While on Absalom, you all receive an urgent letter from Marcus Farabellus.
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Periel the Pure is a huge young man, about 6`6`` weighting around 220 Pounds. His heritage is not so obvious, as he it only shows in the golden orbs he has for eyes.
He has long golden hair cut short, to better fit under a helmet.
While not in combat or working with his caravan, he is dressed in steel coloured long robes of osirian linnen over white cotton trousers and tunic.
In battle he dresses in leather clothes dyed white, steel and red under his half-plate.
His trusted Katana of adamantium called Divine Justice is always with him.
If in thoughts he often absentmindly strokes his holy amulet.
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Kenji appears to be of Tian origins, though his features are clearly not completely human. His ears are pointed, but not elf-like, curling forward on the tips, almost as if they were barbed. His eyes are deeply colored, almost black, and when angry, the blackness fills the eyes entirely. His teeth are slightly fanged. His tail is the final touch to his inhumanity, though he keeps it hidden most of the time when in humanoid society. He is soft-spoken, barely opening his mouth when he speaks, the better to hide his fangs. He wears loose clothing, the better to hide his tail and move easily when his skills require it.
He stands about 5'9" and 150 lbs, dwarfed by the aasimar paladin, though he doesn't look intimidated by him. His eyes tick from the blade to the holy symbol and he sighs softly... Another paladin, I hope we can get along. Last one wasn't too bad, as paladins go... no stick up his you know what at least.
He nods to all present by way of a greeting, but doesn't open his mouth to speak. He glances up at the statue a moment, then looks around for the VC who summoned him via letter. He finally speaks... "Were you all summoned here as well?"
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"Yer damn right I was summoned!" A voice booms out of nowhere. Suddenly, a dwarf pops into existence next to the statue. He floats a foot off the ground in a cross-legged position. Much of his features are obscured by a thick black cloak, but his face is pockmarked and bruised, one only a well-paid mother could love. A thick belt worn over his coat holds several crossbows and holy symbols of Abadar.
"'Bout time they send me on a mission," the dwarf grumbles to no one in particular. "They're all, 'Oh, he can fly, why don't we send Mav to notify less experienced agents of tasks he could do single-handedly?' Buncha rot if'n you ask me." Mavarion takes a look around at the assembled Pathfinders. "But here we are. Name's Mavarion, holy hand of Abadar at yer service."
Mavarion is full of something, and it isn't devotion to the Master of the First Vault. He seems to be concealing the reason he is carrying Abadar's holy symbol and weapon. He is also keeping his true abilities secret, but looks to be bursting to tell should someone call him out on his 'deception.'
As you stand in front of the Statue of Durvin Gest waiting for Farabellus to arrive, a runner approaches you and hands over a sealed letter to Periel before scampering off again.
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The muscular human looks around at the other summoned members of his group. He wasn’t sure that any of them looked particularly imposing. Clearly he would be expected to do the heavy lifting yet again. He check to makes sure all of his potions were cinched tightly about his belt. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the purpose of his mission to reveal itself.
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"'Bout time they send me on a mission," the dwarf grumbles to no one in particular. "They're all, 'Oh, he can fly, why don't we send Mav to notify less experienced agents of tasks he could do single-handedly?' Buncha rot if'n you ask me." Mavarion takes a look around at the assembled Pathfinders. "But here we are. Name's Mavarion, holy hand of Abadar at yer service."
"Zeno Loxley," Replies the elf after a moment's awkward silence. "I take it you're trying to set up a joke? You're obviously not lying about being an Abadaran, because 'lying,' by definition, indicates some degree of deliberate effort. You're obviously no Abadaran, but you're even more obviously not making any effort. What's the punchline?"
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"No effort?!" Mavarion sputters. A tiny whirlwind of objects, some as small as dust motes, animates around the dwarf as if possessed by some deadly sentience. "Lad, I wouldn't need any effort to rip a building from its foundations and drop it on ya. But excuse me fer not being born with the gift of a silver tongue. I thought someone'd figure me out, I wasn't expecting it ta go over that easily, mind."
"So, yeah, I'm no priest. More of a...conduit, that's the word, for some pretty weird energies. I can lift nearly six tons just by thinkin' about it, fix stuff and people, fly, the like. Nothin' special." Having said his piece, he looks to change the subject. "Anyone know what's the mission?"
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A tall imposing dark-skinned man saunters over to join the party. He gives a measured bow and looks at each of you squarely in turn. Bambang stands tall for a Tian-Sing, and he is well-built and muscular, quite different from their usual slight frame. Otherwise, as per usual Tian-Sing culture, his head is shaved and covered with tattoos of geometric designs. He is garbed in a set of ancient-looking full plate armor intricately carved with designs of barongs, asuras, devas, nagas and other exotics creatures. Across his back hangs a well-crafted but similarly ancient looking greatsword. Despite his warrior garb however, he carries himself in a poised and noble-like bearing, cutting imposing and almost regale figure. His deep rich voice rings out in a warm but formal tone, "I am Bambang Kuwatputra, son of Kuwat, heir of the chieftain of the Menguam Singa clan of Tengah Pulu, the Emerald Isle of the Minata Archipelago. I apologise for my tardiness." Other than that, he gives no further explanation for being late.
