You are in Absalom, the mighty City at the Center of the World after your training to become a Pathfinder has ended.
You have heard rumors that the Pathfinder Society is stretched thin at the moment and that junior Pathfinders are asked to complete more dangerous missions than usual.
You always knew that the day would come where you were asked to explore one of the countless ruins that litter the plains outside the city’s walls on Golarion. Some of your colleagues have the opinion that this is the best way to start a life of excitement and adventure ... by exploring long-abandoned, dusty halls and perhaps claiming its ancient treasures but what about you?
* * * * *
You have been chosen to be part of the Pathfinder group that will leave to travel to Diobel on a critical mission for the society.
You are led through the Great Hall of Skyreach past a large table with a shifting illusionary Inner Sea map on its massive surface. Standing around the Hall are dozens of pathfinders of various races exchanging stories of their exploits.
You are directed towards a smaller meeting room, past an ornate fountain with crystal clear water. You can feel the chill from the cascading droplets as some splash you on their decent to the pool.
The placard before the room reads, “The Pipeweed Nook”. Opening the door you see a long table, chairs.
You enter with the other Pathfinders but are still waiting for the Venture-Captain to arrive and give you the final briefing before you travel to Diobel.
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Vit smirks as he notices the placard. He was just in the midst of packing the bowl of his pipe with his own special blend of pipeweed as he approached the room. The dwarf was nearly always puffing away when not on mission. With a quick motion of his hands with flint and steel, he lands a nice spark in the bowl, right on top, and he gives it a few testing puffs. With the cherry lit, he enters the room, satisfied, his head swimming.
The dwarf stands at about 4'4" and probably weighs 175, a short and stout figure. He has a trimmed but still substantial auburn beard, and a bushy mustache, both tinged with flecks of gray. He appears to be middle-aged. His head is shaven, and he has several scars on his face that leave him a relatively unattractive character, even for a dwarf.
Numerous daggers can be seen sheathed at various places on his person, and he has a pair of light maces hanging from his belt. A shortbow and quiver are strapped to his back.
"First to arrive, it would appear. I hope this isn't some kind of prank they're pulling on old Vitrack."
He sets his backpack down and finds the most comfortable place to sit, hitting his pipe slowly, waiting.
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Durest marches rather clankily behind the guide leading him to the pipeweed nook. Letting his backpack, that honestly hung pretty emptily onto the floor before reaching to grab a drinking horn. He takes a moment to himself deciding which horn to grab but wagers on the smaller of the two and pulls the wedged cork out of the central bore letting out the wafting scent of dwarven ale. This would probably raise the question of what was in the other horn if not for the large rifle slung over his right shoulder.
The beefy and rather stocky, even for a dwarf stood at 4'5" to the T or so he'd claim, weighing in on the lower end of about 200 pounds, or a fat ram to whoever wished to know his units of measurement. His beard was blackened and smelled singed and produced a scent that almost smelled like a keg just too close to the fire, to some it may be a bit too ashen but to those who were knowledgeable of burning woods it was certainly hickory.
Aside from the large musket there was also a hefty dwarven crafted waraxe slung flatly across his left hip. He wore a thick leather vest, that threatened to strangle him judging by the way his undershirt and tunic barely poked from under the neck. A pair of cow or perhaps elk hide gloves were stuffed into his belt it was difficult to tell their original animal due to tanning and the stains from cleaning critters forever baked into them. His hair was a darker brown and pulled back into a short braid.
As he finished his quaff from the horn, which seemed to be his last he exhaled."Bah tha's the good stuff, en'it lads." He looked down into the horn and replaced the large cork with a bit of a solemn look in his eyes, "Tha' it is..." He finally registered the other dwarf in the room, "Oi, thar dun'nae suppose ya've seen th' venture cappin now 'ave ya? Eh probably not bu' I s'pose yer headed tah blasted Diobel too aye?"
Suddenly a little female gnome with pink hair opens the door to your meeting room.
“Are you the team waiting for Drandle? He will meet you here in about an hour. Sorry for that. But I see that some team members are missing so that is ok, right?“
She runs out as fast as she had arrived. Ten seconds later the door opens again and the little gnome peeks through the door.
