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You see a half-elven man of average height and of Garundi descent on his human side. He appears bright and cheerful, and carries a mithral shirt, totes a few wands, scrolls, and a spell component pouch. He wears magical glasses, a hat, a magical cloak, magical headband, magical belt, and magical rings. He carries with him a magical cane . He also carries a cylindrical shaped metallic device where one end is with a circularly bowed outward and contained a piece of glass sunken into the protrusion, and the device has a white rectangular switch on the side. Lumpy is bedecked in white clothing.
More notably, you see that all over his body, he has many, many Ioun Stones implanted into his skin. So many that you are pretty sure you cannot count them all with his current attire, but it is no less than 15.
He straightens his glasses to make sure they align on his face properly, and holds on to one lens like a monocle as he speaks. "Very good, chaps. My name... well, my name is Lumpy. At least that's what I'd like for you to know. It's my detective name, anyway." He lets go of his glasses. "I get it from all these things on my skin. Oh, I do quite like how they look!"
"In my spare time when not on my Pathfinder job, I do some private investigation. The usual stuff comes up, like tracking a spouse that the significant other deems as unfaithful, or tracking down lost loved ones... or not-so-loved ones in some cases. I do say, you can sometimes meet up with some unsavory types in that line of work."
Lumpy thinks to himself for few moments, scratching his chin before saying, "But like I always say, it's not all that different from being in the Pathfinder Society, now is it? Sometimes I think 'Unsavory' should be my middle name.... Oh, no that wouldn't be appropriate. I meant 'Dealing with the Unsavory.' But that's too long isn't it?"
He glaces to each person in the room slowly, then after a few moments of awkward silence, he quickly realizes something and says, "Not that any of you are unsavory! Oh..." He quickly clears his throat and wiggles his mustache as if flustered, "Oh of course not! I mean our acquaintances of course!"
He sulks quietly a little at his poor choice of words while others introduce themselves.
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Here is another half-elf, though the similarities between him and Lumpy seem to end there. Where Lumpy has the evidence of Garundi heritage, Conan's seems likelier to be Ulfen judging by his pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes-- also his height, several inches above six feet, and his thunderously awesome biceps.
Conan is dressed in clothing in Andoran-blue, as well as a brightly polished mithral breastplate that is nearly as dazzling as his smile; an enormous greatsword is strapped across his back along with a panoply of other weaponry. There's the usual shiny headband and fancy magic boots and belts and a ring and other such goodies common to Pathfinder agents. There is also, tucked at Conan's belt, what appears to be a rubber chicken.
Conan listens to Lumpy's introduction with sincere interest, his legs planted somewhat apart and his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
he asks in a booming voice when Lumpy finishes, staring at all the little stones jammed under his skin. "--I'm sorry! That's rude of me to ask! You're quite right, Plucky."
He claps the smaller man on the shoulder. "Don't WORRY about the UNSAVORY thing. I'm someone who's PRETTY SECURE in my-- savorability. Yes. HA!
"You probably recognize me from my tour last summer, Make the Inner Sea Laugh Again, or perhaps you've caught my act down at the Homicidal Fey Trickster by the docks? THAT'S A REALLY GOOD BAR, I LIKE IT THERE.
"But if you haven't! I'm , and it is my solemn and gods-given duty to lift the MORALE of my fellow agents by CAREFUL APPLICATION OF WIT AND HUMOR. Also, to kill things! Bad things, I mean, not just everything. You know. Demons, and Chelish slavers, and things like that," Conan helpfully clarifies.
"Oh, and this is Plucky," Conan adds on, tapping the rubber chicken. The big warrior's face falls momentarily. "He used to be Flamey. But a daemon put him out. I'm working on fixing that. Let me know if anybody knows a cleric!
"It's very nice to meet you all." Conan appears to mean this very sincerely, even if he has some trouble with the concept of an inside voice.
