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A young woman of otherworldly looks stands in the room, her gaze lost in the vague as if she was contemplating something invisible to the eye. She doesn't acknowledge your presence at once. Her physical appearance is weird to say the least. Despite her typical Varisian traits, her skin is ebony black. Her hair is medium-length and white with purple shades and wisps of longer hair. Yet the strangest thing about her is her eyes - purple iris surrounded in pure black. The young woman's clothes are Varisian in style, despite a few Mwangi lucky charms around her neck or wrist. She has a kapenia scarf wrapped around her waist.
"I'm Ouroboreia." she says suddenly, as it snapping out of her reverie.
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"You must be the weirdest looking human I have ever seen if you are indeed all human. Hard to tell." a rough looking half orc says walking into the room. He is holding a ornate pole-arm over his shoulder as he downs a mug of brew then tosses the mug on a nearby table. He wipes his mouth on a nearby towel and throws it on the ground when he is done. He is full armored and fully armed.
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"Wow! That's a lotta co-lors ya got there!" exclaims a half-orc with more than a hint of Varisian in his heritage himself. He takes in the other agents assembled and waves cheerfully, making his rather large Key-shaped holy symbol swing to and fro from the chain it is secured to his neck by.
"Ah'm Kleetus Doherni, holy Abadar's left hook. But he's more of a righty Ah figure. 'Sall right tho. It'sa pleasure t'meetcha all! And please, noone go talkin' 'bout rats or rat-folk. Kinda still "processin'" mah last mission. At least that's what Master Shaine says." he finishes with a face and a strange tick that disappears as soon as he focuses on the other half-orc's armor.
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An ageless woman enters. Her hair is bone white and her face has a metallic sheen to it, evidence of some kind of outsider blood. She has the same intense gaze as Kleetus that worries its way to your bones. She is dressed in unassuming clothes (with no visible armor) except for an extravagant cloak in brilliant red and gold with the emblem of Ragathiel emblazoned on the back. Her hands are swaddled in wrappings and she has a variety of weapons about her body and a long spear tickling the ceiling.
"Well met." she says perfunctorily. Looking around and seeing the half orcs, she adds, "Looks like they expect to need muscle on the mission. Then again, don't they always?" A smile flickers across her face, almost to quickly to see, before it hurries back into is all-to-serious mask.
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"Ah know right? It's almost like people don't like ark-ee-ol-oh-gists anymore." opines Kleetus. "'ts not like we jist git on in and take everythin' that ain't nailed to the ground!" He pauses, deep in though for several long, agonizing moments. "Maybe it's 'cause they don't wanna be sharin'. Like that one time in the How-ma-Jin carpet. Big temple in ice, ya think they would let us just git on in and do our thing? Nope. They be tryin' t'murder us. Then they be complainin' we murder them back and take their stuff." He shakes his head with a kind of simple wisdom illuminating his features.
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Marta visibly winces when Jaggar gleefully proclaims his predisposition to solve pathfinder problems by drawing blood.
Or perhaps it is because the first solution that pops into most of my allies heads is to beat everything to death. People can change if they are not killed, don't they realize this?
The behavior of the others reminds her of something she needs to do. An aura surrounds her and changes nature as she shifts from shadowy tendrils, to white motes, then metallic stars, and finally coruscating worms. By the end of things, barring any magical misdirection, she will know the alignment of each member of the party - a task she always performs when she is teamed up with a new group.
After having hoods placed over your heads at the Flaxseed Lodge, you are lead through the streets of Absalom. The man leading you takes you down many different streets, probably to confuse you about the meeting place's whereabouts. After a while, you enter a building, and a finely decorated room is revealed as a calloused hand removes your hoods.
“I am sorry for all the secrecy, but unfortunately, someone is trying to kill me.”
A figure stands in the room, his unkempt gray hair and bushy eyebrows framing milky-white eyes that suggest the onset of cataracts—it is Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He walks past several covered easels to a plush, zebra-patterned chair, where he painfully creaks into an awkward sitting position. As he straightens his spine, a series of loud pops protest, and he looks up and pleads,
“Pathfinders, I need your help.”
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The wizardess peers at Drandle Dreng, as if attempting to see beyond the man. She looks a bit off, but remains nonetheless focused on what she is being told.
"You have it, of course. What are the facts? We'll need to know a bit more before we take action. How and when the attempts on your life were made, your possible enemies, what you may have done to see yourself the target of an assassination."
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The aasimar man with the wild, flaming red hair surveys the room, mumbling to himself as he tries to put together the pieces.
"Let's see... You chose to have our meeting away from the Grand Lodge, which means that your enemy is among the Pathfinders, or at least has spies within it. You're asking for our help, but resorted to subterfuge to hide your location, so you clearly don't know exactly who in the Lodge can be trusted. Do I have the right of it?"
