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Serge sits at the bar, sipping on a mixture of milk and gin. A heavy full plate rests on the bar stool next to him along with a massive greatsword and an earthbreaker. His brown hair is cut short and cropped neatly to one side, and his face is an image of age far beyond his own, implying a life of worry and struggle.
Regardless, Serge seemed happy. He sipped on his drink with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face, mingling with the others, a frothy milk moustache wiped away after setting the cup down.
Another day, another drink... Ragathiel sighs.
"... And then, still in a prison in Cheliax - a gods forsaken place, trust me - they told me they hid things in their prison pockets. Can you believe such a thing? Why - Is a prison pocket simply sewed into their uniforms? I would think the guards would quickly notice any sort of contraband, but that's what they said," he obliviously says to the nearest Pathfinder.
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A tall Chelaxian sits beside Serge and chuckles. Aiden has sharp noble features and wears a rich cloak. While he wears a longsword on his back, you noticed manacles and a net on his belt before he sat down. He smiles at the armored man. "Serge, I don't think prison pockets is exactly what you think it is. Chelaxians can be quite a bit more subtle. I've tracked down quite a few fugitives in my time, and several of them were capable of hiding things even while naked." He takes a drink of wine, smiling.
"Actually, you'd be quite surprised what I found on some halflings! Jewels, jewelry, and coins most of the time, but even a vial of expensive ink one time. Never enjoyable to recover those things, but occasionally fun to make them give it up." He hides a darker smiles behind his wineglass.
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A large, full bellied orc comes into the bar, a smile on his face, showing off his perfect pearly whites and equally impressive gums holding said teeth. "OOoo, time fer a couple fancy drinks mebe before dis next trip! 'Grilda said she'd be here!"
He heads up to the bar, takes a look around at the available seats, and chooses the one that looks to be the stoutest to hold him and his massive gut, right next to Aiden. "Hey dare mang!" He waves after he sits.
He's wearing what looks to be a fresh shiny white metal breastplate that sticks out considering its the only thing on him that isn't grungy and well worn. He carries a spear that looks more like a sharpened tree branch with some leaves still in place, as well as a large, over stuffed backpack across his shoulder with a crossbow hanging off it.
He takes a seat with a thud and a smile, leaning his spear and backpack down on the side of the bar. Across his chest and around his waist hang all manner of fruits, strung on strings and ropes conspicuously. He pulls off an apple, an orange and a lime and plops them on the bar before hollering and waving at the bar tender "Can you get me some rum and ice dare mang? A bottle be gud nuff!" He slides the coins across the sticky wooden surface with his giant green mitt.
"MMMmmm" He coos as he pulls out a bone handled blade from his belt and begins cutting into the pieces of fruit with such love and care you'd swear they were more valuable than gold. He then pulls a coconut off his belt, turns it around in his hands a few times to double check something, before deftly hacking the top off with the blade and mixing some of the mixed fruit inside and a hefty helping of the rum and a couple cubes of ice.
He raises his coconut and offers up a toast "To dem big bossmen in da Lodge, dey keep Luurg in nuff fruits and rums to keep 'is belly full n 'is 'ead fuggy!" Which is followed up by a hefty slurp from a wooden straw.
Speaking of the big bossmen in the Lodge, the Pathfinders assembled in the bar turn as they hear a call ring out across the crowded establishment, summoning them to the office of Master of Blades, Marcos Farabellus. The Pathfinder Society’s Master of Blades rarely assigns missions himself. Rarer still do those orders come directly from the Decemvirate. Yet now he calls a small band of agents up to his office to do just that. Muttering slightly about not having time to enjoy their beverages, the Pathfinders stand and pay their tabs as they make their way back to the Grand Lodge.
“You bold few are in for a journey,” the towering wall of a man states as the Pathfinders file into his office. He rubs his beard for a few moments, as if physically searching it for the right words. “There’s a problem in Ustalav. An embarrassing one. Most of you have probably met Vonran Vilk, the old man who used to work in the library. He was the Master of Blades well before my time; the man lived more stories than you or I have even read. A few months back he returned to his homeland of Ustalav to write his memoirs for the Society. Something happened along the way. Now, a serial killer stalks Vilk’s hometown of Ardis, killing off all his old enemies. Under the full moon. I think you get the drift.
