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Each of you have been summoned from your respectively stations to set sail for the slaver city of Sedeq in Qadira. The weather is starting to heat up within the Inner Sea and traveling to Qadira so close to the summer solstice will only intense the increasing intolerable heat.
You are each woken up by the morning prayers that echo through out the Spice Markets of Sedeq. The sounds of the call are both majestic yet haunting. It is not soon after that the streets begin to buzz with life. After gathering your gear, you make your way to the Whirling Dervish for breakfast and meet with your contact at 8 bells.
When you arrive at the open air eatery, you are escorted to a long table fitted with six simple chairs. There are four other outsiders that arrive at the per-arranged time as well. At the head of the table is a strikingly beautiful woman, slender and dark, dressed in the most modern Qadiran fashions. She favors you and your comrades with a slight half-smile and continues in her thick Qadiran accent:
“Welcome to glorious Sedeq, Pathfinders. I trust your stay has been pleasant so far. I am Venture-Captain Yasmin Kal’al—I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
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A pale young man absentmindedly picks at some of the fresh fruit that is at the table. He realizes that he is staring at the Venture Captain. He shakes his head a bit and blurts out, "Thank you for having us here Venture Captain. I've never been to Sedeq before, and it is indeed a beautiful city."
He takes a drink of water and continues, "My name is Maaarv, in my studies while at university, I spent a lot of time in Osirion. I understand that our task will involve an Osirion artifact of some kind? Intriguing..."
He then glances around, face turning a bit red. He is taken by the VC and hopes to not make a fool of himself to her or the other Pathfinders seated around the table.
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Picking through some honeyed bread and fruit, the Mwangi woman nods at the Venture-Captain, her angelic beauty belying her celestial heritage. "Venture-Captain Kal'al, it is my honor to take this assignment and aid in the recovery of these statues. I've recently assisted Curator Aldain with another matter at the Blackros. I am Mella Gabadu, Sixth Sword Knight of Iomedae." Mella beams with pride. "I am unclear on one bit though, these statues are they the property of the Society for display at the Blackros, or do they belong to the Blackros' and the Society is doing their bidding again?"
Though dressed in split mail and carrying a heavy shield opposite her longsword, Mella appears quite comfortable in the morning heat.
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Sitting at the end of the table (and likely not being a particularly pleasant table guest on account of the smell) is what appears to be a muddy mess of feathers and slime, currently busying himself by devouring a plate of various fresh fruits. The mud that cakes the bird-man's feathers seems to have dried into a hard, caked substance from the temperature, although the druid himself seems unfazed by the heat. A small green tree frog sits in a shallow bowl filled with water beside the tengu's meal, visibly not enjoying the dry heat of Sedeq.
When the Venture-Captain begins to speak, he swallows a date and promptly begins staring at her, bright green eyes unblinking for a good two minutes before he realises he's supposed to be doing something. "I'm Mikhaere," he says simply, before shrugging and returning to his meal. The yabbering half-elf seemed to be able to fill the air much better than he ever could. He does, however, perk up at the ensuing discussion of Osirion artefacts, and recommence his staring tactics, this time shifting from whoever is speaking at the time.
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A second Tengu sits at the table, and he could not be more different at first glance from the other. Dressed in flowing white, matching the dress of the Qadirans around him, he seems nonplussed by the heat and he speaks with the staff at the restaurant in their native tongue with an accent that suggests he might be a native. However, when he switches to Taldane, his inflection is perfect. You may recall that his race has a knack for mimicry which this particular Tengu uses well. "Rackle Rakis is my name. Glad to be out of Absalom, but not in this heat, eh?" he says in a very human-sounding voice, nudging Maaarv. The Tengu wears a pair of exotic short swords known as Wakizashi on his belt.
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A young, solidly built woman tries to slip into the room unobtrusively. Unfortunately, she only manages to trip over her own large feet in the process, but regains her balance before falling to the floor.
As she lifts her head, self consciously, you notice her long hair is a mousy blonde, but her eyes are a stunning blue, shining like a Sapphire Sea. She seems strangely under equipped for a Pathfinder mission, though the new chain mail and Greatsword slung over her back clearly reveal her profession.
Please don't let me be the last to arrive!
She smiles nervously at the dapper Tengu.
"Excuse me, Sir. Eadie is my name. Forgive me for being so forward, but is it possible we have met before?"
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Maaarv nods at Rackle's quip. "You're telling me. Osirion gets hot, but not quite like this." He adjusts the bandolier slung across his chest. It is useful for holding his alchemical flasks, but he is still adjusting to wearing it.
