If you want to introduce yourselves.
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Pan walks in with a practiced grace and stride. He has obviously been raised in the lap of luxury, and by the looks of it, he was raised in Tian Xia. His robes are long and don't hide a level of opulence that is indicative of nobility. Despite his clothing, his skin tone, hair, and eyes are all out of place in the attire. Light brown hair is well kept, his eyes a shade lighter than brown, almost an amber hue, but his skin indicates him to be Taldan. "Ah, lovely, more members of the Pathfinder Society who are not likely to be a part of the noble caste. I suppose I will have to deal with it, but please bare in mind that I do not wish to get my hands dirty."
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Already in the room a gaunt but well muscled man watches Pangu with the same wariness you'd find if you were assessing a stranger in the wilds - 'friend or foe' is all conveyed in the look.
His clothing is that of the desert, and he leans a large curved two handed sword against one shoulder, its scabbarded tip between his seated legs.
He inclines his head to him but says nothing.
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A giant Garundi man, well over 6 ft tall, enters the room. He wears yellow flowing clothes, that are well suited for the desert He carries a staff in his right hand, while carrying a rucksack in his left. He just overhears Pan's comment on nobility and smiles.
"Are you so uncertain about your worthiness that you need to flaunt your heritage? My name is Kintampo."
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A pale-skinned man with shoulder-length, sandy blonde hair wearing a simple pickpocket's outfit arrives. He has curiously large ears and pupils so large that his eyes appear to be black. At first glance, he appears to be human, perhaps Ulfen. However, upon closer inspection, it seems he may be an aasimar. He bears no weapons and wears no armor.
He glances about and gives Pangu, Maherpa and Kintampo a sweeping bow. "Greetings! I am Motaz. I grew up here in Osirion. I thought perhaps you might be needing the services of a native trapspringer and lookout. I have a little skill with spells, as well."
An odd sight enters the Pathfinder lodge, bringing with it a breath of heat and the smell of sand and dust. Standing before you is a 6'1 efreeti, his eyes sunken and glowing red. About his neck is a collar, upon which is branded a single rune in Ignan. The efreeti exudes defeat and despair, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed.
"My master, Mareck Bolthune, **sigh** the Rejected, the Scorned, the Avenger of all Iniquities **small shake of the head**, Ambassador Percipient to Golarion from the City of Brass, humbly **eyeroll** offers his assistance in this historic endeavor. He declares his intention to seek out the storied wonders of the Jeweled Sages and accomplish the mission that the Great Amenopheus sets before this august group of adventurers."
He bows low and with a sweep of his arm, gestures to the door, which opens again.
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Staying on his knees, keeping his head bowed, and his arms outstretched before him on the floor, Motaz replies, "I too, am free, and the descendant of a goddess, I am told. Nonetheless, my back has felt the fire of the lash too often. The Blood expect their due, whether they have earned it or not, and are quick to punish free men and thralls alike."
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Following the efreeti in the door, timed with the outsider's introduction perfectly, is a man with fiery red hair, an engaging smile, and a confident stride. Well-dressed in a Keleshite (?) courtier's on-the-road outfit and cloak, he snaps his fingers imperiously at the efreeti.
"Begone, Dung-Faced Thrall! You have overdone your duty. Less of the 'Master this' and 'Master that'. How dare you see yourself in me, Killer of Childhood! Return to your abode until you are needed again! You embarrass me!"
The man holds out a simple oil lamp towards the efreeti and shakes it once. The efreeti bows his head again, grimaces, and dissolves into smoke which quickly is sucked into the lamp's mouth.
"Rise, fellow and worthy Pathfinders. I am no efreeti whipmaster of the Inner Ring to chastise you for standing as men are born to stand. Truly, why would I even qualify as such? I am but a humble traveler to your plane."
He gestures kindly to Motaz and smiles at the (he notes) still-standing Maherpa.
