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Pathfinders explore Golarion in service to lore. This widespread group of treasure hunters, thrillseekers, sages, and voyagers make it their lives’ work to uncover lost artifacts, map neglected ruins, and learn forgotten knowledge. They do these things for the sake of lore, as well as for fame. The Pathfinder Society publishes the Pathfinder Chronicles, a multi-volume series of chapbooks highlighting some of the most amazing finds by field agents.
Pathfinders are part archaeologist, part historian, and all adventurer. Many established Pathfinders make their own way in the world, following their interests or tracking down leads to greater mysteries. These established few are still subject to orders from their superiors, but the least prestigious tasks are usually reserved for those new to the organization. The Society is governed by the Decemvirate, 10 anonymous leaders who pull strings and guide the organization from Skyreach in the Grand Lodge of Absalom. They hand down orders from their secret posts to venture-captains, who in turn pass the orders to field agents.
The Society has few rules, but all Pathfinders are expected to perform the Three Duties: explore, report, and cooperate. Idle Pathfinders are useless to the organization, and agents must seek out secrets or further their work in exploration of some kind, always growing and gathering knowledge. This exploration would be worthless if not for frequent reports. Pathfinders must send back accounts of their adventures, many of which end up published by the Decemvirate. Finally, Pathfinders are great heroes from dozens of countries and backgrounds with thousands of different motivations and allegiances, and the Decemvirate expects that individual Pathfinders will not interfere with one another, and absolutely never let a conflict between themselves come to blows.
Despite the mandate to cooperate, Pathfinders have myriad motivations and often fall in with similarly minded factions within the organization, or external groups with close ties to the Society. As fresh new recruits, most Pathfinders know only the venture-captains who give them their training, especially Ambrus Valsin, the
man in charge of daily operations in the Grand Lodge. A gruff, no-nonsense man, Ambrus has little tolerance for laziness and often gives young Pathfinders their first taste of what being a field agent entails as a way of keeping them from staying idle too long...
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A new batch of Pathfinder agents has completed their training and now stand fresh and wide-eyed in the office of Ambrus Valsin, the venture-captain in charge of daily operations in and around the Grand Lodge. The efficient and straightforward chamberlain greets you curtly and motions for you to sit before jumping straight into your assignment.
"All right, Pathfinders! Listen up. I know you are new recruits eager to make names for yourselves in the organization, but first we need to make sure you are up to snuff and won’t get yourself killed out there. I have a number of small assignments for you and your team, and it would be best if you could finish them before the day’s end."
"Every day we get some doe-eyed hopeful or some sniveling bootlicker willing to do anything to join up with the Pathfinders. Most of them are good kids, but not all of them have the salt to make it in a world like this. It’s rough out there and I’m not just talking about the ruins, tombs, and wilderness Pathfinders find themselves in on missions. We’ve got people who look down their noses at us, folks who think we squander our resources, and agents who want to take everything we have collected. This wealth of knowledge and these items of lore make us the most powerful organization on the planet. That said, since we are fractured and widespread, it’s difficult for that power to light on anything for too long. For every friend of the Society, there are two enemies."
“Your first mission, to test your mettle and loyalties, sends you to meet a few people important to the Society living here in Absalom. These are other venture-captains or close allies of our organization, so follow their orders as you would mine. I’ve prepared a list of things I want you to do. They’re not arranged in any particular order of importance, but I want them all completed as quickly as possible. Only report to me once you complete them all. Included in the envelope you hold in your hands is the list, complete with the name of your contact, and directions to the meeting location."
Without another word nor a chance for questions, the Venture Captain waves the Pathfinders out of his office as he settles down to clear the rest of his paperwork.
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Umbaraki is a strange mix of the ethereal and the material. He approaches in silence except for the soft clinks of his armor; all the color seems to have been leached out of the scarred dwarf long ago, leaving only pallid skin and a snow-white beard.
He carefully takes notes on a wax tablet as Valsin explains the mission, though a faintly dubious expression crosses his face as he sees a place called The Pickled Imp on Valsin's list.