“Look. I’m not going to blow you a lot of smoke. Vilk defined what it meant to be a good man in his day. More importantly, he’s still got secrets buried up in that geriatric head of his that the Decemvirate doesn’t want spilled on the cobblestones by some superstitious Ardisian’s silver ax. Even worse, Ustalav sees the Pathfinder Society as a band of mercenaries and grave robbers. If anyone finds out that as prominent a Pathfinder as Vilk stalks their streets and murders their nobles as the man they’re calling the ‘Midnight Mauler,’ that might be enough excuse to have the entire Society expelled from Ardis’s borders without any debate.
“Ideally, you are to stop the murders without killing Vilk. But if push comes to shove, access to all the history of Ustalav outweighs any one man. Stop Vilk, whatever it takes. Our man in Ardis will meet you at the docks.”
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Serge's drunken smile turns into a frown of determination that extends past his knees when he hears about the murderer. "Disgusting. This murderer does not deserve death. He will be brought to justice and live a long life... in prison. I do hope he has a pocket for when he gets there," he snorts. The paladin pulls a cloth emblazoned with Ragathiel's sigil form his pack and wipes the blade of his greatsword down. "Luurg, you should bring some of that coconut rum for the trip. There is something about travel at sea and rum that is just so fitting."
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"Vilk was Master of Blades?" Aiden gives a low whistle. "So we're to capture a master swordsman turned werewolf without killing him....I think I'm going to need another net. Something tells me the Paracountess will owe me one after this."
"If we can track him down, I should be able to incapacitate him, though I might need some help. But I'm not really keen on handling even a manacled werewolf."
"Do we know where Vilk would be in Ardis? Does he keep a home there still?"
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Luurg stands up in a hurry, grabbing his bottle and stuffing it into his backpack before downing the fresh drink in a matter of seconds. He grabs up his backpack and spear and heads for the door, only to be assaulted mentally as something, or someone, tries to freeze his brain from the inside out "AAAAccckkkkk" He says as he stumbles against the doorway clutching his head with one hand. The pain quickly subsides and with a suspicious, squinting glare he looks around the room before continuing on.
He stands in the back of the briefing room, backpack on and spear in hand. Between his pack and his gut, he takes up the space of two, if not three people.
"Head to Ustalav, find Vilk guy, see who's killun all his old not friends. Say... whatsa werewulf? I know plenty 'bout wulfs. Dey not so bad udder den dem bitin' and jumpin. I'll get us dare!" He says, following it up with a echoing belch, filling the room with the sweet smell of rum and fruit.
"Oops."
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Already in the office you see a woman wearing no real armor beyond a set of green robes with gold trim. Her green-tipped red hair flows in the wind... wait, where's the wind coming from? She smiles, revealing her pearly white teeth.
"Sheela Kolphan. Good to see all of you." She shakes each of your hands. "I've been making chitchat, you haven't missed anything."
As the Master of Blades describes what's going on, she smiles. "It sounds like the perfect opportunity to frame Vilk. Oh well, catch a murderer, earn the favor of the former Master, and I get to work off more community service!" She claps gleefully. "I can't wait to see Usulav. I'm sure the sailors will be glad to see me, too!"
Farabellus pauses for a moment as if considering his words carefully. "Let me be clear," he says after a moment, "Aiden here has the right idea. We suspect that Vilk is the werewolf and has been committing the murders in his wolf form. You may need to study up a bit more on werewolves, though I'm sure Ustalav will be as good a place as any to find that kind of information. Serge, if you are able to detain Vilk and imprison him, that would be suitable, and in fact preferable to his death. I do not know whether my predecessor will thank you for stopping his spree. There is only so much we can guess about how his transformation has affected his reasoning. Let me know if you have any other questions, otherwise, we've made arrangements for your travel, and we'd like to get you on your way as soon as possible."
