Dot in here
So it looks like we will need 1 or 2 more people so im going to post a recruitment link for this.
Also be sure to check in on the discussion tab! :)
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Straight off the boat from the worldwound, a simply dressed man with an angelic air enters the chamber. Their clothes are immaculate but unadorned, simple sand coloured trousers ending just below the knee, leather sandles lacing up the shin and a sleevelss brown linen tunic. A dark tattoo snakes around his right arm. His only nod to ornamentation is an exquisite darkwood bow with a tien dragon. He gives a deep bow to those in the room.
"Greetings and well met fellow Pathfinders, I am Amarok Sandstrider, Monk-Archer of Irori, recentpy returned from war in Nerosayan."
You all receive urgent instructions from Venture-Captain Sheila Heidmarch to head to the Dryad’s Trousseau, a flower shop in the Dockway district of Magnimar, to investigate a recent crime meant to frame the Pathfinder Society. Further instructions are promised upon arrival on the scene.
It’s a cold twilight in the Dockway, and the salt-sprayed streets still teem with activity. A young city guard stands outside an ornately decorated storefront, the window frame adorned with baroque carvings of wild vines and flowers. The guard speaks: “Oye, Pathfinders. Glad you all came so quick. Here’s the latest place robbed, this afternoon by a group dressed like your lot. The shopkeep is laid up in the flat upstairs—his landlady’s taking care of him. She thinks it was Pathfinders, too, but I talked her into speaking with you.” The young man knocks on a narrow door to the right of the shop entrance. “Look, I know you Pathfinders are all right. Cap’n Heidmarch’s done good in this city, so I’m happy to help you start sortin’ out what’s behind these crimes. But public opinion is goin’ south. The sooner you figure out who the guilty parties are, the better. Good luck. Oh, almost forgot—I was ta give this to you.” The guard hands over a leather pouch marked with the Heidmarch family seal, and departs just as a scowling elderly woman opens the door. “Right. You come to explain why your gang beat up poor Mr. Chert?”
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Standing at the door Amarok takes the pouch from the town guard with a soft smile and a nod of thanks, as the door opens, the Angelic monk gives a deep bow, his weapon on his back and he holds out his palms in a gesture of peace.
"I assure you lady, our Society would never stoop as low to attack an innocent citizen, we are a force of good in Golarion, we fight in the Worldwound, I myself have just arrived from their to investigate this heinous act. I hope Mr Chert is well."
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Bom's black tousled hair was held in place by an exquisite circlet, giving the young ranger a princely quality. Despite that, the hair cascaded over in such a fashion, one started to wonder if Bom and his wolf had some common ancestry. The ranger carried a spiked large wooden shield on his back and a number of weapons on his hip. Bom smiled easily at the old lady and nods at the male assimar,
"At the very least our friend Orophin would like to sing him a song to ease the pain. Music warms the heart and cures the soul, wouldn't you agree?"
Bom wasn't much to look at, but he had an easy going and at the same time, resolute manner. Coupled with his strong jaw befitting his Ulfen heritage, the ranger seemed to have a compelling way about him.
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"My dear lady!" says Orophin, instantly emphasizing with the old lady.
"We just heard about this horrible crime. I personally find it hard to beleive that pathfinders would do it, but if they did, you may rest assured we will root them from the organisation and pass them to the guard to deal with. Perhaps you could help provide a description of what you saw..."
He looks at the pouch handed over by the guard
"Who gave you this? And what is within it?"
He will then sing for both the landlady and the victim, offering them tickets to his next performance.
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Seeing the others have calming the woman well in hand, Amarok examines the pouch which seemingly comes from Captain Heidmarch before opening it, in case of sabotage or even, just a test on wariness from her.
If nothing seems amiss with the package, the archer opens it cautiously and examines the contents.
She looks at the lot of you with narrow eyes. "O'course he aint well! He cant even get out of bed whatever they did to him hurt 'im so bad. I don’t rightly know, what was taken. I figure they took the cashbox. Mr. Chert carries a lot of rare and unusual plants, maybe they wanted somethin’ like that there.”
"Fine but don't touch nothing!" She says sternly before leading you into the house. You see a man gravely ill laying on the bed. "One of them that did this dropped this." She says handing you a broken wayfinder.
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Amarok looks over the man but quickly shrugs, unwilling to touch the ill man for fear of dirt and general uncleanliness his examination is brief. At the production of the wayfinder he frowns slightly, his brows furrowing.
"I am sorry to say my lady that many such devices have been stolen over the years from our companions by foes and they often leave them as circumstantial evidence. Though this gives a lead. Is there a name engraved upon it?"
Mr. Chert is rambling, constantly repeating “Antaios … Antaios … No … Antaios …”
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Orophin also leans over Mr Chert, helping Com with his analysis.
"I think I can help speed your recovery from the poisons a little."
Orophin reaches over to the sick man and then allows his spirit to loosen a little, shifting just the smallest amount out of his own body to help restore some of the vitality that has been displaced by the poison.
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Amarok steps away from well meaning carnage of so many people trying to help at once and looks around the room to see if anything seems out of place, before turning to the landlady and giving her a polite bow.
[dixe=perception] d20 + 15 [/dice]
"My dear lady, where did this take place? Mayhaps we can find some clues to stop the fiends before they cause more heartache."
Mr. Chert seems to calm greatly after the healing then settles into a deep, restful sleep. Mrs. Soap is taken aback, "Thank you! When you said you could help him I didn't know if I believed you. Here." She says, handing you a key. "It all happened down stairs in the shop, far as I know."
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"Let's have ourselves a look."
Bom takes a moment to study Mr. Chert's shoes and foot prints as well as Mrs. Soap's. Then Bom accepts the key and heads down stairs. Outside the shop, Bom pushes Ulfur to watch the door. Bom then scans the exit for the most recent tracks of anyone that looks like they might have been leaving in hurry, excluding those tracks which match the ailing and the nurse.
Inside the front door is an overturned planter the size of a washtub. Soil mixed with bits of broken pottery is spilled across the hardwood floor. To the north, an ornately decorated fifteen-foot-wide archway allows passage to the shop’s display floor. A sales counter fills the eastern side of the room, and behind it stand several bookshelves filled with horticultural tomes. A stoppered flask lies in plain sight in the middle of the floor.
Attached to the overturned planter is a brass plate embossed with the word “Antaios.”
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Bom takes a look at his fellow Pathfinders and gets the gut feeling the Inquisitor and the Bard might be able to help him identify the plant in the overturned planter. Asking Kerastes for guidance, Bom examines the plant that bears the brass plate.
"Darius, have you heard this word 'Antaios' in a song or something?"
If was often said that bards knew little about a lot, Bom hoped this was one of those little things Darius might know.
This room contains hundreds of colorful and exotic plants, positioned beneath several salt-clouded skylights. The most remarkable specimen, an intricately twisting four-foot tree bedecked with lavender-colored leaves, stands in an alcove on the room’s south side. A brass plate reveals it to be an amaranthine juniper. At the rear of the display floor on the southern wall is an open doorway with a twisting woody vine curled around the frame, fixed in place with loops of wire. Above this vine is a sign reading “Employees Only.”
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Amarok spots the spilled vial among the wreckage and brnds the the knees, balancing on the tips of his feet to avoid kneeling in mud and examines the contents carefully with the trained eye of a hunter.
He then moves over to the singer carefully and peers through the door from above him, again balancing perfectly as the archer raises himself up. Peering into the darkness with their natural darkvision, Amarok breathes slow and quietly to decipher the various sounds around them.