Absalom awakens to a clear and breezy Erastus morning this Wealday, and the City at the Centre of the World is a hub of activity--business as usual, in other words. None are perhaps as excited as a small group of fledgling Pathfinders, however, who have arrived bright and early on summons to Skyreach to begin their first mission for the Society. You pass through the great stone gate that guards the Grand Lodge and make your way across the grounds to the largest stone fortress in the complex; the enormous, white, five-towered palace stands out amongst all the others, and indeed, amongst all the other buildings in the surrounding city.
Directed by a chamberlain through the many halls and rooms of Skyreach, you enter a surprisingly fancy reading room decorated with exquisite paintings of the city. A worn oak bookshelf full to bursting with old Pathfinder Chronicles sits against the far wall, and there are enough scattered hardwood chairs around the room to seat six people. Sitting on a large, plush bench is a wiry old man with a wild grey beard and a finely-dressed, full-figured Taldan woman whose displeased expression belies her boredom and annoyance.
"Ah, the new recruits! So good to see you all," the old man says chirpily, waving you inside. "Please, take a seat."
The grizzled old man peers around at you all with milky, half-closed eyes and a half-smile. "Ah, yes, I definitely see some familiar faces from the training process. If you weren't aware, my name is Venture-Captain Declan Dreng, and I do hope you are prepared for the mission I have for you today."
"But first, may I introduce you to our marvellous guest here--the Lady Gloriana Morilla?" The Taldan woman tilts her head slightly in acknowledgement of the introduction, but otherwise makes no move to greet anyone. Apparently oblivious to any social slight on the lady's part, Dreng continues with a smile.
"I don't suppose you've heard of Escadar, have you?" he asks, before answering the question before anyone has a chance to display their knowledge of local geography. "It's a city on the Isle of Erran, the smaller of the two islands that make up the nation of Absalom. It houses much of Absalom's war fleet... but much more interesting to us is that it was built around one of the only surviving Azlanti ruins we know of."
"Recently, a contact from the Low Azlanti embassy in Escadar approached us with an offer. It seems they have discovered a unique relic of Azlanti origin on the Inner Sea's floor! Fascinating, I must say; we had assumed the place would be picked to the bones by now." The old man chuckles to himself. "We have the unique opportunity to add it to our collection for study, and the Decemvirate is very excited to see it come into our possession."
"Of course," Dreng feigns an exaggerated sigh, "nothing in life ever comes for free, and in return we must deliver one of our catalogued items to Escador in exchange. The Low Azlanti drive a hard bargain, so we need you to escort a relics broker to Escadar so that he can authenticate the Azlanti item and mediate a fair deal on the Ten's behalf."
"Seems simple, right? Wrong." Dreng raises one gnarled finger in the air, looking all the part of an elderly lecturer. "First rule of the Pathfinder Society, recruits, is that it is never as simple as it appears."
"The Aspis Consortium, those sneaky, conniving, moral-less bastards, have also tendered an offer for the relic. If we cannot finalise the agreement with the gillmen of Escadar within 30 days, they'll go to the next best offer. And we simply cannot have that. To make matters worse, those Aspis cretins have funded a warship to patrol the waters just beyond Absalom's harbour which has been preventing Pathfinder agents from sailing to Escadar unmolested. Our last batch of operatives went missing off the coast just a few days ago."
"Luckily," Dreng says with a sparkle in his half-closed eyes, "the beautiful lady and I have come up with a solution. Do tell them, m'lady?"
Lady Morilla stirs from her silence and speaks in a strong, demanding voice. "I have used some of the Empire of Taldor's most skilled operatives to plant a false crew manifest and course plans with the harbourmaster, ensuring that the Aspis Consortium spies who certainly keep an eye on such matters believe we are moving our relic to Escadar on a ship tomorrow morning. This decoy should occupy the Consortium sufficiently for you to travel overland to Escadar with plenty of time to make the final agreement with the gillmen before the Society's Window of opportunity runs out." A faint smile crosses her face for just a moment. "The Taldane always try to support our friends in the Pathfinder Society... as I would hope they would do to us."
