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Yangrit Foehammer arrives first. She greets Drendle Drang with curt, wary courtesy. She then stumps over to a spot along the wall where she can scan the whole room and stands there silently. She is clearly not a fan of small talk.
Yangrit is plain as dirt, an utterly unremarkable dwarven female. She looks to be middle aged, but the hard expression on her face may be aging her beyond her years. The knuckles of her hands are calloused. A dagger strapped to her belt at an inconvenient angle is the only weapon she carries.
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A man--a Halfling by blood--walks in out of the pouring rain. He removes his slick, outer cloak revealing his well-tailored, attire marking his status as a successful merchant.
"Good evening, Drang." the man says, as he greets the Venture-Captain with a tip of his hat. He then turns to greet the dwarf and the half-orc, giving each a similar greeting. "The name is Howirk. Howirk Crookfeather and I assume that I will be working with the two of you on whatever job the 'Beggar' has lined up for us this fine, beautiful day here in Absalom."
From his vantage below his hat, the Halfling catches a glimpse of Yangrit's hard expression and also the smattering of loose shavings that originated from Kirrote's fingernails. He makes a quick assessment of the two. "Hrm. Not the most talkative bunch, are you?" The businessman looks over towards the Venture-Captain. "But you each look like you could hit something pretty hard if you had to." The Halfling looks the two over again before giving a short, affirmative nod, as if confirming his earlier evaluation.
"Well, Drang, I guess its obvious why you thought it necessary to include services with this group." the Halfling remarks.
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Kirrote curls a lip in greeting at the newcomer and grunts. A fly lands on the table in front of him. With lightning reflexes he smashes the fly with a fist. The splattered guts of the fly stick to the bottom of his fist. He looks at the mess for a second then licks his hand clean.
After the barbarian finishes scraping the remains of the fly off his hand with his tongue, Howirk smiles at the half-orc. "I didn't realize that we had a gourmet among us." he says. Then he turns away from Kirrote to look at Yangrit. His wide-eyed expression holds both apprehension and disgust.
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Yangrit meets Howirk's eyes with a cool look, folding her chiseled arms across her chest and shifting her weight to her right leg. "Hm?"
I certainly didn't mean to offend the dwarf, thinks the Halfling. She must be more of a fan of fly tartare than I was led to believe. I'd like to think that I am usually a pretty good judge of people--indeed, its one of the many skills that keeps me in high demand--but these two seem rather difficult to read. Howirk tries to peer through the ever-increasing number of rivulets of rainwater pouring down across Drang's office window and into the soaken streets beyond. I certainly hope that more Pathfinders will be joining us soon. I'd hate for this mission, whatever it may be, to involve just the three of us!
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Despite the back-and-forth between the Pathfinders, especially with Howirk addressing him personally, Venture Captain Drendle Drang's intense focus on the book set up vertically before him is a feat of concentration! Doubtless if someone where to look behind the cover, they would see him staring intently at the page before him, committing each word to memory.
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Noticing that their host hasn't even looked up from his book, Howirk sighs. "Whoah! Whoah! Keep the noise down, everyone! I can hardly hear myself think!" he says in a somewhat raised voice. Is anyone else here yet? How about now? Now? What about now? How about... Unsuccessfully filling the time with idle chatter, the Halfling attempts to keep his mind calm by filling his mind with it.
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The door flies open and a slightly older than expected agent hurriedly enters, bringing a bit of the unfortunate weather with him. ”Apologies one and all...I was barely finished with my daily prayers when I received word that you needed a fifth agent for a mission. I came as fast as I could, not as prepared as I would like to be but it shouldn’t take me too long to gather my things once I know where we’re headed. Wherever it is let’s hope for better weather!” After finally stopping for air the man introduces himself. ”Thaddaeus Hael at your service.”
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"Welcome, Friend Thaddaeus! Welcome!" cries Howirk with
excitement. "Praises be to Chaldira Zuzaristan that I have survived these most dire of circumstances!"
"Better, yet, you bring news of a fifth agent! There will be yet another! Still more of a Halfling's good fortune!" the sorcerer declares.
"As you can no doubt tell, Yangrit and Kirrote are overjoyed that you are here as well!"
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"Hmm, what? Did someone say something?" An elf in rather shabby, dirty robes is also deeply engrossed in a book. He grumbles and mutters curses to himself as he briefly closes the book on his finger to mark the page. "Yes, yes, I'm Wizbang Fizzlepott, a conjurer of some skill. I look forward to this adventure. Yadayadayada. I don't really need to know your names, but if you could carefully, accurately and legibly" as he says this he eyes the dwarf and half-orc dubiously "record your names and professions in my journal I'd be much obliged."