“Uuups, forgot to tell you that Drandle wants you to properly introduce yourselves to each other as this will really be your first mission, right? Exciting!!“ she says with a sly smile and closes the door again.
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”… so it’s just through the door here… ‘cross the Great Hall and to the side. Pass the fountain, and I’ll see a door for the… Pipeweed Room?”
The pink-haired gnome nodded, and so in response, Danira bowed her head to her in a sign of gratitude.
Crossing the Great Hall filled Danira with a kind of reverence she’d only felt when she once stepped foot in a temple of Abadar. But whereas the House of the Master of the First Vault was a gaudy, opulent place to worship – often by paying your creditors, she learned – the Great Hall was instead a depository of reportage and knowledge. The thought of becoming a full-fledged Pathfinder and returning to the Hall to add to the tomes of chronicles excited the half-elf.
After all, she was used to tending to a meagre shrine of Erastil; nothing more than a message board and good-luck altar to stop at for a moment before heading off to the woods. A touch to Ol’ Deadeye and a warm thought was enough to give her small comfort when navigating the Hornwood.
Passing the impressive fountain, Danira found the placard that read Pipeweed Room.
- - -
The oaken door opens with a lumbering creak, and from behind it comes to stand an elf bundled in northerner’s clothing. There’s a hardness to her features – despite her cobalt-dark eyes and pronounced knife-blade ears – that suggests she could be part human. A long braid drapes over her shoulder with simple adornment of animal sinew and leather straps keeping it in place. Her clothing is no more than simple linens and hardy animal skins, with a marred vest of hide and a forest green cloak. A longbow of elven make is slung across her shoulder, and a travellers’ pack on her back looks filled to its bulging straps and buckles.
”Greetings, I’m Danira. I trust you’re both here as part of the Diobel expedition?”
Seeing a pack on the floor, she walks over next to it, then shrugs her own pack from her shoulders, letting it down to the floor in a bit of a rough landing. She undoes a fastener on her cloak, and hangs it on a hook in the corner of the room, then approaches the two dwarves. ”And you are?”
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The dwarven huntsman turned to look over his shoulder at the newest arrival a bit of a quirk appearing in his eyebrows. He rolled his tongue within his mouth a bit causing his cheeks to puff as he tried to figure weather this was an elf or a half-breed.
"Aye, lass we're 'ere fer th' Diobel hunt. M'names Durest Ironsights th' Third, proud explorer o' th' Magwani expanse. Ain' seen none o' yer kind fer a decade 'er so ye look so pale n' soft. Ye kin swing tha' mace o'yers I 'sume?"
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Pale and soft? Danira thought spending most of her time in the outdoors lent her complexion a good bit of tan, but given that the gunslinger mentioned the Mwangi Expanse, she surmised that he's likely used to seeing much darker skin than hers.
Durest's mention of her mace made Danira self-consciously peer down to the weapons on her sword-belt. On her hip was a curved huntsman's blade no longer than her forearm, it was more a tool to gut and field dress taken game animals than a weapon of war.
No, beside the blade was what the dwarf was referring to; a truncheon with a cold-forged iron head wrapped in waxed leather to prevent the stout spikes doing damage to her leg and thigh during her travels.
"Aye, if need be." she responded. "I'd rather place an arrow 'twixt the ribs before it ever came to that, though." She eyed up the dwarf's firearm, a most curious sight to her eyes. While she'd heard of such things, she'd never actually seen one in-person. "That... blasting-staff of yours, what is it called again?"
The door opens and you see the renowned Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng enter the meeting room.
He looks as if he did not have much sleep as he has a sleepy-eyed look on his face.
He has a violin and a meerschaum pipe in his hand and sets it on the table. He withdraws a small pouch from the slipper and opening it, removes some shag tobacco. He begins to pack the pipe with the tobacco before removing a hot poker from a fireplace in the room, touching it to the pipe bowl, and drawing on the pipe until the contents kindle an ember.
He stands eyeing the assembled group and puffing on the pipe for a long few moments before speaking.
"Well, well, so you are the team they sent here for this mission?! You look tough but are you the right people for this mission? You already heard that we are sending you to Diobel, right?" he says with a stern look.
"First missions are usually less dangerous but Osprey’s reasons to ask for a team as well as the nature of the assignment were a little vague ..."
He eyes you again.