"I am Mareck Bolthune and I would accompany you on this great mission. You will find me a willing and eager partner in this task, able to bring a few small sorceries to bear in our quest, should the need demand it. If the occasion warrants, I can also summon my thrall to our aid, though I hold him in little esteem and would not recommend speaking to him at length, as his intellect has fallen from a great height and made him an even less suitable conversation partner than he may have once been."
The man smiles a winning smile of perfectly aligned teeth and begins engaging the room in small talk, approaching the Taldan man in Tian Xia clothing first.
"Ah, greetings. A man of discerning tastes, I see. I hope I can look forward to good conversation, wine and debate with you, good sheik. You seem a likely and able participant in such cultured matters."
"Though no doubt, our other worthy companions will have their own skilled inputs, as well," says Mareck, looking at Kintampo, Motaz and Maherpa, and bowing politely. "Sadly, it appears we shall be without the insights of the fairer sex on this expedition. How unfortunate. I find their perspectives enlightening on so many subjects."
"Kintampo, your yellow robes mark you out amongst us. Obviously, your forebears were birthed on the continent of Garund, but where do you hail from? Tell us your story, so that we may know you and learn."
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Motaz rises with a foolish grin on his face, impulsively clasping Mareck's arm in greeting. "Effendi, I, too, am a sorcerer, though I clearly do not control such awe-inspiring magicks as you. And I am told my mother was a visitor to this plane, as well, though apparently from a different place than you. May I ask, what manner of being are you? From where do you hail?"
Ever the opportunist, Motaz glances about this room in the lodge for free food. Spying some olives and dates, he grabs two handfuls, shoving one into a pocket and snacking from the other.
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"I'm sorry, sir, your name again was...?"
"What manner of being am I, you ask?" says Mareck. "Ah, sir, that is boring conversation. I am the scion of a weakling efreet lord of the City of Brass. My mother was a slave, claimed by the depraved pleasures of the inhabitants of House Shamir long before I was old enough to know her. But enough about me. A dull story of little import. However, your story sounds positively riveting."
Marek hones in on the man, his every features focused on Motaz's words.
"Did you not know your mother's good presence then, Motaz ibn Dakhil? It seems you have an air of the planes about you, perhaps Mt. Celestia? Have you always resided upon Golarion? Within Osirion?"
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"A thousand apologies, effendi. I am Motaz. I am told that I am the son of Sarkan, son of Umar of the Dakhil clan, who was a priest of Lythertida and a Pathfinder. My aunt, Issan, daughter of Umar, recognizes me as her nephew and the Dakhil clan accepts me as one of its own."
"In truth, however, I have never met either of my parents. If the stories are true, my father unwittingly set off a trap that separated him from his companions, trapping him in a tomb. Either he summoned a fennec agathion to his aid, or Lythertida send one to him. Either way, the agathion could not save my father. In the dark, airless tomb, she offered him what comfort she could. She granted his last request to give him a son, that he might survive in another manner."
"Some time thereafter, my aunt, who was a new acolyte in the service of Lythertida, received a vision of a babe in a graveyard. She followed it, and found me. She gave me to an orphanage and passed from my life for many decades."
"I grew up on the streets. My father and mother gifted me with great sight and hearing." Motaz pulls back his hair to reveal just how large his ears really are. "I learned the ways of a lookout, a lockpick, and a trapspringer."
"One day, a few years ago, fate brought my aunt and I together again. She caught me as I tried to pick her pocket. She recognized me for the aasimar foundling she had rescued from a graveyard many years before. Instead of sending me to the vizier for punishment, she brought me back to the temple and tried to teach me the ways of Lythertida."
"However, I am not one for book-learning, ceremonies, and songs. I was soon back out on the streets."
"I sometimes visited my aunt, though. And she used her magicks and her faith's resources to learn more about me and my origins. It was she who told me the story of my parents. She gave me my father's wayfinder, which had been recovered some time after his death. She named me for her nephew, and sponsored me into her clan."
