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Only a handful of other Pathfinders, most of them initiates, walk the halls near the office of Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin; the Grand Lodge is shockingly dead for this time of day.
The Grand Lodge's chamberlain sits behind his impeccably organised desk, reading a recently-printed chronicle and tapping his finger on an elaborately-decorated open envelope. He gives you the barest of nods as you enter, the tap-tap-tapping of his finger upon the sickeningly pink gilded stationary the only sound in the eerily silent Pathfinder Society headquarters.
"Can you believe this place?" Valsin asks in his usual brusque manner, keeping his eyes squared on his chronicle. "It's like a ghost town in here. Almost every agent worth their salt is off in Varisia or god-knows-where right now. I bet you there's more Pathfinders in the nearest graveyard than in this place."
Valsin finishes his reading and places the document on his desk, deigning to look over what passed as 'worth their salt' these days. His expression is almost pained as he slides the envelope forward across the desk towards where you are seated; he appears almost reticent to hand it over to the group, in fact.
"Desna certainly smiles upon me today," he utters dryly, leaving no question in your mind that he obviously considers this a mixed blessing, "that you fine agents are all free from other assignments right now. I hope to all the Gods there are that you are qualified enough to take this mission on."
"I won't lie. This is probably one of the strangest and yet most difficult tasks I've ever had to send a group of Pathfinders on. It is well outside your normal realm of expertise... and yet so much rides on this that I'm left with no other option."
Ambrus flips the envelope over, revealing the Blakros heraldry stamped upon the outside. Fancy, weaving calligraphy inches around the outside of the iconic house emblem; the silvery script reads An Invitation. "I need you to attend a wedding."
He leans back in his chair, idly toying with the envelope as he speaks. "I'm sure I needn't let you know who the Blakroses are. I believe some of you have even had dealings with the family before, or perhaps their accursed museum." Ambrus almost smiles at that thought, although it comes out as more like a lop-sided smirk. "The Society has cultivated a good working relationship with the family over the years, partially thanks to the efforts of field agents like yourselves. It is therefore of dire importance that our relationship is maintained."
Ambrus clears his throat. "In two days, Michellia Blakros is getting married to the former Hellknight Damian Kastner, and because of security
concerns, we only got our invitation this morning. I won't bore you with specifics," he waves away any questioning looks with a flick of his hand, "but suffice to say, the Society has a lot of interest in this wedding. Some of our agents had a hand in helping the two lovebirds get together."
"The wedding is taking place on a secluded summer retreat on nearby Pariol Island, which the Blakroses own. There are two boats heading there before the first wedding festivities. One is a small supply runner set to leave in an hour that could get you there early tomorrow morning. The next is a larger ship that will transport the majority of the guests in the morning. Your travel is paid for, of course, but you'll need to get on one of those two vessels unless you've got some miraculous other way to get there. Swimming, perhaps." Ambrus remains as stoic as ever, his sardonic jokes generally not the best at garnering laughter.
With a grave nod, Ambrus passes over the envelope containing the invitation before continuing. "A word of advice for you. Now, this might seem obvious, but heavens above, some of the agents we employ seem unable to comprehend common sense." He shakes his head sadly.
"If I can bash one simple thing into your heads, it's this: dress appropriately! Some of the most influential people about Absalom are going to be present at this wedding, and you can be sure they won't look highly upon some grubby adventurer turning up in his three-week-worn pair of breeches." Ambrus grunts; it appears that's some memory of his that he'd rather forget. "If you must wear armour, make sure it's damned spotless and shining like a diamond."
"Now, I don't expect any trouble, but it seems to dog Pathfinder agents like a bad smell and afflicts the Blakros family twice as bad." Ambrus rolls his eyes. "In any case, the Blakroses are providing their own security; I suggest you leave that to them. You'll be required to peace-bond any weapons you take with you when you arrive on the island."