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The pretty little gnome plods into the room, with a frown on her face. She. Odd at everyone in the room, and gives a weak smile. "Hey Conan, its Alie...good to see you again," she sighs.
"Just had a doozy of a mission. That doggone ethereal plane is going to be the death of me. Again. I mean the xill nabbed me that one time and took me there and this time we teleported there on our own volition and then things got all sort of hinky. I hope we get a better mission this time...I need to get my mind off my troubles."
She was obviously a spell caster, not wearing any armor or holding any large wicked blades. Or holding a flaming rubber chicken for that matter.
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A cloaked figure stands in a corner of the gathering place, staring silently at the persons around. As a man of few words, he eventually moves slowly, and speaks with a low, rasping voice, bowing a little to each one of the present persons.
"I'm Tiller Voros, sent by the Bellflower Network." he says briefly but slowly.
Voros is rather small and if most of his flesh is hidden by an ample and dirty cloak, you can see his face, which is ugly and has a grey-red color. You also notice that his teeth are pretty sharp. You can see a long tail that unfolds itself from time to time from under the cloak. The only weapon he seems to carry is a longbow.
He eyes Allie and he bows in a rather mechanical way towards her.
The sorceress and the alchemist fought many a battle together but that time, she doesn't recognize the red-grey tiefling. His flesh has now turned more towards a greyish color and his eyes became completely white. His manners also seem to have changed. Before pretty shy and awkward in society, he now acts as a robot would.
Seeing the glimpse of an interrogation in Allie's eyes, he says
"I had a special training. Secret. The last mission was the third one I failed. I chose to act so that it wouldn't happen again."
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"In all my time as a Pathfinder agent, I am still surprised this is the first time I've been asked that question. If you're actually curious, the answer is 'yes,' but only if you fail the procedure. I've had my fair share of it, to say the least."
"You probably recognize me from my tour last summer, Make the Inner Sea Laugh Again, or perhaps you've caught my act down at the Homicidal Fey Trickster by the docks?"
"I must have missed those, but I always love a good comedy! Will have to make sure to get your schedule next time you tour!"
"Just had a doozy of a mission. That doggone ethereal plane is going to be the death of me. Again. I mean the xill nabbed me that one time and took me there and this time we teleported there on our own volition and then things got all sort of hinky. I hope we get a better mission this time...I need to get my mind off my troubles."
"I've read about those in a book. Terrible beasts, I must say. Fear not! I have not been on a failed mission as of yet!"
"I had a special training. Secret. The last mission was the third one I failed. I chose to act so that it wouldn't happen again."
"Are you okay in there, Voros? You seem so different. And you look quite a bit different!"
A veritable lightbulb seems to flash above Lumpy's head. "Great Scott! You two weren't on the same mission, were you?"
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Yet another half-elf arrives; this one obviously Taldan. She is attractive, with auburn hair and hazel eyes, and appears to be geared for war. Her mithral breastplate is polished to a high sheen, and a finely-wrought adamantine falcata - a traditional Taldan dueling weapon - is strapped to her side. She has a buckler attached to her left forearm and carries a banner on a short pole in that hand as well.
She smiles, nodding at those assembled. "My name is Elindriel; it's nice to meet you all."
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"ALIE!" Conan booms when he catches sight of the gnome, and barrels at her with arms outstretched for a hug, though he stops short of actually scooping her up and lets her complete the hug if she is so inclined. It's been explained to Conan that some agents don't necessarily consider a single shared mission to be grounds for a life-long bonding experience. He's baffled by that logic but accepts it's true for some people. "Where have you been lately? Have you fought more DEMONS like on our GLORIOUS ADVENTURE into the Worldwound?"
Hearing instead of xill and ethereal planes, Conan frowns. "I'm SORRY you have had a rough time, Alie. Don't worry. THIS MISSION WILL BE BETTER."
He eyes Voros but as he does not know the tiefling he simply offers an awkward smile and stage whispers to Lumpy: "It seems SEVERAL of our NUMBER have suffered recent SETBACKS. I'll keep spirits up with some jokes."
