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Gunther strolls up to appearing as though he has jut made a long journey, nodding his head at the other assembled Pathfinders. It wasn't so long ago he was in Ustalav, helping a strange professor with some odd experiments and research. Towards then end, Dr. Quolorum had called in a favor, and Gunther had been asked to join another group. Pathfinders or some such. Assuming it was another paying job, he'd accepted, not expecting it to be for life.
The Shoanti are a proud people, though, and there is much honor in fulfilling obligations. I did give my word, after all.
Finding a bit of shade, Gunther crouches down to take a rest while the others gather, resting his old spear at his side, and hunckering down to take in what he can.
Gunther is a tall, but far from the tallest, man with darkened skin. Much of his body is covered in the tattoos and scars of his people, indicating he is some sort of holy man. Wrapped around each wrist is a simple leather cord, a holy symbol of Ol' Deadeye hanging just enough to be easily grasped.
He wears simple leathers, still dirty from the road, but clearly showing signs of battles past. Despite his somewhat uncivilized appearance, his face seems friendly, even gentle in some ways, and he smiles often, though does not say much.
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In a walled trade compound on the northern edge of Nantambu, in the Mwangi Expanse, the reputable merchant and ally of the Society, Aya Allahe, paces one of the back rooms of Sharrowsmith’s Exports.
I wish I had more to offer.
Allahe apologizes before even presenting what information she has.
Nieford Sharrowsmith never truly retired from being a Pathfinder, even after he started this business. I think, in his mind, he was still the young adventurer that hiked through jungles and fought off troglodyte tribes. Sharrowsmith’s attitude changed over the last few months —I think he was concerned for his legacy and how history would remember him. Would it be for his discoveries or for the export business that dominated his later years? The answer, I fear, was unpalatable. It was no surprise when he packed up and left on an expedition. But that was months ago, and neither the Society nor I have heard from him since.
Sharrowsmith has never left for this long without leaving some word as to his status or sending rather demanding missives about business decisions while he was waist-deep in some jungle bog. When my own contacts failed to turn up any useful information, I had no recourse but to go through his private notes.
Aya motions to the mess of documents scattered about the office.
What caught my eye was this translated rubbing. It appears to be the most recent piece of a very large puzzle Sharrowsmith was researching and indicated that he may be somewhere in the Bandu Hills. Traders from Fort Bandu have confirmed that he paid the garrison a visit, but that’s where my trail ran cold. Something happened out there, and Praetor Sylien —Fort Bandu’s commander— refuses to correspond with me on the matter despite knowing how close Nieford and I are. All I received in response was that Nieford had ‘done enough damage for one lifetime,’ and that if I wanted to discuss the matter further I would need to go to Fort Bandu in person.
Exasperatedly, Aya runs a hand across her forehead and turns her distant stare out the window.
I cannot shutter the business and travel hundreds of miles on the off chance that the praetor can help; the company would fall apart. I’m hoping that you will be able to go in my stead, speak with the praetor personally to learn what has befallen Sharrowsmith ...and help him return.
I will answer any questions that you might have before setting out.
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"This Praetor sounds like bad business mon", Shadow says alongside a shake of his staff. "But if we be needin' to meet with him to track down Nieford, I be happy to help."
Shadow is an aged mwangi man with rich cocoa-colored skin and dressed in faded windswept robes. With one arm he leans heavily on a driftwood staff and from the other a brass bangle decorated with a number of charms hangs from his bony wrist, the most prominent being the symbol of Gozreh - a large leaf partially filled with sea water. Despite his advanced age and withered frame, the old man's smile is infectious when he's mirthful and his scowl frightening when he's displeased.
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Sharimus ponders Aya's words.
Sounds like something went awry. I wonder about this Praetor's comments....it sounds as though he and Nieford had a rather shaky relationship, to say the least. I would be happy to help another Pathfinder...of course I'm in.
Sharimus looks at the handout and studies it.