"I am afraid I do not know either," he intones, waiting patiently. "But that is fascinating, for in many ways, my... powers are similar. Although in my case, I find myself the conduit for spirits." Again, he leaves the rest unspoken.
The immense Sky Reach Tower casts a dim shadow over the twenty-foot-tall likeness of the Society’s most heralded founding agent, Durvin Gest, his gaze directed over the horizon as if searching for one last adventure. Emerging from behind the monument’s frieze-adorned base, Master of Blades Marcus Farabellus adresses you with barely concealed impatience.
“Now that you’re here, I’ll be brief. I received a short relayed message from the Master of Spells. Zey reported that something has gone wrong with the gate he and Amara Li are working on to establish a direct link to our new base camp in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords through the Hao Jin Tapestry. I need not remind you of the importance of that camp and its proximity to Jormurdun. Once that gate is permanently established, we’ll be able to provide safe and reliable support for our efforts to breach the dwarven Sky Citadel.
“We recently appointed a new venture-captain, Nikolai Adonai, to oversee day-to-day operations and provide security until Zey and Li finish their work. Zey speculated that one or more of the arcane foci used to stabilize the incomplete gateway may have been disturbed, but reestablishing the connection should be relatively simple with the help of the camp’s agents. That, as well as the fact that Nikolai hasn’t responded to any communication magic, suggests something is wrong.
“I need you to travel to the base camp, find out what’s going on, and repair the link through the Hao Jin Tapestry. Any questions?”
Farabellus sighs dramatically before answering your questions.
“That’s more of a question for Aram Zey, but from what I understand, they are crystals about the size of your fist made of black tourmaline. There’s something special about their crystalline structure—when properly aligned with the tapestry, they can hold open a gate between planes indefinitely. His message was short and didn’t provide those details, but there should be several agents within the camp who can give you that information. If the agents are missing, then it's up to you to sort out the entire mess.”
Turning to Zeno, he continues.
“It's late spring, so the weather up there is more forgiving than usual. As I mentioned, all cantact with the camp has ceased, so we don't know anything about the current conditions in the area.”
Mavarion's question seems to strike a nerve, and Farabellus answers in a huff.
“He's a Sarenite priest and an experienced Pathfinder, so I personally doubt he's the cause of the disruption.”
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Not knowing much more than what has already been shared, Bambang keeps quiet and ponders over the situation. His muscular build often leads those who do not know him to assume him to be a brainless oaf, a misconception that he does not bother to correct unless necessary. Realising, however, that he knows too little for now, he simply asks, "Captain, based on your experience, what do you think might have happened?"
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"So, if we're still setting this link up, how do we get there?' Mavarion queries. He pulls from his backpack a sphere that resembles the planet Triaxus and hums with barely distinct energy. "I can use this to get us most anywhere, s'long as it's on this plane. I'd rather save it for an emergency, though."
Farabellus gives Bambang a weary shrug.
"Unfortunately, this interdimensional crystal alignment thing is far beyond my own area of expertise, but in my mind there're three options: Kellid tribesmen from the west, a demonic incursion from the east, or Li and Zey bungled the whole thing without realizing it."
Mavarion's second question receives a more composed response.
“Getting you there is going to be costly, but I’ve arranged for another agent to transport you there with magic. That said, if you can manage your own instantaneous transportation, that’s one less expense for the Society. Once you realign the foci and get Zey and Li out of the tapestry, they should be able to get you home.”
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Bambang ponders for a while, then shares his thouhts. "Best if it was simply a mistake made in the magic, but one should always plan for the worst. Kellid warriors can be reasoned with, failing which, steel and spells should be sufficient. A demonic invasion, however, is not something to be taken lightly. I believe many demons are vulnerable to weapons of cold iron make. If necessary, I can enchant a number of weapons to take on their properties."
He turns to look at Mavarion to respond on the transportation.
With all your questions answered, Farabellus leads you to one of the Grand Lodge’s outbuildings. There you meet one of the Society’s more decorated, albeit cantankerous, agents, a wizard who introduces himself as Ethan. He pulls out a small silver mirror, says, “The Pathfinders’ Jormurdun base camp,” gives the mirror a shake, and holds it out to you. The reflective surface shows a vast field of tall grass, barren of any signs of civilization.
“That’s an active view of the center of our camp. Master Zey has concealed its location from all but the most powerful of magic. I’m going to teleport you there, at which point you should expect to fumble around a bit before being able to pierce the illusion.”
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Bambang looks at the scene with some skeptism, although he attempts to hide it. Seeing no signs of any of the Pathfinders, he wonders if Ethan is indeed going to send them to the right place. To not call to question his abilities though, Bambang attempts to get assurance via another route. "And when our work is done, how would we be returning?"
Ethan gives Bambang a dispassionate shrug.
"Dunno, but as far as I know, Zey will exit the tapestry on your end when you fix this whole mess. I'm sure he'll show an uncharacteristic amount of gratitude and send you home again."
When you are sufficiently prepared, Ethan makes a circle of amber dust and activates a scroll causing a magical tingle to come over you all. As the magic dissipates, a vast, grassy steppe comes into focus. The only features to speak of are a handful of wizened trees, twisted into impossible shapes by the Worldwound’s taint, and the Tusk Mountains far to the north.
Through your arcane sight you see two chaotic evil auras to the south east; a single focused and overwhelming one and a second diffuse strong one