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Ralph sees the haunt for what it is and stays grounded in reality, repeating various rhymes to himself to keep his nerves calm.
Once the haunt fades away, Ralph turns to his friends and says,
"Rutillo Irrica was quite pissed.
He turned into a winged figure striking at me but missed.
Vegoran Thrune was the target of Rutillo's ire.
Thrune's demise is ghostly Rutillo's ultimate aspire!"
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The winged creature strikes at Rhymin' Ralph, but misses repeatedly. A mass of shadows swirl around the two, making it impossible to see past what is happening from the outside. The shadow disperses, and all that remains is Ralph. The painting on the wall is whole once again, and appears to not be moving, but still grants an eerie presence.
All Knowledges: 15
It is a history that is unfamiliar to you.
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The Foreigner approaches Tavetti Alfino and his minions, Bella and Jaym. He musters his most menacing whisper, "You will never prey on innocents again. Busking in the city, or shoveling s~!@ on the farm, I don't care. Earn an honest living, or I will hunt you down!"
The man coughs into his fist, trying to cover the embarrassing lack of bass in his voice. "Perhaps, em, my friends will help me hunt you down."
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Seeing what the Foreigner was trying to do, Ralph undertakes a similar tactic.
"You saw me trigger the haunt
Like it was a pleasant Sunday jaunt.
So from now on you'll earn an honest living,
If you don't we'll give you a fatal shivving!"
Ralph follows that up with giving Tavetti a psychotic halfling crazy eye!
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Your trip on horse back to Elidir is uneventful and quiet. Within short time you find yourselves back at the Short Sorcerer Tavern near the Druma Road Gate. The streets are quiet, save for a few carts wheeling fruit and produce to their destinations.
Inside the tavern the crowd appears to be a fair number of people engaging in drink and mid-day meals. There is some buzz going through the tavern; an elf from the seas, who enjoyed strong herbs too much, with a highly intelligent pet octopus and a party of adventurers against a devil and orc horde, but nothing of relevance to your current situation.
One of the waiters sees you enter, and swiftly waves you over to take you through the backways into the private room once again. There you find Venture Captain Brackett has been long working on several documents and scrolls that cluster the table.
He paces around the front of the temporary desk, eyes locked onto his parchment, "Good to see you've returned, though I didn't expect anything less." He finally stops scribbling and looks at you. "I hope you have something significant to report."
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"I see." The Venture Captain says, thoughtful expression on his face, he begins pacing around the table. "Vegoran Thrune was their liaison, often abusing his authority for personal gain. The story goes that the family tolerated his abuse for a year or so, only cause he was a distant cousin of the queen. Then one day he disappeared."
He takes a seat at the other end of the table. He sets his document down and looks up at you.
"May I see this painting you found?"
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You open the bag that contains the portrait, and gently place it onto the table, the captain moving some random parchments aside to allow it space to rest flat.
"This portrait... It's pretty badly damaged." Brackett says as he begins to cautiously remove the frame that contains the painting. Lifting the frame ever so gently, a note slips out and falls to the ground, gently flapping in front of the table.
"What was that? Can someone grab it?"
With the goblin army surrounding us, the fate of my line is in question. The family secret shall not die with us. I trust to more distant relations to take up the Irrica mantle and reconstruct the riddle held jointly by my mace; my grandfather’s signet ring; my niece Althea’s locket; and our family treasure, the Hellfire Rod. These four items I value above all of my holdings, for at our time of greatest need they together commanded our guardian angel— and a savage angel of vengeance she is. I named her once, long ago, but here I shall name her not. I bequeath the four items mentioned above to one of the Irrica line who can read the riddle. Avenge us.
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"It appears so. This is no light find; so the Irrica's were using a savage angel.. It's just possible they found the true name of a devil, and thus destroyed Vegoran Thrune. This is both a tremendous discovery, and yet deeply concerning. We will need to collect the heirlooms before they fall into the wrong hands."