"I called you in tonight to discuss a problem I need you to solve." he says as clouds of pipe smoke drift lazily around his head.
"Have you ever heard of Darsielle Du Moire? He’s the third son of a wealthy Chelaxian count and a little prick at that." he says before tanyone assembled can answer his question.
"He exceled at squandering the family fortune on debauchery and hedonism before this old man gave him the boot. Old man Du Moire gave his son a small sailing vessel and a privateer’s writ and sent him on his way. Well Darsielle took to a privateer’s life like a jackal upon the carcass of a fallen stag." Drandle says as he begins to pace the room.
"In a few short seasons, he sank half a dozen pirate ships, as well as one or two Andoren vessels that he claimed were unmarked." Dreng rolls his eyes.
Due to tales of his ruthlessness, the infamy of his ship, the Hydra’s Fang, has spread. Then the little bastard sailed in to Westcrown and demanded to be made an admiral."
Drandle smiles and shakes his head.
"Darsielle’s got a pair on him. I’ll give him that. Anyway, his demands didn’t sit well with the current high-admiral, Astran Thrune. Compounding matters, the Andoran government accused Du Moire of deliberately attacking free Andoren ships. Dubbing his attacks 'acts of war' they threatened to retaliate unless the Chelish government placed a cease and-desist upon the Hydra’s Fang."
Dreng stops pacing long enough to knock some of the ashes out of his pipe and reload it with more tobacco.
"Where was I? Oh yes, soon after the Andoren accusations, several of the imperial families called for the privateer’s head. Upon official word of his condemnation, Darsielle fled Westcrown and went on a rampage, foundering ships and looting small towns up and down the Andoren coast. This time, the Andorens responded with a formal declaration of war. Hoping to avoid conflict, the Chelish diplomats promised to permanently rid the Inner Sea of the Hydra’s Fang, provided they stay their attacks. Andoran accepted a temporary treaty, giving Cheliax 30 days to make good on their offer".
Drandle smiles again, shaking his head.
"Well, a fortnight later, Darsielle struck the small Andoren village of Wittleshine, burning it to the ground. He churned the ivory sands to black ash, butchering scores of fishermen and seaweed farmers before dragging off the living in slave chains. Keeping their word, Chelish dragoons attempted to stop him by ambushing him with two battleships just off shore. Chelish rear-admiral Gusarre the Bleak led the dragoons and in a radical maneuver rammed the prow his ship, the Righteous Fury, into the Hydra’s Fang’s hull. Unfortunately, one of Darseille’s men got off a lucky retaliatory shot that struck Gusarre in the throat, pitching the admiral into the angry waters. In the disarray, Darsielle’s men set the Righteous Fury’s sails aflame with a barrage of tarred arrows. Du Moire quickly piloted a narrow escape, while the remaining Chelish ship chose to aid their allies rather than give pursuit—a poor decision, for which her captain was later hanged." Dreng frowns.
"Be glad we don’t live in Cheliax."
He stops pacing and stares at the party.
"Which brings me to your part in this. With the Hydra’s Fang’s badly damaged hull taking on water, Darsielle desperately sought safe harbor in the one port where he could still pull favors, Diobel. Right here in our home territory."
Drandle smiles wickedly.
"I need you to go the Diobel where you will be contacted by one of agents at a local pub called “The Tails”. He’ll tell you where to find Du Moire. Also we have intelligence that says that Darsielle has some tablets that we’d like to get our hands on, but your contact will explain everything. Dreng gives the party a half-cocked smile. So you better get packing. Any questions?"
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The dwarf stared for a moment, at what was clearly a wrapped up morning star before perking up at a question about his own weapon. He grinned and shuffled almost over-excitedly to show the young woman his treasures."Oi this's Nanc'y, made 'er me-self with plenty o'help from some strange gnomes a few years back. Aye they may'ave given me th' plans bu' i did all th' craftin. They called 'er a blast stick too. I prefer Boom Stick on account'o th' noise, mos' call em muskets tho' er.. tha's wo' i think a'least. Been uh.. ou' on me own in th' expanse fer a bi'so little rusted on thin's."