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A mail-clad halfling stands to attention whilst the venture captain addresses the group. The halfling is heavily scarred, his nose has obviously been broken several times, but there is a fierceness in his gaze.
When Valsin leaves the room, the halfling relaxes a little and takes in his fellow pathfinders.
"What the devil happened to you?" he asks of the pale dwarf.
"Ah, sorry mate. I don't mean to offend. I'm sure we've all got stories. Maybe I'll tell you mine sometime. My name's Lee, but folks call me 'Lucky.' Either name'll do. I'm here to... well, to help I suppose." Lee indicates his sling staff and lucerne hammer. "I can fight if it comes to it. But you should know that I, uh, I have a tendency to go berserk in a fight and sometimes things catch fire. But you're perfectly safe, I can still tell who my friends are as long as I don't get enchanted, and that's not gonna happen. Cus, you know, 'Lucky.'"
Lucky takes a look at the list of tasks. "Seems straightforward. Courier detail. I'm ready when you guys are."
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A second dwarf, wrapped in white and brown cloth, carefully listens to the Venture Captain's instructions with a nonchalant grin on his face. A single, sharp axe hangs from his waist, as on his back he carries a large sack stained with fat and dried blood. On the sack, in the signature cursive script of the Qadiran language, a short word is inscribed.
"Ahlan, my brothers! Very pleased to meet you all", he says when preparations are finished. His speech carries a notable accent, a combination of the guttural sounds common both in Dwarven and Qadiran. "I am known as Tabarg Batn al-Hadid, or Ironbelly, if you will. I am a cook by profession, but I have some other, interesting skills that might come of use later. Having such a lucky person is bound to be favorable for the mission, Lee my friend; and what about you, my Dwarven brother? What brings you here?"
He takes a cursory glance at the list of assignments he scribbled down, and nods. "Going to see Mr. Karela would be a good place to start, indeed."
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An energetic kitsune with silky fur and two fluffly tails listens to the mission details with an enigmatic grin. She wears a comfortable silken shirt in the Minkaian style, with loose sleeves that reach her elbows, stretchy black knee length shorts and glossy lamellar cuirass armour. There’s a fine rapier at her hip, and a crossbow on her back. She wears a single braided bracelet on her left wrist.
"Short and sweet, Valsin! I like it!"
As she reads the names and tasks on the list her blue eyes sparkle with amusement. Her maw is curled up into a wily grin, revealing the sharp tips of her white teeth.
"Wow, these are all over the place, hey?" After another moment she shrugs. "The Pickled Imp sounds like my kind of place. I'm in."
Looking at the other agents as they introduce themselves, she rolls her eyes. With a dramatic sigh she leaps to her feet. She begins to talk in a strange language, while waving her arms around dramatically.
She performs a cheeky bow. With a toothy grin, she looks up and finishes in common, "But you can call me Hoshi."
Then she crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. "We gonna talk all day, or are we gonna get to work?"
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"Wow, so many different languages. It's some organisation, this Pathfinder Society, huh? Folks from all over the world. So you're a cook, Ironbelly? Come to think of it, I'm a bit hungry myself. Feels like hours since I ate anything. Have you, uh, got anything to eat there chef?"
Lucky can't help but lick his lips, salivating at the thought of some tasty morsel.
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A third dwarf is among the group, he sits there listening to the orders. He is wearing some type of armor made of bones and leather straps. To his side is a wooden shield and a very gnarly club. His eyes are a very clear blue and his hair is a tangled blond.
When the Venture-Captain leaves he looks at the sheet and turns it around a few times as if having trouble reading it. He seems to finally understand it. "Yah... Pickled Imp good. Sounds tasty."
He looks at the others and smiles before pointing to himself. "Aurk Threelhammer." He then picks up his gnarly club and smiles. "Doodat!"
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Tabarg simply shakes his head at the haughty kitsune, then sends a hand into his sack and procures a small hunk of cheese. He hands it to the halfling with a hearty laugh.