"Lastly... please be on your best behaviour," he says almost desperately, eyeing Trys and Jakarno in particular. "I know this is harder for some of you than others, but... just give it your best shot. Like I said, you'll be surrounded by the top dog of Absalom. I'm talking councillors, archbishops, dignitaries, ambassadors, and the most famed elite you can ever imagine. You will be representatives of the Pathfinder Society at this wedding, and it is your mission above all else to make a good impression on the Blakroses and as many other guests as you can. I can't stress this enough: this is a social gathering, and the Society could really use the extra clout for the inevitable moment that we must ask them of a favour or two. I don't want to have to explain why any of my agents lit something on fire, groped a bridesmaid or the best man, drank a small lake's worth of alcohol, or otherwise acted like you're in the seediest tavern down at the Docks rather than a formal and dignified occasion."
"I don't care if you save the wedding from a dragon, find out the bride is a doppelganger, or discover some grand plot to take over the Inner Sea--I only care that you leave this wedding having made people happy and improving our standing among the attendees! Are we understood?"
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One of the attendees is a well-dressed, clean elf with blond hair and timeless blue eyes. By his looks, you can tell that he likes everything to be neat and spotless, just like his enamelled mithral breastplate bearing the open palm of Irori. His gestures are precise and never made in vain. Yet one thing contrasts with the elf's shiny appearance: his hands, up to the elbows, are severely burnt, to the point that it'll probably never heal. Those burn marks are in the open, a reminder of the vicissitudes of his past.
Awaiting the end of the briefing for a chance to speak, the elf nods briskly at Ambrus Valsin's words. It shall be done as you ask, Venture Captain. I've known the curator of the Blakros museum for quite some time, even saved his life. The poor sod was about to be sacrificed to the demon lord Anghazan... I do hope he will remember me.
Feigning a sigh, Kynrac cannot suppress a smile as he jests There go my chances of marrying a Blakros girl, I suppose. It looks like this Kastner boy is in for a treat, they say that the Blakros's wealth - as well as their supply of ancient artifacts - never runs dry. A Hellknight... what a peculiar idea. There must be a reason for this alliance. Do we know anything about him or his family?
Addressing his companions, the elf seems to have instantly regained his former no-nonsense attitude, even adding a touch of humilty as he bows to the other attendees. He's obviously an experienced socialite, adapting to his environment rapidly. I am Kynrac Chronarion, librarian of the Scrolls and apprentice of Master Shaine. Well met.
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The tiny halfling in the well worn leather armor takes in the scene. Two wicked looking Kukris hung at her waist. At the beginning of the speech, she was coolly professional looking with no hint of any emotion given away on her face. She had a hardened appearance, as if she was a veteran of several difficult missions. At the mention of a fancy wedding, however, her expression lit up like a torch.
"A swanky wedding? Ooo, how exciting! Hopefully this will be a more pleasant mission than most of my recent ones. There's no way for me to catch the early boat...I don't have a thing to wear that won't get me laughed out of the place.". She turned to the others, "Does anyone else need to go shopping? If so, perhaps we could go together. I'm Shel, by the way. Pleasure to meet the lot of you."
This is the kind of mission I can handle!
The Blakros family originated in Taldor, as many noble families do, and they made their initial fortune trading with both Qadira and Taldor during the nations' centuries-long conflict. Today they are one of the most influential families in Absalom and the greater Inner Sea region, possessing not only a great sum of wealth but a vast collection of rarities and magical creations from ages past.
The Blakros family weds their offspring only to those of sufficient prestige and renown (again, as many noble families are wont to do). Unlike in many other marriages, those who marry into the family often take on the Blakros name following the ceremony so that any children born to the couple will also carry the Blakros name. The matriarchs of the family tend to wield significant power indeed.
A requirement of marrying into the Blakros family is a dowry of some note. In many circumstances, these dowries are secret to all but the families involved until they are formally presented at the reception.
You are also aware that the Pathfinder Society had a hand in bringing Michellia and the Hellknight officer Damian Kastner together after the Blakros daughter was rejected by Major Colson Maldris. She, as well as other guests, were invited to the Society's exclusive annual Grand Convocation in the summer of 4712 AR, which is where they met.
Ambrus nods to Kynrac, seemingly pleased that at least one of the group had an in with the Blakroses already. Well, as pleased as the brusque and businesslike man got, at least. "That's right, I do recall that we sent agents to investigate that disturbance at the Blakros Museum. Some cursed Mwangi statuette spraying horrible mists everywhere. I'm certain he will remember you."