"Alas, the years march much more quickly for mankind than it does for the spawn of outsiders. I was a young man when I met my aunt again, but she was a wizened crone. She died just two moons ago, after a long life of service to Lythertida. I am an orphan once more."
"Now, it is time for me to learn the truth of her tale, to take up my father's tomb-raiding and see if I can prevent others from suffering his fate. I hope to find my mother, if she lives, and ask her what happened that night in the ruins beneath the sands."
"I have been too long on the streets. Everyone I ever knew has passed from childhood into extreme age, while I remain young. Those with whom I spent my years in the orphanage and on the streets are all gone. I hope to find a more enduring family in the Pathfinder Society, and perhaps some aid in seeking my answers."
Motaz gaze has grown remote as he has told his tale. Suddenly, he snaps back to himself. "I apologize again, effendi. You surely did not want so long a tale, but it is only the second time I have told it since my aunt passed."
"What you need to know of me is that I am very good at getting into places that are sealed and for avoiding traps set against intruders. From my mother's line, I am able to call forth rays that harm, weaken, and stagger my foes, and rays that heal my allies. I can see in the darkness, and I can call forth a brilliant light."
"It is my humble honor to meet all of you. I hope you will find the talents of my ancestors to complement your own."
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"I am afraid I failed to answer your questions, effendi. I grew up in Sothis, but the Society has taken me the far lands of Varisia, Taldor, and Absalom. I am told my mother is from Nirvana, but I know little of these things. I hope to travel there some day and meet my mother and her mistress, Lythertida."
"It saddens me to learn that we are alike in that we both have grown up without our mothers. Nevertheless, I am glad to meet a fellow Pathfinder of unusual origins!"
"The City of Brass! What a place of wonders that must be! I am afraid you will find Osirion to be a dusty and dreary hovel in comparison! However, I welcome you to our poor land. I hope that you will enjoy your visit here."
There is still an eerie silence in the lodge, which is very unusual. Then you hear a knock on the door. A servant enters, "my apologies, but the venture captain takes longer than expected. Anyone would like any refreshments? Tea perhaps?"
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Kintampo puts down his pack and clears hit throat.
"I hail from the town 'Kintampo', it is located in Osirion near the Brazen Peaks, on a tributary to the river Asp. We grow figs and dates in town. My ancestors have ruled for countless generations, my father is Kintampo and I am destined to be the next Kintampo". Kintampo seems to gaze in the distance, not really seeing you. "it is customary for the Young Kintampo, as I am called at home, to travel before accepting more duties as the next ruler. While searching for a goal in my travels I met a Pathfinder, who convinced me of joining the Society. So here I am, this will be my first assignment for the Society."
Kintampo looks around the others and then smiles. "It is tradition for the Young Kintampo to wear yellow, just as it is tradition for the Kintampo to wear red."
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Motaz bows to Kintampo. "Effendi,we are most honored to be chosen as your companions for this assignment." Motaz fidgets nervously while the Pathfinders wait for the Venture-Captain to arrive with their mission. He has never met individuals from such high stations wonders why he, a mere guttersnipe, has been assigned to accompany them and who the others may be.
Motaz looks to Maherpa and Pan respectfully. "If this one may inquire, where are each of you from?"
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Motaz bows to Kintampo. "Effendi,we are most honored to be chosen as your companions for this assignment."
Kintampo returns the bow to Motaz "Isn't one of the edicts of the Society "Cooperate"? As field agents we are all equal, no-one of us should feel less or more" his eyes flick to the Taldan noble " than the others, no matter what previous life we left behind when we joined the Society. I am honored to join you in this assignment and will do my utmost to bring it to a successful ending."
Kintampo then turns to the door and says, clearly annoyed "I must say that my father thought me that it is rude to let the people that work for you wait. It feels as if our assignment is not important, although it helps that he let us know that he is delayed."