He looks sympathetic at the revelation that the stones did indeed hurt. And delighted that Lumpy is interested in his show. And when Elindriel offers her greeting he brightens at seeing yet another half-elf, and offers her a bow. "WELL MET!
"Let's see. A JOKE, because HUMOR is a great BONDING TOOL:
"Where are you when a winged demon corners you against a cliff?"
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Disguised as an adventurers’ boarding house, Tymon’s low-profile Pathfinder lodge rests directly above Smine’s Weaponworks, the city’s eminent smithy. The smell of burning coal and laborers’ sweat permeates the building, though a bowl of cloves and aromatic bark makes an earnest attempt to downplay the industrial ambiance. The door opens, letting in the echoes of hammers on metal while also revealing a sootstained dwarf dressed in blacksmith’s garb: Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine. In one hand, he effortlessly carries a large basket, while the other holds a magnificent double-headed axe of lustrous adamantine. He sets both on the table before removing a cloth-wrapped bundle and a selection of bread, cheese, and cider from the basket.
“All right, Pathfinders. Got a task for you—dangerous lands, dangerous task.” He speaks in his infamously staccato manner. “You come well recommended,” he adds with an approving nod. “I know you’re up to it.” The dwarf unwraps the bundle, revealing a sheaf of twinewrapped notes. “Ever heard of Gojan the Sharp? Early Pathfinder, renowned explorer, he wandered Numeria for a decade. Found all sorts of strange places outside Silver Mount he couldn’t explore in one lifetime; one of ‘em was Sulfur Gulch. Society’s known about lots of these places, but not that one. Long time ago, the gnome Eylysia hid away the findings.” Smine exaggerates a scowl, adding, “Not good Pathfinding policy, that. Always report. You know that already.” Patting the stack of notes, he continues. “Some others found the notes, so it’s good as new to us; you’d be the first to explore it. Trouble is that it’s Kellid territory—Ghost Wolves’ land. Lots of Kellids hate Numerian technology, but Ghost Wolves? They really hate it. The good news is Gojan did the Ghost Wolves a big favor and never collected. They owe us one, and that favor’s going to be not killing Pathfinders when they explore Sulfur Gulch.” Smine picks up the axe reverently. “We’ve set up a meeting with Xol-Nomag, the current chieftain. Bring this as a gift. Get safe passage. Don’t get killed by Kellids. Then go to Sulfur Gulch, and find out what it’s about—what was it for, who lived there, how it all worked. If you smuggle anything out, be real careful. Wearing fur doesn’t make Ghost Wolves stupid. They have magic and wits to spare. And try to make a good impression. We might need them on our side someday. Or at least not killing us on sight.” The dwarf rubs his calloused hands together. “That’s it. Any questions?” asks Smine as he slips you a note taken from Gojan's report to Eylysia. He also hands over the Kellids’ gift, a finely made adamantine greataxe with several custom touches and Smine’s maker’s mark stamped near each edge.
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"Ah, Numeria! I've been there several times in fact!"
Lumpy starts recanting what he knows about Numeria.
"Numeria is known for its mysterious technology. Many of Numeria’s ruins contain deadly mechanical guardians called robots."
"Due to its extreme age, both the technology itself and the ruins it comes from are plagued with malfunctions and glitches. Pristine technology is extremely rare and extremely valuable, yet even partly functional devices are worth quite a bit. See! My flashlight here is one of them! The Technic League maintains a tight embargo on smuggling technological devices, which drives up the price further for those who can make it out of Numeria with any goods. I've run into the Technic League before. Nasty bunch."
"Explorers associate Numeria’s 'ruins' with the remains of an otherworldly vessel that fell from the sky millennia ago. Little is known about the vessels’ creators, all of whom likely perished in the cataclysmic crash. Even the rare humanoid facsimiles known as androids associated with Numerian technology struggle to understand their true origins. I've met one of those androids before, although it wasn't in Numeria."