“While I know many individuals have designs on my life, I cannot figure out how this particular killer benefits from my passing.”
Dreng leans forward, looking suddenly more serious.
“What I am going to ask of you may seem unorthodox, but I need you to capture this assassin and bring him to me. I need you to use caution, for the accused has a very powerful father in the Society. The killer’s name is Sidri, and right now he’s hiding behind his father’s power in one of the Grand Lodge’s outbuildings. Go there and accost Sidri with as little violence as possible, and I shall contact you regarding what to do next.”
Dreng looks from side to side, as if someone might be listening in and whispers,
“I needn’t tell you that all this Shadow Lodge business has everyone above me in quite a panic. Do nothing to attract attention to yourself—avoid being seen by locals and Pathfinders alike. Be careful, be stealthy, and bring me Sidri. I would know why he has designs on my life—it’s possible that his father has them and is instructing his son to kill me, but I can’t be too sure. Whatever you do, be cautious, Pathfinders.”
Dreng reaches in the folds of his black garment and pulls out an amulet.
“Here take this—I can contact you easily as long as it’s in your possession. Any questions?”
Dreng shifts in his chair before answering.
“We Pathfinders take care of our own. And Sidris father Nordris has powerful friends in the Lodge—I’d hate to go to those above me for help and simply warn Nordris of what I know.”
The Physician senses that Dreng is nervous, but telling the truth.
“Nordris Kalm is a venture-captain in Diobel. He has many friends in the lodge—rumor holds that he has the most powerful of friends there, if you catch my meaning. Be careful not to alert him to your investigations.”
At the mention of Sidri, a frown appears on Dreng's face.
"I'm not proud to say this, but I know next to nothing about him. He's a half-elf, like his father, and he seems to be a jack-of-all-trades."
Sidri is the latest addition to the group, and has apparently shown great prowess in the field of alchemy.
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The wizardess remains silent, listening to every bit of information before making up her mind. "I have several means to incapacitate Sidri, all of them through the use of magic. Yet it would be even better to abduct him under the guise of silence, if one of you holy men could do it."
She gladly accepts to bear the amulet allowing communication with Drandle Dreng, although she inspects it magically beforehand.
Ouroboreia concludes that the amulet is attuned in a way that allows scrying on the bearer.
Dreng nods in agreement.
"Any violence that can be avoided, should be. And remember, I need to interrogate Sidri, so he needs to be able to speek..."
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Kleetus perks up at the mention of his name. "Oh yeah! Ah'm what Ah like t'call myself a per-suader. And Ah'm all about being non-lethal-like. That's why holy Abadar made the flat of the blade! That or maybe t'flip pan-cakes? Who knows... The mysteries of Abadar are many and endless." he rambles on, punctuating his assertions with a distinctly avian-like half-nod, half-thrust forward of the head.
"Yall did a lotta talkin' and Ah was only half payin' attenshun here. Ah did hear somethin' 'bout sneakin' round? Ah can make folks invisible, but only as long as they don't go 'round hittin' things all hostile of intent-like. After that, it kinda goes away, all embarrassed-like. So Ah gots Jaggar there covered. Yup. Sound good t'yall?"
As you start talking about getting down to business, Dreng speaks once more.
“Because of the dangers I face, I can’t let you see your way back out.”
He gestures to a pair burly men standing by the door.
“They’re going to put your masks back on and gently put you in a carriage, dropping you off near the Grand Lodge. I will contact you in 48 hours to get a progress report. Good hunting and be safe, Pathfinders.”
True to the Venture-Captain's word, you are driven across town and when your hoods are removed, you find yourselves in front of the gates to the Grand Lodge. Locating the outbuilding currently occupied be Sidri is easy , and there seems to be no one around.
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Has he been to school with Grandmaster Torch? Same burly men, same masks, same methods... The wizardess sighs and accepts the mask.
Before entering the Grand Lodge, Ouroboreia casts a few warding spells, then she goes around to ask for Sidri.
"He's over there. I'll remain hidden and watch." she says as she activates her Ring of Invisibility
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The Physician approaches the outbuilding and knocks.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for a Sidri? I've run into some alchemical stuff on my last mission that's way over my head, and I heard you're the man to ask about that kind of thing. Care to join me at the bar? There's free drinks all night in it for you."
-Posted with Wayfinder
The Physician gets no reply. There seems to be no one home.
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Marta pulls out a set of lockpicks and quirks one eyebrow at the rest of the party as if to say, "Shall we?"
Though she knows full well the Quiven would almost certainly best her on any attempt to open the door, she hesitates to ask him directly before he establishes his place as 'official trap checker and door opener'.
Quiven and Marta pick the lock expertly. Inside they see several yellowed pieces of parchment littering the creaking floorboards of this modest structure. Three large Absalom city maps dominate the north wall. A ratty leather chair offers the only place to sit, and a dusty blanket rests in the southeast corner.