"As for Kastner?" The venture-captain scratches at his short-cropped beard with a frown. "Honestly, my knowledge of him is sparse. Paracountess Zarta Dralneen had a hand in getting him to the Grand Convocation where they met, although I prefer to keep my head out of that devilish woman's privates... err, private business." Ambrus pointedly clears his throat. "I believe he is a high-ranking member of the Hellknight Order of the Scourge and also comes from a well-to-do family. Well, he has to have, if he managed to impress the Blakroses."
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A venerable-looking fellow, a Gnome probably, with a bushy white moustache and a hood of green felt, sits in his chair, almost vanishing into it and the heavy green coat he is wearing.
This 'Gnome' is wearing a disguise!
"Well et be accepteble te teke me Spell Cempehnent Pehch? Me Scrolls? Eh dehn't cur 'beht no wehpens." he says in a peculiar accent.
"Me nehm es Bahnabus Behtleby Buhn." he says to the other Pathfinders. "Wizahd. Plehsed te meet yeh."
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A woman in sturdy traveling gear and a loud red & brown scarf listens with a hint of a smile on her face. She is well armed with a the air of someone you do not want to cross. A slight Varisian accent reveals her origin as she speaks. Have no worry, Ambrus, I always make... an impression.
With a wave of her hand her clothes change into fine regalia fit for a ball.
To herself: Grope a groomsman, huh. That doesn't sound like a bad idea...
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Terrill listens patiently as the venture-captain describes the mission he has in mind, and how apparently ill-suited he and his new companions are for the job. Terrill is a half-elf, a bit on the short side for his race, though his arms and shoulders are corded with muscle. He wears a beautifully crafted breastplate of blackened steel, and a graceful curving blade runs across his back. He is young, but serious and intent in his demeanor.
”You may feel that Desna is not giving you her whole blessing today, Venture-Captain,” Terrill says sternly. ”But I assure you, she gives it to me,” he adds, an unusual grin breaking out on his face. He looks at the other Pathfinders in the room and gives a friendly nod, ”I am Terrill Mayern, servant of Lady Luck, the Great Dreamer.”
Regarding Ambrus once again, he says, ”Sending us to a wedding, are you? And I expect the Blakros family know a thing or two about having a party. Sounds like a much better gig than tromping around the basement of their museum, rescuing young Imrizade from all manner of badness. “ Looking down at his armor, of fine quality and in good condition, and his somewhat worn travelling clothes he says, ”As you can imagine, I am known to the Blakroses as well, and could probably clean up enough to be passable at a party. But since you see it as so important, and see us as so unsuited, as it were, for this mission, I might do well to buy some finery when Shel does. If I can do that quickly, I can make the boat that leaves in an hour, which would be my preference.”
"Ja..." Ambrus pauses a moment, staring at the 'gnome' with narrowed eyes. He sighs before continuing, "Barnabus, I'm unaware of the guards' security policies on scrolls and whatnot. You'll have to ask them upon your arrival."
Trys's offhand comment causes Ambrus to visibly wince. "I am going to assume that is a joke, Trys. The alternative is too painful to consider."
Listening to the banter between his agents, Ambrus adds, "As you've surmised, if you take the boat that leaves within an hour, you'll have ample time to explore the island before the guests arrive, if you so wish. Of course, being that it leaves within an hour, you'll have only the briefest time to purchase formal wear. Cross your fingers that they have something in your size."
"On the other hand, the later yacht takes a more leisurely course, and you'll have the opportunity to hob-nob with some of the dignitaries while you're there, too."
Ambrus shrugs. "It's up to you. But you'd best decide soon--time's a-wasting, and there's only one ticket; you'll have to go together."
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Terrill turns to his newfound companions, studying each of them for a moment before speaking. "Well, what's it to be? Hurry for the early boat and check out the playing field, or take the yacht and get to know some of the players? I'm game either way, and happy to let fate decide it. If Shel and I can find the right clothes in time for the early boat, then let us take it. If not, we'll be well dressed for when the yacht sails. In short, we'll let Lady Luck decide, and Desna's blessing will travel with us because of it. What do you say?"
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Kynrac doesn't notice a thing about the strange gnome, preferring to focus on the wealth of knowledge he can provide to his companions.
