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Looks like we have three level three characters so far, and two undecided levels. I've had one player withdraw, so I've contacted someone from the reserve list.
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"I'm Miyako!" a happy-go-lucky girl with two brown socks attached to her bronze earrings declares, "and I'm here to make a fashion statement!"
Grandmother: Child, please, remove those socks...
Miyako: But I love them!
Great-grandfather: Don't! She's just jealous she never had socks that pretty!
Miyako: Aww, poor granny... I feel sorry for you! You never had earrings like these, did you?
While her grandmother lets out a heavy sigh, Miyako grabs hold of Ackuda's arm and whispers. "Don't blame her, Ackuda, she can't help it!"
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A man with blueish skin and flowing white hair is also here, leaning against a bookshelf and quite taken by his current reading. He doesn't look old nor young, for his features aren't those of a human being, but of a sylph. He bears a finely-wrought rapier made of a strange metal at his side, and wears a mithral chain shirt, mostly hidden underneath loose clothing through which a soft breeze constantly flows. You cannot help but notice that at every newcomer's entrance, his piercing, inquisitive eyes leave the pages for an instant, carefully scanning the latest arrival before resuming his reading.
Closing his book, the strange sylph puts it back on the shelf and nods to all people currently present in the Venture-Captain's office. "Well met, I'm Anáil."
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Ackuda sits at a table with a deck of Harrow cards in front of him. Those who agree to have a reading done, get a largely bewildering and disconnected series of phrases punctuated with thrown dice and oracle bones. His hair is wild and grimy and he frequently closes his left eye and chuckles to himself. He is dressed in muddy traveling clothes and a rumpled, but better-kept cloak that looks like he is letting gradually get into the same neglected state as the rest of his attire. A small green scorpion crawls across the cards and he blocks with his hand anyone who tries to touch it.
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"It appearrss I am once again joined by a contingent of carrnival attenderrss," says Dhastrach, a charcoal-black dwarf with a very deep, raspy voice. Unlike others of his species, Dhastrach lacks hair altogether, and instead has various black tribal tattoos covering his burn scars. The left side of his face is a tad lighter, a resemblance to the god of magic, Nethys.
He folds the journal he has been updating, a hefty pile of papers that. "My name is Dhastrach Orisialis, and I am a clerric of Nethys. My past is rriddled and irrrelevant in yourr endeavorrss, ass such I will omit telling it," he begins, already showing his harsh tone and approach. Some, at least those reading the chronicles regularly, learn he has recently been to several of the dwarven Sky Citadels, and returned with a lengthy report. Despite his stern gaze, he's proud to have his name on such a monumental find.
Dhastrach makes an imperceptible sneer towards Ackuda, disregarding his offer to read fortunes. A mad man, he thinks to himself, undoubtly neglecting the three verses of duty; explore, report, cooperate. He must show his worth.
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A young, muscular, savage-looking but attractive Kellid woman with ice-blue eyes also enters the room and briefly nods at the pathfinders already there. She is dressed in unremarkable travel clothings and wears some Kellid style bone and ivory jewellery. She carries a greataxe strapped to her back as well as a spear, a longbow and a heavy mace. A couple of magic wands dangling from her belt suggests that she might be more than a warrior.
"Well met too," she says with a pronounced Hallit accent. "My name is Belka."
For a city founded upon bloody combat traditions, Tymon is surprisingly docile. Weapons are invariably peace-bonded, there is a lack of muscle-flexing machismo in the streets—even public disputes are scarcer than in comparably large settlements. Rule of law here is strong, perhaps, or else violent urges are simply sated vicariously through the famed Arena of Aroden.
Whatever the cause, little impedes the swift journey to Smine’s Weaponworks, locally famous as a place of business but secretly also a Pathfinder lodge. The sound of ringing steel and the withering heat of the forge through an open sliding door identify the stone structure as readily as its well-painted but soot-stained sign. Several apprentices work blades in various stages of completion, and at the largest work area toils a smiling dwarf: famed weaponsmith and venture-captain Holgarin Smine. He glances up under singed eyebrows, never missing a beat as he says, “Ah. It’s you. A moment.” After putting some final touches on a spearhead, quenching it in water, and nodding approvingly after a brief appraisal, he unties his apron and opens the door into the adjoining building.