The servant bows a couple of times, "yes sirs, some beer, olives, please let me know if you wish for anything else. My apologies, but it seems that the venture captain is in an important meeting. Will take a bit longer as far as I was informed. Make yourselves comfortable, and let me know if you need anything else." with this the servant vanishes.
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Walking in quietly, her modest outfit cut very much in the fashion for a someone traveling the sands, a heavy pack on her back, but she seems not be willing to let it slow her down, despite the fact that she seems far too small for all that she carries. With a smile and a nods that is given to the others, she pulls out a small journal and begins jotting down notes. "Good evening...I guess I'm late. I only just received the summons, so I hope I am not too late."
As Oronia enters, you notice that the lodge seems more alive now, with people moving around. It can only be moments, until you finally hear, why you were summoned.
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"Oh, hello there. I am glad to see that I was not too late. I am Oronia!" The woman smiles, her brown hair pulled out of her face, her skin tanned from her travels from Andoran. It seems as if she has more name to give, but she decides to leave it at that. "I do hope we are going to get to research ruins, I am most interested in Ancient Osiriani culture!"
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"I have a little experience with that. I suspect, given our skills, that investigating tombs or other ruins will be part of our mission. Or perhaps the Venture-Captain wants a group with strong ties to the Osirion faction within the society. Or both."
"Perhaps if we discuss our skills further, we can deduce more. My skills lie in finding and disabling traps and in wielding magic in combat to attack individual foes. Although I used ranged magics, I can also stand on the front line to shield others from harm. What are your strengths?"
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"Oh, I am a student of history! I am told I'm very observant and I have found that I have a penchant for taking care of traps," she says all of this with a nod, as she pulls out a pair of glasses and puts them on the bridge of her nose, taking some time to adjust them, somehow. "I have many tools, as well! It never hurts to be prepared," she says as she opens a small bag on her hip and says something quietly, and the bag seems to open to be much deeper.
At this point a small bird, white breasted-brown bird with small spots all over the white portion lands on her shoulder and looks at Motax, "Oronia holds back. She is very good at speaking to people, as well."
Finally the door opens, and the venture captain enters.
Balentiir shutters of the windows in his second-story office overlooking the lodge’s tranquil gardens and seats himself behind his writing desk. He nods and introduces a thin, aging Garundi man in an ornately bejeweled and feathered turban. “This is Amenopheus, the Sapphire Sage. I trust most of you know of him already. If you don’t, know that he has served both the Ruby Prince and the Pathfinder Society for many years, uncovering vast troves of lore from Ancient Osirion and mentoring some of our finest agents. He recently approached my colleagues and me with a request for assistance, and the Society has agreed to step up and aid its ally. The arrangement is, in fact, rather mutually beneficial.” He nods to Amenopheus, signaling the elder man to speak.
“Faithful servants of the past, I bid you greetings,” the wizened sage says with a shallow bow. “Our esteemed ruler,
the Ruby Prince, recently released me from his service, which has freed me to learn more about a little-known organization to which I belong: the Jeweled Sages, protectors of Osirion’s history and chroniclers of its past glories. Quite by accident, I found myself initiated into this group, and have long believed myself to be its sole surviving member. Each sage in the group possesses a unique jewel—a priceless artifact that contains memories of Osirion’s golden age.” He pauses as if considering how to express his thoughts “For many years, I have sought news of any other members of the Jeweled Sages. My agents recently learned of the Diamond Sage, whom they traced to the city of Eto in the Osirian Desert. At the same time, I received word from a reliable source that several other jewels in the vicinity. I ask that you travel to Eto, negotiate with my contact in the city for his assistance, and then use what you learn to find the Diamond Sage and these lost jewels.”
Venture-Captain Balentiir frowns and adds, “This contact has tried to remain anonymous, but we suspect he is none other than Grandmaster Torch. If you’ve heard of him—or worse, met him—you may know trading favors is his signature. Regardless of Torch’s past treacheries, we need you to deal with him fairly for the information. There is a caravan leaving for Eto in a few hours, so don’t delay.”
