Gameplay thread is live.
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You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled Venture Captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the
page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
Dreng smiles through his makeup, "Yes, Heryn is expecting someone to come and pick it up for me, and I do send junior agents to pick things up when I'm working."
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A dark-haired, muscular dwarf sighs heavily as the Venture Captain explains their mission, sending out a spray of water droplets from his thick mustache and beard. Sounds about right. Commander calls up a group of grunts to do some minor job, but decides to do it in the middle of a ruddy monsoon. It's drill camp all over again. He shakes his head in exasperation, flinging more water from the hood of his cloak. Ah well, s'pose we've all got to start from the start, eh? Anyhow, aye, Captain Dreng, we'll collect this parcel of yours. Any chance this parcel is especially fragile or anything of that sort? Not that we're planning on tossing it around.
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Slow down there, Master Wolf-rider, calls out the dwarf, Not all of us have a mount beneath us! Vindlér hustles along, trying to keep up with the swift pace of the wolf. As they make their way through the rain-soaked streets and alleys of Absalom, he gazes around him, trying to keep track of each significant landmark, curve in the road, and subtle changes in the make-up of the crowds around them. If he hoped to protect the people of this city, he had best learn the city and know it by heart.
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And Vindler, what's the first thing we learned in drill camp? Complain too loudly and you pull the worst jobs. Patience, my friend. Dreng, we shall report back with your parcel.
Anthys starts off after the halfling, in his scale armor walking at the dwarf's speed. He has an air of patient curiosity. His mission within the Society may take a lifetime, after all.
Dreng calls after you, "It's a bottle of wine, don't break it on the way back!" Before Anthys is able to walk off completely the Venture Captain shoves the folded slip of paper into his hands, "In case you get lost" he says with a wink.
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Anthys takes a look at Dreng's map and tries to point out the way to go. He doesn't trust his instincts enough, as Absalom is a far larger city than Vigil and he still gets lost from time to time. As he walks, he quietly shares the information he recalls.
I've heard of this Wisp before. The founders of the Pathfinder Society used to frequent the bar, telling tales over ales.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
There are already several parties here enjoying themselves and relaxing. You catch hints of talk of a new Aspirant for the test of the Starstone, Sir Reinhart of Kenebres. There is a woman working behind the bar and chatting with various customers as she fills glasses.
In one corner of the bar sits a Halfling, Wayfinder shining proudly upon her breast and in an animated tale of what sounds like Durvin Gest to a small group of newly confirmed Pathfinders.
A man sits at the bar talking with the bartender. Though he is not wearing armor he has his own Wayfinder attached to a small chain on his belt like a pocket watch, for it appears his breast is reserved for a golden holy symbol .
A group is gathered in another corner cheering loudly as two half-orcs arm-wrestle with one another. Members from Lastwall recognize these two as the famous Boartusk Twins, earning a commission for saving a group of Pathfinders deployed in that countryside.
The only other patron is an older looking gentleman, conspicuous for his lack of a Wayfinder. He is sipping from an oversized flagon of ale and reading through a large and ominous looking tome.
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At Anthys' remark, Vindlér nods in agreement, but a rumble of discomfort can still be heard in his voice as he replies, Aye, that's true enough Anthys. S'pose I was just hopin' to get right to the fightin' work, but you're right. Each of us has got to pay his or her dues. That is the way of the civilized world, for so Abadar has willed it. He reaches beneath his cloak, where you might notice the gleam of an intricately carved key, the holy symbol representing his faith in Abadar.
As the group travels along, following the directions on Dreng's map, Vindlér turns to Qioté and asks about where he is from, Anthys and I are down from our stations in Lastwall for a time. We were stationed together a time or two and faced more than a few orc raids as shield brothers. Where do you hail from. What brought you to the Society?
When the group finally arrives at the Wisp, Vindlér soaks up the atmosphere like well-contented sponge. The sounds of brothers and sisters in arms swapping tales of past ventures, some heavily flavored with half-truths and exaggerations of course, as well as the smells of smoked meats and heavy ales make the dwarf feel at home. He sees the gleam of Wayfinders on many breasts and hips, and feels a sense of yearning for the day when he will wear one himself. He sees the Boartusk twins and thinks to himself that he must introduce himself to them and congratulate them for their work in Lastwall. Finally, he notices the strange man with his odd looking book and tries to see what the text might be.
He makes out the book to be about military strategy and nods approvingly, but does not feel it necessary to share this detail with the others.
The bartender smiles your way, "You've found her hun. What can I do ye for?"
She smiles warmly, "Ah, a gentleman Pathfinder. Let me tell you with the random bag of nuts the society has you don't always find that.