Ever the lecturer, Kynrac engages in a long, matter-of-fact description including what he knows about this influential Taldane family:
It is known that the Blakros family originated in Taldor, as many noble families do, and they made their initial fortune trading with both Qadira and Taldor during the nations' centuries-long conflict. Today they are one of the most influential families in Absalom and the greater Inner Sea region, possessing not only a great sum of wealth but a vast collection of rarities and magical creations from ages past.
The Blakros family weds their offspring only to those of sufficient prestige and renown (again, as many noble families are wont to do). Unlike in many other marriages, those who marry into the family often take on the Blakros name following the ceremony so that any children born to the couple will also carry the Blakros name. The matriarchs of the family tend to wield significant power indeed.
A requirement of marrying into the Blakros family is a dowry of some note. In many circumstances, these dowries are secret to all but the families involved until they are formally presented at the reception.
We should also be aware that the Pathfinder Society had a hand in bringing Michellia and the Hellknight officer Damian Kastner together after the Blakros daughter was rejected by Major Colson Maldris. She, as well as other guests, were invited to the Society's exclusive annual Grand Convocation in the summer of 4712 AR, which is where they met.
As for the Paracountess Zarta Dralneen of Cheliax, she's very famous for her tendency to *coughs* corrupt the innocent and the young into the many bodily perversions provided by her devilish entourage.
Pondering a moment, the lorekeeper continues.
It is customary in these cases to bring a wedding gift. Does the Society have anything in mind? Or should we arrange for that as well?
Then answering Terrill: We should grab the first boat if we have a chance. That said, the second one could also give us a chance of an early meeting or insight on some of the guests. I'll also buy something more formal, I think. This armor is very light and shiny, but it isn't the right thing to wear on such an occasion. Let's hurry if we want to catch that early boat.
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You forget, sir Elf, that our mission is to make an impression. Honored guests of the wedding are more valuable contacts than the supply run sailors.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"You make a good point, Trys," responds Terrill. "And if I can drag my analogy out a bit more, in any game it's more important to know something about the players than the playing field. Let's take our time with the shopping, so we make the best possible impression, and board the yacht tonight and see what we can learn." He pauses a moment, then says, "I am not the most socially adept among us, I suspect, but I can keep quiet when I need to, and I have a sharp eye for when people are telling the truth, or telling all they know."
"And thank you, Kynrac, for all the useful information about the family. I have done a little work for them on past missions, but haven't learned nearly as much as you about the folk we're supposed to build relationships with on this run. As I've said, it's good to know about the players in the game."
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Kynrac nods, obviously satisfied by the consensus among the group.
Very well. We shall take the second boat, and make sure we make an unforgettable first impression. Having worked in the interest of the Blakros family in the past will certainly give us an edge, but the Chelish officials also owe me a favor. Now might be a good occasion to collect. says the elf as he plays with a strange Chelish coin.
Let's venture into the Coins. We need that paraphernalia to enhance our natural aptitude to sway the guests to our side.
Ambrus nods, likewise satisfied with the decision you've made. Or perhaps with the fact that you are seriously taking the time to consider your address and hob-nob with the dignitaries. He seems pleased, at least for the stoic and humourless man you know him as.
"Well, then. Best of luck to you all, Pathfinders. And... erm... have fun, I suppose."
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"Off te be buyin' me some fehncy clothes, yeh." Barnabus says, heaving himself out of his chair and hitting the ground with a puff of dust or powder coming off of his coat. "Meet yehs at the boat temerrow. Ah'll be tryin' teh bring wit' me some scrolls. But eh'll leaf me spehlbook et home."
Barnabus bids you all farewell before departing.
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Trys goes out and visits a shop keeper who owes her a favor. She returns with Jewels fit for a minor noble, a signet ring, and a bottle of intoxicating perfume.
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Clothed in robes of the finest silk from the far lands of Tian Xia and sporting a beautifully adorned sheathed katana and wakizashi at his side, Mifune entered the docks in high fashion. The fair-skinned Tian-Min man seemed to exude an air of poise and grace as he seemingly floated towards the yacht, waiting patiently for the other Pathfinders to arrive. Looking about at the nobles and well-to-dos with a hint of displeasure hidden under professionalism, the Samurai muttered under his breath as he kept a lookout for his fellows.
"...a wedding. May Lady Amara guide me."