Wizbang awkwardly fumbles about in his backpack with one hand while the other holds onto the book he was reading. He seems more concerned with keeping his page marked, but he finally manages to pull out his journal and set it on the nearby table. "If you need pen and ink, there's some in my pack."
With a dismissive nod and a contented sigh, he returns to his reading.
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With a dismissive nod and a contented sigh, he returns to his reading.
Did I say that news of a fifth was 'good fortune'" Howirk sighs. "Well, Drang, I don't suppose there are any other Pathfinders on their way?" the Halfling asks hopefully. When no response is immediately forthcoming, he ponders and looks at the book in front of the Venture-Captain. What has such command over our host's attention anyway?
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Yangrit and Howirk's eyes meet above the man's wild tuft of grey-white hair. It appears as if Drendle Drang, the veteran of a hundred expeditions, late of the mighty Taldane Phalanx, has fallen asleep in front of his book and hasn't been really paying much attention to anything that has been going on.
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Amused by the discovery of their host's slumber, Yangrit lets out a short, amused chuckle.
To Whizbang, she glowers a challenge. "And just what do you intend to do with that information, elf?" Planting her feet solidly on the floor, she stretches up to her full height of 4'-1" and pins him with a steely glare.
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"Confusticate it all, my good dwarf. I thought your folk were known for their wisdom! This journal is the first volume of the Chronicles I keep of my work for the Pathfinder Society. As you can see, I have been busy, for one of my limited experisence. I'm certain one day they will be required reading for all pathfinder agents..."
He flips through the first 20 or so pages, filled with tiny, neat handwriting detailing the most banal aspects of his first few adventures. You notice a lot of detail about the amount and composition of the wreckage of a siege tower not too far from Absolom, as well as numerous suggestions on how to remove the stink of troglodytes from one's robes. There's also a long dissertation about the stupidity of the belief that leadership should be bequeathed by hereditary bloodlines, which apparently is causing all sorts of problems in Taldor. Yangrit might be slightly mollified by Wizbang's utter disbelief that anyone would disqualify someone simply because the candidate is female--but only slightly.
With a snort and a frustrated sigh, Wizbang attempts to settle back down to resume his reading, but he flounces and flumps about for quite some time before he mutters a bit and finally returns to the text.
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A noncommittal "Hmph" is all his explanation earns from Yangrit. She does glance through his writings, though, mostly to help her gauge his character. She raises her eyebrows in pleasant surprise when she reads that he believes females are quite capable of ruling. The overall impression that she gets is that Wizbang is a mite obsessed with himself and his experiences, though he seems to believe he is a decent person. Halfway. Part of the time. He is still an elf, after all.
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" This journal is the first volume of the Chronicles I keep of my work for the Pathfinder Society. As you can see, I have been busy, for one of my limited experisence. I'm certain one day they will be required reading for all pathfinder agents..."
”No doubt.” Howirk responds with a smile. He picks up the pen and makes a rather, nondescript mark in the wizard’s book. A name is a very precious thing, thinks the Halfling, A man should never offer one up until he has first made sure that he will be adequately compensated.
Looking over at Drang, the Halfling is envious of the Venture-Captain’s seeming ability to engage in even a few moments of peaceful rest. I don’t know how much longer I can let you sleep, Drang. Howirk ponders. Sure, Society work can be lucrative, but time is money. The Halfling looks around at the assembled group. And if I have to spend much more time with this quiet lot, I may need to request ‘hazard pay’.”|
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All of a sudden, Drang wakes up with a start. "No, we cannot charge into the... Oh, hello! When did you arrive? And what are you here for? Oh. OH! Right. The Tri-Towers Yard." He gets up, seemingly energized. "Let me see..." he mutters excitedly, looking through one of his many stacks of various documents, spanning between Aroden's disappearance to yesterday's newspaper.
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Within moments, Dreng unfurls an old map of Absalom upon his desk, a rather sordid affair that looks like it might have been made by someone with two left hands, and puts a finger on a location close to the shore. "Beldrin's Bluff! It used to be one of Absalom's many gems, until that unfortunate earthquake of 4698. Now, we know it as the Precipice Quarter - a weathered crag of broken rock at the edge of the roiling sea." He sighs, and perhaps for once, the Venture-Captain's eyes are tinged with genuine sorrow. "Many died then you know, with cliffside tearooms and the exclusive estates of many of the city's most powerful just sinking beneath the cold waters of the Inner Sea. But perhaps the most tragic part of that was the destruction of the Tri-Towers Yard, once one of Absalom's most exclusive schools. The earthquake didn't shear it from the island. But as they say, Desna wept that day. Most of the buildings collapsed and sunk into the ground. Those children that weren't crushed to death were pinned down, to drown once the sewer waters rose above their heads. Nearly every student perished."
He pauses for a moment, opens a drawer and fetches a bottle of wine, some Taldane vintage. Uncorking it, he takes a swig, shakes his head as if to clear it and continues: "Today it's all crumbled stone walls and weed-filled lots sprawling where the gentlemen’s clubs were once, filled with pipe smoke and hobnobbing lords. The Drownyard — erm. Ahem" he catches himself saying. Clearing his throat and adding by manner of excuse: "That’s what the ill-mannered call the school these days. As I was saying, the Tri-Towers Yard lies behind a fence of black iron pikes, constructed by the families of the dead to discourage more morbid trespassers. Even respected archaeological groups have been denied official access, with the Society itching to explore the site ever since the quake — that is, ever since we discovered that the school fell through the roof of a lost necropolis. Unfortunately, the emotional trauma attached to the school has remained fresh. But finally, after ten years of mourning, the politically-connected families of dead students have sanctioned our delve request."
With another swig of wine and a toothy smile and a clap, Dreng announces: [b]"I’m pleased to announce that I’ve selected your team for the delve. I want you to find a way into the necropolis, document your findings with professional detail, and recover artifacts of historical significance. The Society is interested in one artifact in particular—a two-finger ring topped with a ruby salamander." He pulls out a key made from pig iron from his waistcoat, handing it over to Thaddeus. "I leave you with the key to the Drownyard gate. Remember, theDrownya- Tri-Towers Yard is a deeply personal site for many powerful Inner Sea families. You will tread upon the graves of their children. Be sure to give the site the respect it deserves."
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The sorrowful tale has an impact on the Halfling. For a brief moment, it is as if his mind were gasping for air whilst sinking within a mournful pool of emotion. But something quickly snaps him out of it. Whether it was the urgency of the mission or that which stirs within the blood of all within the Crookfeather line, he could not say.
One man's tragedy is another man's treasure. supposes Howirk, falling back into more comfortable areas of interest and modes of operation. "A few questions, if I may, Old Man." he begins.
"First, this ring—the artifact of interest? Where was it last seen? Or perhaps I should say, with whom?"
"Second, what is known of the necropolis? Have we some inkling as to whose final resting place it was intended to be?'
"And third, good sir." Howirk says. "Have you a glass for this soul or do you wish me, too, to partake directly from the bottle?" the Halfling asks, reaching for the wine.
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Once he is satisfied that he has exhausted the information held by the Venture-Captain, Howirk turns towards the cleric. "Friend Thaddeus, May I call you 'Thaddy? I suppose you are used to obtaining confessions from others. However, you may yet find my knowledge of more... colorful... local contacts as well as some of my methods of obtaining information to be of, at least, some assistance to you."
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Thaddaeus considers the odd key before stashing it way in his pack. "We will certainly treat the site with the utmost of care. A quick question if I may...what is the deal with this ring? Any magic or potential curses we need to be aware of?"
Once everyone's questions have been asked an answered Thadd will gather info about the Drownyard.
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"The ring? Oh, just a bauble that was cut off of the hand of Horastian the Knowledgable. Before he was an information broker, he was a cat burglar, and that was when the ring was brutally removed from his body by a greedy merchant. We hope to use the ring as a foci for divination magic to find his hoard. We managed to track it down to a burial site near Absalom, but could never figure out where it was. That's because we didn't account for the city's expansion since ancient times." He finds a glass, covered in lint and dust and offers it to the halfling. "The texts weren't specific as to who was buried there, but I'm sure they are long dead" he adds as he pours a little wine for you to drink. "I do not believe it is cursed. But I suppose you'll have to find out for yourselves! As for undead, well there are plenty of rumors of the disquiet dead in the Precipice Quarter my dear lady, but surely if there actually were some, someone would have come back alive to tell us about it, no?"
Information on the Drownyards is hard to come by. People remember the earthquake all too well, leaving the Puddles flooded to this very day. By the time mid-afternoon has come and gone however, the Pathfinders are approached by a man in impeccable Chelish livery. "My Lord" he says, addressing Thaddeus and thrusting a sealed letter into his hands."A message from her Ladyship, the lady Dacilane. Good day" And without a further word, he turns heel and walks away.
It has come to my attention that you and your cohorts were chosen by the noble Pathfinders to enter and explore what became of the Tri-Towers Yard. As my daughter, Junia, was lost there during the great quake, it seems only proper that you attend the banquet I am holding tomorrow in memory of her. You should wear your finest and arrive at the Dacilane Estate in the Ivy District at sundown. As you are probably not accustomed to the traditions of nobles, not attending this dinner would be a serious slight upon the memory of my daughter.
Sincerely,
Lady Miranda Dacilane
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"Humans and their bothersome social castes. Gold that could be better used on ink and parchment, to be wasted on such frippery. Confusticate it all..." Wizbang mutters to himself while making his way to a nice tailor shop to pick up a courtier's outfit.
"And of course I'll have to pay for some silly bauble and gewgaw or I'll look ridiculous... Although a nice golden brooch of a quill wouldn't be so bad..."
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Drawing on his own foreknowledge, Wizbang does recall that in spite of Dreng's assurances (or utter cluelessness) there are some documented instances of undead roaming the Precipice quarter. But beyond that, it seems that the Venture captain did give you all the information available, as the elf cannot recall any other information pertinent to the Drownyards. However he does recognize the name Dacilane; they are Chelish nobility who emigrated to Absalom around the turn of the last century. Miranda Dacilane is the matriarch of house Dacilane, and has never quite recovered from the loss of her daughter in the earthquake.
Night is falling on Absalom by the time you arrive to the gates of the Dacilane estate, a wrought-iron affair that is almost overly decorated with forged vine-leaf, devils and cherubs. Ringing the bell, a majordomo steps up to meet you after a few minute's wait. "The Pathfinder agents" he states, more of an observation than confirmation as he ushers you in. "Please follow me." Turning around on his heel, he leads you through a small garden, containing an abundance of flower bushes, marble statues and quietly gurgling fountains to enter a lavishly decorated foyer, all in rare woods and gold. The ceilings have been painted upon, depicting what would appear to be Aspex's Even-Tongued Conquest in great detail. In the air the smells of old, varnished wood mix with more appetizing aromas of garlic, rosemary and pork.
Your attention is taken away from your surroundings to a figure at the top of the stairs. Severely dressed in shades of black, an all-told rather young woman steps down to greet you, moving down the stairs ponderously as the majordomo announces: "Her ladyship Miranda Dacilane." Her eyes travel slowly across each one of you, judging you.
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Of course, the Lady would have to be a Chelaxian. Howirk laments. Still, I see no sign of the taint of the accursed House Thrune. The Halfling quells the rising disturbances within him and returns to playing the part he does best.
While the Lady is still at the top of the steps, Howirk turns to whisper to Thaddeus. "I realize that you may not quite be dressed for the part. But, you were the one handed the invite and, given the occasion for the banquet, the Lady will likely be more receptive to the offerings of clergy rather than the pitches of this businessman. Besides, Chelaxians have a history of being rather, shall we say, dismissive of Halflings."
Following this intentional understatement, the Halfling continues with yet another. "Besides, I don't trust any of the others to make the most flattering of impressions."
As the Lady descends the steps, Howirk bows and attempts to coach the others in courtly manners by way of example.
But sensing the likelihood that the others will not follow his example, coupled with the fact that his heart is not truly in it, Howirk does nothing to help make a positive impression.
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At the urging of his companion Thaddaeus greets his host. ”Your ladyship...we are humbled to be guests in your home. My name is Thaddaeus Hael, proud servant of Desna.” Thadd bows deeply before continuing. ”Please allow me to introduce you to my colleagues.” Thadd introduces each of his fellow agents in turn.
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Kirrote stands with his comrades looking rather out of place. The best finery he could come up with is not much more than a too-small leather vest that stretches across his chest and a pair of trousers with only a few stains on them. When the lady approaches he offers a smile, his tusks sticking up over his upper lip.
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Wizbang intently studies the ceiling images, seemingly unaware there are any other people in the room. He offers up a loud, audible snort as he is snapped out of his reverie by his fellow agents addressing their hostess.
"Indeed, milady, thanks for inviting us. Your home is...fascinating." He returns to studying the ceiling, and breaks out his journal to sketch some of the more interesting esoteric aspects of the images.
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"It is, mister Fizzlepot" she replies, nodding to the others as they offer condolences. "Follow me. I believe dinner is being served. You'll have to excuse the frugality of the meal" she adds as she walks on ahead, her servants opening the dining room doors for her. Before you, in a rather large room stands a fully set dining room table with seating enough for all seven of you plus one. Standing besides the table on small stepping stools, halflings young and old in maids' outfits, taking covers off of dishes whose aroma makes your mouth water. "I see cook has roast some fresh boar. I hope none of you eat in the Old Taldane manner; I personally cannot stand letting venison age" she declares, heading towards her seat at the head of the table, past mountains of roast potatoes, green beans sprinkled with minced garlic and thyme, peeled radishes sprinkled with a combination of roasted sesame seeds and salt, and the main piece: boar, roast and dripping with what smells like a sweet and tangy sauce that one of the halflings is cutting into in different parts.
"Let us eat" she adds severely, settling down for a servant to come to her, bearing a plate of food carefully selected from the pieces at the table.
Once you have eaten, and the servants begin to bring pre-selected "digestifs", Lady Dacilane turns to Yangrit with as light moue, and asks: "I have been told that you are interested in the Tri-Towers Yard." She turns towards the other pathfinders. "My daughter Junia... She was one of the many children lost. Hundreds. Pinned under that rubble in that cursed sinkhole. The black waters rising. Them screaming." She pauses for a pregnant moment, and it isn't difficult to see the teeth grinding against one another as she fights to keep her composure. And wins. "The whole affair drove my late husband to an early grave you know. She was our only child, and he lacked the fortitude to deal with the loss of our child. I don't suppose any of you can quite understand a mother's grief. But I do wish to finally bury her. That sham ceremony the faith of Asmodeus gave her wasn't fit for a dog." She nods at the halfling servant who brings her her own drink before continuing. "If you are to go into the Tri-Towers Yard, I would have you bring her remains back. Or anything belonging to her really. And perhaps... Perhaps this will give me the peace I so desire."
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Howirk looks around, trying to gage the Lady Decilane and, perhaps ascertain clues as to the source of her apparently considerable income.
Howirk notes that Lady Dacilane seems to treat her Halfling servants better than most Cheliaxians, but he is nevertheless uncomfortable in her home. No sense in causing a scene or jeopardizing the present mission for Drang. the Halfling tells himself. You’re playing the long game, remember? That’s why you agreed to help Karela and his “Exchange”. To make fat cats like this lady pay where it hurts them the most! He looks around at the opulent surroundings and the substantial amounts of partially eaten or uneaten food that Halfling kin in Cheliax might have killed for. He picks up a silver fork and removes a piece of meat from between two back teeth. Of course, it never hurts to enjoy a few of the spoils along the way!
Still, the Lady does seem genuinely distressed, certainly about the death of her child, but it seems as if there may be more to it. Howirk decides to prod a bit further. ”We would, of course, Dear Lady, take every effort to return your daughter’s remains and any belongings, should we find them. Could you provide us some information as to what to look for? Any birthmarks or particular physical features that would help us to identify your daughter? Were there particular items that you believe she had on her person before the tragedy?”
The Halfling pauses for responses to his questions, before continuing. ”Do you know of any witnesses to the tragedy? Yourself, perhaps? It may also be helpful to know of any living or deceased classmates of hers. I hate to press you, so. However, the more that we know of it, the better equipped we will be to ensure that your daughter is put to the proper rest that she deserves.”
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Lady Dacilane pauses before answering. "She had a dark dress with accents of red." She motions towards a large portrait of herself, sitting next to a bearded, tired-looking man and a smiling child who seems to share much with her mother. "She didn't have any particular birthmarks, but she does have the most beautiful, long dark hair... Ahem. I mean, she had medium length dark hair. As in the picture."
Gently swirling her drink she continues: "She would have had whatever she brought to school with her, anything she cared more for than her schoolbooks. Perhaps a doll." She sets her drink to the side, and looks Howirk in the eye: "As to witnesses, the entirety of Absalom bore witness to the gods' disfavor. If there were any surviving children, I do not know nor care about them" she snaps. After a few moments of silence, she adds: "My apologies. But suffice it to say, I've had little contact with the others. The Morilla family lost one of their children there. Even that Andoran Eagle Knight... Colson Madris? His Little Brother died that day. I can't say that anyone but me has had an interest in finding the children's bodies. I suppose it is better to have the entire site blessed by the deity of your choice than to try and move thousands of tons of dirt. In any case, I would like to assure you that should you do this for me, I will most certainly make a sizable donation to your Society."