Then he recalls what he knows about the area.
"The Sellen Hills are a harsh land, ill suited for human habitation. The only noteworthy settlement is Chesed, a city built where the Sellen River meets the Lake of Mists and Veils. Beyond its walls, most of the population is nomadic and ethnically Kellid. As Smite stated, they're primitive but not stupid. Chesed serves as a capable base of operations for anyone risking the Numerian wilderness."
"Like the rest of Numeria, technological ruins dot the Sellen Hills. Most of these remain unexplored due to the danger of the region, to say nothing of the danger the ruins themselves hold. Even so, some explorers dare the protective locals’ ire and mechanical threats in search of profit. We should keep our wits about us!"
"Sulfur Gulch juts from the side of a gully in an expanse even more barren than the surrounding region. The vapors that permeate the area have choked out nearly all plant life. We should be prepared for that!"
Finally, he recalls what he read about the local tribes.
"Most of Numeria’s population is Kellid. While many settled down in the region’s few cities, numerous tribes still wander the wilds. Their long history of clashing with neighbors for the land’s scarce resources gives these tribes a reputation for savagery, though many Kellids prove quite warm and hospitable under peaceful circumstances, as least so much as I hear. I've never met an actual tribe of them."
"Further, I read in a book that The Ghost Wolves are notorious for their open hatred of technology and their hit-and-run raids against the Technic League. Because they claim extensive stretches of the Sellen Hills, fewer sites there have fallen prey to scavenging opportunists."
"Kellids have a largely deserved reputation for distrusting arcane magic. The same is not true for the Ghost Wolves, who celebrate and train promising spellcasters to help fend off the alien constructs that sometimes emerge from the ruins. Thanks goodness! The Ghost Wolves are especially fond of invisibility, which protects against the constructs’ deadly light beams. That doesn't sound good does it?"
"I wonder if they'd be fine with psychic magic as well..."
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Conan blinks at Lumpy's in-depth primer on the region and the natives. When Lumpy finishes he says, "....
"...ah wait! Did you say there are ROBBOTS? I have fought these before!" Conan pats the sword on his back, made of the same metal as the axe they are taking as a gift. "It was also in Numeria. And some of those nasty Technic League people were there. We explored a hole in the ground with a strange dungeon, where we fell towards the ceiling! And the walls spat fire at us. Very PAINFUL. I wonder if those are the same LIGHT BEAMS of which you speak, LUMPY."
Conan rubs at his jaw, trying to think of jokes about ROBBOTS. Maybe one will come to him.
"Do any of us speak the language of the Kellid people? It's true that humor is a UNIVERSAL TONGUE, but that doesn't always work so well as you might think."
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Lumpy chuckles at Conan's emphasis on certain syllables, but tries to do so under his breath.
"Oh my! Gravitated towards the ceiling? That sounds unnerving! But fear not! I am familiar with these robots and can give you warning if something is about to happen."
"Hallit is their language, isn't it? Unfortunately it is not in my repertoire."
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"We probably need to buy a few scrolls of Tongues and Comprehend Languages. Tongues is a better spell, but the scrolls will be pricier. And you mentioned constructs...I've encountered those before and they were almost completely resistant to my magic. I dumped one in a pit, but that was about all I could do. Can the rest of you hurt them?"
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"I've dealt with a fair number of constructs with this," Elindriel indicates her adamantine blade, then nods to Alie. "I can purchase and use scrolls of tongues, and should be able to use them to good effect. In addition, I can cast spells to become invisible for short periods, if needed." She pauses, then looks at Lumpy. "I don't have anything in my repertoire to help with poisonous gases. Does anyone have any suggestions?"
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Once the meeting ends, you have an opportunity to stock up on supplies in Tymon before hopping aboard a riverboat bound up the Sellen River toward Chesed. The trip takes a few weeks as the boat winds its way through the waterlogged woodlands of the River Kingdoms and crosses into the scrublands of Numeria. Several days later, the captain points out a pile of rocks adorned by a series of sun-worn cloth streamers, identifying it as a common signal that a local tribe awaits visitors.