The Pathfinders split off into the streets of Absalom, shopping not for magical swords and enchanted wands this time but for a much more peculiar thing: the perfect gown or suit to wear to the wedding.
The men looking for a more traditional suit make their way to a highly-appraised tailor in the Coins; the rail-thin tailor rises to the occasion with gusto, measuring you up quick as a flash and recommending a vast swathe of different styles. There's the traditional black, of course; always appropriate, no matter the situation. But perhaps you might be interested in pinstripes or checkers, or navy blue or grey or russet brown fabric? There's also your tie to think of; maybe a silken blue to match your eyes, a vibrant red for contrast, or perhaps even a cute little bow tie to buck the trend? The tailor also recommends something for your front pocket, perhaps a kerchief matching the tie, or mayhaps even a fresh flower - there's a great florist just down the road, you know? Ah, and hats, one can't forget those! Top hats, fedoras, they're all here; the haberdashery is fantastic!
Mifune instead makes for a tailor in the Foreign Quarter specialising in the fashions of the Dragon Empires. He's greeted with a deep bow and introduced to all manner of silken fashions; and yet, even with the culture gap between his attire and the others', the most recommended colours are still black and grey. The grey-haired old Gokan man who runs the shop assists Mifune with the obi and outer kimono, adjusting his collar to have it sit right.
Jakarno and Shel have a little more difficulty, having to find a shop that caters for the smallfolk to suit their petite frames. Nevertheless, when they come across one that suits, the gregarious middle-aged twin halflings who run the store swallow them up with excitement, chatting endlessly about how wonderful weddings were. One of them insists on gifting Shel a handbag that perfectly fits with her outfit, declaring that such luck finding the match could not be denied.
Trys heads to a place she's familiar with--not so well known, but the woman who runs it is wife of a man whose brother she once, er, worked with, and she's quite happy to do a favour for her. The dress shop smells of heavy perfumes and tends towards more sultry, voluptuous attire, although some that show less skin are still available (much to the woman's sadness, she insisting that Trys would look fabulous in something low-cut and sexy).
In the end, purchases are made, time is wasted, and you make your way down to the docks to await the guest ferry across to Pariol Island.
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When you arrive, you find you are not the only well-dressed ones waiting upon the docks. Even as you wait a couple more trickle in, largely dismounting from fancy, private horse-driven carriages or wooden rickshaws, already dressed to the nines as it is. The gossiping starts almost immediately as old friends and rivals congregate to judge the attire of all others they can see, murmurs floating around the docks like a buzzing bee. The congregation is garnering many curious and jealous stares from the poor peons left behind, uninvited to the social event of the year.
The Blakroses' galleon is a magnificent ship made entirely from darkwood, its enormous sails imprinted with the Blakros heraldry, same as on the invitation. A wide and stable incline allows the delicately-dressed guests to funnel onto the ship with ease, bordered on both sides by well-armoured guards. A third man in heavy chainmail and a walrus-like moustache cross-references the guests' invitations with a long list, and of course checks in any weapons and other goods required to be transported separately to the island. Three servants work to ferry these goods onto the ship, tagging them with their guests' names, while more guards are already on board, looking quite alert.
When your time in line comes, the guards eye you up appraisingly, and the one with the list steps forward.
"Your invitation, please?" he asks, his voice strained and his brow sweating with the stress of the event. Once the card is shown, he ticks your names off on a list with a nod.
"I must ask you to allow us to peacebond your weapons, and please present any magic wands you have on your person. If you have any goods you wish to be transported to the island, please also bring them to my attention."
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After an afternoon well-spent, Kynrac exits Elnarion's, a less famous tailor among those in Absalom, but also one of the closest to match the elf's style. The Celwynian garb Kynrac just bought is subtle, yet fancy: light blue, silver-embroidered robes matched with a dark gray and silver silken scarf tied like a tie around the lorekeeper's neck. A silver headband seemingly woven into Kynrac's hair adorns his head, a single small sapphire set in the middle of its forehead. A dark sash is tied around the elf's waist, in its midst a scrollcase. A pair of comfortable yet formal sandals cover his feet, matching the lorekeeper's robes whereas his hands and burns are entirely covered in soft light blue silk gloves coming all the way up his arm, reaching the elbow.