Dreng laughs to himself absently, but deigns not to comment further. He then turns his attention back to the Pathfinders. "Go to the Siphons in the Puddles," he says, quickly explaining that the Siphons are an underground and often flooded emergency tunnel system where many... questionable elements reside. "We have a contact there--one Grandmaster Torch--who will be able to give you a map for a smuggler's trail through the Isle of Kortos' centre that should allow for relatively easy and secret overland travel to Escadar."
"After you meet with Grandmaster Torch, you will meet up with the Society-hired appraiser and relics broker named Nester Rees. He'll come with you to Escadar to verify the authenticity of the gillmen's relic." Dreng pauses a moment, a surprising look of seriousness replacing his formerly jovial appearance. "You are all responsible for Rees' safety and for the success of his negotiations through this mission. Do not fail in this duty."
Almost as quickly as the seriousness appears, it passes, and an easy smile returns to Dreng's face. "I've arranged lodgings for you at an Escadar tavern called the Grindylow's Goblet. That's where the gillmen will meet with you. Once you arrive, send word to the Low Azlanti embassy, and have Master Rees conduct the negotiations at the tavern on the Society's behalf. And then, of course, return with the relic in tow."
"Are there any questions, recruits?"
|
A young, slightly built Varisian man slips quietly into the room and after bowing to the Venture Capitain and lady, he drifts to one of the chairs near the wall under a stormy seascape of the outer harbor. Bound in a blue bandana, his long black hair is pulled back from an olive face, dark eyes set in an olive complexion. His enjoyment, and perhaps a tinge of nervousness is revealed by a broad gleaming white smile. His clothes are bright and varicolored in the fashion of his people and he wears a ridiculously long rainbow colored scarf. His clothes are neat and clean, the brass buttons on his short jacket brightly polished.
At his belt hangs a short dagger, and more interestingly a narrow hour-glass shaped drum is slung over his back. When he sits, he swings the drum around so that it lies on his lap. While Dreng and the lady speak the fingers of his left hand repeatedly creep toward the drum head and just as often are dragged away to clutch arm of the chair before any sound can be stirred from the instrument.
"Yes, sir, Captain Dreng," Trig rises formally to address the older man. "How will we recognize Grandmaster Torch and Nester Rees?"
"Good question! Always be clear on your mission objectives," Dreng says approvingly.
"Master Rees is an appraiser, relic broker, and friend of the Pathfinder Society for some time now. He's a middle aged man of Garundi descent--a spry sapling to me though, heheh." The old man chuckles to himself. "He's quite tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and walks with a cane and a limp. He's got heart problems or something, if I recall--he tried being a field officer for the Society back in his youth, but his weak constitution limited his ability to travel. He's got a sharp mind, though, and definitely knows his stuff when it comes to Azlanti relics."
"As for Grandmaster Torch... oh, boy. You certainly can't miss him. He's got these terrible burns all over his body and always looks like he's scowling. But trust me--you say his name in the Siphons and everyone will know who you mean."
|
A gnome sits fidgeting through the Venture-Captain's speech. Standing a full 3'6" tall and looking to weigh over 40 lbs., the strapping young lad carries himself well. Surrounding his face is a wild mane of white hair that darkens to a deep sea blue at the tips, and his piercing blue eyes are fixed on the speaker.
Bendaxalon mentally catalogues the key points that Declan Dreng makes, in order to keep himself awake and paying attention -- a little trick that he learned back home, when his teachers would get very mad at him for setting things on fire instead of listening to their lectures. He was glad for the discipline, even if he found it difficult to apply sometimes.
When Dreng finishes his long-winded explanation, the sorcerer summarizes in a pleasant tenor. "So we get a map from Grandmaster Torch in a storm drain, walk all the way across the island with a crippled expert in old junk, tell the Low Azlanti embassy when we get to Escadar, and meet gillmen at Grindylow's Goblet to trade one thing for another."
He ponders the question of questions, rubbing thumb against fingers in concentration, until a few sparks rain harmlessly from his hand onto the floor. "So, what are we taking to trade, where do we get it, and where do we meet Master Rees?"
Dreng laughs rather heartily at the gnome's summary of their mission, his bulging belly shaking with his merriment. "Oh, you gnomes never fail to amuse me." He stands up from his position on the bench beside Lady Gloriana (she's still looking mighty bored, and is now inspecting her neatly manicured fingernails) and moves to the bookcase, procuring a small, wooden box from the lowest shelf.
