musing Stonelance advises that a diplomatic approach be best to ensure the safety of all.
With Nuethro's approach and annoucement of the caravan the man tending the fire perks up a little although reserved in his words he still speaks "Ah welcome, welcome come warm yourselves by the fire." He gestures to a few logs and stumps arranged as seating about the fire. "I am Jogen, pleasure to be meeting other travelers along this trek, that is my brother Jagen, Radiger and Amos there on the end. We are but humble merchants traveling to Padiskar with cloth and carpets to sell. Feel free to join us in our meal if you wish to share we will except a trade of food."
Ever weary of what the future may hold you look about the set camp. Jogen although states he is a Merchant he does not dress nor carry himself like one. The same can be said for the other three men, and their cargo they are taking for sale is very small almost non-existant. Based on the weapons you see on their persons and on the mules, they seem to be more like bounty hunters or possibly even hitmen rather than your basic highwaymen or bandits.
For a humble Merchant Jogen is lying through his teeth about himself and his comrades profession.
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Nuethro smiles at them, clearly seeing through Jogen's lie. Regretfully he keeps the ruse up, since he is confident that he could take one or two of them out right now.
"We would be glad to join you in your meal. We can probably add in some of our own rations to make it into a party."
He looks back to the wagon and his companions, winking at them, hoping they can read that properly. Still talking to Jogen, "Maybe our employer would be interested in looking at your wares Jogen."
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The rogue looks over her shoulder at the old man rambling and clearing his throat. Oh, no! Golthwur may need help... perhaps he is choking on something! Quickly running through the little healing training she had, she envisions her uncle discussing a grappling maneuver known as the Heimlich. But as soon as she made up her mind to return, she sees that he is mearly rambling as usual. Oh my gosh, it is so sad. I'll have to spend more time talking with him later tonight... it may be early onset dementia... Back to the task at hand, Blossym!
As Blossym circles the encampment, she sees Nuethro and Mei approach the men already sitting about the fire. Although she cannot make out what is being said between them, the elf assumes the worst when she doesn't see the monk offer an open hand in friendship. She quickly scans the area looking for any sign of hidden ambushers or other surprises that may await the Pathfinders.
Blossym slowly draws her rapier and quietly casts a cantrip dampening the luster on the blade so that it may not give away her position.
You all begin to move into the little makeshift camp area. Ever careful of what goes unseen you do not let your guards down. Searching about you all notice nothing more out of the ordinary, except for the Merchants-who-are-not-merchants of course.
Nuethro offers up a few rations to mix into the pot on the fire. The smell of the stew simmering reminds you all that you have not had a decently cooked meal in over two days. Jogen responds to the tattooed monk "Ah yes more for the pot. Please, yes, add what you can and we will all eat well tonight." As Nuethro asks about wares to be sold Jogen looks puzzled for a moment. "Wares? What do.... OH YES! Wares! We do have some Silks and Reagents for sale. After we break bread we can show you what we have." clearly this Bounty Hunter looking man cannot get his story straight. The other 'merchants' come and take seats about the fire and prepare to eat.
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Concerned that any potential bandits may recognize him and certain that Stonelance must be gathering the rest of the party to come and hear his brilliant plan, Golthwur remains in the wagon. Though his stomach begins to growl, Golthwur is determined to remain hidden until he can reveal his plan. It is not long before he hears the sounds around the campfire and begins to smell the beginnings of stew. Still, Golthwur waits. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into hours. Hours turn into, well, a very long time. Eventually, the men come and begin to tear down the wagon for the night and Golthwur realizes that he must take drastic measures.
He casts prestidigitation to change the color of his clothing and to give himself a shave.
A balding, elderly, and clean-shaved man, wearing oddly colored robes approaches the campfire, carrying a backpack nearly too heavy for him to lift. "Greetings, Common folk!" he says. "My name is Gol...Gol..Gol..." the man seems to stutter for a moment, then quickly says, "...den... heim. Yes, that is it. Golgolgoldenheim, the... *ahem*... excuse me. So... mundane"
"Yes! My name is Golgolgoldenheim Somundane!" the man repeats. "Mind if I, a completely common and ordinary merchant, join you for some stew?"
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Nuethro tosses some meat and what few vegetables they have into the pot. After it has simmered for some time, he gets some bowls and fills them. Taking a couple of bowls back to the wagon, he pulls the curtain back and hands the bowls off to those inside. While doing so, he whispers. "Don't eat this. Might be poisoned."
He then returns back to the camp and picks up one of the bowls he filled and pretends to eat it.
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Stonelance running out of chores to do as camp is quickly broken down decides to join Nuethro at the fire and grabs a bowl for himself.
"Googal..goldenham? That is quite a name, your mother must of had some time on her hand. I am not sure would have forgiven my mother in she laid that burden on me."
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As she sees her companions growing more comfortable... or at least appearing to be comfortable... Blossym finally emerges from the darkness and prances into the camp. "Sorry boys, but had to use the little elf's woodland facilities and freshen up." She gives a quick nod to the merchants and plops down beside them. With one hand tickling the guard of her rapier, she begins to babble on about the country side until the appearance of an aged man with a new clean shaven look. "Hello there! Welcome to our camp, please have a seat and partake in this delicious stew that my boys are making for us. I suspect it is quite tasty but the spices may be a bit much for your liking!"