Finally, a simple steel wayfinder rests inside one of his pockets, the only thing suggesting its existance being the silver chain it is attached to, dangling from his sash to the pocket. Kynrac cannot suppress a smug look of satisfaction as he meets his companions in the harbor, yet he doesn't quite seem at ease.
Irori knows I don't like those formal occasions. I'd much prefer sifting through this year's compendium of Pathfinder Chronicles. What if I step on someone's robes?
The elf glances at the crowd, trying to spot a few individuals, or the presence of Aspis badges.
Boarding the magnificent galleon, the elf produces his invitation to the guard with a haughty look. I have no weapon. Here are a couple wands I keep. he says as he shows a white oak wand, another made of horn, and a gnarled darkwood one at last. Then showing his sturdy bag: Here is my luggage.
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Shel met the others as a vision of green. She was wearing an emerald party dress with accompanying bracelets and earrings. She still had her magical amulet adorned about her neck.
Shel had a a full little handbag as she had her three wands in it,along with her potion of Invisibility. She offered a masterwork and a silver Kukri to be peace bonded. The remainder of her gear was left at the lodge.
After her weapons were properly bonded, Shel turned to her companions, "I don't suppose any of you have a little extra carrying space, do you? My bag is exploding at the seams over here. Maybe I could pass off one of these knives and a wand or so, and get them back, if necessary?"
Kynrac, you do indeed spot both Nigel Aldain and Zarta Dralneen amongst the crowd.
The ever-bespectacled elf Nigel is standing patiently beside his wife, Dhrami Blakros, a beautiful woman of obvious Vudrani heritage. She is quite animated, talking excitedly to a gaggle of noble ladies; they seem to be admiring each other's formal dresses at length, to which the elven man is patiently enduring in stoic silence. Nigel himself cuts a rather dashing figure, dressed in a dusky grey suit laced with silver edging, while Dhrami shows off a brilliant violet-and-gold silk sari.
Zarta Dralneen is also here, of course; why would the Paracountess ever be missing from an event such as this? As per usual, Zarta stands out from the crowd in more ways than one; her dress is a low-cut blood-red gown that leaves very little to the imagination. She is currently hanging off the arm of a rather red-faced man who is struggling to hide his frequent glances at her cleavage in front of his wife. (Zarta is clearly enjoying the attention.)
Thankfully, there are no Aspis agents hanging around, at least that you can identify in any way. You suspect that the Blakroses would not have much fondness for the Aspis Consortium either, being in the business of mercantilism and relic procuring themselves.
The guard warily eyes the wands and clears his throat. "Orders from on top say that you may keep harmless wands on your person. Offensive wands are strictly forbidden. If you wish to keep your wands on your person, you must demonstrate the wand's capabilities for me here and now. Is that clear?"
He seems uninterested in Shel's potion, eyeing it for a half second and shrugging it off. All the other weapons are peace-bonded, a thick cord tied around them to keep them secured in their sheaths.
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Hmmmm...Wand of Lead Blades might be considered offensive, Shel
Shel grumbles to the guard, "that seems pretty wasteful, doesn't it? How do I demonstrate this wand of healing? I don't plan on cutting myself to prove it to you. This wand here simply makes me faster. And this one over here, just gives me magical defenses...a girl can never be too careful, you know. Do I really have to waste all that gold to prove those things?" Shel smiles sweetly, awaiting a response from the attendant.
Diplomacy
Bluff
The guard glares down at the halfling over his clipboard of names.
"Either prove it or lose it. No exceptions."
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Sighing and shaking her head, Shel pulls out her wands. This one is to cure wounds. And this one is to make me faster. The final one is to increase my magical armor. Watch and see, none of them will have any offensive effect at all." Shel pulls out the three wands and activates all of them, trusting that not seeing any fire erupt from the tip would pass muster.
Seeing nothing untoward about the wands' effects, the guard scribbles a brief note on his clipboard and nods at Shel. That seems to be sufficient for him.
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Shel nods at the guard and wishes him a pleasant afternoon.
After she walks away, she takes a deep breath, pleased that she wasn't kicked off the boat for her "little" deception. She begins looking at the others guests gathered, trying to find a welcome spot to jump into the conversation.
