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Venture-Captain Alissa Moldreserva, a fiery red-headed woman who climbed from the depths of Galtan revolution to become one of the Society’s finest (and most well-connected) venture captains, stands in the great meeting hall of the Grand Lodge in Absalom. She stares down her hawkish nose and sighs.
“I ask for the best and they send me you. Lucky me. The Society’s best contact in Osirion, Grand Ambassador Dremdhet Salhar, informed me this morning that his lovely Chelish wife, the Lady Anilah Salhar, was kidnapped and sold into slavery."
“Normally, I wouldn’t care a bulette’s eyeball about who was or was not enslaved in Absalom, but Salhar is the Society’s best avenue for acquiring all of the necessary official paperwork to make our frequent delves into the tombs of Osirion cheap and legal. This is a relationship we want to preserve and since the Ambassador made it clear that our status is in jeopardy, I’ve been instructed to send our best agents to find her and return her safely to Salhar."
“I guess you’ll do." she sighs.
“Salhar hasn’t sat idle since his wife was taken—his own agents are prowling the streets and dug up one possible lead. A one-eyed Andoren, a grit junky named Fredrik, is known for selling or helping to sell nobility into foreign markets that desire house slaves. Being enormously illegal, this trade makes Fredrik a fair bit of coin that Salhar’s agents assure me all go straight into the pockets of the Second Chance, a grit den dockside in Puddles. That’s all I have to get you started. Go quickly. The fate of our Osirian exploits is in your hands.”
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Shaking the half orc's hand with his tiny hands, the pink haired introduces himself. "Triblin Runlark's the name! Pleased to meet all of you! I hope to have the Sun's blessing on this job, as we may need it from the sounds of things, though if we encounter the living impaired, I may be a bit hard pressed to harm them. Ya see, I originally cam on as a pacifist, but circumstances have drawn me to violence, which I do hate."
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A slim, athletically-built young woman shrugs and heads off towards the Second Chance. "Bloody rude, wasn't she? Seems odd that an ambassador's wife would be taken as a slave, did she not have any bodyguards?"
Once the introductions start, she turns back and nods. "Well met, Quistina, Triblin. You can call me Talia. I trust you have no love lost for these kidnapping monsters?"
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Dimly lit by cheap oil lamps sputtering on walls punctuated by painted-over windows, the Second Chance reeks of unwashed humanity and pungent ash. Threads of sickly sweet smoke drift like smog from tin hookahs. Ale kegs lurk in each corner, and cheap clay mugs hang from nails on the walls.
Within, the place is in chaos as a wild fight is in progress.
Though interestingly enough, no obvious weapons are in hand. Apart from one hand standing by the bar with a bloody scimitar in one fist (black border) and blocking a door to the rear. A bloody body lies at his feet.
At the back of the room is a body dumped in the corner, no major wounds evident on it.
Weapons are not allowed to be drawn in here, or the owner steps in. Just about everything else if fair game.
The owner stands next to the bar with a scimitar drawn and a body at his feet.
A man stands cornered on a table, three others trying to pull him down...
The man on the table has one eye...
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Quizzically looks down at the Gnome's offered hand and then accepts it. "Perhaps we will discuss further when we have time."
Quistina looks to Talia, "Aye, it's amazing how monstrous humans can be to each other." She adds more to herself, "Or Orcs for that matter."
"It looks like we arrived." A hand draws closer to a belt pouch as she steps into the bar.
Glancing over the scene, "Oy, shall we get the authorities for you?" A smile begins to creep on her face, "Or take you in ourselves for murder?"
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The bar is in chaos, with fists, feet and the occasional mug or chair flying.
Is Quistina talking to anyone in particular? The bar is about thirty feet away from the door, and the riot in progress makes talking difficult.
@Tribin, you'd need to walk through the middle of the barfight to look at the body. And which body are you looking at, there are two.
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A young, pretty Taldan woman with chestnut-brown hair tied up in a ponytail, attired in earth-toned clothes fit for an explorer and armed with a shortbow and a longsword meets them outside the Second Chance. "Alissa sent me on ahead," she says as she approaches the Pathfinders. "I'm Lara Evangeline Ellicott-Tillingsworth; call me Lara."
As the party enters the Second Chance, Lara's eyebrows widen at the chaos. "Hope you guys like a fist fight; draw a weapon and the owner's known for coming down on you like a pile of bricks," she remarks, just loudly enough for the party to hear her over the commotion. She wades into the fray after the others, ducking flying fists and mugs.
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Quinn is a middle-aged genteel looking dark-skinned Galtan, with his short-cropped hair prematurely turning white. He is sensibly dressed in leather robes covering his studded leather armor, and his many pouches and bandoliers hold various tools and implements on his body.
As he listened to Alissa's briefing, he becomes clearly disturbed. Slavery. An abhorrent practice!