He started to pull out all the parts that went into making the wondrous contraption fire. "Ya see lass i' uses stuff called blastin' pow'da, er.. black pow'da on account o'the color...an'." He pulled a rather large smooth lead ball about a half-inch in diameter from a tied bag at his hip and held it out for the elf-ling to hold. He would go on for several minutes explaining the intricacies of the weapon in his broken up accent, were it not for the venture captain coming in, to which his explanation was quickly cut short.
"Ehhh, so we're t'find a set o' ancient tablets n' kill this Darsi'whatsit feller? Wo'bout th' boat?"
Dreng looks a little confused after hearing Durest’s question.
”I did not say that you should kill anybody! I told you that the agent that will welcome you at your destination will give you all the information that you need to understand your objectives! Please beware that the Pathfinder society is not a killing machine and that we are here to research and to gather information which we then provide to the public if it is ready for these insights! Your task is to achieve your missions and to cooperate with each other!“ he says with a stern look.
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Danira took in the Venture-Captain's briefing, rapt in attention. When Dredle's admonition of Durest ceased, she cleared her throat. The fuzz of hair on the back of her neck bristled with nerves. "... so if it comes to blows with this Du Moire... we will work with the local authority to capture the privateer. Pilloried and procsecuted, not executed. Understood."
With that, she looked around the room. Her, and two bearded stoneborne. They looked rough-and-tumble enough, but there's always strength in numbers.
And they looked a few chickens short of a coop. Where's everyone else? she pondered.
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Vit greets both of the other Pathfinders as they enter, saying simply, "My name is Vit."
After Dreng finishes his spiel, Vitrack asks several questions over the next minutes, waiting for an answer to each before continuing. He seems to spend his words carefully, as if speaking to other people was something he was generally unused to, or at least not fond of. It was also worth noting that he entirely lacked the accent sometimes associated with dwarves, for reasons unknown, instead having a stern, deep voice, speaking Common in the standard non-regional dialect.
"Who is the agent we are meeting at the Tails, and how can we recognize them?"
"How will we get to Diobel?"
"What exactly are these tablets? Size? Purpose?"
Dreng nods after hearing Vit's questions.
"The contact is a fellow named Osprey, he's there gathering information - we have little presence in those parts only graft and favours we have banked, it's a bit of a wild place. He will be able to give you more information on Diobel, that's what we have him there for - things move quickly and a week is a long time in Diobel politics. Here is a picture of Osprey so you recognize him. You will take the land route to Diobel and the purpose of the tablets will be revealed by Osprey I hope."
Then he looks at Durest and Danira again.
"I did not want to say that killing Du Moire is not an option. You need to defend yourselves. I trust in you. What happens to Du Moire... that's for your conscience and circumstance, but he needs to meet justice - preferably by handing him over to the local authorities for fair trial and due punishment"
He tries to assess your level of comfort with this mission and continues.
"This is your first mission. So if you have questions then please ask. If you have no more questions then please make haste and travel to Diobel."
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Durest nodded a bit at the Venture captain, "ooh sorry cappin'ts been a bi' out in the expanse, mos' tend tah jus' ask ya te kill whatever th' problem is. Bu' yer right we're in civilized lands now gots'ta follow civilized law."
The dwarf mulled over the picture they were given for a bit once it got to him before handing it off to the next member. "As much as I like werkin in as little a group as possible, 's this all we've got?"
Dreng smiles at Durest ”That is all that I have at the moment. But Osprey will brief you properly! Your remaining team members will meet you in Diobel! Leave as soon as possible.“
With those words he turns his attention away from you, picks his violin up, opens the door and begins playing and walking out of the room simultaneously.
* * *
You arrive in Diobel via the overland route from Absalom to meet your contact Osprey in a pub known as “The Tails”; a dingy, brine-soaked shack covered with swordfish tails located in a rundown section of town called South Reach.
There, bitter longshoreman coming off the graveyard shifts pile in and slam rounds of a potent shark-fin liquor, cursing and complaining until they’re drunk enough to be carted home by noon.
The disparaged scene has few prying eyes—the ideal place for Pathfinders to pass along their covert whispers. You enter early in the day, when the small crowd of older men is at its most drunk and rowdy, the revelry within barely contained by the boarded-up windows. You stand out like sore thumbs among the ruddy-faced dockworkers, most of whom have more ginblossoms than teeth.