Perception
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After leaving the meeting, Barnabus practically vanishes, and is not seen until the next day at the dock. He is dressed in a finely tailored suit in charcoal grey with green pinstripes, a green bowtie and a violet flower in his lapel. His head is covered in a rakish hat with a purple feather in it. His features are still obscured by a bushy white moustache. He wears nothing else unusual save for a scrollcase.
"Eh? Ye wan' know wha' me wanhd does? Yeh, sure." he says. He pulls the wand, a dark wood one from his inside breast pocket, and taps himself with it, resulting in a matrix of force surrounding him before it fades from view. "Acceptable?" he asks.
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Kynrac, calm as ever, puts the harmful wand in a small bag, and asks politely that it be peacebonded just like a weapon. He then puts the bag in his haversack. He demonstrates the two harmless wands in front of the guard, and awaits his assent before boarding.
Once on board, his rule of thumb is "see and be seen". He tries not to break any social convention, and simply nods in recognition at Aldain, whereas his mark of recognition for the Paracountess is one of admiration and a glint in his eyes suggesting that the lorekeeper isn't unaffected by the sultry noble's charms.
Yet Kynrac doesn't engage in verbose conversation for now. He observes the crowd, trying to discern any public figures or shady characters.
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Terrill arrives at the dock in a suit of elegant yet understated midnight blue. At first glance, it is a very plainly cut garment, though of the very best cloth. As he moves, however, glimmers of white light are seen, as the tiny gems sewn into the folds of the fabric blink and twinkle in the light, like stars in a winter night’s sky. The burnished steel of his breastplate shines gently in accompaniment, like a lustrous moon in the starfield. Over all of this he wears a finely-cut cloak, also of midnight blue, and shot through with fine silver threads. The elegant arc of his curved blade, fashioned with the grace only elves can achieve, runs across Terrill’s back and complements his attire perfectly.
When his turn comes to speak to the guard, Terrill presents his blade to be peace-bonded, and displays a small pouch he wears on the back of his belt, containing a simple sling and a handful of stones. He says amiably, ”Perhaps you could simply bond the entire pouch? I’d hate to have my sling tied in a knot should I need it in a hurry.” He also draws forth a simple white wand, demonstrating that it serves only to cure injuries. The inspection complete, Terrill hands a simple valise over to the servants handling the luggage, saying, ”Terrill Mayern, of the Pathfinder Society.” when asked for his name.
Well, I don’t know how long I can keep up this stuffed-shirt pretense, but at least I didn’t botch that bit, he thinks to himself. I think I’ll just stick with the others, see what I can pick up from their conversations, rather than step on someone’s toes by accident.
He boards the galleon with his companions, looking about for anyone he knows. He gives a gracious nod to Nigel Aldain, having worked with the middle-aged museum curator quite recently in recovering a wayward Blakros daughter from the basement of their famed museum. Terrill joins Kynrac in making a discreet round of the ship, keeping an eye out for anything unusual and eavesdropping on conversation when the opportunity presents itself.
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"Very well."
Presenting his daisho to the guards, Mifune complied willingly as he left himself to the mercy of the Blakros' security detail. And as the guardsmen were checking his weapons, the samurai stopped for a moment as if remembering some minute detail. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a Wand of Cure Light Wounds to be inspected as well as he watched the other guards load his Cold Iron Nodachi and other luggage onto the ship.
After receiving the peace-bonded weapons back, the Tian-min man made his way over to a familiar face. The silken robes swayed and fluttered with each step as Mifune bowed deeply to the Paracountess, Zarta Dralneen.
"Paracountess Dralneen, it is this one's greatest honor to meet you on this fortuitous day of celebration."
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Trys approaches with a purposeful stride, transformed from her earlier appearance. She wears Parade Armor in the Cheliax design that accentuates her figure and does not detract from the fiery dress she now wears. Flowing reds and deep oranges give the appearance for flames licking at her legs and bosom. The cut reveals flashes of her strong legs as she walks. Her scarf has been replaced with silken fabric matching the dress perfectly. A couple more silk scarfs adorn the sword and hammer worn on her back. A pair of large hoop earnings and intricate necklace of rubies accentuate her face. Bracelets clink on her wrists. She seems to walk the fine line between beauty and power.