I know what you're talking about, I'll escort you and your group down to the cellar, but I've got to wait until my replacement comes in. Shouldn't be too long, so why don't Y'all have a drink, on the house, and chit chat with some of the others here while we wait?"
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I'd like to buy that halfling and her friends a round by way of introduction. Can you tell me her name?
Assuming Heryn approves, he takes the tankards and approaches the newly confirmed group.
You have a gift for stories, if I may say. Durvin Gest? May I join you for this tale?
Anthys imagines that his great-grandmother Coral, a halfling adventurer who was fond of telling stories to him, was in her day a kindred spirit to this Pathfinder (Janira?).
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Ah well thank you for yer hospitality, Miss Gale, Vindlér booms out at the offer of free drinks. I'd be delighted to sample your house brew, or whatever might be the local favorite if this storied establishment lacks its own brewery.
Once he receives his drink, he makes his way over to the table where the Boartusk Twins are still locked in their contest of strength. He watches quietly until the present match is concluded, then raises his tankard in salute and says, Well contested, lads, well contested! I noticed the two of you across the room and recognized you as the famous Boartusk Twins who saved a group of my fellow Pathfinders from certain doom while they ventured in my home country of Lastwall! You lads are worthy warriors if all the tales hold true. Would either of you be interested in a friendly contest of strength? Perhaps our ancestors were not the closest of bed fellows, but surely we could lay aside our age old differences in favor of the respect of one warrior for another?
Heryn chuckles, "Why that little one is Janira Gavix. Something of a storyteller she is, and a darn good 'un too. I'll be sure to get them a pint right quick."
Janira's smiling face turns toward Anthys, "Of course! I'm always happy to tell more tales, especially to Pathfinders just starting out on their incredible journeys! The tale I was just telling was his foray into the 'Chamber of Heaven' that he found in a lost temple in Ninshabur. There he found many powerful artifacts, supposedly sealed away by the gods after their defeat over Rovagug for fear that if they fell into the wrong hands the Rough Beast would be sprung from his cage at the center of Golarion. Old Gest was too smart for the temples guardians and made away with several of the artifacts, but the legends say that he soon realized just how powerful they were, and a scant year later he travelled deep into the Mwangi Expanse to throw them all into the Nemesis Well."
Janira looks up at Anthys once more, "Now that I've told a story, I'd like to hear about you and some of your tales! These fine folk here just finished their Confirmation with me, and I've bugged them practically the whole time, so please share with us!" The look in Janira's eyes is playful, and certainly hopeful that Anthys will comply.
Pouring Vindler's drink from a mighty cask set up behind the bar Heryn continues, "It's my pleasure hun. And besides that VC o' yours keeps this establishment warm and cozy at night."
The Boartusk twins beam proudly at Vindler, "A fellow warrior? Come sit with us a spell! You've already got a drink so you're doing right by us already." The male twin looks at his sister and smirks through his overly large teeth, "Shrade, think you can best this dwarf in a contest of strength?"
Shrade guffaws loudly, "Garl, you know I've bested you 55 times of our last hundred matches!" She also smiles at Vindler, "Tell you what, I'll arm wrestle the winner," she tips a wink Vindler's way to get a rise out of her brother, "see if you can take on the champ!"
Garl waves his sister off from the table and spits noisily into the corner, "Alright uh..." he waits for Vindler to supply his name, "Vindler, right! Lets go, best two outta three!" Saying this he sets up ready to accept Vindler's hand.
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Anthys hesitates. He has no formal training as a storyteller, nor is he naturally a great speaker. But he's heard a lot, so he takes a breath and dives in.
This is my first mission for the Pathfinders, you see, and it's just a short errand. So I have no Society stories yet, though I do have a few from Lastwall.
See that dwarf over there arm-wrestling with the half-orc? That's Vindler. We fought in the shield-wall against the hordes of Belkzen. Now, my first battle I didn't know him yet. I had training, but nothing can prepare you for that onslaught. They came at us howling and screaming, and you plant your feet and hope you can hold when they crash into you. The shock... it's like falling off a roof, I think, or maybe like being kicked by a horse. They make good armor in Lastwall, but even so the impact rattled the teeth in my head.
I think I only held my footing from the men behind bracing me. I took the orc's axe swing on my shield. The men on either side of me, they held, and the men behind with the pikes took out a few of the orcs. So the numbers and formation were on our side, but I was terrified. Orcs are beastly strong when in a rage. For what seemed like an eternity I did nothing but parry blows with my shield; my nerves held enough to do that much. Then I saw it. The orcs were tiring. This had been our strategy, their strength was fading and we now would strike back. The one in front of me got his axe stuck in my shield, so I took a swing... hit nothing but dirt. Then he bit me. He bit me! It bruised, didn't break the mail, but my armor smelled foul for a week. Do you think Iomedae ever suffered such indignity? Or Arnisant? Aroden?