The Venture Captain gets up from his seat and walks in front of you all. "I will begin using some resources to try to find these items at once. For now you may use the rooms in this tavern for rest. You have done well, Pathfinders!" He exclaims, as he beams a rare smile.
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Trying to stand tall, Zephy thumps her chest with a viney fist. "Yes! The roses of my home would be proud! Glad to serve....though I must say, the others have a lot to teach me yet."
Pondering their adventure, she frowns. 'Well...you drooled on yourself a little. Hopefully you'll do better on your next mission! Yes, I will do glorious battle and earn their respect!'
Realizing she'd spaced out, the leshy coughs quiet, before inquiring "So, uh...would you wish for us to continue this investigation for you? I mean, we did find this clue. It would only be fair..."
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Krieger rises when the venture-captain concludes the debriefing.
"Cap'n Brackett, do you know of someone here skilled enough to restore the portrait of Asmodea Irrica? In its current state, it seems capable of uttering nothing more than the identity of its subject. Were it mended, it might be able to provide additional clues."
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Realizing she'd spaced out, the leshy coughs quiet, before inquiring "So, uh...would you wish for us to continue this investigation for you? I mean, we did find this clue. It would only be fair..."
The Venture Captain lets out a chuckle. "Of course, what Pathfinder would just end the investigation when we have a live lead like this? I will return to you when I reach out to my resources with the clues you gave me. Hopefully they can shed more light on our puzzle."
"For the time being, what Ralph said is fine. Go ahead and enjoy yourselves."
"Cap'n Brackett, do you know of someone here skilled enough to restore the portrait of Asmodea Irrica? In its current state, it seems capable of uttering nothing more than the identity of its subject. Were it mended, it might be able to provide additional clues."
"Possibly. That's some heavy damage on this, and may take the services of a capable spellcaster." The Venture Captain then places a firm hand on Mishka's shoulder. "But we will get her talking again, even if we need to send it to Absalom and back. I'm looking forward to what she has to say as much as you are."
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After a few days of rest, there is a gentle knock on the door to your room. One of the staff members of the Short Sorcerer Tavern presents you with a letter, and takes off before giving any explanation.
Pathfinders,
We have a potential lead for the trail of the Scorchfeather Tribe. From your descriptions of what you found in the estate, it is likely that the Hellfire Rod is still in their possession. I have bought passage for you with a caravan traveling through the eastern Chitterwood toward Citadel Dinyar.
The caravan is partly owned by Delara Adnen, a potential ally, so behave yourself on the trip. They will be leaving tomorrow, so gather what supplies you may need today. The Scorchfeathers roam far, so be prepared to spend some time tracking down their current location.
My apologies I will not be able to attend this expedition with you, but I found a means to get the portrait restored, and will be gone for the next few weeks. Be cautious with the goblins, as we don't know yet what the Hellfire Rod is capable of.
Best of Luck!
Venture-Captain Brackett
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Mishka Krieger peruses the venture-captain's note. Looks like we'll face the goblins of the Scorchfeather Tribe after all. I've never been to Citadel Dinyar; I wonder what it's like. Tracking, eh? I'm no hunter, but I've some skill, if it's needed.
Krieger leaves the Short Sorcerer Tavern, taking a twilight stroll. Can't hurt to ask around about Delara Adnen, Citadel Dinyar, and the Scorchfeather Goblins.
He spies a young widow walking her shi tzu, enjoying the cool air after an unseasonably warm day. He offers the lady a smile and stoops to pet her dog. "Good evening, ma'am. Please, allow me to escort you safely home."
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The lady eyes Mishka up and down, several times, and gives a smile. She takes the tall Mishka off the streets to a more quiet place...
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... Somewhere nearby, a wizard, a sorcerer, a bard and an arcanist are at a table. They are enjoying drinks and a card game about adventuring. The wizard begins his turn, full of excitement.
"Mogmurch is going to travel to the Warehouse and explore." The wizard draws the top card of the location deck, and finds a Yellow Jelly encounter card. "It's alright, I have the immolate card. Now Mogmurch can blow that jelly straight to Infernus!" The wizard rolls his dice.