Trys submits to the peace bonding and wand check, though she insists that one of the guards activate it for her.
Nigel returns the nods he is given after a momentary pause, although he seems to frown after doing so; perhaps he did not expect to see you here today.
The guards seem flummoxed at Trys' insistence that they activate the wand, and there is some harried muttering between the group of them as they consider how exactly they were to do that. The line is held up for a good five or ten minutes while they locate someone in their crew that can activate the wands, much to the displeasure of those party-goers behind the Pathfinders who give the lot of you incredibly dirty looks. At the very least, eventually you are able to make it onto the ship more-or-less intact.
Within good time (probably another half-hour or so) all the dignitaries are safely on board and the ship finally sets off for the island. Word from the captain has it that the trip should take eight hours, and he encourages all passengers to relax and enjoy the ride. That's certainly a lot of time to kill, but at least it gives you the chance to meet some of the important guests here.
A table set up with champagne and wine as well as miscellaneous finger foods stands up against the starboard wall of the ship, attended to by two diligent, black-suited servants. Occasional waiters wander by carrying trays of other nibblies--bacon-wrapped prawns, crackers and swiss cheese, delicately spiced meatballs on skewers, fruit platters, and the like.
Terril, Kynrac and Shel work together to scope out the crowd, looking for anyone of any note or malice. Thankfully, it appears that the guards have done a particularly good job of checking all those who are on board, and you notice nobody that is really any more shady than yourselves (unless, of course, the Paracountess can be counted in this). The well-armoured hired force is actually particularly alert at all times, constantly scoping out the crowd for trouble and double-checking that all weapons are still peace-bonded.
Though there are many nobles present, a few stand out from the crowd for one reason or another...
A barrel-chested man, not especially tall but strongly built, stands talking loudly to one of the sailors on board the ship; his conversation partner seems to be attempting to inch away back to work, with little success. He dresses in the finest of tailored garments in a rich navy blue, his attire reminiscent of the famous Andoran naval uniforms and complete with a matching gold-trimmed blue tricorn. No matter how much he grooms, however, he bears a permanent shadow of stubble on his chin and the weathered and tanned face of a man who has spent much of his life working outdoors. Though getting on in years, he still seems like the sort of man who could toss someone off a pier into the ocean if he needed to. Those with some familiarity with the nobles of Andoran recognise him as Alexander Bedard, a member of the Andoran People's Council.
As splendidly-dressed as ever, Lady Gloriana Morilla of Taldor is present as well, almost buried underneath the extravagant ruffles and frills of the mauve and white dress she wears this day. She even gives Shel familiar a half-smile upon noticing her, although she does not skip a beat in her conversation with four other attendees.
One of those gathered around near Lady Gloriana is a young man of obvious Tian descent, with short-cropped unkempt dark hair and garbed in a grey silken hakama. His champagne glass is already more than half empty as he seems to be sipping at it more than talking, occasionally fidgeting in the realisation that he is largely excluded from the talk going on. He glances around from time to time as if looking for an excuse to move on elsewhere. Mifune may recognise him, at least distantly, as Jeon Raeng-Woo, an agent of the Blakroses who serves as the family's trade liaison to Tian Xia.
Sitting by himself is the Trade Prince Aaqir al'Hakam of Qadira, another familiar face about the Society. He appears quite bored of the festivities already despite Absalom's harbour still visible on the horizon. His partner, Emir Thalzar Gaatan, appears to be busy browsing the wine gallery, eyes like a hawk for the best available vintage.
Many more fabulously-dressed guests mill about and you catch glimpses within the crowd from time to time; you may find others that you expect to be here if you search a little more.
Mifune approaches Zarta Dralneen and offers her a particularly formal greeting. The Paracountess responds in turn with a knowing smile, lightly patting the arm of whomever it was she was creeping on to pay attention to her darling new servant--er, supporter of the Chelaxian nation. She offers him her arm, either to kiss in greeting or perhaps take to allow her to lean on him.
"Ah, Mifune; what a pleasure to see you here. I was dearly hoping we would have a chance to... get to know each other more," she says, voice smooth like flowing silk. "It has not been long since you saw the light of our ways, as it were. But my, haven't you shaped up for the occasion!" Zarta purrs, sliding a gentle hand slowly down the samurai's arm.