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Luurg nods emphatically. "I'mma gonna go talk wid Janira, she's real gud wid 'membrin stuff. She's gut so many books, she'll know someting!" He gets ready to bumble out of the room and find that bubbly Halfling.
"You don't say! Here, have an apple, you a super smrt Half-Lady!"
Once the group meets back up on the ship, Luurg spills the beans on what he learned at the library.
"Reports of lunar transfer...mations and brutal maulings in Ardis point to lycanthropy. A werewulf prolly bit Vilk on his trip to Ardis, and he now turns to a werewulf under the full moon, tree days every month."
He rubs his belly a moment as he recalls more info "Dem werewulfs and dare were-friends of all types hate dat silver, and silver weapons stab dare thick hides real gud! The herb wulfsbane—also called aconite or monkshood—may cure a sumone, but is also poisonous and can kill a werewulf too!"
He smiles, pulling out an apple and taking a big bite before holding up a massive finger to add something else "Having been bit, Vilk is only a bearer of the curse of lycanthropy, and cannot infect others. Only those born wid it can spread the disease to their victims."
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Serge listens to Luurg speak, his eyes narrowed as he concentrates hard on understanding his accent. "Despite what your appearance would have many believe, you are quite knowledgeable. This wulfsbane herb in particular sounds helpful, but it may be difficult to find some."
A lycanthrope? How are we going to bind such a savage beast? Will we be forced to kill it?
Arriving in Aldris, Serge passes through, asking the locals for any details, but finds that the holy sigil of Ragathiel emblazoned on his armor is met with a lukewarm response. "These people do not seem to like my kind. Perhaps you may have better luck," he says to the others, then takes a sip of whatever liquid might be in his waterskin.
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"Now now, you just need to find the right words." Sheela shoots a smile at Serge, and then heads off to town.
By the time she gets back, you catch the faintest smell of garbage about her. "Some people reacted...poorly to my charms...why are you looking at me like that?" She casts prestidigitation to clean herself up.
"Luurg already covered the basics. Vilk may have been bitten by a werewolf and is unaware of its influence, 3 days every month."
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"Ardis is faded glory. It used to be the capital of Ustalav, but now it's nothing more than useless noble families with no real power and even less money squabbling among themselves for things no one else cares for. But they are still important in their eyes. Let's be careful who we insult. We might have to play some senseless politics."
"And those nobles are on edge more than ever with this killer about. Thieves and wild animals kill peasants everyday, but this killer has the nobility and merchants scared."
"It sounds like we ought to find some silvered weapons and wulfsbane before we head out."
An excited young man strains for a view from behind a row of dull, bored, gray-clad observers on the docks of Ardis’s modest harbor. His face beams with equal parts excitement and relief as the gangplank on the riverboat which carried you here drops.
“Well met, my brothers and sisters,” the young man says. “Thank you for coming so quickly! I am Ryado Erudyta.” Despite his youth, Ryado approaches with a limp in his left leg. “I have a coach waiting to take us back to the safe house. We can speak more freely away from these crowds.”
The rented cab is small but well appointed, and after a moment of securing the luggage, Erudyta continues. “By now you must have heard of the unfortunate circumstances of Master Vilk’s… condition. I ran into him by chance six weeks ago at the library of a mutual friend. I was researching the Dracora family’s lineage, but that’s neither here nor there.”
He glances out the window, peering at the long, orange shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. “To my shame, I didn’t put all the clues together until the most recent round of murders, but now I see it all… Vilk’s overland journey into Ustalav under cover of darkness, the low profile he maintains, and the identities of the seemingly random victims.” He shakes his head, showing more years than his rosy cheeks would suggest. “I wish I could stop him myself, but fighting a werewolf would’ve been well beyond my skills even before the ghouls got to me.” He knocks gently on his left leg.