"Googal..goldenham? That is quite a name, your mother must of had some time on her hand. I am not sure would have forgiven my mother in she laid that burden on me."
"Oh, no! I wouldn't fault my mother.
My father, however, there was no pleasing him. Why, he wouldn't ever say he was proud of me even if I were to have become say... *ahem*...a great Wizard of Wonders or a Mage of Myth.". The old man suddenly turns quiet. His face seems to drain as he stares deeply into his freshly poured bowl of stew.|
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"This is moving awfully slow...maybe it's time to start the show!"
Mei looks around at everyone gathered around the campfire,
She flies into a controlled rage and throws down her bowl of stew.
Counting on her guiding spirit's advice to help her do it right
"Really? All of you just sit here while precious cargo sits unguarded!"
She stomps to the caravan She rifles through the caravan taking enough time to make sure her fatigue is over, retrieves the scepter, and stomps back to the campsite. Once again flying into a controlled rage
She waves the scepter at her party members "You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"
She waves the scepter in the direction of the fake merchants, "Why, if these fine gentlemen were anything than the respectable salesmen they are...we'd be in big trouble!"
She swings the scepter back away from the other men in an attempt to make them feel that their goal was just within their reach. And moves to storm back to the caravan.
"I guess that I will have to do it all by myself!"
The four men look on as the bloodrager looses her cool. They look to the scepter she presents and waves around. Jogen raies an eyebrow in confusion and then he takes a big spoon full of the stew and gulps it down with satisfaction. "That's a waste." he says looking to smashed bowl and the stew contents. He goes back to eating again while the other three men start to eat as well.
The dinner does by without any actions Jogen mentions a few different transactions he has had in the past then he asks "Do any of you know Zamir by chance? We are looking to do some..." Jogen thinks for a moment and then continues "...Business. The four of us need to meet with him face to face."
The four men look on as the bloodrager looses her cool. They look to the scepter she presents and waves around. Jogen raies an eyebrow in confusion and then he takes a big spoon full of the stew and gulps it down with satisfaction. "That's a waste." he says looking to smashed bowl and the stew contents. He goes back to eating again while the other three men start to eat as well.
The clean-shaven, elderly man puts down his bowl of soup, having apparently lost his appetite following the earlier discussion.
The dinner does by without any actions Jogen mentions a few different transactions he has had in the past then he asks "Do any of you know Zamir by chance? We are looking to do some..." Jogen thinks for a moment and then continues "...Business. The four of us need to meet with him face to face."
With the mention of Zamir, the old man's ears perk up. "I have heard of this Zamir of whom you speak. There are rumors that he may be a weretiger or some manner of native outsi... *ahem*... monster of some sort." The old man holds up his hands and curls his fingers inward in an effort to resemble some sort of animalistic claws. "Whatever manner of creature he is, the rumors are that he has angered the Thakur. If that is the case, there must be a considerable bounty on his head. One need neither be an Authority of Augury nor Promoter of Premonition to ascertain that such a man will soon be brought to justice by the authorities." Seemingly proud of himself, the old man chokes back a smile, before adding, "That is, if he is not first captured by a band of bounty hunters."
Jogen and his men perk up at the mention of Thakur. "Ah.. yes.. We too have heard this. It is ill advised to cross the Thakur or you will have some of his men show up and haul you off." Jogen seems to be speaking from experience.
"Why, I wouldn't be surprised if such a group of men were on the trail of Zamir even as we speak! Such, capable men likely would search tirelessly, stopping for nothing save a few moments rest and perhaps a bowl of stew." says the old man. Could we have men in such pursuit among us? Could these not be the ambushers of Zamir, but instead men sent to capture the beast?
The man absent-mindedly strokes his non-present beard. That would explain why the blustering bluster of the wind-woman's words has yet to lead to any ambush.
"Well Gol-Gol whatever your name is if that is truely your name. You are right it would be no surprise at all. It seems that you have discovered our true intentions." Jogen drops the horribly-rendered false hood the Merchant. Looking to his fellows he continues. "We are with the Thakur and we are intent on capturing Zamir and bringing that bandit leader to the Thakur." Jogen stretches a little seeming from the heavy concentration of trying to lie, badly.
"Now," Jogen says with a bit of authority "we still welcome you to share camp with us this night, but if Zamir shows himself or any of his wannabe bandits. We 'suggest' you stay out of our way." he finishes his statement with a large, devilish smile.
Jagen pipes up to Golgolgoldenheim Somundane "Your man there knows how to season a stew. Very Good, never caught your name." Jagen directs the question at Nuethro.
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Mei dogs it back to the caravan, fatigued. She replaces the scepter to it's stored spot and waits, trying to look as though she has taken it upon herself to do guard duty
"Any time now...wait for it...wait for it..."
When no scuffle starts, she rolls her eyes and folds her arms, pouting.
"If that wasn't enough to get things going, then these must not be the bandits we are expecting."
She starts eating a days worth of trail rations in a huff, very upset she got screwed out of some nice hot stew.