"Acute sense of smell! You won this one, brother. Cheese... cheese for animals, beasts and humanoids. The energy of manufactured product resonates with their naturality," he says matter-of-factly. Expecting his companions to be confused, he chuckles knowingly.
"You'll see sooner or later."
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Jomal kept his silence during the entire exchange. The Nagaji was tall and somewhat intimidating, even for his race, and his eyes moved in a hypnotic pattern as he paid attention to the venture captain the best he could. Dressed in humble monk vestments and covered in weapons, it was clear that he barely ever left the nagaji lands until recent times.
And I am Jomal. - he finally said, introducing himself, and immediately following with a calm tone - Just point the way, master dwarf.
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Discussions of food, fights and doodats are ongoing among the newly acquainted Pathfinders as they make their way down to the Docks. And the first order of business is to visit Guaril Karela, one of the heads of the Exchange faction, at his curio shop — The Pickled Imp — in the seedy, harborside Docks district. Finding the shop is not difficult; Guaril has quite a bit of reputation in the Docks, although passersby throw you cautious glances when you ask for directions. In fact, at some point as you move through the crowd, Umbaraki notices someone staring at your team from across the street but before he has a chance to observe more closely, a throng of people move in front of him and by the time they clear, the figure is gone.
A short while later, the Pathfinders locate the rather run-down storefront, and with a little hesitation, step in. This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
"Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need."
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
"Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases."
"There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway."
"My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what theyhave and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me. Any questions?"
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"So... make our way in, grab a crate, make our way out? Sounds reasonable, Master Karela", Ironbelly says, rubbing his hands. He then leans forward slightly to look at Umbaraki's wax tablet.
"Is that how you communicate, my brother? Might be a bit complicated in tense situations, battle and all that, you see."
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"Well, this sounds fun!" Hoshi exclaims. She rubs her hands together, looking rather devious, and lets out a yipping chuckle. "Guaril, my man, we are going to get along just fine! So where is this warehouse, exactly?"
Hoshi grins at Tabarg, "Now, now, Tabby. Don't underestimate the importance of body language!" She wiggles her hips at tabard in a decided unprofessional fashion. Or, unprofessional for a Pathfinder, at least... Then lets out a cackle. "HA!"
She slaps Umbaraki on the back. "Just flail around like a mime if you need something urgently, hey. It'll be a blast."
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This man's a thief and a smuggler. Not quite what I expected. And I was even thinking of signing up with the Exchange. Still, there's plenty of halflings who would still be slaves today if not for men like Karela smuggling them to safer places.
"Mr Karela, we'll help you. That's what we've been tasked with. I can certainly see the benefits of having a good friend like you. But level with me now. This Exchange of yours, you do have some rules don't you? Some things that you won't trade in?"
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The Varisian man twirls his mustache as he studies Umbaraki's tablet. "Really, that's how you speak? Oh well, who am I to judge." But by the faint sneer on his face, he clearly finds it bizarre.
"Alright, so quite a bit of questions, like any good Pathfinders would have. Now, first the warehouse. The one in question is what we dockers call pelican warehouse. These buildings perch at the end of piers, allowing a ship to load and unload farther out from the busier docks. Many of them either accommodate smaller vessels that are in a hurry or larger ships unable to find an open dock. However, they have become rarer these days as the city continues upgrading the port facilities as well as the increased tax that the city has imposed on this type of property. As such, most pelican warehouses lie in disrepair. This one is no different, so you might want to be careful moving about in there. Every year, it seems another one falls into the harbor and this one no doubt would follow suit soon."
"The pier this pelican warehouse sits on stretches 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, and stands 15 feet above the water. There are two entrances into the warehouse. The door connected to the pier is likely locked, while the loading door that opens to the sea is barred from within."
"There are no guards posted there just yet, as the seizure just happened. Bureaucracy here with the port authorities move rather slowly, but even then, I expected they would start moving in soon. My greater concern, however, are looters. I want to get my parcel before they move in."