The crew lands you on the east bank shortly thereafter, wishing you luck before departing for Chesed. Within an hour, a small band of Ghost Wolves warriors arrives with weapons sheathed and silvery mail partly hidden by their rough cloaks. The group’s leader is a handsome warrior . "You must be the Pathfinders. Welcome, I am Jala Spirit-Eye, and I will guide you to our tribe's settlement. You must be confident that you can gain Xol-Nomag’s favor." He laughs, his stoic look becoming one of friendly amusement. "Confidence is good. Come, come along. We will take a meal together at our camp, and then you can present your case to her."
"Say, that's an impressive weapon." he comments as he beholds Conan's massive sword on the way. "Does it have a tale?"
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"A tale you say? A small one, perhaps. One of the many leaders of our organization who sent us on this journey is in fact a blacksmith. As you can see, his mark has been placed on it."
Lumpy points to the Smine's mark before continuing.
In an excited whisper, Lumpy says, "See? Smine. That's his name." Lumpy twirls his mustache a little as he continues. "He wanted us to give it as a gift! What a mighty fine fellow he is, wouldn't you say my good lad?"
Lumpy swings his cane a little as if enjoying the conversation.
"If you wouldn't mind, if you can't tell I am of the curious type... and if I'm assessing you right, we might be two apples fallen from the same tree in that regard. Do you have any story or anecdotes you can share with us? I know a bit about the Ghost Wolves myself as I love to read a good book and have visited Numeria before. However, there's nothing like hearing it 'from the horse's mouth,' so to say. As we are to follow you of course."
After a very small pause. "And... oh... how rude of me! My name is Lumpy, and when not being a Pathfinder, I am a detective. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Jala Spirit-Eye."
Lumpy waits for others to introduce themselves, or for Jala to start a story.
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Conan beams as his weapon is complimented. He draws the blade and permits Jala to inspect it-- it's indeed a handsome weapon, an easy four feet from tip to pommel, the blade forged of gleaming star-metal with an inscription in Draconic runes down the length of it.
"You HONOR ME, Jala Spirit-eye! I am Conan O'Brien, and this is my blade, named WIT! That is because its edge is very KEEN, ha, yes? With I have cut down ROBBOTS and foul DEMONS alike. Most recently I raised it against a titanic dragon in a world that swung far from our own: a wyrm made of crystal glass, an evil creature that threw spells and wielded claw and tooth alike. This blade has cut down creatures risen from the grave, and Chelish slavers profiting off the living. I draw it in defense of RIGHTEOUSNESS and FREEDOM wheresoever I go! It was forged in the City of the Center of the World, and given to me after my words had spurred a slaver to renounce his foul ways forever. Do your own arms have SUCH TALES, for I would like to hear them!!!"
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Alie considered adding in her own story about how she got the moniker of 'The Storm Tamer,' but decided it wouldn't do much impressing to the tribes from Numeria. As she didn't have a fancy weapon, she kept silent. But, as they were traveling, she did want to be as safe as possible, so she cast Mage Armor and False Life on herself, both of which last for eleven hours.
False Life temporary HP
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"Most impressive!" nods Jala, glad to hear both Conan's and Lumpy's tale. "A gift, you say? Best keep it for Xol-Nomag, then. She'll be waiting for you, but I can say that we'll welcome good relationships with your Society, be it only for trade. We Ghost Wolves especially prize knowledge of new arcane spells, scrolls and means to gain magical wisdom. As for our tales, I'll let you be the judge. We often like to recount how we thwarted the Technic League, destroying their minions with blade and spell in a glorious onslaught! But enough about that, we're arriving to our camp."