Within a few minutes, Smine has set out refreshments such as bread and cheese in a much cooler kitchen. “Forgive me for not asking about your journey. Love the details, but those can wait. Someone’s picking a fight—with us,” he divulges in broken sentences reminiscent of the staccato clanging of the adjacent forge. “You might know we’re committed to supporting Mendev. Important business, that. Worldwound expanding, wardstones failing. Not good for anyone. So when we send supplies north and they’re stolen, it gets our attention. And that’s been happening. Months now. Boat after boat heading up the Sellen, attacked, looted—always a few days out of Tymon. Now, River Kingdoms shipping isn’t always chancy; brigands on the water are nothing new. Not like this, though. And it isn’t all shipping. Just ours. Someone is targeting us.
“It’s my job to get to the bottom of this, and I have a notion how. Been told you lot were just what I needed. So here’s what’s going to happen. We’re not just going to find these pirates; we’re going to flush ’em out. They want to hit Pathfinders? Pathfinders can hit, too. They’ll think they’ve got another soft supply boat, but the cargo will be you. Ready to fight.”
He grins before concluding, “You’re bait. But you’re bait that bites back.”
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"Well met. Dhastrach. Like yourr style," Dhastrach says shortly, and makes a face someone could mistake for a smile on his pitch black skin.
"I assume you have arrranged all the necessarry itinerrarriess forr this surrprrise. Since these attackss have been happening forr some time now, I believe you have a likely guesss who is conducting these ambushess. I wouldn't be taken aback if they werre frrom the Aspis Consortium." Dhastrach takes out his journal, starting to write down a preliminary chronicle entry.
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A bald man that has been leaning against the side of the building finally speaks up. His nose is as red as the forge fires. Piratesh. It ish alwaysh piratsh....
The man pulls a flask from his jacket as he takes a long drink. Standing from the pillar he nearly topples over. He weaves his way over to Belka. Hey, I'm Brewslee Haiiya.
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"Yes, yes! We will surprise them. Goooood." Ackuda says, then cackles. "I will divine the fate of our enemies..." He draws his pouch of oracle bones and kneels on the floor. He rattles the bag and then dumps its contents before him. "Good. Bad? I see battle, and death... But for whom... Eheheheheheheh!"
Tymon is founded on a tradition gladiatorial combat, most famously in the city’s Arena of Aroden, where gladiators have vied for popular acclaim for over 2,000 years.
Tymon’s ruling class is composed entirely of experienced gladiators who earned their status after winning 10 arena combats. Called “bloodied,” these gladiators have rights and privileges beyond any common Tymons. They alone are allowed to own property or bear weapons, and their word carries greater weight in court, almost placing them above the law. Tymon’s ruler, called the Champion, earns his place through combat as well.
In spite of the privileges of the “bloodied,” specialized laws grant some equity to others. The Law of Grievance allows anyone to challenge someone who has wronged him to arena combat. This carries across social ranks; if challenged by a commoner, even one of the “bloodied” must submit. Even the Champion’s position is not secure; through the Law of Succession, any “bloodied” can challenge him for leadership.
We're suspecting a bunch of brigands having a base of operations somewhere. We want to know where, who hired them, why they are harassing us. That sort of thing.
You pose as the crew of a Pathfinder barge. They try and rob you. You take them down. You hunt down their hideout and deal with any others.
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"When iss thiss barrge scheduled to leave?" Dhastrach asks, idly browsing his journal, "and if therre arre any rreporrtss about the prreviouss attackss, they could be of considerrable help."
"And those of you who do not know Tymon and itss wayss, thiss iss a gladiatorrss' city. Morre battless you win, morre prrivilegess you gain, like own prroperrty and bearr weaponss. It iss allowed forr anyone to challenge one who has wrronged anotherr to the Arena of Aroden."
I’m hiring a barge. Get word to you shortly on which. Know a few boat-owners who’ll go along for the right price. You’ll have a pilot to sail it; you just need to fight. I,m looking for someone to leave in two days.
Meanwhile, make yourselves look soft. Hit the taverns. Look like landlubbers. Probably are, anyway, so it shouldn’t be difficult. Drink hard, and look like you’re shipping out hung-over. Spread a good cover story. Make them overconfident.
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"I like your plan," Belka says to the venture-captain. "We are bait, they attack us, we take them down, we find their hideout and we do away with any others. Problem solved. Simple and clear."
"As for looking incompetent, I wonder if it's possible to fight in the arena and deliberately lose all duels in order to pass for poor combattants?"
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Dhastrach looks at Belka, pondering. "I doubt they could orrganize matchess with such a shorrt notice, but it iss worrth a trry. Don't know if the battless arre to the death, though."
The dwarf takes a look around at each pathfinder agent present, and chuckles slightly. "And herre I thought ourr venturre-captain had picked uss all rrandomly, but we have all the ingrredientss to look as incompetent ass possible. Ackuda iss mad, Brewslee iss drrunk, and Miyako iss cluelesss."