“The full moon starts tonight, along with Vilk’s next round of murders. I beg you to cure our wayward master if at all possible. You’ll find curative magics scarce in Ardis, but I believe a powerful dose of wolfsbane may reverse his condition, should he survive it. There might even be enough humanity left in his bestial soul to reason with. The guards grow wise to the beast, and the locals are on edge as well—if the guards or an angry mob beat us to Vilk, the Society’s relationship to the Midnight Mauler will be exposed. We can’t let that happen. One way or another, Vilk’s rampage must end tonight.”
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Serge places his hand on Ryado's shoulder. "You have it on my word that we will do whatever it takes to cure Vilk of his... condition." He stands tall and looks over at Sheela and Aiden. "Might our first order of business be asking about this wolfsbane, and figuring out how we might obtain some in Ustalav? It seems it is the only way to stop this transformation without having to resort to more drastic measures."
If this Mauler should start terrorizing the townspeople when we arrive, make no mistake - swift vengeance will befall him.
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When the ship reaches port Luurg takes down his hammock and stuffs it into his pack, stretching his back and scratching his belly. He yawns and farts, nearly simultaneously (yes it is as impressive as it sounds). "Scoosi. When you eats as much fruits as I do you gotta 'spect some farts." He hoists his bag and spear up and heads off the ship, leaving a significant pile of apple cores, coconut husks and cherry pits behind.
Luurg smiles and waves at the crew as he steps back on solid ground "I love me dem boats, but I feel real gud on solid ground!" He smiles and nods at Ryado as he welcomes them and leads them into the coach. "A hut pulled wid horsies, cool!" His expression soon dampens though when he sees how small the hut is. He quickly gets in and lays claim to most of one bench by himself. "It kinda cozy in here... HEY! Don't squish my banana and plums!"
During their ride he asks Ryado a question or two "Whatcha do dat dere leg mang? Ghouls you sed? Dey dem dead tings er someting? You tried eatin more fruits, make sick people strong again! I show you when we got more time after this Vilk ting. Any where gud to find wulfbane? I can prolly find it if you show me some woods dat may have it growin in, I'm real gud in da woods and swamps 'round home."
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The door opens, and a 6ft 5 inch pale half-orc steps in.
"These doors are getting lower by the day.
Good morning, everyone. I'm Marduk. I got a letter i was asked to come by."
Given his loose shirt and pants, combined with athletic build, he's not too much of an imposing figure, only having his height going for him.
“Alas, wolfsbane has become difficult to come by. The locals know lycanthrope attacks when they see them, and the local shops sell out as soon as it arrives. Worse still, the few shops that do still have the herb have taken to price gouging. I saw one herbalist charing upwards of 800 gold for a single dose! You may have better luck tracking it than I, though. I've heard tell of a few places in the woods just outside the city walls where the herb might be growing wild, though I've also heard of...other things growing there.“
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Luurg listens on as Ryado talks about the herb and where to get some, then looks to Aiden curiously "We shuld get dat herb first, cuz den if we see Vilk he can eat it and den problem solved! Go home and collect big bag of gold.. buy more nice stuff!" He taps on his now somehow dingy metal chestplate with a smile. You've noticed he never takes it off, it quickly blending into the color palette of grudge.
"Sides! Maybe we find EXTRA wulfsbane plants, den we sell dem off too for extra travel monies!"
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As the group disembarks they notice a Garundi sitting on the dock look up at them. A little crowd of dockworkers seems gathered around him and you can see that his hand motions seem to be making a throwing motion. "It seems that the Great Dreamer has spoken this day and delivered my acquaintances safely." Picking up something he puts it back in a small pouch at his side much to the chagrin of the gathered dockworkers. His eyes fall squarely on the grotesque orc he has come to travel with on several occasions. "Luurg once again the odouriferous air announces your presence even before your ship was ready to dock. What forbidden fruits have you brought along to share with me in this rather dour town? I see you have even brought some others with you. Greetings to you all. I am known as the Dark Augur. A humble follower of the Great Dreamer. But you may call me Bishop. It seems that we arrived at relatively the same time my ship only just docked several hours ago."