And the wizard does just that. His Mogmurch card does not get to keep the immolate spell, and thus he discards it into his discard pile. The wizard then rolls an additional 1d4 as acid damage that Mogmurch is inflicted for defeating the Yellow Jelly.
Mogmurch then takes 3 acid damage, to which the Wizard places his armor card to the bottom of the deck, thus the acid damage is reduced to 1.
The casters all laugh and have a merry time as they continue their card game...
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... Mishka eventually returns to the Short Sorcerer Tavern with his collar unfixed and a very satisfied expression stretched onto his face. The time clearly lost to him, as he meets his companions.
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The Chitterwood stretches more than 100 miles from east to west and nearly as far north to south. However much of the forest was deliberately burned by Isger troops in the Goblinblood Wars to deny their enemies a refuge.
Since the burning, the Chitterwood has begun to regrow in places. Thick underbrush, bare ground, and open trails under quick-growing evergreens can all be found during a few minutes’ walk.
The deepest reaches of Chitterwood were never burned, nor were the numerous underground warrens. Goblinoids have been rapidly reproducing since the end of the Goblinblood Wars and have recently begun roaming farther afield.
Most trade in Isger is via the Conerica River and its tributaries. Isger’s undersized army focuses on securing the river trade, and consequently much of the hinterlands is easy prey for bandits.
The few overland trade routes in use are normally traveled by heavily guarded caravans. One such route passes through the eastern Chitterwood from Umok to the Hellknight fortress of Citadel Dinyar. Hellknights often accompany such caravans as it is also the quickest route for them to central Isger and the capital of Elidir.
Among the known threats in the Chitterwood is a tribe of goblins known as the Scorchfeathers. While the Scorchfeathers were a feared band of ravagers during the Goblinblood Wars, their hobgoblin commanders were all killed in the final months of the war and the Scorchfeathers are now a force of undirected and unpredictable mayhem.
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Entering the Short Sorcerer Tavern, Krieger ignores Rhymin' Ralph's invitation to reveal all his evening's activities, but he does adjust his collar and run his hand through his hair.
He clears his throat, "I've been thinking about Brackett's note."
"The Chitterwood stretches more than 100 miles from east to west and nearly as far north to south. Much of the forest was deliberately burned by Isger troops in the Goblinblood Wars to deny their enemies a refuge."
"I've also been, em, speaking to some of the locals."
Grabbing a piece of charred wood from the fire in the hearth, Krieger sketches a rough map on the surface of the wooden table. "Most trade in Isger is via the Conerica River and its tributaries. Isger’s undersized army focuses on securing the river trade, and consequently much of the hinterlands is easy prey for bandits."
"The few overland trade routes in use are normally traveled by heavily guarded caravans." He points at a long, jagged line, "One such route passes through the eastern Chitterwood from Umok to the Hellknight fortress of Citadel Dinyar. Hellknights often accompany such caravans, because it's also the quickest route for them to central Isger and the capital of Elidir."
Krieger reminds his companions of the dead crow they found in the office of Rutillo Irrica. "Among the known threats in the Chitterwood is a tribe of goblins known as the Scorchfeathers. While the Scorchfeathers were a feared band of ravagers during the Goblinblood Wars, their hobgoblin commanders were all killed in the final months of the war. The Scorchfeathers are now a force of undirected and unpredictable mayhem."
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Krieger suggests, "Delara Adnen will likely have decent intelligence on goblin activity that threatens her caravan. We can speak to her and her people. If we encounter nothing along our route, we can make inquiries with the Hellknights at Citadel Dinyar."
"I've no other preparations to make. I'll be ready to depart by dawn."
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Eyeing the Kellid with a scoul, she whispers to the captain "It seems whenever that one disappears I feel a bit dirty...is this normal for the meat-sacks?"
Shaking her head as the man talks, Zephy wanders over to a potted flower and begins buzzing and swishing her vines about, slowly. The display takes far longer than one would think is necessary, resembling a kind of dance...or a tree blowing in the wind. Finally, she makes her way back to the group.