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Oh sho you want us to shpread rumorsh to sheem incompetent huh
Brewslee falls into a table moving it a few inches about the room. That might be a.... might be harder than it looksh ya know.
The rest of his companions look back at the monk and realize that he is actually out on the street right outside the forge speaking to a small dog.
BELKA! The forgemashter is a dwarf right? He sheemsh a bit short for a dwarf.....
Brewslee runs his hand under the dogs chin. .....even hish beard
Dhastrach is right that battles cannot be joined on such short notice, though he is wrong on the battles being to the death - that's not always the case.
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Knowing Dhastrach is not one people trust in anything, he contemplates for a plan for some time. Once convinced, the dwarf starts to scribe pamphlets where it reads he and his fellow agents are on a mission to the north, up the Sellen river. Due to the nature of the mission, they can't carry any wealth with them, thus unable to buy food and waterhe also writes that they are currently suffering from famine and are weak against raiders, trying to arouse sympathy.
Dhastrach hopes the pamphlets spread widely, and give out the message the pathfinders are starving and without proper nutrition, thus making them weak.
He then leaves all his arms and equipment to the lodge, heads out to the streets, and starts distributing the pamphlets to the best of his abilities to any passer-by, in addition to attaching some of them to notification boards and the like.
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Dhastrach couldn't have described Miyako any better, as she truly is clueless about what's expected of her. "Okay, so we leave tomorrow? Guess I'll hit the streets to sell sock-earrings!"
Miyako walks out of the building and tries her honest best to sell people earrings with socks attached to it. "I got mine after beating someone's friends up," she explains to a would-be customer. "They tried to kill us, you see. I claimed his socks as my trophies, but then I realized this could become huge!"
Even with the aid of her caravan of sock sellers, Miyako doesn't actually manage to convince anyone to buy sock-earrings.
Miyako: These people don't understand fashion!
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Ackuda sets out and tries to elicit customers for his fortune-telling, weaving stories of his own journey north along with his nonsensical fortunes. "Drink and befuddlement I see in their future." he says with a mad cackle. "But what matters that when we carry such riches? On the river like the flowing of the future, our path is set." He also flashes coin about the town.
Brawls has to make little effort to look convincingly drunk, though it may not be that clear that he is any less dangerous for it. Miyako manages to sell some of her earring socks, while Dhastrach - quite effectively - spreads some propaganda about the malnourishment of pathfinders. Ackuda foretells drink and befuddlement. Lets just hope only that first comes to pass.
The next morning, Smine meets with the party again. You're to meet up with Demeliah Sorenson, at dock number five. I've chartered a barge Tevryn’s Terrapin
Sure enough, at the dockside a thickset Taldan woman waits near a barge. Whereas most barges are current- driven and only travel downriver, the Terrapin is equipped with a sail and several oars to allow for movement up and down the waterways.
Hah, the woman says you must be Smine's group. Moving a little closer, she says in a hushed voice don't pretend I don't know of the nature of this mission. I know the danger, and I'm part of it of my own free will. Anything to get back at that river pirate scum, ever since they killed my Tevryn. Still, I'm not much of a fighter. I'll pilot the boat for you, if you take care of the fighting, that all right with you?
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Ackuda, now dragging his pack and what concessions he makes to weaponry - a quarterstaff, dagger, and light crossbow, along with two scrollcases, arrives at the dock. "Where may we rest ourselves so we will be out of the way of your work?" he asks. "I will guide us via the skeins of chaos, and defend us with magic should that be necessary." he says, squinting.
The first day of travel proves uneventful as Tevryn’s Terrapin meanders upriver. The second day start offers more of the same. The droning of frogs, insects, and birds along the riverbanks creates an atmosphere fit for dozing, even though the sun is barely past noon. Directly ahead, the river twists to the east for a bit before rounding a forested hummock. A splash breaks the monotony of sound as something slides off the marshy banks and into the water.
Anail's attention goes to the water, and what he sees answers Dhastrach's questions: there are alligators this far up north. The creature is in the water, moving toward the bend of the river, about 80 away from the barge.
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"I didn't take you to be so dimwitted," Dhastrach sighs, shaking his head while looking at Miyako, "then again, prresent company acknowledged, it'ss only fitting to the scene."
Unsure whether alligators are really after wooden barges for appetite, he tries to recollect what he knows about these alligators native to River Kingdoms. Mainly, he tries to find clues whether the alligator might be hostile.
The alligator is actually moving away from the boat. The Taldan captain keep moving her vessel upstream, towards the same bend that the alligator is moving toward.