Making quick introductions he boards the small cab with the others and listens and shares to any knowledge of their current mission.
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Luurg squints his beady black eyes a bit, and sniffs the air with his nose as Bishop greets him "What funny air? Air around me always smells da same, cept sometimes it salty and sometimes no. But I do gut lots of fruits! Mebe I can find some new one in dis place, nebber been here bafore!" He goes over and shakes the man's hand roughly, leaving his tell-tale sticky residue behind.
"Lez go, lots to do. Where'd dat 'Grilda go? N her hubby guy... umm ferget his name." He waves him along and into the cabby.
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"Greetings, Bishop. You must tell me about your Great Dreamer, perhaps during our travels back. Desna's graces have led many of my own kind through lives of fulfillment," he smiles at Bishop. "Our half-orc friend here seems to put off an otherworldly odor. Surely there is a remedy for your ailment?" Putting his hand on Luurg's shoulder, Serge speaks seriously with no intentions of raising ire. "I do not judge you for this, but I know of this one nagaji alchemist who should have just the thing."
He swiftly turns, stepping away from Luurg and drawing his greatsword. "But for now, we must acquire this wolfsbane if we are to humanely stop this Midnight Mauler."
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Luurg takes a deep thinking breath as he rubs his belly, trying to find the right words to answer the fancy lady "Well, when I do stay up way past dark time, not too much now dat I tink of it, I'mma usually pickin fresh fruits from da fields and woods. The night time is the best time fer dat. Fruit stay cool, no hot sun making it all mushy, no angry farmers chasin you off wid clubs and shubbels. Just you and dem deers n coons havin a good snack!"
With that he pulls out some slightly bruised fruit that he looks at dejectedly, wipes it off quick on his cloak, before offering it around. "Sorry, deez plums I gut back in Ab'slom, no time yet here to see whats gud. Mebe when we go to find wulfsbane I get sum fresh stuffs."
He pulls out his own slightly bruised banana, its starting to get a bit on the brown side so he eats about half before tossing it out the coach window. Ack! What the hells! Can be heard coming from the street behind them, along with the neighing or a horse.
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"I agree. Travelling by night is so much better!" Sheela giggles. "Fewer people to see you running around town, your hair a mess, covered in sweat, smudged makeup all over your face. Plus the night wind is much cooler."
"This one man showed me to his bee farm. He had all sorts of different honey to taste." She pauses. "I mean that literally, he had a half-dozen types of honey to taste. I don't know a thing about picking them, but I am pretty good at identifying plants."
"What about you gentlemen here? What intrigues you?"
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"Our half-orc friend here seems to put off an otherworldly odor. Surely there is a remedy for your ailment?" Putting his hand on Luurg's shoulder, Serge speaks seriously with no intentions of raising ire. "I do not judge you for this, but I know of this one nagaji alchemist who should have just the thing."
Luurg sniffs the air, then sniffs himself, then the air once more "Huh? I smell like da woods and da swamp. Help me blend in better, keep bugs away too some! No buddy like smell of city, yuck! Smell like harbor when water is low!"
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"The woods and the swamp, eh?" Serge thinks on it, getting a good whiff of the half-orc, and speaks slowly. "Why, yes. It is certainly not unpleasant if not a little odd. I have already acclimated to it, so there really is no smell at all."
An odd fellow, but special in a way... He means well, but perhaps a few wafers short of a full procession bowl. I will aid him as best I can.
Serge's face turns serious, and he holds a fist to his chest and speaks loudly. "I am here on behalf of my cousin, Brayden Foxley of Magnimar, bless his soul. Struck down by an unknown fiend in the Everflame's crypt, I seek nothing more but vengeance for his loss. The Society imparts a pragmatic sense of meaning into what it is to worship, and just as he followed the Path, I wish to follow in his footsteps." He lowers his fist and opens his eyes.
"I also enjoy a fine drink."
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"Revenge is a good motivation. It can keep you focused, drive you forward when nothing else will." Aiden nods at Serge, seemingly with approval.