"What you'll be trading is this," he says, opening the lid for all to see. It appears to be a marble statue of some kind of fish-like creature, although one fin is missing. "It appears to be part of a collective, or perhaps a fragment of a larger object. Without its companion pieces, it's worthless to us. I'm not quite sure what the Low Azlantis' relic is, however."
"As for meeting Master Rees, once you return from Grandmaster Torch's... er, abode, I'll send him a missive to meet you just outside of the Grand Lodge."
|
An elf sits at the far end of the table listening intently. Shorter, and a little skinnier than most elves, he is also slightly more pale; indicating that he has spent a lot of time indoors studying. Potion bottles with liquids of various colours hang from little clips on his large leather jacket. A thick book with strange mathematical symbols dangles from a chain at his waist. Alchemical instruments poke out of pockets and jingle whenever he moves. His short blonde hair is a mess a top his head, sticking out at all angles, and the ends slightly singed (probably from a recent experiment).
After listening to the others speak for a moment, Arithas speaks up and says "It sounds like the danger of Consortium interference on the way to the Isle is taken care of, for the most part. What do we know of their activity within Escadar? Do we know if they will attempt an intercept while we are on the island?" As he speaks he fiddles with the cork stopper on one of his many vials.
"Ah, yes... the Consortium." Though chipper until this moment, Dreng seems to grow embittered at the very mention of the Society's rivals. He frowns deeply as he continues to speak. "We don't really know what they're up to, to be frank. If you run into them... use as much force as needed to keep the mission safe. If they want to talk, then talk, but if they interfere with our deal in any way, I authorise--" he grins viciously, "no, encourage--the use of deadly force."
|
|
Elysia leans forward at the varied conversations, trying to take it all in. She's of average height for an elf with brown hair, blue eyes and an almost olive complexion, which shows she's been out in the sun a good bit. Even though she's young, you can tell her natural expression is a smile but she is not smiling now.
"The sooner we get starter, the sooner this will be resolved. I'm ready."
It's always good to get back on the road.
Elysia said very quietly
|
|
What about... Trig's mind flits through so many unknowns, so many questions, but he realizes that most of them can't be answered now. And most would make him look terribly inexperienced. He keeps his mouth shut. The journey will provide its own answers, I guess.
Dreng's comment about deadly force provokes a little anxiety, and fascination. Trig wonders what provoked it. He also remembers an old Varisian proverb. Keep a knife in one hand, but use your smile first.
|
|
The man sitting beside the female elf stirs as the gnome voices his summary, causing his white tabard to rustle against his scale armor. He quickly stills the fabric, eyes widening in slight embarassment. Though his golden eyes lack irises, the black pupils allow others to follow his gaze. His brown hair is braided down his back in the Ulfen style, though the perfect edges of his features and the golden hue of his skin reveals his otherworldly heritage.
Allowing the others to finish for the moment, he raises his hand to catch Declan’s attention. In a deep but melodic voice, he says, ”Sir, please forgive me, but I am confused about something. When we arrive at the far side of Kortos, will there be a ship to ferry us across the channel to Escadar, or will we have to find our own transport?”
|
|
Bendaxalon rubs his hands with glee, smiling broadly as a few more sparks fly off of them. "Oh good! I'm good at both. Talking and deadly force," the gnome clarifies, hopping down gracefully from the overlarge chair. "I'm ready to go right now." He barely manages to hold himself in place, when he'd rather be out the door.
Allowing the others to finish for the moment, he raises his hand to catch Declan’s attention. In a deep but melodic voice, he says, ”Sir, please forgive me, but I am confused about something. When we arrive at the far side of Kortos, will there be a ship to ferry us across the channel to Escadar, or will we have to find our own transport?”
"No need for apologies, sir. I believe you'll need to find passage on a ship to cross the channel, yes. Torch should know more about it, but as far as I'm aware there's a town of some sorts up there that will suit your needs."
Lady Gloriana heaves a pointed, annoyed sigh at this point, and Dreng offers her an apologetic smile before looking back to the Pathfinders. "Any last questions, then?"
