It is a hot, breezeless evening in Katapesh. Here, in a meeting room atop Farseer Tower, the curtains hang listlessly even with the windows thrown open. Unfortunately, the only thing hotter than the air is Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul’s ire.
“Why must I share Katapesh with so-called equals who are incompetent?” She huffs between gritted teeth, pacing back and forth before calming herself. “My pardon. Let me explain. Some months ago, the crypt of Zahari Mahiman—a scholar and sage from the Age of Enthronement—was rediscovered out in the wastes. I, personally, have long sought one artifact reputedly interred with him: the Monadistic Archive, a collection of scrolls from the Jistkan Imperium. Unfortunately,” she grits her teeth, “It fell under the purview of the Kotargo Lodge to arrange an expedition. Venture-Captain Dulm took his time getting things underway, in spite of my own requests for urgency and offers of assistance. As a result, by the time his agents got there, the place had already been looted.
“Phlegos Dulm’s complacency aside, not all is bleak. The adventurers who looted the crypt were not scholars; they were simply looking to exploit the wonders of the past. The Monadistic Archive, in particular, was sold to Palhuna Murqual, a merchant here in Katapesh. I believe he bought the archive assuming it was merely a magical storage device, not an esoteric repository of lore indecipherable by him. He has shown interest in selling—at a profit, of course—and I need you to make the purchase. I have an Abadaran promissory note that should cover the price, but he is crafty and may bargain for more. I want the archive, whatever it costs. I can’t pay more gold than I already have offered, but if you can find other means of appeasing Murqual, I encourage you to do so.”
The Monadistic Archive is said to be a Jistkan collection of knowledge.
Supposedly it does not merely document lore from that era, but actually binds the minds of great thinkers into a mental compendium.
Like many Jistkan magical items, it is said to have an outsider bound to it as well, overseeing the minds within.
Palhuna Murqual is known as one of the preeminent vendors of magical and mundane devices created for the specific purpose of restraining and storing living (or unliving) beings.
Rumor has it that he has a side trade in smuggling kidnapped victims within his wares. Troubles with that business recently cost him some of his more experienced servants, and he is said to be looking for agents to ‘get a few things done’.
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The bright young halfling girl instantly improves the mood in the room as she enters humming to herself and bouncing about. "Oh hello everyone! My name is Melody, an acolyte of the temple of Shelyn. You might know my dad, Trotter. He's a Venture-Captain up in Cassomir."
After listening to the briefing, Melody pipes up, "Oh, so what sort of other means of appeasing Murqual might there be? Like special favors? Flattery? I'm sure we can work something out if he is a reasonable man."
"I couldn't say what Murqual will want." Wulessa replies to Melody. "He is the sort who can see the value in a team of Pathfinders. That’s one reason I am sending you. I would do it myself, but after Dulm’s gaff, I recognize that I am too incensed to deal with Murqual in person. Now, I don’t want you to do anything illegal or immoral, but anything else that might win him over... well, see what he has to say.”
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"Yeah, I don't know why I was brought into this deal if you need a lot of negotiating, my dashing good looks turn a lot of people off." The tiefling laughs hoarsely to himself, "That's probably what the halfling is for, right?"
"Let me tell you a few things about this Monadistic Archive. Lucky for you guys, I was just reading something about it the other day. The gist of what the old farts who focus on this stuff say is that it's a Jistkan collection of knowledge, but that ain't the only thing it is. It actually binds the minds of great thinkers into a mental compendium with some outsider also bound to it as an overseer. Apparently, most Jistkan magical items have outsiders bound to them."
"And I actually heard about this Palhuna Murqual fella too. It's kind of nasty though. He's the lead merchant in selling magical and mundane items that restrain and store living and undead beings. Unsurprisingly, it's rumored that he has a side business smuggling kidnap victims in his wares. Troubles with business lately cost him his experienced help so he's looking for people skilled to help him get things done."