The man crosses his arms. "I'm more of a meat person. No fruit or honey can beat a lamb roasting over an open fire. Carve a leg off of that and you can keep your fruits."
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"Oh, a shame to hear about your cousin, Serge. I know he would be proud of your efforts." Sheela turns serious and gives Serge a concerned look. "Too many Kolphans have died in one way or another- Grandmama is saddened by each loss." Sheela breaks off for a minute, lost in her own thoughts.
"Where was I? Oh yes, I'm sure a strong, strapping man like you needs all the meat you can get." She smiles.
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"I am only brought her at the behest of the Great Dreamer. Her favour carries me where she wishes. I was just in Druma experiencing their politics. It would seem that they are merchants through and through. Bidding on each city district. On the topic of meat or fruit they both have their merit I would rather live with both than only one." Turning his attention to the rather dour Serge Foxmourn. "Revenge? Those that seek revenge usually finds it seeks them out first. Best to keep that in mind, but I am saddened at your loss. What is this Everflame's crypt? Were you able to recover your cousin's body and prepare it for the journey to the Boneyard?"
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Luurg claps a big, sticky hand on Serge's shoulder "Luurg sorry your cousin ded. I hope you had a great party for his life, and I sad his loss stay wid you so long. Orcs move past loss fast I guess."
He sits and listens to the others with a smile on his face as they discuss the pros and cons of meat vs fruit.
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"You are all too kind," Serge says with a grateful smile. "The Crypt of the Everflame is an old tomb in Nirmathas. It is said to hold the Everflame, an everburning fire. During the last trek to retrieve the Everflame, countless people were found dead..." He bows his head, then shrugs off the pain. "But I'm afraid we do not have much time to continue that story. Bishop, Brayden's body was never found. It is truly horrible."
"Enough about me. Luurg, pour us some of that coconut liquor. I need it."
"Seriously? We have to go find our own wolfsbane?" Aiden shakes his head. "Well, there's nothing like going to find wolfsbane in the dark forest to draw out a werewolf."
"Do you know where Vilk is now? Is there any chance we can see him before nightfall?"
“That’s been a bit of a problem. I spent six weeks trying to track him down without any luck; too many of his records were simply wiped clean after his exile. If anyone in Ardis knows Vilk well enough to predict his actions, it would be his ex-lover: a half-elf courtesan named Markov Rutowski. Despite the urban decay, Ardis’s courtesans remain well insulated, and I lack the influence to even gain an audience with him. I understand Vilk’s exile was something of a black mark on Rutowski’s own career, and it likely remains a sensitive topic.”
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Luurg scratches his head with one hand and rubs his gut with the other "What's this 'courtysan' mean? What's the word in orc fer dat?"
His eyes go a bit wide and a smile parts his big green lips "Hehehe, dats a real nice way to say dat. Vilk must be pretty fancy and rich den eh?"
When Sheela brings up yet another distraction from heading to the woods to find herbs and fruits Luurg gives her the squinty eye'd look "Gotta get dat wulfbane first. I don't mind going in da woods in da dark, but I dunno if ebbyone else sees so gud in da dark do dey?" He chuckles a bit and adds "Sides, don't dem Courtysans do most dare 'werk' in da dark anywho?"
Luurg then throws a curious glance at Sheela I wonder if she's one of dem 'courtysans'...
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"I'm a terrible member of the court." Sheela smiles back at Luurg. "Usually I wind up at a party or two overnight. And then I spend the day in community service or with the Society."
While Sheela isn't lying, it's clear that the parties she goes to last a long time.
"Now Luurg, if you ever want to meet some of my friends, I know of a rather well-built half-orc. She's looking for mister right and she likes the brainy types!"
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Luurg scratches his head with one hand and rubs his gut with the other "What's this 'courtysan' mean? What's the word in orc fer dat?"
"I don't recall a specific word for it, as i've not met any half-orcs from Tian Xia. Their occupation originated from there, as far as i know.
If i were to describe it in orcish, my description would be 'a refined lady of company'. "