Actually, I think they probably did. They did! Our gods and greatest heroes, slipping in the mud and wiping orc slobber off their armor. I started laughing there in the shield wall, the axe stuck in my shield, and my fear lifted. The orc stood gasping for air and looking confused, for the last two seconds of his life. He never did find out what was so funny.
I'm still scared in battle, there's no shame in saying that. Fear keeps you alive. But my faith in Iomedae is strengthened by knowing that, at one point, her life wasn't that different from mine.
He raises his tankard in a toast.
To the Open Road!
Janira hops down off the table and raises the tankard that was just handed to her from a bar maid. Around the table a half-orc talking with his T-rex, a nervous looking Vudrani man playing with his thieves tools, a sunburnt Tien man speaking of past, present, and future, and a tall Garundi man covered in the vestments of a Desnan cleric all raise their tankards as well. The shout from the table drowns out the other conversation, but raises similar cries from across the room,
Janira offers her hand to shake. "An amazing tale, and vibrantly told! If you or your companions need help just reach out to me, I'll be either here or at the Grand Lodge for the next few days."
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Vindlér chuckles quietly at the twins' banter, then blushes slightly as he responds, Beg yer pardon there, Shrade. Didn't mean t' call ya a lad before. Anyway, let's get to our match, eh Garl? He takes a long pull from his tankard of ale before sitting down across from the orc. He can feel the strength of the warrior from the moment they grip one another's hands, but he feels confident that his own strength might carry him through. He waits for the signal to start the match, then pulls with all his might...
The first match narrowly goes in Vindlér's favor, and he can see the frustration in Garl's eyes at the loss. The orc quickly answers with a stunning victory of his own, however, taking Vindlér's arm to the board in mere seconds. Heh, the dwarf scoffs, Looks like you started to try, eh? Good! I'll do the same. He sees his words sink in as Garl's face contorts with fury and as his grip becomes vice-like. But Vindlér Far-seer did not travel all the long leagues from Lastwall just to be shamed in an arm wrestling match against an orc. He pours all of his people's deeply ingrained hatred of the orcs into his final pull, and, after a moment of heavily contested struggle, manages to push the orc back upright and eventually down onto the table.
With the contest won, all Vindlér can do is laugh as he rubs his sore arm.
Janira sizes up Qiote' and asks, "We've heard one story, now what of yourself? Please tell us of your travels?" She gives a slight pout hoping to hear more.
Garl stares in shock at his hand lying on the table before him. It is at this point Shrade entirely loses her composure and laughs long and hard. "He got you good Garl!" Turning back to Vindler smiles through her tusks, "Its no mean feat to beat either of us. You can certainly call on us whenever you'd like."
It is at this point that Garl also speaks up, "Yes, you've certainly earned it as a fellow warrior. And know that I'm always open for a rematch!" He laughs just as long and hard as his sister, each taking large gulps from their tankards in between bouts of laughter.
A woman shows up from the back of the Wisp in serving garb and Heryn smiles and nods at her. She whistles sharply drawing the attention of the entire common area and calls out, "All right, the lot picking up Dreng's package follow me please! No time to dally and I'm sure he'll want his package as soon as possible."
Janira smiles sadly at Anthys and Qiote while the table behind her chuckles and elbows each other in the ribs, clearly talking about Dreng's current errand boys and reminiscing of 4am wake up calls. "Well, sounds like that's your cue. If you ever need anything, like I said I'll be around here or the Grand Lodge. Good luck!"
Garl and Shrade look a bit forlorn now that Vindler is leaving their side, but they perk up again very quickly, "Remember, you want that rematch you come find us! We're the ones chosen for breaking! And sometimes entering! But mostly breaking!"
Heryn looks you over and says, "Follow me please." As she takes you downstairs she relates some of the history of the Wisp and the current condition of the basement. "As you can see the basement is mostly a stonework affair, very sturdy, and actually the foundation was improved by a generous donation of one of you 'Finders. Unfortunately it was for naught because it suffered damage during the quake of '98. Because stonework is so expensive, especially if it requires magical assistance, the owner has decided a temporary measure for the big crevice that's opened up is to throw a board over it. We're planning on stabilizing it soon, but until then you lot should be careful, I'd say only go one at a time and with as little extra weight as possible."
She drops you off at the bottom of some wooden stairs and opens the door to the next area where you can clearly see the board, crevice, and the way to the wine celler across from it. Heryn nimbly crosses the board with the practiced steps of someone who has done this many times before. She waits next to the entrance to the wine cellar and tosses a wink your way. "Come now, I'll point out the bottle to you when you're all over here then you can go back to Dreng."