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Standing up and stretching his old back out as he hears the call for agents to go speak with Aya, he moves in to the lodge once his old body allows it. Meeting her for the first time, he looks into her strange eyes as she speaks. He's not certain just why, but she somehow reminds him of his mentor. There is just something about her.
What caught my eye was this translated rubbing. It appears to be the most recent piece of a very large puzzle Sharrowsmith was researching and indicated that he may be somewhere in the Bandu Hills. Traders from Fort Bandu have confirmed that he paid the garrison a visit, but that’s where my trail ran cold. Something happened out there, and Praetor Sylien —Fort Bandu’s commander— refuses to correspond with me on the matter despite knowing how close Nieford and I are. All I received in response was that Nieford had ‘done enough damage for one lifetime,’ and that if I wanted to discuss the matter further I would need to go to Fort Bandu in person.
"What cold he possibly have done?"
I cannot shutter the business and travel hundreds of miles on the off chance that the praetor can help; the company would fall apart. I’m hoping that you will be able to go in my stead, speak with the praetor personally to learn what has befallen Sharrowsmith ...and help him return.
"Do not worry, I'm certain we could be of assistance. If this Sharrowsmith is in trouble, there is one thing that the great and True Lodge has shown us, and that is that we do not leave fallen brothers and sisters behind. We could look into this Fort Bandu."
"But who is this Praetor? Praetor Sylien I believe? A friend to the Pathfinder Society? What do you think may have happened to the Venture-Captian? Did he have any friends or enemies in the area?"
"You also mentioned a rubbing. . . Wait! What is this Ashkurhall? Or Nakyuk? The first sort of sounds Dwarven. The later, . . . perhaps Orcish. Trollish?"
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Lynn arrived a bit late compared to the other pathfinders almost stumbling over herself and looking quite flustered.
"Sorry for being late I was.. preoccupied by a patron at the Fleet Whistle."
Lynn was a lightly tanned female, who to the untrained eye looked human, she wore lengthy orange dress with multi-colored accented patterns. The dress along with the dozens of small charms that she wore made her look very much like a traveling gypsy or a fancy dancer. She wore a rapier at her waist, holding herself rather loosely.
Looking over the note Lynn nodded in agreement with the elf "This does all sound rather ominous. Oh, where are my manners, Lynn Kuro happy to be of service to the society and her members. Even if I don't know who it is we're helping." Lynn gave a showman curtsy before unceremoniously rubbing at her red face.
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"Good day," says another voice, belonging to another young woman who enters the room after Lynn. She's dressed in comfortable, dark colored clothes that don't really stand out.
"My name's Lilia, I'm also to be your companion," the short raven haired woman says as she sits down and listens to the details of the mission.
"Hmmm... I'm afraid I don't know much about this..."
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What cold he possibly have done?
I can only guess.
But who is this..? Praetor Sylien I believe? A friend to the Pathfinder Society? What do you think may have happened to the Venture-Captian? Did he have any friends or enemies in the area?
I know him only by reputation. The grandson of an old elven explorer, he’s served the garrison for decades, though I hear he’s mostly retired now. My business associates say he is a fair and very pragmatic man, one who respects hard facts and truth. His being dismissive of my request sounds uncharacteristic. Of course, I imagine every Pathfinder has made enemies in their career, though, Sharrowsmith has rarely discussed them openly with me. He never seemed paranoid or overly concerned about vendettas in his business dealings and never double-crossed anyone to my knowledge. I might wonder: how many enemies does your Society have?
You also mentioned a rubbing. . . Wait! What is this Ashkurhall? Or Nakyuk? The first sort of sounds Dwarven. The later, . . . perhaps Orcish. Trollish?...
I don't know much. Sharrowsmith’s notes say the rubbing was made by miners in the Bandu Hills over sixty years ago, and the rubbing found its way to him through auctions he frequented. Whatever he read there, it lit a fire under him.
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"Good day," says another voice, belonging to another young woman who enters the room after Lynn. She's dressed in comfortable, dark colored clothes that don't really stand out.