"Well, it seems the rhododendron agrees with your assessment." she announces. Turning towards Captain Chlorophyll, "I am surprised you'd wish to destroy the forest...what would your perennials think? Would it not be better to simply ask the trees if they've seen our opponents?"
The mere mention of cutting down a vast forest causes the leshy to tremble. "As long as we all agree that's not required, I'm ready to go at first light."
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It was late on Wealday — or early on an Oathday — I wasn’t looking at the clock. All I knew was that it was dark, and had we been back in Hermea, we’d have been back in bed. But lives and work in Hermea run on an orderly schedule that has been preset so that we can all be our best, and I’d been discovering that the outside world does not work like that.
People in taverns have a tendacy to talk until the wee hours with no regard for how late they stay up, or how early they have to work in the morning. They drink poisons that mess up their senses, and go back for seconds. They tell stories to each other that no one believes and they enjoy doing it. Most interesting is the randomness of their mating patterns — there’s no dragon setting the right genetic crosses, or helping the right people get together. They’re just doing it blindly, and often through a veneer of booze, and they expect it all to go right.
I’d say something sarcastic about it, but I find that I can’t. There’s something almost awe-inspiring about the way how these people just leap blindly into things. Is it stupid? Sometimes. Is it brave? Yeah, I think it is. Still... The more I watch them, the more I become convinced of the fact of divine intervention just keeping all these idiots alive and functioning.
Speaking of that... We’ve got another mission, one that’s making our leafy companions nervous. Still, the chitterwood sounds dark and interesting, and there’ll be trees to climb, and doubtless more interesting non-Hermean interactions to process...
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Dr. Splash sat in the tavern, moping as they drank their water. Although the new mission was interesting, their mind was on other things when Chitterwood was mentioned, and they were feeling lost. When Mishka came back all tousled, there was disbelief on Splash’s face — and irritation.
What? Another random pairing? Doesn’t he have a Dragon to look after him, and help him make more suitable choices? What does he see in those women? He didn’t even really get a chance to look at their geneologies yet, to screen for potential problems.
Dr. Splash was feeling an unfamiliar ache and longing. People in the bar all around them were pairing up, arranging temporary matings, joining and exploring and... What would that be like? Splash had always known that someday they would get a mate. Mengkare found their genetics interesting, and had selected them as an envoy. Mating was inevitable and expected — how else would the next generation of special experiments be born? Still... that was years away.
When Mishka came back, Splash could not help asking him in a baffled and slightly disgruntled tone, “How can you check the genetic qualifications of your potential partners so quickly? You don’t have a dragon to do it for you... How do you pick them?”
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Wertlos sits at a low table, silent and brooding. Devils and Thrune agents and betrayal. I thought I had left Cheliax behind me for good. Now we're to go through bandit country into the goblins' turf, blindly searching in hostile territory? How can they all seem so cavalier about this? He finishes his wine and orders another, while Zahnlos peacefully snoozes at his feet.
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Krieger raises his eyebrows at the elf's blunt question. "The ancient Numerian numerologist Nienimmernirgendwo wrote: 'The answer is always in the numbers. Carefully consider and follow their figures, and never force your will upon them.'"
He smiles, recalling a recent figure.
"That's what I do, rounding up and down, as needed."
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The day passes and a new one begins. You all pack your essentials and move out in the morning, heading down the roads until you are on the outskirts of Elidir, and you find the caravan in short time.
The crew sits around a cookfire that crackles with dead tree logs, giving a sweet scented flavor to the air. A man on the far end of the flames wearing a white plain shirt and leather clothing looks up from the morning breakfast of sausage and egg skillet, and nods in acknowledgement.
"Greetings, you must be the crew we were told about. I am the Caravan Master, Jarkan. Our guard for this trip," he turns towards a man in thick black plated armor, covering his entire body and the only visible part of him his scarred face, "Is the Hellknight of the Godclaw, Gallion Land. Along with him are two initiate hellknights."