On the way to Second Chance, Quinn keeps largely quiet as he ponders on how best to dismantle the slavers. He does pipe up, however, when his party mates introduce themselves. "The name is Quinn. Quinn Tingali. It's an honor to be in collaboration with you on this most worthy mission. Now, let's see what we can do to take down the slavers."
With that, Quinn follows his team into the tavern, barely turning up his nose as the stench hit him.
Taking in the scene with a quick glance around, Quinn affirms Lara's words. "Yes, do not draw your weapons here. This might be no more than a common barroom brawl. But then again, perhaps not. Take care of the cornered man on the table. He is likely our quarry, Fredrik. I'll see if the tavern owner is amenable to some chit-chat."
With that, Quinn carefully circles around the brawl, towards the man wielding the scimitar. As he approaches, he eyes the scimitar with caution, but clearly keeps his hands away from his weapons. "Good sir! I trust you are the owner of this rowdy joint. My name is Quinn. Pray tell, what has led to this most uproarious fracas?" While there, Quinn also takes a quick glance at the bloody body at this feet, trying to see if he is still alive or not.
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As Drusillia enters with rapier drawn, the man at the bar whistles. A huge slavering dog at the back of the bar stands and lopes towards her.
While many of the people in the bar continue to beat on each other, the arrival of the pathfinders has provided a new set of targets for a number of the folk, and those near Dru seem happy enough to use chairs and table legs to off set her martial advantage...
Ignaru lays one of the men out, while Talia misses with her tossed glass.
Slobber (the dog) attacks Drsillia
And narrowly avoids knocking her to the ground.
The junkie in green tries to hit Ignaru
The red one, a stain on his trousers, tries to show he is not scared by also attacking Dru - with a chair leg
The owner advances across the floor, "Drop the damn sword. NOW"
Status, bold may post
Talia
Drusilla damage
Ignaru
Quinn
Lara
Triblin
Quistina
Thugs red
Thug green
Bar owner
Slobber
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Although he did not notice the man at the Centre of attention having only one eye, from the reaction of his party mates, Quinn figures he is their quarry.
"Tsk, tsk, I did warn them about drawing weapons. Goes against all barroom brawl tradition to draw weapons." Quinn mutters under his breath. His attempts at conversation with the owner rebuffed as his attention is drawn to Drusilla, Quinn instead takes the opportunity to give the bloody body at his feet a good look, wondering why the owner might have been standing over it.
With the owner out of the way, Quinn moves behind the bar and opens the door to take a quick look outside.
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Quinn looks behind the back of the bar. The place is a dump. Looks like there is no paid trash removal, so the barkeep relies on rats and seagulls for the job.
Talia moves into a flanking position.
Status, bold may post : Dim light, 20% miss chance for normal sited folk.
Drusilla 6 damage
Ignaru
Lara
Triblin
Quistina
Thugs red
Thug green
Bar owner
Slobber
Talia
Quinn
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Moving between one of the disgruntled men and the dog, the small gnome looks about before activating one of his spring loaded wrist sheathe, popping out a wand that looks somewhat green colored. "I really do hope that we can all get along, otherwise I might have to join the fray!" Tapping Drusilla with the wand Triblin gets ready for the attacks.
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Dru immediately regretted not listening to her companions when entering the bar. The bite from the dog which looked huge to her was painful indeed. The healing touch of the gnome's wand came not a moment too soon.
She hurriedly sheathes her rapier and shouts "Call off this mangy mutt!". she backs away from the dog and puts up her fists waiting for another attack.
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The barman whistles and the dog backs carefully away. The other thugs are left in unconscious heaps scattered around the room. Elsewhere a few fights are still running their course but it seems your presence may be calming things... a little.
The one eyed man slips down from the table and makes a break for the door, but is easily apprehended.
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Ignaru places everyone he fought in the recovery position.
He then shifts is attention back on the one eyed fellow.
"We still need to talk, get off table"
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Dru quickly approaches the bar owner and gives him a big smile. "I hope you realize I meant no disrespect to you or your establishment. I never swung my rapier. From the way you hold that scimitar, I believe you will understand when I say that in a moment of crisis my rapier is in hand before I can even think. Again, apologies."
"Is there anything more you can tell us about Fredrik's business? We have no interest in your involvement. But we need to know whom he sells nobles to."
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"That be is business... not mine. Suggest you be asking him questions you want him to be answering, not other folk." says the gruff barman.
Two other patrons grab the body at his feet and heave it out the back door.
The one eyed man is easily cowed by Ignaru. "Talk..yeah... I can talk if you have the cash.." his one eye is quite glazed over, probably still high on grit.
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"So you sell people into slavery, then expect to get paid for info on their whereabouts? Bloody Hells, you've got nerve." Talia gestures at the fallen thugs. "Tell you what, let's just wake up your friends instead. We can all go into the alley and see how happy they are with you when they have knives out." Talia then points at Ignaru. "Now, you saw what my friend can do, and that was pulling his punches. So let's get what we came for, or we can start getting mean."