"My name's Lilia, I'm also to be your companion," the short raven haired woman says as she sits down and listens to the details of the mission.
Nodding his head in return as the newcomer enters the room, "Good day", Gunther moves over a little to allow her to find some room in the circle as they discuss the Bandu Hills, the missing Venture-Captain, and the rest. "I'm fairly new to it all, but way I hear it, Pathfinders have plenty of enemies. Most of them deserving, though a few are just out to get us or rivals."
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Lynn rested her hand around her chin for a moment trying to think of everything she had learned about the area that they were going to be working in.
"I do have one question, how should we treat members of the Deeptreasure Mining Company? I know that they operate in that particular area, but they are known to displace others from profitable locations. I also don't believe the locals are very accepting of the intrusion, so if we meet any of their members should we assist them?"
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Once you have finished speaking with Aya Allahe and purchasing supplies, you journey south. The route involves traveling by boat down the Vanji River, then switching to canoes to paddle up the Little Vanji and Dzimmi Rivers. Finally, you wind through several of the lower Bandu Hills through a pass to Fort Bandu.
The fort is a small frontier settlement surrounded by high stone walls located on the northern edge of Sargava. Within the fort’s walls, dozens of mining companies maintain outposts out of pavilion tents, hiring laborers and purchasing necessary supplies brought in by merchants from the north, south, and west. The fort holds a garrison of around 150 soldiers that struggle to maintain a balance of defense of the frontier and protection for the miners and traders within its walls.
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"Mine as well a change of clothing may be in order as well."
Lynn enjoyed the travel for the most part, taking time to write in her journal when she could, upon arriving at the fort she looked a bit off-put by the tension that seemed to loom in the air.
"We could try going and seeing the commander of the fort. Or I can try loosening some lips around to see if anyone knows more about sir Nieford."
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Shadow spends most of the trip chanting and praying. Every little thing that occurs aboard the vessel seems to hold some deep religious significance for the old mwangi man.
Standing before the fort, he shakes his driftwood cane at its gate. "Only a fool ignores what the wind's tryin' to tell him. Let's see what the soldiers here have to say before we waste the good commander's time."
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The soldier you approach gives you a cold stare.
The fort is open ta 'nyone as long as you keep your weapons sheathed an' your hands in your sleeves. Vendors are over there and meals are served for the miners at four. Now move along please, unless you happen to have some spare coin for an odd job, which I will be more than happy to accept.
He smiles wryly at the last sentence.
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Yessir!! Right away sir! Follow me to the Praetor's office, sir!
He salutes, grins, and leads the way.
As the soldier escorts you to the praetor’s office, a modest and utilitarian space comprised of several tables and a handful of half-stocked bookshelves. A war table featuring a map of the Bandu Hills region sits prominently in the center of the room, and three tall windows nearby let in a great deal of natural light. The soldier salutes after presenting his escort, and quickly takes his leave, avoiding eye contact.
For all the power of his position, Praetor Sylien seems like a caged lion—unable to use what strength he has left directly due to Fort Bandu’s dependence on his leadership. The gray in his once coal black hair belies the passing of his youth and the creases in his sun-beaten face tell a story of a lifetime of hard work and little rest. He carries himself with the pride and stature of a man half his age with seemingly infinite patience.
Praetor Sylien is in mid-conversation with a lanky Garundi man in fine attire. Their conversation stops abruptly, and the praetor’s guest disdainful glares at the latest arrivals.
In contrast to the praetor, Aspis Consortium agent Amersanus Valacosti seems to have boundless energy. He carries himself with the poise and posture of nobility, affecting a Chelish accent and speech mannerisms to hide any telltale sign that would indicate his true nationality. The only tell of weakness Valacosti may have is his noticeable limp and the stiffness of his right leg, which requires Valacosti to walk with the assistance of an ebony cane topped with a black, serpentine dragon coiled into a figure eight.
Pathfinders. I shouldn’t be surprised. Only your organization would have the gall to so brazenly show its face when you’ve already caused so much damage.