Gallion looks up at you all, and gives a firm nod, before eyes returning to the skillet mess kit. Jarkan continues, "I understand we are to drop you off in the Chitterwood near Citadel Dinyar. You may as well get yourselves situated in the caravan, because we will head out once the skillet is done."
The caravan consists of several horse drawn wagons and carts that have canvas covers to protect from the elements. The last of supplies are tied down to their escorting vehicles and securely tied to not dislodge during the trip. There are some spaces you can find seating across the several vehicles.
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Not exactly exhibiting wisdom, the foolish halfling bard walks up to the hellknight and with a smile, says,
"Hello there mister Land!
People say hellknight personalities are fun as sand.
But I heard a rumor from a very convincing charmer,
That hellknights are nekkid under all that armor!
Can you confirm this to be true?
If it is, I'll share with you some of my brew!
And Mishka there with his unique desires may get excited and yell 'Yahoo!!'"
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Dr. Splash's eyes suddenly light up at Mishka's explanation. "Of course! The waitress is good at math! I saw how fast she toted up figures! You're selecting for computational prowess -- an odd selection choice, but an interesting one. Mathematical literacy is important in the running of well-maintained societies, and essential to long term planning!"
It pleased them to hear Mishka express such a comprehensible criteria, even if it seemed a bit one-dimensional. Still, not everyone had the genealogical resources of a dragon to guide their choices.
"Oh! I know what I can do! I can assist you in finding mathematically inclined individuals. My own computational facilities are excellent, so I'm certain that I can judge some excellent candidates for you!"
Dr. Splash introduces themself to Gallion Land and the Hellknight Initiates. "How wonderful to travel with associates who are beacons of law! I am Dr. Splash," they say. "May I know what to call all of you?" Then they smile pleasantly as they casually ask, "Also... What are your feelings on mathematics? Do any of you enjoy calculus or statistical analyses?"
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On the Good Doctor's shoulder, the Amazing Urchin gives himself a dope slap.
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The Hellknight, Gallion Land, looks up from the bubbling skillet to look at each of you.
First at Rhymin' Ralph...
"The armor is more of a compliment to what I have achieved. Every Hellknight that wishes to ascend rank must defeat a devil, in full view of his battalion and Lichters. The armor is a sign that I have done just that, and covers many battle scars that would make you quiver, little Halfling."
He is hungry.
He then turns his gaze to the Doctor...
"Mathematics? I have not practiced any of that since I was an initiate, and right now I would rather not think of such things before I have even had a meal."
With that he reaches forward and pulls the skillet off the fire, taking a scoopful of egg and sausage for himself then placing the skillet on a upturned chopped log. The initiates begin having a scoop full themselves. As he scoops a spoonful of breakfast into his mouth and chews, the Hellknight continues the conversation.
"Personally, the mathematics I prefer is economic structuring and financial stimulatory growth over a period affected by the conditions of war and housing, as a specialty. Calculus is a thing, but it doesn't help decide where assets are to go for the development of land or where to expect potential growth on an industrial scale. If the developing area is near a warzone but has mineral deposits, such as silver or gold, then utilizing the correct number of Hellknights to be dispatched to patrol the site."
He looks at the Doctor without blinking.
"Does that satisfy your question?"
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Listening to them discuss the mathematics, Zephy wanders over to a nearby spring and quickly takes a bath, before returning. "Captain, I fear I may never look at numbers the same way again." she whispers to her fellow.
Blinking blankly as the hellknight drones on a few flowers suddenly bloom into pear-shaped fruits. Absentmindedly, the leshy snags one and gnaws on it.
Shaking her head, she snaps back to reality. "Uh...so...you lot are guiding us to our foes territory then? Uh, how do you like being a hellknight? Are you all of flesh and bone? Or have you some other among your order?"
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"You must be hungry. Enjoy your breakfast, Hellknight. I apologize for disturbing your meal."
He kneels down next to the fire, adjusting the scabbard of his greatsword.
"My name is Mishka Krieger. We'll be ready, if the caravan encounters any trouble. Are the Scorchfeather goblins known to prey on caravans passing through the Chitterwood?"