The Ghost Wolves have pitched their camp a day’s journey from the river, and the settlement is abuzz with activity. Some wrestle and spar, while others mend weapons and armor. Within a broad tent, half a dozen mystics consult books, familiars, and each other while discussing magical theory. Kellids of all ages busily butcher an immense boar, cutting it into strips to preserve while a several older members lead in an energetic work song to keep the pace lively. Throughout the afternoon, children busy themselves with play or by shadowing the adults. Xol-Nomag is not present when you first arrive. While you wait, you're free to roam the camp and talk with the Ghost Wolves.
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Alie heads straight for the mystics. She first tries to speak common, although she will use one of her Tongues scrolls if necessary. "Hello there, Im Alie! It seems you are doing some quite interesting magic over here. I can do a bit of magic myself. I'm pretty good at Enchantment type spells, but I can do other things like creating Walls of Stone and causing myself to have a magical breath kind of like a dragon. I'd be happy to demonstrate if you would promise to show me your magic, too!"
Diplomacy
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Lumpy heads over to the mystics. "I have quite an extensive knowledge of how to defeat those mechanical contraptions that roam the Numerian lands using spells. You know, there's some that shoot light beams. To better avoid them, use Invisibility! Or if you meet up with the ones that have a gearbox and grind you against it, Freedom of Movement and Liberating Command are key! And if you meet the ones who have swords for arms, keep in mind Grease won't work..."
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Conan will make friends the best way he knows how, of course: jokes. He lets the more mystically-inclined members of the group address the mystics, and seeks out the children of the camp, cheerfully rough-housing with the children and 'sparring' with them in careful fashion, explaining techniques he has used to fight the Technic League during his previous encounter with them. After all, long-term diplomacy requires one to win over the hearts and minds of the next generation!
In deference to the youth of the Ghost Wolf children, Conan does not break out his dirtier jokes.
"Alright then, young Ghost Pups! Let us test your wits! How did the alchemist turn soup into gold?"
"What does an infernal chicken lay?"
"Finally, why can't you ever borrow money from a halfling?"
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Voros, used to work with Alie, goes along her towards the mystics, as he took good note of the tribe's thirst for arcane knowledge. Just after Alie's soft words about the arcane arts, he counts on her for any translation.
"My friend and companion Alie here is a specialist of the arcane arts. However, I must tell you that I use another type of magic: alchemy. It works a little like the arcane magic but... in a more complex way. Let me explain you how it allowed me to explode several giants' heads thanks to a combination of extracts and exploding alchemical reagents when we were sent by orcs to deal with this threat on the Ironbound Archipelago. Oh, and it also allowed me to vanquish almost by myself a cursed Ettin. These led to a most interesting discovery: Thassilonian Ruins." he states, without even the hint of a boast.
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The mystics seem rather impressed by Alie's profound knowledge of magic, as well as Voros' exothermic applied theories. They nod and display some of their magic in return, a highly evoluted arcane one from what you can tell. However, their awe and respect are drawn by Lumpy's impromptu conference on the weaknesses of the gearsmen and other walking contraptions, which is met with outstanding interest not only by the mystics, but by most of the tribesmen. By the time Xol-Nomag returns, most of the Ghost Wolves are quite taken by your presence, clearly sensing the Society didn't send just anyone. In the distance, children's laughter echoes from nearby tents, now and them interrupted by a growling voice.
As evening sets in, the Ghost Wolves begin preparing a communal feast of dried fruit, hard cheese, and meat carved and roasted from the immense boar. Entertainment takes the form of tales both solemnly historic and vividly comedic, including a lively story Jala tells of a bumbling spine dragon. You are welcome to share your tales as well, of course, especially if they tell stories from far away lands.
Xol-Nomag is present at the meal, but she does not approach or address you yet, instead observing you sternly from afar. Even her own tribe treads carefully around her, treating her with a blend of awe, devotion, and fear.
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Conan briefly offers a respectful nod to Xol-Nomag across the distance but lets the chieftain decide when she wishes to initiate anything further. Instead he listens eagerly to the tales of the Ghost Wolves, slapping his thigh especially hard at the story of the spine dragon.