As the group asks their final few questions and prepares to leave, Lady Gloriana starts to stand up from her position on the cushioned bench and reaches her arm out for assistance from the nearest person. If nobody comes immediately to her aid, she clears her throat pointedly.
|
|
"Hmm." Bendaxalon considers asking about all of the innocent people who could die at the hands of the Aspis Consortium if another ship happens to be leaving at the same time as the false course plan that Lady Morilla's operatives planted with the harbormaster, but it really isn't his responsibility. "Nope. Nice to meet you, Lady!" He reaches up and shakes her outstretched hand with both of his little ones before dashing to the door, where he stops briefly to salute the Venture-Captain. "Sir." The small blue blur disappears, confident that someone bigger will take the wooden box with the marble statue.
|
|
Trig rises quickly to help Lady Gloriana, but slows down when he sees that Arithas will reach her first. He thanks Venture Captain Dreng for this opportunity and bows to him and the Lady on his way out.
He quickens his pace to catch up with Arithas, or more accurately with the box. Falling in on Arithas' left Trig asks the group, "How about we find someplace quiet to get acquainted and plan our first move?"
Unfolding the paper reveals a handwritten note signed by the Lady herself.
Dearest Pathfinders,
As you know, the people of Taldor share a proud history that traces their blood to the ancient Azlanti who founded our great nation. I have a letter that I ask you to deliver to the Low Azlanti embassy in Escadar; my request requires no additional effort on your part other than carrying a simple envelope. I have no hesitation in telling you the letter asks the gillmen to consider an alliance with the nation of Taldor—if the letter finds its way into the gillmen's hands, it would please me greatly.
A new dawn will rise over Taldor,
Lady Gloriana Morilla
|
|
Arithas continues walking behind the gnome, Bendy, with Trig at his side, and begins to introduce himself. "My name is Arithas Elethen, I am an alchemist hailing from Augustana, where I lived for the greater portion of my multitudinous years. I absolutely love everything about alchemy, from the simplest of mixtures, to my magical extracts, mutagens, and bombs. I joined the Pathfinders to serve my beloved Andoran, and to acquire all the knowledge that I am able concerning my craft. I am not afraid to fight, or to kill, if necessary. Especially if the enemy is the Aspis Consortium or slavers from Okeno..." at which point he trails off and walks on in silence, as if transfixed on some point in the past.
|
|
Trig listens to the elf's introduction with interest. "My name's Trig. I'm from Varisia, mostly around Magnimar, but my family traveled the whole shoreline road from Korvosa to Riddleport. I haven't been with the Pathfinders long. This is my first mission. I joined up for the chance to learn how to better draw magic from my music. I hope the Apsis don't show up, but if it comes to a fight, I'll have your backs."
|
|
Khale perks up as Arithas mentions his history. "Interesting, I was born and raised in a small village near Augustana. It seems the farther I travel, the more I find to remind me of home," he says with a smile.
"I am Khale d'Anlyn, a noviate in service to The Eternal Rose as a sworn brother of the Templars of the Glaive. Our order seeks to spread the message of Shelyn to any who want to listen, as well as aid any who require assistance."
He winks, "Do not worry though, I am a poor evangelist. If any want to know of her, feel free to ask. My training, and purpose, is here," he says nodding at the glaive in his hand.
Hearing the others mention continuing to the Puddles, Khale agrees, "Indeed, let us speak while we walk."
|
|
(thanks alice)
As they walk and talk Arithas listens intently to his companions, smiling and nodding in agreement with Khale's mention of home. Once everyone has finished introducing themselves, he hands the letter to Trig for him to pass around. "Lady Gloriana slipped this into my hand as I helped her to stand. I am unsure why she was so secretive about it, since it is addressed to all of us, but I see no harm in delivering it to the gillmen."
|
|
While the others introduce themselves Trig listens to each carefully. He practices an exercise that one of his mentors was fond of, trying to mentally catalog them along with a summary of their gear, a description, and their history. The histories are easy because he's always been fond of stories.
He is curious about Khale; mystified by Li (I've got to ask him about Quain, wherever that is);he smiles at Elysia (another follower of Desna);and he chuckles outright at Bendy (this gnome has an enthusiasm for life, and a gift for expression.