The crowd immediately heckles you for being up-scalers and gold-thumbers, demanding you spend some of your coin to buy the bar a round, but quickly fall silent when moments later, a dark, cloaked figure rises from the back of the bar. Then, eyes averted, everyone returns to their former conversations. Drawing back his cloak, your contact reveals himself—a man his late forties with obvious Chelaxian features and a faint beard.
Next to Osprey other Pathfinders are sitting although you have no time to introduce yourselves as Osprey starts speaking.
“I am Osprey, please sit down so that I can tell all of you why the Society dragged you to Diobel. We’ve word that the accursed Chelaxian pirate Darsielle Du Moire’s has anchored his much sought ship, the Hydra’s Fang, in the harbor. Everyone’s looking for that bastard. He carries with him some ancient tablets of extreme historical value to our organization. Unknown to most, Wittlestone, the small Andoren town Du Moire razed to the ground, was also home to Myraxus Threeshadows, a noted but aging sage and umber mystic supposedly of ancient Azlanti descent."
Osprey shakes his head before continuing
"Among Myraxus’s possessions he kept ancient forgeries of several tablets used in ancient rites during Old Azlant’s height. When Darsielle destroyed the village, he slew the wizard and took the tablets, hoping to pawn them to one of his buyers in Diobel. The tablets are a priceless archeological treasure, one greatly desired by the Pathfinder Society. In fact, just prior to the Azlanti’s death, we placed several bids to purchase the tablets and so naturally were the first to realize they’d gone missing."
He looks into your eyes.
"You must race to get Du Moire and recover the stolen tablets before his pursuers find him or he flees port. If our sources are correct, we’ve learned that he owes a substantial amount of money to one of the Consortium’s more ambitious Enforcers, an importer named Lubor Staizkal. Likely he needs to settle with him at some point. Go to Lubor’s shop on Meldon Lane, near the docks, and see if you can pick up Du Moire’s trail from there, then do whatever you can to get those tablets.”
Osprey takes out maps and a small booklet.
"Here is some background information for you."
Diobel - General:
Diobel stands upon the flooded ruins of a former siege town on the western coast of the Isle of Kortos. The inner harbor is fortified by a gigantic maze of derelict war-barges, crumbling break walls, and haphazard jetties constructed from the rubble and iron of ancient fortifications. Only smaller vessels can fit through the maze, so warships and large merchant galleys must anchor further out in the open waters off Kortos. As a formal display, any ships seeking to moor in port must first send ashore representatives to register with local officials.
Registered boats receive a temporary harbormaster’s pass, after which they can ship in goods in flat-bottomed barges or rowboats. These crafts are led into the maze, pulled along a series of dock-lined canals that weave through the twisted passages. The maze enters first into the Shallows, a wide bay sheltered from the main harbor. The Shallows then flows beneath the main docks into the Underdocks, a shadowy series of walkways that traverses shoals along the rocky shoreline.
Scattered through at various intervals are barnacle-and-algaecrusted stone bunkers and small floating docks concealing rowboats, barges, and other small transports. The bunkers provide shelters to many of the port’s seedier denizens, storage facilities, and on occasion structural stability to the town itself. Ladders and pylons connect the Underdocks to the rest of the port above.
Diobel, Consortium & politics:
Diobel is run by elected members of the merchant’s council known as the Kortos Consortium. Electorate terms are generally long, with some members holding their positions for decades.
More often than not, those who take on the Consortium’s responsibilities end up forfeiting or retiring their other business ventures (usually shipping companies) and settle down in Diobel as career politicians.
Technically, the Consortium is a free and independent organization open to any merchant willing to pay Consortium dues. The Consortium makes concerted efforts to reduce the trafficking of contraband, stolen merchandise, and tax-free imports, as well as the exporting of contraband Kortosian artifacts that fall outside Absalom’s enforceable jurisdiction.
Most members find the organization’s enforcement extremely effective, though only the highest-ranking members possess knowledge of the organization’s true interests and activities...
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A scarred Pathfinder, dressed in scale mail, nods to Osprey upon hearing the instructions. A longsword hangs by his side and his face makes it clear that he has been in more than few scuffles.
Wulthur boldly asks, "Do we think that Du Moire has made arrangements to sell the tablets? If not, then asking around at the shop of this Lubor fellow would seem to be the way to go."