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Vindlér stands heavily and raises his mug to the half-orcs one last time. Thank ya again for yer company! I'll be sure t' take ya up on that rematch sometime. You two stay outta trouble now, will ya? He quaffs the last of his ale and sets the tankard down on the bar as he heads after Heryn towards the basement. He nods politely while Heryn describes the renovations and the stonework, though his attention does drift in and out as he looks around, checking to see if there are any other noteworthy features to the stonework.
The foundation is extremely sound, and you can even point out the areas where it was shored up by hand and where it was shored up by magic.
Heryn calls out from across the way, "Don't tell me you Pathfinders are scared of a little crack in the rock."
Moving slowly and carefully (and quite possibly wincing with every creak of the board) Anthys makes his way across no worse for wear.
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"Scared? By no means! I was simply admiring the handiwork of the stonemasons who did the repairs previously. Anthys makes a good point 'bout that board though. Looks none too sound to me. Best to take it light and slow, eh?" Vindler leaves behind the bedroll, mess kit, iron pot, and candles out of his Inquisitor's Kit. Once he has lightened his load to what he feels is an appropriate degree, he steps across the board with all the delicacy a dwarf can muster.
Following Anthys' example Vindlér eases his way across the board and steps across successfully.
"Alright that's two. Now just one more plus any others Dreng sends this way."
A khelish woman comes stumbling down the stairs in a big rush.
"My apologies for being late, Captain Dreng called for me late last night and I only just recovered from his abruptness. My name is Kyra, I'll be helping you with your task today."
She gingerly steps on the plank and moves across slowly having heard bits of the conversation and knowing some of Dreng's more peculiar requests have led through this area before.
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Down comes burly man, about six feet tall, wearing a shiny new chain shirt and looks like it's never seen combat. He taps Kyra on the shoulders and says, "My lady, you are called on an urgent mission by Venture Captain Dreng. He says I am to be your replacement on this one."
He then looks at the group and waves with a smile. "Howdy folks. The name's Alan and I've come to help."
Seeing as how everyone is just looking at the board, Alan wonders if he is able to jump across.
Kyra sighs and grumbles under her breath about ridiculous VCs and strange requests before trudging over the board and back up the stairs.
Qiote' being of small stature is able to get across the board without worrying about overweighing and destroying it and Alan backs up to the door before running and leaping nimbly across the entirety of the crevice.
Heryn smiles once again, "Alright now that y'all are over here lets get your captain his 'special package'." She emphasizes her words with quotation marks and a slight roll of the eyes while grinning. She leads everyone into the cellar proper and points out the particular bottle that Dreng wants, a fine Taldan vintage bottle circa 4319.
When one of you pulls the bottle on the rack there is a distinctive click and the entire shelf moves aside revealing a small entrance. A sturdy silver chain jutting from the ceiling ends in a glowing orb that radiates yellow light across the rectangular room. A simple desk of polished wood, stacked with documents and scattered notes, shelters a pair of wooden chests against the south wall. A series of cracks along the eastern and western walls form makeshift entrances into exposed caverns.
Within the room itself are two extremely large and bothered looking spiders. They hiss as the air from the cellar comes whooshing in.
CMD 15 (27 vs trip)
10 hp
The spiders click their mandibles and scuttle forward with venom dripping from their fangs. Too hungry to remember they can climb they knock into each other scrambling for the opening, one eventually winning free to stand before you and attack. Alan's horsechopper swings over top of Vindler but is not able to do more than glance off the spider's carapace.
Its mandibles only clack on empty air, not even coming close to Vindler's or Anthys' shields.
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Anthys realizes that he doesn't have the best angle for an attack due to the wall, so he will, by the power of his faith, support those in better positions. He swings his sword with a flourish, then waves it in a circle above his head shouting FOR THE INHERITOR!
Shield Wall is passive and doesn't require an action on his part to maintain.
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Vindlér takes a mighty swing at the nearest spider with his morningstar, hoping to crush the beast into the floor...
But his weapon catches on the wall of the narrow passage, throwing his strike to the side of the spider. Marking his lack of success, Vindlér quickly steps back to stand behind Anthys, in the hopes of drawing the spiders into a flanked position.
"This, my friends, is what we like to call the Bowl of Blades!"
The spider rushes into the opening chasing its 'fleeing' meal, the other behind it still angrily hissing.
The Spider that was too frustrated by its companion being in the way falls backwards, curling its legs around its body as Alan's attack smashes through its carapace and spreads its innards across the floor.
Anthys also hits his target, cracking that one's carapace as well, though the Spider lives on.