When the Ghost Wolves turn their attention towards the Pathfinders for stories, Conan muses a moment, then unsheathes his blade once again and settles it across his knees, turning it so the adamantine length catches the glow of the feast's fires and resting his callused hands atop it.
"I speak of a land both DISTANT and CLOSE, a land one may not WALK TO but must be sent to by MAGIC. There is a star that travels through the sky called AUCTURN'S TEAR, and though it is a SMALL LIGHT to our eyes, it is a world within itself-- one filled with DANGEROUS FOES. I traveled there with other brave Pathfinders not long past!
"The first creatures we fought were made of EARTH AND CLAY. They attacked us on sight, and we defended ourselves! In the battle I took several blows from their fists, but I did not fall, HAHA! Pain is the warrior's close companion!
"But after the battle there was a STRANGE DISCOVERY. The wounds the CLAY MAN had left on my body could not be healed! The pain was to be a CLOSER COMPANION than I had expected.
"It is EASY TO FIGHT when one is fresh to battle and at one's best. The true test of the warrior comes when ADVERSITY strikes and one feels crippled by fate. Does a HERO turn to lick his wounds and try again another day? Or does a hero STAND YET before his comrades-- or hers-- to be a wall of steel and flesh between them and danger??
"I am thankful I did not bring SHAME upon my glorious ancestors by being unworthy of their blood. I stood as befits a son of dragons, and shielded my companions with my flesh, injured though it was!"
Conan is silent a bit, then sheathes his sword once more. "That is all."
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Elindriel, silent until now, steps forward, telling stories of her adventures while in the Pathfinder Society. One in particular stands out.
"We were tasked to enter Wanshou, a monstrous nation of Tian Xia, and investigate Shen-Shu, a structure that had sunk into the swamps of Wanshou. We met a turtle-creature named King, the guardian of a seal - we were able to convince him of the righteousness of our cause, and fetch the items we were sent to find. In the course of our exploration, we fought a number of different creatures: frog-men, called boggards; servants of the deep; giants; lightning-formed kirin; and, believe it or not, a giant squid, servant to the elder Kraken Zhanagorr!"
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"Most impressive tales, Pathfinders." assesses Jala as he nods, reflecting the mind of many Ghostwolves sitting and gazing at you in awe. The evening feast goes by without Xol-Nomag speaking a single word. As the meal ends, Jala approaches you and offers to escort you to meet Xol-Nomag. The barbarian chieftain sits crosslegged upon a tall heap of spread furs, her spiked club resting across her knees and her eyes partly closed as if in meditation. She lifts her head and fixes you with a piercing stare as you approach.
"We know why you have come, Pathfinders. Long ago, one of your kind did a service for us, and now you hope to turn that debt into an open invitation to explore our lands." Her eyes narrow, and she gives a predatory grin. "You cannot think we are so simple. We know what you are here for. No technology leaves our lands, and our debt does not change that." She leans back, as if waiting for a response.
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Alie nods at the others to present the gift. "We hope that the gift we present to you combined with the favor owed Gojan, might be enough for you to consider granting us safe passage. While there, if we encounter any of those accursed robots, we will be sure to take out as many as we can for you."
Diplomacy
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Xol-Nomag inspects the adamantine axe, nods as she grasps its handle, and continues. "You make a strong case. Very well, my warriors shall accompany you tomorrow to Sulfur Gulch. Let me be clear, however. No technological device of any kind is to leave that place. If you attempt to deceive us, the technology will be destroyed, and so will you, along with any hope of alliance between your Society and our tribe. Do I make myself clear?"
"If you possess any technology now, show it now and you will be allowed to keep it when you go inside, and keep it when you come out. Jala, inspect them now."
Jala then casts two spells that those versed in arcane matters recognize as detect magic and technomancy. "Please submit yourselves to my inspection. If you have any technological item, reveal them of your own volition." simply warns the arcane spellcaster.