"Yes, that seems like a good first step. I will leave you now but please take the time to get to know your capabilities. These are harsh times for the Society and to be honest I would take care of Du Moire myself if I could. He is dangerous." Osprey says looking into your eyes.
As Osprey rises to leave, he points to the bundle of rough maps and gives you directions to Meldon Lane.
Before leaving Osprey looks back at you and points at the last Pathfinder that has not introduces himself, yet.
"I forgot another task that is of utmost urgency. You ... please accompany me and I will ensure that you find your way back to your group as soon as possible!"
Osprey and your last team mate leave.
On Ospreys advice, you arrive at the shop of one of Du Moire’s supposed connections.
A sign over the door reads “Lubor’s Imports.” The door hangs slightly ajar. All is dark within, and eerily silent.
As you peer inside, you witness the scene of a recent brawl. Furniture lies smashed and strewn about.
Near a closed door at the back of the shop, two bodies slump upon the floor, their blood pooling slowly beneath them.
Vitrack checks the bodies but he finds no life left in the bodies to grip to. Both men are firmly dead. There is a lot of blood on the floor, these men came to a violent end.
Vitrack looks around but the only things of note are the two bodies of the men and the door leading to the east in this otherwise mishmash of an emporium. Concentrating for a moment, he catches the sound of moving boxes and muffled talking on the other side of the door, the door looks very sturdy.
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Upon entering the establishment and spying what appear to him to be fresh bodies, Wulthur draws his greatsword. The fighter stands watch as Vitrack examines the bodies.
Once the dwarf announces his conclusions, Wulthur asks, "I hope that neither is Du Moire. Any signs that either has or may have once had, the tablets we seek?"
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Danira silently holds a finger to her lips, then grabs for her trusty longbow. She grabs an arrow from her quiver, knocks it, then starts to approach the door. She nods her head first to the dwarves, then to scarred Wulthur, their newest compatriot.
She thinks it cramped in the small storefront, wondering how her bow will prove useful in such tight quarters. Oh, how I'd kill for a good 6-foot boar spear right about now... she grumbled to herself.
Neither of the dead men on the ground look like your target! You can not see any tablets.
The party starts gathering around the door, some ready to rush it.
You note that the shop hasn't really been 'done over', though there is a lot of blood everywhere and it looks like things just must have got way out of hand. The muffled shuffling and movement can still be heard on the other side of the door, someone is moving boxes and furniture.
Vit can see through the key hole.
Vit sees a teenage girl that hovers over the corpse of a middle-aged merchant.
The door does not open. Wulthur notices that the door is bolted shut from the other side.
Durest walks around the building and looks through the window.
The teenage girl still looks at the the corpse of a middle-aged merchant. Her silent eyes filled with tears.
Nearby, two thugs wait, ready to fight off whatever comes through the door!
Durest, you see the thug standing next to the window obviously detected you and hectically points in your direction.
When Vitrack is able to unlock the door it suddenly springs opens.
When the door opens you see the teenage girl again. Tears are visible on her face and she mouths the word “daddy.”
The two thugs were waiting with drawn bows, ready to attack!
Round 0 - Surprise
1. Durest -> GO!
Round 1
1. Vitrack -> GO!
2. Enemies
3. Danira, Durest, Wulthur
#Male thug (yellow): 0 Damage
#Male thug (blue): 0 Damage
#Unarmed girl: 0 Damage
Danira: 9/9 HP
Durest: 14/14 HP
Vitrack: 11/11 HP
Wulthur: 15/15 HP
?:
Vitrack hits the thug with the yellow shirt with his flying dagger and can hit a vital spot.
The two thugs have their short bows drawn and shoot both at Vitrack and the first arrow draws blood.
The little girl suddenly stands up and starts to cast a spell so that a magical missile flies in the direction of Vitrack and hits him right in the chest.
Round 1
1. Vitrack
2. Enemies
3. Danira, Durest, Wulthur -> GO!
#Male thug (yellow): -7 Damage
#Male thug (blue): 0 Damage
#Unarmed girl: 0 Damage
Danira: 9/9 HP
Durest: 14/14 HP
Vitrack: 1/11 HP
Wulthur: 15/15 HP
?: