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Venture-Captain Drandle Drenge, a stout and hardy Taldan with thin, graying hair and a thick, bushy mustache, unfurls a map on his butcher-block table and places a meaty finger on the parchment.
“The abandoned district of Beldrin’s Bluff was once the gem of Absalom’s Precipice District—now it is but a weathered crag of broken rock at the edge of the roiling sea. When the great quake hit ten years ago, entire blocks of the Bluff sheared from the mainland. Cliffside tearooms and exclusive estates fell into the waves and carried hundreds of nobles to a watery grave. An elite academy, called the Tri-Towers Yard, remained on the mainland, but sank wholesale into the earth. Children unfortunate enough to survive the quake lay pinned under debris as sewer water slowly rose from the ground and drowned them. Nearly every student perished."
“Today, crumbled stone walls and weed-filled lots sprawl where gentlemen’s clubs once filled with pipe smoke and hobnobbing lords. The Drownyard—er, that’s what the ill mannered call the school these days—lies behind a fence of black iron pikes, constructed by the families of the dead to discourage morbid trespassers."
“Even respected archaeological groups have been denied official access. Our own Society has itched 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 a toothy smile and a clap, Drenge says, “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.”
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"Why is the society interested in such a ring?"[b] asks an elven woman of slight build a sap and a selection of whips are hanging from a rather cluttered belt and two daggers are clipped to her fore arms. [b]" I am sure I could tell you many tales of the tri towers yard but which particular necropolis do you think lies beneath?"
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Listening intently to the briefing is a powerfully built and stern looking Half-orc, smelling slightly of the sea owing to the salt stained gray robe worn under his armour. A trident hangs from one hip, the forbidding glint of cold iron apparent and a shield is strapped to his arm complete the look of the once dreaded pirate. A simple wooden symbol of a leaf hangs from his neck on a leather thong.
He nods to those in the briefing "The name's Samildanach, Priest of the Storm King. The tale is full of superstitions fit to have any sailor quaking in his boots, let us get on with this grisly business."
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Dreng nods at the questions.
"The ring...In ancient times, a wealthy merchant cut a ruby salamander ring from the hand of young cat burglar named Horastian. Horastian later became a renowned information broker and art collector. The Pathfinder Society hopes to magically locate the long-dead thief and his fabled hoard by using the ring as a divination focus.”
"Yes, there is a key!"
Drandle Drenge pulls an iron key from his waistcoat.
“I leave you with the key to the Drownyard gate. Remember, the Drownyard 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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Samildanach barks out a hearty laugh at the epf's confession and pats her on the back in a friendly manner.
"Ahh! It would not be the first time too much wine as made me forget anything, let us not worry ourselves and find out what we can. We shall endeavour to not desecrate this place of memory and lay the dead to rest if we must."
Shouldering his pack and re-arranging his armour, the half-orc nods solemnly to the others gathered.
"Shall we press on?"
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Nerisiel well knows the tragic history of the area
Beldrin’s Bluff was once an affluent cliff side neighborhood of Absalom, overlooking the Inner Sea’s glittering surface. Nobles and wizards alike erected estates and towers there, and merchants and artists flocked to the cliffs to entertain them. Then came the great quake 10 years ago—half of Beldrin’s Bluff tore from the land and fell into the sea, taking most of its citizens with it. The rest of the area was laid to ruin by the trembling earth and the surging sea. Some of Absalom’s oldest families were utterly erased. Terror and hatred filled the hearts of the survivors and restless spirits of the dead rose from their watery graves and prowled the night.
Perhaps the most terrifying loss was the drowning of the Tri-Towers Yard, an elite academy for the youth of the noblest families of Beldrin’s Bluff. The quake struck at noonday. The children were buried in rubble, and as the sea frothed up from below, it carried unnatural things, tormented dead long ago interred in a hidden necropolis beneath the academy. No one survived. Now the Tri- Towers Yard is known as the Drownyard, a desolate ruin filled with strange black ichors and salty brine. Within lie the secrets of an ancient necropolis, but there too dwell the spirits of its inhabitants and the angry dead of the Tri-Towers students and teachers.
As you do your preparation for the expedition, a well dressed man turns up to Searlas with a sealed letter.
Missive appears in the handouts above.
Hero of the Society,
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 and your friends 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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Samildanach reads the missive given to them by the noble messenger and then sighs deeply, looking down at his sea-stained and well used gear. Why was it that nobles always wished the adventurers to dress up? And the emotional blackmail at the end was a bit on the heavy side.
"Well, that is use between a rock and a hard place, the Oppara lot were the same, fancy clothing and airs and graces when I had to visit an opera and now a party. Where is there to get some fancy vestments around here then?"
Grumbling to himself he lets the others read the missive before heading off in the direction of the shopping district.
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Helluddar nods as the note is read aloud. "I shall return," he says and bowing his head slightly to the group, he departs. When he returns sometime later, he is dressed in fully military regalia of the Andoran nobility. His masterwork breastplate, now fully visible, gleams brightly. Across his back is a emerald green cape with an image of a chimera embroidered with golden thread. White plumage is now set upon his helm that has been shined and buffed. Finally, a golden silk bandolier crosses his chest upon which are pinned a handful of military medals.
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Nerisiel Nods to the servant and smiles. "Tell Lady Miranda we are most honoured by her kind invitation. Now if you will excuse me I must get a new gown. and ensure some of my colleagues dress in a more appropriate manner" She waits for the servant to leave before heading for the shops for a new gown and appropriate jewels. (aka courtiers outfit and 70gp in jewels. (why should a girl stop at fifty)
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Samildanach huffs as he goes shopping once more, wondering why he just didn't keep the same outfit from that time at the opera. On such a short notice the tailors had a fit but meeting up with his fellows the next day, the cleric is now suitable attired, though he still pales in comparison to Helludar's interestig tastes.
His hair washed and carefully braided, with his customary warpaint removed, the Half-orc no longer looks quite so demonic. A fine pale gray leather coat sits over a well made tunic and trousers, though he has chosen to discard his breastplate and wargear, carrying only a dagger. Fine silver rings and a necklace, undoubtedly the score of his time as a pirate, finish the look.
"So, to a dinner them, I wonder how she knew eh?"
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You arrive at lady Dacilane's estate and find it a sprawling affair surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence and overly decorated in statuary, fountains, and a carefully landscaped garden.
A butler waits at the door with a tray of drinks and a slightly pained expression when the less well dressed of you turn up. He checks the invitation and then ushers you into a a house that screams opulence to you. Gilded furniture, painted ceilings, gold-spun wall paper are just the start of it. Your (hopefully scrubbed and not muddy) boots walk over rugs and carpets worth hundreds of gold pieces each.
Lady Dalcilane herself stands at the top of receiving line, welcoming nobles, gentry, the well-to-do... and a surprisingly well dressed team of pathfinders...
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As Nerusiel reaches lady Dacilane she curtsies "Sorry for your loss. If you will permit me I would like to sing the lament of Linkogel in Jaino's honour. Linkogel was the elven academician who saw many of his students including his son fall to a vicious attack by Treerazor in Kyonin. It is never easy to see younglings fall before their time"
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Lady Dacilane nods to each of you. She looks slightly worried at Nerisiel's proposal, but after a moment signals for a footman. He takes Nerisiel away for a quick check that she actually can sing.
"Sit, join the table. There will be time for talking later."
Lady Dacilan's grief appears genuine and still powerful even after so many years. You notice her tear up a little when she glances at a huge painting in the dining hall of a girl.
You are each provided a seat, scattered among various nobles and those close to Lady Dacilane.
The first course is served, a selection of fine cheeses (a number of them blue with mold!)
Narisiel is then invited to perform the Lament of Linkogel.
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Samildanach looks around the opulence with barely contained awe, his deeper urges planning the best way to assault the place to take it for everything it is worth. Remembering himself and the task at hand before reaching the lady of the household, he greets her somberly and echoes the apologies of her loss that everyone was uttering like protocol.
Noting that her grief seems genuine puts the devout follower of Gozreh at ease, were this but an act he would have been disgusted.
Seating at the table, he helps himself to the cheese dish, before leaning back and enjoying the Lament.
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There is a polite nodding of heads at Nerisiel's performance. Applause at such an occasion you take it would be inappropriate. The conversation is polite, and many of the nobles take the chance to hear tales of high adventure from the pathfinders they are seated near.
The cheese course vanishes, and is replaced by soup, which is replaced by a fish, which is replaced by...
As the night wears on the team loses track of exactly how many courses are delivered as they get slowly stuffed with food. For those who like such events, it is a triumph. For those who are not sure about which fork to use it is a long, boring and potentially torturous trial. Ten courses! While each by itself is not large, after so many even the hungriest pathfinder fells pleasantly full. With the meal finished the socialising starts. Lady Dacilane herself approaches you. She points up at a large painting.
“My daughter Junia was one of so many children lost. Hundreds of them pinned under the rubble in that sinkhole. The black water rising—the kids screaming.” She quiets for a moment. “None of us could get to them.”
She really doesn't like the PF team, and probably resents having you here. Not because you are pathfinders, but more because of your...common ancestry. But she is also desperate for any information about her daughter... and you are the first people to be allowed in...
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Samildanach congratulates his comrade Nerisiel on the performance as she sits down, leaning back and eating through the courses, without a seeming care of which knife to use for which dish. Enjoying the slight discomfort he is placing on the 'high society' by his mere presence, he refrains from tales of his own adventures as he is sure they would be unsavoury to the present company.
Approached by the hostess, he bristles at the way she looks down her nose at them but decides to keep his tongue under the trying circumstances.
"We will see what we can find, though we can make no promises I am afraid."
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"That would be very much appreciated." she says to Samildanach.
Lady Dacilane then sees you all to the doorway and is just about to shut it when a thought crosses her mind. "Junia did once mention that some of the lesser children sometimes skipped class to tell ghost stories by candlelight in an abandoned corridor beneath the school. Do take care, who knows what terrors might have moved in over the years."
Stuffed with food and with the picture of Lady Dacilane's daughter Junia in the back of your mind, the team retires for the night. You meet up the next day and head to Beldrin's Bluff.
Beldrin’s Bluff is a rotting ghost town at the edge of a hungry sea. Throughout the derelict landscape, seagulls perched on splintered timbers reflect your passage in their glassy black eyes. Overhead, dark clouds move ashore with the promise of a storm.
A fence of black iron pikes surrounds a block-wide yard. Dead tree branches reach out from the fence like the arms of emaciated prisoners desperate to escape. A man is on the inside, cutting the trees down. Some of the dismembered branches remain, stuck in place by knotty elbows swollen around the iron.
The man looks up from his work and watches you as you approach.
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Samildanach nods to the woman in thanks and stores the information for later, thinking it may be pertinent to ensure they have explored all of the ruined school. Relishing the chance to go back to his room and divest the stuffy clothing, the Half-orc gets a fine nights rest, pondering on the task at hand for the morrow.
Meeting up the next day, with his customary salt-stained robes and demonic war-paint applied, Samildanach greets his newest companions warmly as they make their way to their quests starting point.
"I could tell that the lady's grief was sincere last night, but such a large occasion certainly seemed a tad distasteful to me, and I couldn't bear the way she looked down upon us, oh well let us complete the Captain's task."
At the gate he waves to the woodcutter and waits for others to talk to him.
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Hassadah nods in greeting to Samildanach.
"I had no special insight, but I generally assume the best unless I'm given reason to doubt it. As for how she 'looked down on us', I gave up caring about things like that a long time ago. If I hadn't, I might not have made it out of Puddles."
He pauses and regards the workman.
"I wonder if his salary is paid by the families of the victims? To keep the place presentable as some sort of memorial?"
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The man smiles as Hassadah takes out the key to unlock the gate.
Taking off his gloves he puts a friendly smile on his face and extends his hand.
"Deris Marlinchen. The necropolis eh? Mrs. Heracks was down there the longest. Perhaps she can help. Come on, I’ll introduce you. She’s in Headmistress Kiwu’s old office now.”
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Samildanach nods to the man, marveled at how friendly and helpful he is, most of his experience with gardeners is of sullen folk, what you would expect from a man working at a haunted, derelict school.
"Ahh, so some of the school offices remain overground, odd we had thought none had permission to travel inside the school."
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"Cassiel? Oh she is so beautiful these days, but she is still a student here. I don't think she will be able to help you. Mrs Heracks is the one who might be able to help you with the necropolis. She is teaching at the moment, shall we go over and see?"
He smiles in a friendly manner to the group, hefts his axe and starts to head off towards one of the buildings...
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Samildanach listens to the man with a puzzled look, he was certain that the School was destroyed and no-one resided here, sure the man was simply delusional he tried to listen out for the signs of insanity in the man's speech and actions.
"Yes, if you would be kind enough to take us to the Teacher that would help our enquiries immensely. What is Mrs Heracks teaching?"
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"Students of course!" replies Deris.
The man seems sincere, if perhaps a little deluded. You can make some small talk with him while you walk, in which you learn he came here to help with the rescues after the earthquake. "I saved dozens you know.."
The ruined paths of the Tri-Towers Yard wind their way around black ponds and gray, shattered buildings. Powerful fragrances precede one roofless hall where a thin path meanders through an abundance of flower arrangements in wild bloom.
Deris gestures within.
Ten students dressed in checkered uniforms sit stiffly at wooden desks, staring straight ahead. No one moves. At the front of the class, a conservatively dressed woman leans against the wall.
Nerisiel recalls some stories about the man. The general consensus is
He is pretty harmless.
His daughter died in the tragedy
He has taken on the self appointed role of groundsman.
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Samildanach frowns at the back of the man as they press on, unsure of how to take such a deranged man with an axe, though doubtless less dangerous than many a Pitate he has worked with in the past it was still disconcerting. Reaching the school grounds he enters with the rest of his group, surveying the scene in confusion, the place was unnaturally quiet.
Attempting to converse with his fellow pathfinders under his breath, Samildanach asks the question most likely on the others' minds as well.
"Well, here are students all right... Anyone know what's going on?"