A few discreet inquiries lead you through the Lower City to a wooden door crowned by a plaque that reads “Palhuna Murqual, Vendor of Fetters, Bindings, and Cages Mundane and Mystic.” His establishment defies the stereotype for a shop in the infamous Nightstalls. It boasts a permanent location, instead of one that could be broken down and moved with ease. It is quite lavishly appointed, rather than being a shadowy, smoky hovel, and the air smells of vanilla and cardamom rather than incense. Inside, deep carpeting covers the floor. Chains and shackles, ranging in size from mist-thin links to cuffs that would hold a titan, hang along one wall. Another wall holds an array of mirrors — some reflecting the room and some showing the insides of a bare cell. Lanterns and cages hang from ceiling rafters, and glass cases hold etched gemstones and glass bottles. A central space is cleared of wares, instead sporting several plush seats arranged around a silver samovar.
An obese man swaddled in silks occupies a sofa before the samovar. Standing to his left is a slim, younger man holding a ledger. The fat man makes a series of complicated hand gestures to the standing man, who, after a moment, bows to your group and speaks. “My esteemed master, Palhuna Murqual, bids you welcome. Please, be seated. Business should be conducted comfortably.”
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"Preacher" has been quiet until now. Silently watching the party and running a finger over his musket. If any ask, he merely replies that most call him Preacher.
Once the party leaves, he leaves for a moment, then returns leading a horse by its reins. Following along, he hitches the horse's reins, then enters the establishment with the rest and silently peers around.
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Melody ignores the fatter man and instead focuses on the so-called 'interpreter'. "Yes! Hello! My name is Melody Flaxseed and as I'm sure you know, we are with the Pathfinder Society. Now we heard you have this item that we are interested in, the Monadistic Archive. And we also heard that you could use some help. So we came here to offer our services. What do you say? Would that be a fair trade? What can we help you with?"
The thin man sighs theatrically, dismisses his rotund decoy, and takes a seat himself. Picking up as though nothing had happened, he offers cups of tea, and says to your group. "I appreciate Wulessa's interest, and as you seem to know she has made and offer for the item, though another has exceeded her bid. While I respect the Pathfinder Society, I’m not inclined to favor one customer over another—without there being an equal favor in return...”
"Let it not be said that Palhuna Murqual is not as generous as an oasis. He says. “I have three tasks I wish accomplished by the end of the night." He begins to count off tasks on his fingers.
“First, I have some sensitive merchandise being delivered by problematic dealers."
"Another recent acquisition has some unpleasant protective magic that I need dealt with."
"Finally, you can be my agents to make a purchase from another acquaintance.”
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Preacher snorts and squints at the man. You sure there isn't anything else you want us to do? Maybe clean out your privy, and cook you some dinner.... After a pause, he finally speaks for the first time. "Is there anything about your three tasks we should know about. Pertinent information that can keep us from getting....jammed up?
"I suppose three is a lot to handle in one night." Murqual replies to Melody's counter-proposal. "Two then. Your choice of which."
“The mask is somehow able to bind souls, and unfortunately, it already has something bound to it. That ‘something’ is a guardian with the stink of Abaddon about it, and given the origins of the mask, I believe it’s a creature called a div. I would have you dispose of it - womewhere away from my shop, of course. Maybe not on the streets, either—we don’t want any passerby witnesses or victims. There’s a flat-roofed warehouse nearby. It should suffice. Now, divs are difficult to hurt unless you have a holy weapon, or one of cold iron. I just happen to have some cold iron weapons in my shop. Available for purchase, of course.” He offers an innocent smile.
"Oh, I'm sure there are."
"You have a deal, merchant. We will pick up the mirror and drop off the goods to the gnolls. What is her price and where do we take the goods?"
"The goods are being shipped in from the savanna tonight. I am short on staff to take the delivery, and I don’t care to be seen meeting with the deliverers. They’re gnolls. It’s a social status issue; I’m sure you understand. You will find them waiting near the Twilight Gate."
Murqual sets you up with a small donkey-pulled cart before departing his shop. Most of its contents consist of trade goods, bolts of cloth, and several casks of liquor. In addition, he gives them two sacks containing 100 gp each as additional “payment” if the gnolls prove recalcitrant.
Murqual also gives you the crimson-and-white lacquer mask, and a scroll containing its command word (“chalifan”).
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Deciding to deal with the mask first, you follow Murqual’s directions to a rickety iron ladder in an alleyway that climbs the side of a long, low warehouse. The roof is canted at a slight enough angle that it might as well be flat. Several other rooftops are adjacent, at more or less equal height, forming an L-shaped superstructure.