"As for the crate in question, it and its contents technically belong to me, but I honestly do not know nor care what happens to them other than my parcel. Hmm, how should I put this? Master Gelbane would have stuffed the crate with whatever legitimate goods he could lay his hands own to, shall we say, obscure my particular delivery, all which would have been covered by my payment. In case any of you have any qualms, you need not worry about helping yourself to its contents. Consider it reward for your services."
He seems to be avoiding the halfling's question until the very end. "So, another entreprising entrepreneur? Perhaps you would like to speak with my boss the Trade Prince Aaqir al'Hakam. He sets the rules of what the faction deals with. I merely carry out his wishes." There's a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but with a glint in his eye and a simple flourish, he nods his head and turns to the rest.
With a note of finality, he continues, "If there are no further questions, you had best be on your way." He paces over to the door and holds it open, waiting.
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Watching Ninura spin on her heel and leave the Pickled Imp. Aurk tries the same thing. He spins on his heel but winds up putting too much strength in it and spins three times. He stops and finds himself dizzy as he walks toward the exit. Nearly knocking stuff over.
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"'Trade Prince.' Got it. Thanks, mate. We'll be back with your parcel. You happen to have a little tool called a 'Kunai' back there mate? Useful thing for breaking open crates."
Either from Karela, or else en route to the docks, Lucky Lee purchases a Kunai.
"Why do I get the feeling that this is business as usual for you Hoshi? You have a plan already?"
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As they walk, Hoshi turns, walking backwards a few paces as she watches a passing guard. Then she swishes her tails and turns around, suddenly transforming into a slightly taller, human female warrior, dressed in the garb of the local guard. There's a scar along her cheek, her black hair is short and wild, and her eyes are brown.
"Plan? Me? I've got tons of them. But, plans change by the moment, Lucky. Remember that."
With a grin she leads the way. "Come along, you vagabonds! I want a peek in that warehouse."
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With a rather satisfied grin, Guaril hands Lucky the requested tool, pleased that he knows the tools of the trade, before sending you off on your way.
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Following the Faction Leader's directions, it was not difficult to find the warehouse in question. Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet above the water, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building’s windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene. This area of the docks is quite deserted, and the extended pier makes the warehouse even more remote. As far as you can tell, there is not a soul in sight.
The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty and provide no view into the structure’s interior. A small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope. As Guaril has described, the warehouse’s heavy wooden front door is locked. If you lean out from the pier, you can also see the loading sliding door that opens up to the sea although there does not appear to be an easy way to get there, other than a very narrow ledge that runs the perimeter of the warehouse.
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Hoshi, looking like a guard, struts her way down the dock like she has every reason to be here.
"Follow me, you louts," she grumbles in a very stern, serious voice. "You'll work off your debt with those strong backs!"
Clearly she enjoys getting into character.
She walks right up to the front door and inspects it for traps.
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"I'm not sure the disguise is necessary, my friend", Tabarg says to the transformed Kitsune when she grumbles her orders. "The place seems positively deserted."
He then follows Hoshi to the doorway, sparing it just a moment's glance before taking a wrapped piece of leather from an inner pocket of his garbs, unfurling it to reveal what looks like an extended set of modified cutlery. He ponders over the tools for a few seconds, then picks a knife with a flattened blade and turns to the fox with a satisfied smile.
"Need some help there?"
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"Looks to me like you two know your way around a locked door" says Lucky in a quiet voice. "If you need a jemmy, you can borrow the kunai I picked up. I could probably make my way around that ledge you know, but not in all this armour. I wonder if there is anyone inside. Is that door locked?"
Lucky looks around to make sure the coast is still clear, and listens intently to see if there is any noise from inside the building. He takes his staff sling in hand, and loads a bullet.
"Mmmm. You smell that? Herring. I'd love some rollmops just now."
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Jomal admires the intelligence of the others, since he wasn't a person for plans or ruses. The monk looks with attention at the windows, but quickly notices they're not usable to see the inside. While the fact everything's desert might be suspicious, he just thinks on what the Varisian said and imagine if looters would be around somehow. For now, Jomal simply pulls his weapon and lies against the wall near the door, as if watching so the others can break in.
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"Don't let the rollmops distract you," Ironbelly says to Lee, "they might be red herrings."
He slowly puts his set of thieves' tools back in his inner pocket, shaking his head humorously.
"Indeed, my friend, seems like you have it all sorted out. Let me try my luck next time we come across a lock, eh?"
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When Hoshi changes form, Aurk walks beside her and looks at her funny. "Looked better with pelt on."
Aurk looks at the locked door. As the others start talking he lowers his head and starts flexing his leg muscles as he gets ready to use his head as a ram against the door. But then he sees Hoshi starts fooling around with the locks.
He frowns as he wanted to show everyone how hard his head is.
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Once they arrive at the warehouse, the Pathfinders get down to work. Lucky presses his ears against the thin wooden walls, to be greeted by silence from within. Meanwhile, Jomal and Umbaraki keep a watch out for anyone approaching. From a distance, a fisherman drifts over on his broken-down dinghy, more asleep than conscious. He cast a curious glance at the proceedings, but seeing a watchman handling the door, loses interest quickly and goes back dozing.
Hoshi examines the door, and is quite certain that no one has bothered to place any traps. In fact, the lock seems more a formality then anything else. Before Aurk has the chance to bash down the door, the kitsune quickly picks the lock and swings the door open. The team of Pathfinders quickly scurry inside as she closes the door again, before anyone else spots you.
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall.
A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the 30-ft high ceiling. Running on two perpendicular tracks, it is designed to be able to access any part of the warehouse from above, and can even slide out to extend past the loading doors. However, the crane has seen better days and is little more than a large hook attached to entire the device — whatever harness that might have hung from it to reach the warehouse floor is long gone by now.
Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate. Despite the poor lighting, you easily spot the stamp of three crows arranged in a triangle on the crate — the very one you have come to find. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. You can tell that the wooden planks at the edges of the hole are badly rotted — it seems that the entire area had simply collapsed into the sea. It is only good fortune that the crate you are looking for did not join suit, but it looks like it would not take much to cause the remaining planks supporting your quest item from snapping!
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Aurk moves further into the warehouse and looks at the crate precariously positioned. He wonders if he could run at it and ram it to the other side but decides he doesn't want to get wet and lets that thought flee from his mind.
He looks around for anything that might prove interesting while he lets the smarter people think of something.
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Tabarg inspects the situation inside the warehouse, laughing out loud when he realizes the single crate that didn't collapse into the sea is their quarry.
"How convenient! Now just to safely pick it up, eh?"
He notices Umbaraki sketching his plan and takes a look.
"I think I understand what you're saying, my brother. This seems like a good idea to ensure we do not fail, but which of us should be the one to carefully take the crate? What about you, Ninura my friend? You seem light and quick. Or perhaps you, my lucky brother?"
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Jomal and Aurk move around the warehouse, studying the miscellaneous items lying around. The nagaji positions himself next to the stacks of simple coffins against the north wall. Thankfully, the coffins are empty. One of the businessman who rented the use of the warehouse must have been working for a local undertaker. Aurk moves across towards the centre of the warehouse. Along the way, he looks into some of the crates and barrels, and finds that they contain all manners of goods. Those few he taps reveal blocks of clay, nails and dried fish, while stacked unceremoniously against the eastern walls rows of timber planks. Who knows, there might be more interesting items contain in the other containers.
Meanwhile, after sharing his plans, Umbaraki moves back out the warehouse towards the boat, while the rest continue to study the precarious situation of the crate. That is when Tabarg hears a faint squeaking noise coming from the south. Before he has the chance to investigate further, suddenly three large rats burst out from amongst the pile of crates and barrels in the western wall and swarm towards him! Each filthy rat is the size of a small dog, with coats of coarse fur, long and scabby tails, and two evil-looking glittering eyes.Seems like your disturbance has roused them from their rest and they are not pleased...