The praetor halts the Aspis' provocations with a firm wave of his hand and then turns to you, calmly inspecting you.
Pathfinders,
the praetor’s voice lacks the contempt of his guest, as if trying to subtly apologize for his tone.
This is Amersanus Valacosti of the Aspis Consortium. We’ve been discussing the troubles Fort Bandu has faced of late —troubles caused by your organization. I was unwilling to disclose the details to Mistress Allahe by courier, but now that you have arrived, I feel it pertinent to explain the nature of Fort Bandu’s… misgivings. Venture-Captain Sharrowsmith came through here some months ago, gathering supplies and information before setting off on an expedition into the hills. There, he roused the local kobold tribes and angered them enough that they now actively raid our settlements and mining operations.
Amersanus Valacosti and I were discussing how the Aspis Consortium may be able to help repair the damage your Society has inflicted on the people of Fort Bandu. Now that you’ve arrived, perhaps we can have a more balanced mediation. Your Pathfinder Society has a damaged reputation in the Bandu Hills, so I ask you state your business and why you think I should allow you to even so much as stay within the fort’s walls. What knowledge do you have of this land and its people that could prevent this situation from deteriorating further? I will only entertain questions regarding Sharrowsmith once I’m assured that providing you information will not further endanger my charges.
His posture strongly overshadows that of the Aspis agent, demanding attention.
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Praetor, we understand that the fort is your main concern...a commendable ideal, to be sure. We only come here to find out if anything untoward has happened to Sharrowsmith. His friends and business colleagues are concerned and want any information we can gather.
I must confess, I am not an expert i the local area, but one area we might want to look at is centered around a particular mountain, one called Nakyuk. Is there anything you might be able to tell us about that mountain, sir?
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The praetor looks at you disdainfully:
No. I have plenty of fools digging for gold out there and more that ended in an early grave outside the city walls. Why should you be any different? I will only give you permission to venture into the hills once I am certain you are up to the task, let alone share my information with you after the trouble you've caused me.
Valacosti gives you a smug smile and shrugs.
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"Sir, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lilia Sori. My allies and I have come here to find Sharrowsmith. I'm sure it's also in your interest that we reach him before he wreaks even more havoc."
Lilia continues to speak, telling the praetor whatever she knows of the local area and how she plans to use her knowledge to prevent the situation from deteriorating any further.
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Sylien nods approvingly at the knowledge displayed by Lilia and for a moment you think you see something akin of a smile on his face. Before he can react, however, Valacosti interrupts him.
Is this supposed to make an impression? If you think this situation can be solved at the point of a sword or by brandishing some hedge wizardry, you’re as ignorant as your predecessor. These Pathfinders will rush headlong into the jungle and slaughter the kobold tribe, creating a power vacuum among the other tribes and only worsen this disaster.
Again, the praetor tries to remain impartial, though it is clear his patience is waning.
Once more I find myself seeing reason in Valacosti’s words. Strength of arms is all well and good, but this is a situation that also requires a certain amount of finesse. How do I know I trust you to handle this situation with a level head and a delicate touch when necessary?
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Lynn would take a deep breath, before channeling a spell using her innate magic she would begin to shift her shape towards that of a Kobold. Becoming shorter and scaled with a rusty brown color, thanks to her baggy clothing she would be able to stoop quite a bit, though her clothing seemed to shrink as well to fit her smaller size while remaining airy. This transformation even came complement with a tail.
After she seemed confident with her change she looked at the Praetor and spoke in an almost broken common, "Me Rut-Yug, traveler, here speak with tribe leader. Scaleless men wish to speak, no harm. Want make things better and find lost one."
She might still look quite a bit tall for a Kobold but she could very well be a taller variant with hope her performance would show that she should be able to handle some diplomatic issues.
"I am not the best with blade but I take great pride in my use of words. I am sure that with more intimate knowledge about the native culture I could easily talk the tribe into a better position for our cause and perhaps your own. If you are willing perhaps we may even be able to establish a working relationship with the locals and your men. Judging by what I saw outside they are in need of a rest from the locals."