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"How are we to trust a man who has so openly betrayed our organization? From the reports I have read where he is concerned, he pulled off one of the most elaborate con jobs in history...not that long ago..." She seems very concerned by this very concept, scribbling in a little journey as Amenopheus and Balentiir speak.
Hearing Oronia'S concerns he respond: “I assure that much of the Society don't like him; however, Torch has leverage that we would rather he not use against us. I hope it is obvious where we stand."
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"I fear I have entered this plane after the fame of the 'Grandmaster Torch'. The stories of his perfidy are perhaps now assumed and known well enough that they are no longer repeated frequently," says Mareq with a nod of his head to Oronia politely. "Oh most beautiful lady, perhaps you can regale me with stories of this Grandmaster Torch on our way to Eto. But do be generous with me, Mareq ibn Bolthune, your humble servant, by interspersing stories of your own life and living with those other, no doubt, less interesting stories."
With that, the fiery-haired courtier turns his attention back to the august personage of the Sapphire Sage. Before speaking, he bows low, but not so low as to debase himself.
"Amenopheus Bey, what other jewels should we look for? Clearly your contact is a man of subtle diplomacy and deep wile. If we were to know what jewels exist amongst your order, we would be less taken with the sly trickery this Torch worm may bring forward."
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Hearing Oronia'S concerns he respond: “I assure that much of the Society don't like him; however, Torch has leverage that we would rather he not use against us. I hope it is obvious where we stand."
If, perhaps, Balentiir is worried by Mareq's reference to Grandmaster Torch as a "worm" the ifrit raises a hand in calming.
"Worry not, Venture Captain. Even worms can be useful or difficult and I understand fully the Society's desire to not rouse the ire of this Grandmaster Torch. Sometimes the path of diplomacy requires one holds his nose while he speaks kindly to worms and thieves."
His eyes calming look from Balentiir to Amenopheus and back.
"What is your advice, you two worthies, to us on traveling to Eto? Are the trade routes clear and the skies fair? Or does the meltemi blow hot and furious? Do you counsel daring the desert directly to hide our presence from those watching the road?"
”In regards to the jewels, we only know they do exist and are seeking further knowledge. Your contact in Eto will know more. Look for him at the House of the White Uraeus, a fancy inn that caters to those in need of healing and rest.”
Venture-Captain Balentiir has arranged for you to travel to Eto as part of a trade caravan of heavily laden camels, and he pays for the cost of their travel. The journey overland is uneventful.
The immense rock walls that ring Eto rise from the horizon like a shimmering mirage that gradually sharpens into focus. The city sits inside an elevated crater with sheer, weathered sides broken only in two places by heavily guarded gates. Long lines of caravans wait in a meandering queue awaiting entrance as officials search their cargos for contraband and calculate taxes. Water sellers, food vendors, and guides march up and down the lines peddling their wares and services to the visitors. Beyond the gates, the main thoroughfares fan out around the various districts of the city before dwindling into the dozens of pathways that flow through the bazaar like the delta of the great River Sphinx.
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"Fellow Pathfinders, should we need to travel the open desert in the future, I have some small ability and can attempt to guide us. However, I am in truth a child of the streets and therefore no expert in the ways of the sands. It may be better for us to avoid the risk unless the need is dire."
Motaz looks excitedly about Eto. Although he has travelled some since becoming a Pathfinder, he has never before visited another city in Osirion. He inhales deeply, taking in the new smells.
"It is in places such as this that I am truly at home!" he says, with a wide smile across his face.
"Do we know where to find this contact of the Sapphire Sage? Or must we ferret him out?"
As you approach the gate, the caravan’s leader acknowledges that you are
guest travelers, which earns you your own private inspection. Their customs agent is Mahu, a bored Garundi man whose graying beard.
"Alright, I need to check what you bring into the city. Anything particular? Anything of concern?
So, where are you from and what brings you here? Have been to anything interesting?"