****
Taking the note from Arithas, he glances at it briefly and frowns, before passing it on to Khale.
Unfolding the paper reveals a handwritten note signed by the Lady herself.
Dearest Pathfinders,
As you know, the people of Taldor share a proud history that traces their blood to the ancient Azlanti who founded our great nation. I have a letter that I ask you to deliver to the Low Azlanti embassy in Escadar; my request requires no additional effort on your part other than carrying a simple envelope. I have no hesitation in telling you the letter asks the gillmen to consider an alliance with the nation of Taldor—if the letter finds its way into the gillmen's hands, it would please me greatly.
A new dawn will rise over Taldor,
Lady Gloriana Morilla
"Aghurgh." He clears his throat. "The note is fairly candid, but the lady took pains to conceal it from Venture Captain Dreng. Is it wise to deliver this letter with no knowledge of its contents? We could be embroiling the Pathfinders in some intrigue we'd be better to steer clear of."
Know(local) VC Dreng
Know(local) Lady G
|
|
Dax L'amor (as no one calls him) notices Arithas examining the statue, and immediately lends his own considerable powers of deduction to the task, as well as casting a little detect magic cantrip just in case. "Hmm. Hmmmm."
He snaps his fingers. "AHA! That... is a statue! And proof that this will be an easy mission, since it's worthless to Dreng. Therefore they have low expectations of what we're supposed to get for it, therefore they won't expend much resources on it, therefore it will be easy, Q.E.D. That's Quad Errors Dictum, which is ancient Taldane for 'four mistakes say so,' since of course two wrongs don't make a right; it takes twice that many lefts just to get back where you started." The colorful gnome nods to himself, confident that his logic is unassailable, and resumes walking.
|
|
Khale takes the note, reads through it, and then examines the letter. "I'm conflicted; perhaps our host's generosity in creating a diversion is not truly a virtuous sacrifice in anything but appearance. It would be interesting if the delivery of this letter was really her goal all along, and we provided the best way to see it done."
The aasimar shrugs and holds up the letter to see if anybody else wants to look at it.
The statue detects as very, very faintly magical, so much so that the aura is barely visible to those with the proper arcane sight.
You do not, however, know much about Dreng, short of the fact that he's one of the Venture-Captains of the Grand Lodge of Absalom.
================
As they get to know each other, the Pathfinders move south through the Foreign Quarter--the hub of immigrant activity in Absalom--through to the water-logged Puddles district. This lower-class area features a festering lake in the very centre (sardonically called the Little Inner Sea), and most businesses tend to be calf-deep in water even at low tide. It's a very rough and tumble area; for the most part, only those who really cannot afford to live elsewhere make their livelihoods in the district--as well as the few too stubborn to leave or the few too dishonest to miss the opportunity to prey on the downtrodden.
You keep a close watch on your purses as you navigate through the district, avoiding at least one street urchin's attempts on your purses and deftly avoiding any particularly shady looking group. Speaking briefly with a dishevelled young mother and her toddler by the Little Inner Sea, you are easily able to garner directions to the Siphons. A short while later, you climb down a manhole into the sewers, and follow the surprisingly well-lit passageway beside the water channel until coming across a nondescript wooden door with a large, burly half-orc standing guard outside of it.
"You the Pathfinders here to see Grandmaster Torch?" he asks with a grunt; he seems to size you up briefly before granting you entry, leading you inside and directing you to a particular room within. Beyond is a large stone room that seems to somehow be free of all standing water or even airborne moister, very odd for the Puddles indeed. A dark-haired, horrifically-burned man in his late-middle years sits in a large bathtub, and two waifish attendants continually pour cool water over his cursed, festering wounds. A handful of heavily-armed half-orc bodyguards stand at attention nearby, eyeing you warily.
"Well met, Pathfinders," Torch says as he rises to greet you, his voice gravely, and he sneers--or perhaps smiles; it's hard to tell. "I see you are the newest batch of the Decemvirate's pawns. Good luck keeping yourselves alive from now on. You'll certainly need it."