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Valacosti is quick to dismiss the display of power.
Sharrowsmith professed an intimate understanding of the region and its delicate balance of power, and behold the results: dozens dead, dozens more missing, kobolds attacking our mining operations, and people living in fear of the next raid. Praetor, with all due respect, you cannot allow these Pathfinders to exacerbate an already delicate situation. If all they know is brute force and books, this is bound to be a disaster.
The praetor remains patient.
Amersanus makes a good point. Sharrowsmith was a well-read and a skilled man in the ways of war, yet he disappeared in these jungles and caused damage we’re only beginning to feel the impact of thanks to the local kobold tribes. How is your expedition different? Do you have the necessary strength to survive in this environment where so many others cannot? Show me that those weapons and spellbooks you carry are more of an emergency measure than your go-to solution.
Visibly frustrated, Valacosti appeals one last time to Sylien.
Praetor. I implore you, send these Pathfinders back from where they came from. This is neither the place nor the time for their presence. For the sake of the people of Fort Bandu, do not let them worsen this situation.
With reluctance, the praetor acknowledges you with a slow nod. Then, after a brief glance to Valacosti, he appears ready to make his decision. Then, with a reserved sigh, the praetor relents.
As the Pathfinders are responsible for getting us into this mess, I see it fitting that we give them the chance to remedy the situation. I’m putting my faith in you, and the lives of the people in Fort Bandu. I pray that you don’t betray that trust, for the consequences could be quite dire for all who call this home.
Valacosti observes with disappointment that gives way to menacing resolve.
Most unfortunate... I believe you are making a grave mistake by placing any faith in these glorified tomb robbers, praetor. Once they fail, remember that the Aspis Consortium has extended a generous offer of aid in this troubling time. One can only hope that this Pathfinder experiment does not exacerbate the situation further and necessitate our renegotiating the terms.
Praetor Sylien provides you with the information of Sharrowsmith’s last known location at a Gold Crown mining operation approximately 20 miles away as well as a rough estimate of his travel route. You spend the day canvassing Fort Bandu to find someone willing to work with them and assemble a more complete picture of Sharrowsmith’s travel route. The next morning, the temperature in the Bandu Hills during daytime hovers around 90° F and increases to 110° F by mid-day.
The 20-mile journey to the Gold Crown mining operation in the Bandu Hills takes you across mostly level terrain following a well-worn trail into arid and rocky hills. The mining camp is located in an isolated gorge in the shadow of sheer basalt cliffs. Shadow immediately notices the faint scent of decay clinging in the air in the gorge. By the time you come across the camp, the smell is overwhelming.
Hexagonal basalt columns scarred by mining tools line the walls of the gorge. The floor of the gorge is a patchwork of scrub grass and leafless vegetation flattened by frequent traffic. Wooden scaffolding, mining equipment, and trampled tents lie abandoned across the camp. Corpses of a dozen laborers rent limb from limb lay amidst the camp’s wreckage, and dried blood darkens the rocks. Several banners depicting a golden crown adorn the scaffolding.
The corpses of the dead attracted festrogs that now hunch over the bodies of the deceased miners, devouring their bloated remains. Like feral animals, these gore-caked undead rise up on their haunches and attack the moment they notice living creatures on their doorstep..
Sharimus
Lynn
Gunther
Zombie
Lilia
Shadow
Festrog
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Gunther readies his spear against anything that might come charging their way, but the nimble Sharimus quickly darts forward, taking the front line for himself while being inspired by Lynn's jingle. He elegantly, almost slowly, places his raper in one of the Festrog's eyes. As he triomphantly smiles at the rest of you the creature collapses... but not before a drawn out squirt of festering black goo erupting from the creature's head like a emptying balloon covers him from head to toe.
Then, the zombie takes a 5-foot step towards the elf and attempts to slam him, but misses.
Sharimus
Lynn
Gunther
Zombie
Lilia
Shadow