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Hmm. How could she forget the length of her daughter's hair when she remembers everything else so clearly? Speaking gruffly, Yangrit says,
"We will show proper respect while we are there, and if we find your daughter, we can return her to you. I was asking Drang about the hazards we might face there, but he didn't have much to say. Do you know of anything that could hurt or help us?"
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"Pardon me, Milady, but I'm quite confused. While that's not uncommon in social settings as I am wont to distraction, in this case this is not the case. I am confused since you spoke of your daughter in the present tense, as if she were alive. And indeed, if she had medium length dark hair, and has long dark hair, it leads me to wonder if you've been in contact with your daughter. Since your husband clearly believed she passed, I'm guessing you've either recently been contacted by one claiming to be your daughter, or perhaps been visited by visions of her or her spirit? Would any of these be the case? This is excellent boar, by the way. I'm curious as to how it was prepared...and where the beast grew up...and what kind of diet it maintained...hmmm"
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The lady freezes at Wizbang's words, turning slowly to look him dead in the eye. A long silent moment passes, marked only by the ringing of an Alkenstarii clock. "My daughter is dead. But I see her." Her masks slips, ever so slightly, to reveal the mother beneath. The one that hasn't stopped grieving. "In dreams" she hisses "my baby calls out to me. If her spirit is neither living nor dead, I would rather her be dead."
Collecting herself in the blink of an eye, she turns to Yangrit and adds: "The entire quarter is know for having undead. I would prepare for such. Any further questions can doubtlessly be answered by my staff. Good night."
And without a further word, she walks on out.
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Surmising from the heavy Chelish influence that seems to dominate the home and décor, as well as from the presence of certain fineries, luxury items, and artifacts that are more often seen in museums than personal homes, Howirk concludes that the Lady Dacilane must have some means to channel resources from the “homeland” to Absalom. And such channels need proper maintenance. The flow of financial imports is almost certainly powered by an equally valuable export. concludes the Halfling. Our Lady is no doubt involved in espionage. And what is espionage, but the smuggling of information? And who better at smuggling than my associates within the Exchange?
”Your choice of fine foods and ornamentation exceed your reputation, My Lady.” Howirk notes during the seventh course of the meal. ”I know for a fact that procuring such things requires considerable means. After all, though more favorable than many, Absalom’s taxes and tariffs are not light. The inspection of items of value coming into and out of the city can also be rather onerous and time-consuming.”
”And what is time, if not money?” the Halfling asks rhetorically, seeking some sense of agreement evident within his hostess. “And does not a small bit of knowledge ensure a great amount of each?”
The Halfling allows his question to linger in the air for a moment, before offering. ”I have associates that specialize in knowledge. Their services are valued from Avistan, to the north and to the west beyond Varisia, all the way to the whole of the vast nation of Qadira, to the south and the east. They could help you with the procurement of items for your personal collection, as well as the delivery of those… items that would be better suited for inclusion within the collections of others.”
Howirk leans forward and asks, ”Would you be interested in working with them?
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Howirk leans forward and asks, ”Would you be interested in working with them?.
When no immediate response is forthcoming, Howirk grows concerned that perhaps his solo efforts are insufficient to secure the Lady’s agreement. Thus, the Halfling looks to his colleagues for aid. The worshipper of Desna! he thinks. If there is a divine being that appreciates the free flow of goods and information, then surely that would be the goddess, Desna. There is a great deal of money to be had here! She’s known as the “Goddess of Good ” for a reason. right?
Howirk attempts to employ the help of the cleric to seal the deal. “Friend, Thaddeus, would you not agree that there is great value, as well as inspiration, in enjoying the sights and wonders that come from distant shores? And when travelling, does one not often see fit to take with him or herself a souvenir or memento? Would it not be beneficial to have associates that could make the spread of such value and inspiration easier? More bountiful? Would it not be a boon to bring new experiences and memories to those who cannot freely get to new destinations to receive them?”
The Halfling gives Thaddeus a look that seems to say,Help me secure a bit more coin here, brother, and, if you do, a few may even find their way into the church’s purse.
Howirk then looks at the other Pathfinders at the table and raises his eyebrows in a plea for aid. I realize that the rest of you aren’t the most talkative bunch, but even just one, well-placed word could make the difference, particularly if it should come from one who is generally quite… judicious with their words.