"Let me give you a word of warning. This next task is much more dangerous than the venture-captain may have told you." Torch steps out of the bathtub, and his attendants sling a soft, white towel over his shoulders. Nodding to one of his half-orc guards, the h'orc retrieves a rolled-up piece of parchment from within a drawer behind him and passes it to the group. "I've made it my life's work to ensure Pathfinder agents are given all the tools they need to return home from their myriad adventures. This map is the tool I give you. Follow the directions on my map as strictly as you can. Deviate from this path and you may encounter challenges far beyond your abilities."
Torch turns from the group a moment, seeming pensive. The terrible burn wounds spread over his wide back like fractalised whip lashes. "Many would paint me and those who believe like I do as betrayers of the Society, but this is far from the truth. I have no love for the Decemvirate... but I am completely loyal to the corps of the organisation." He turns back around and looks at each of the group in turn. "That's each and every one of you."
"If you believe you have been mistreated by the Ten or their representatives... don't hesitate to let me know upon your return from Escadar. My network of agents and spies is vast. I am a powerful ally to have on your side."
"Now be off! You have a long journey ahead of you. But remember, don't deviate from this map! It's designed to get you there and back safely!"
|
|
Arithas listens intently to the burned man, trying to discern what may have caused such wounds. When the Grandmaster finishes, he bows his head in respect. "Grandmaster, if I may, what sort of dangers can we expect if we stay true to your highlighted route? What is it that causes you to believe our mission to be so perilous?"
"Grandmaster, if I may, what sort of dangers can we expect if we stay true to your highlighted route? What is it that causes you to believe our mission to be so perilous?"
Torch chuckles, his laughter short and barking. "Never trust the Ten's words, elf. Always be ready for unexpected challenges. If I knew for sure of hidden dangers, I would let you know up front. I do not want to lose another batch of Pathfinders on some political folly."
"But what can I tell you in particular? The Kortos Mountain area is trackless wilderness. That in itself should be warning of danger enough. This map is something I... procured from an ex-smuggler." Torch's thin-lipped, toothy smile makes you wonder what exactly he means by ex-smuggler. "Though I've never taken the route myself, I was assured this avoids a number of dangers along the way. The mountain tops are controlled by flocks of harpies, and minotaur tribes rule the mid-ranges; this route should take you through a mountain pass for the most part. There are several tribes of centaurs that live at the base of the mountains as well, but they tend to be more... amenable to talking than the others. There's been sightings of dragons and chimera from time to time as well."
The burns seem particularly strange to you. The wounds seem perpetually fresh, as if Torch was burned scant minutes ago, despite that being obviously impossible. You are not sure what exactly caused it, but you are sure it must be some kind of magical curse.
Torch seems to look rather pityingly at Li Shuo, and makes sure he speaks slowly and clearly in response to the Tian man.
"Do you know the Decemvirate? Of course not. Nobody does. Nobody knows who they are, what they want, or what their plans are. I wouldn't trust the Ten as far as I could throw them. ... But that does not mean we do not begrudgingly work together."
Grandmaster Torch pauses for a short time, frowning in thought, before he carefully continues. "I suppose it is best to explain my allegiances here. I am the head of the Shadow Lodge. We have had some... problems with the Society in the past, but as it stands now, we have come to a truce. The Decemvirate is working to meet our demands to treat their agents as something better than dispensable cannon fodder. And in return, I provide them with information that hopefully saves lives."
|
|
Trig watches the interchange. Torch's words simultaneously excite and repel him. How dare he impugn the Society's leaders? Are we not the finest explorers in the world? Do we not gather lost information for the good of all? At the same time his youth and the rough road culture of Varisia make Torch's call to benevolent revolution a Siren song.
He thinks about the upcoming journey and the map. "Aghurgh." He clears his throat. "Maps never tell the whole story. Rough terrain can slow travel. How long will it take to travel through the mountains?"
|
|
Khale speaks up, "Sir, we also met with Lady Gloriana Morilla. She, in a subtle way, asked us to pass along a letter to the embassy when we arrive. Do you know of any reason why we shouldn't accede to her request? She claims its contents are simply an invitation to the gillmen to consider an alliance with Taldor. But she kept it secret from the Venture-Captain. Delivering the letter should not pose a problem, my concern is that we may have been drawn into some political game that might prove more dangerous than the hike through the mountains. "