As Eadie introduces herself to Rackle, Maaarv glances at the woman's sword. That thing is almost bigger than she is. But he checks himself, even in his short time in the society, he has been surprised at what Pathfinders can be capable of.
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A tall Ulfen man enter the Dervish wearing simple traveler's garb. His. His hair is brown, but his piercing blue-gray eyes betray his Ulfen heritage as does the braids of his hair. Though he looks to have a hearty physical stature, he bears the trappings of a spellcaster. He nods to all assembled. Greetings, I am Jarlgur Flamnord of Taldor, son of the Ulfen Guard Thornark Flamjarl. he says, staring hard at the Venture-Captain when he says says where is from.
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Venture-Captain Kal’al returns each introduction with a nod and a smile. She takes in the lingering glances whether they are of admiration or intimidation with a neutral response.
"Sobh Be Kheyr, to each of you. I am here as you are, by request of honored Venture-Captain Adril Hestram. I have been asked to brief you on the local situation as regards the Osirian artifacts. As you know, the smuggler Matzal Chaim moved the four statues out of Sothis into Qadira. The statues are supposed to be quite valuable and had been confiscated by the Osirian authorities for study. We are not sure how Chaim got access to the statues in the first place—he likely had accomplices inside the Osirian Cultural Ministry.
"At any rate, Chaim brought the statues here. Sedeq is his permanent headquarters, though he spends most of his time traveling abroad. When he is in town, he spends the lion’s share of his time on the Qalli. While most of the city is given over to the human-chattel trade, the Qalli Spice Market is almost as lucrative as the rest of the city combined. Much of the money seen in Sedeq begins and ends in its stalls and processing plants. The saffron trade alone—” she brings herself up short.
“But never mind, this is not of relevance to you. Chaim spends a good deal of his time at the Topaz Pavilion bathhouse. We believe that he uses it as a point of contact with his various associates. Once you find Chaim, you will have to convince him to tell you who he sold the statues to—yes, they are no longer in his hands, we are sure of that. Time is of the essence—if Chaim’s buyer sells to others, the artifacts may quickly move beyond our grasp.
"To answer your question, Sword Knight Gbadu, the items were to become property of Blackros. After all, artifacts belong in a museum!”
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Eadie's cheeks also briefly turn pale pink at Mella's glance and the Venture Captain's words.
This is despite the fact she has been teased about her size and the length of her weapon of choice in highly charged social situations before. She suspects this will not be the last time either.
"So if I'm following correctly, we need to secure the cooperation of this man, Chaim. Is there anything he particularly likes, that we could offer to get into his good graces?"
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"And if Chaim's seller has sold already, we go on a daisy-chain chase around Sedeq," Mikhaere mutters sullenly, looking a little displeased by the idea of being out and about in this heat on a wild goose chase.
"Insect-summoning artefacts... will these ones summon a swarm onto us if we're not careful? Too much magic use around them, maybe?"
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"Sadly, those are questions I do not have answers for. But Jarlgur is correct, time is short. It will take you at least 30 minutes to get Qalli and it only becomes more hot as the day continues. I would recommend searching for Chaim first. I am sure you can persuade him to tell you who he sold the statues to. Straight from the camel's mouth, as they say.
"Chaim is said to be a wily looking man with a low forehead and hooded hazel eyes. His luxurious, wavy, white hair is worn in a style that reminds you of a peacock's tail. He is short with an angular build and typically dresses in robes unconventional for the marketplace.
"Unless there is anything else, I bid you good luck. I will meet you here at the end of the day for debriefing."
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Mikhaere will nod to Yasmin as she finishes their briefing, before hurriedly stuffing himself with the remaining fruit on his plate. He half-chokes on the lot, cawing like a crow until he manages to swallow everything. He then carefully picks his pet frog out of the shallow water dish, much to the frog's displeasure - despite Tiddalik's best efforts to cling to the edge of the glass, eventually the druid's stronger grasp wins out. The frog ribbits angrily before hiding itself in a dark pocket of Mikhaere's backpack.
As the group walks through the city to the Topaz Pavilion, Mikhaere seems to be fixated upon Rackle, very noticeably staring at the other tengu. If asked what the deal is, he'll chuckle to himself. "Interesting to see a tengu again. Very different to my old family. It's like comparing a frog and a toad..."
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As the group leaves the table, Maaarv grabs a handfull of dates for the road. He tosses them up in the air, one at a time, and catches them in his mouth as they make their way to the Qalli market. As they navigate the crowded streets, Maaarv keeps an eye out for any signs of trouble that a group of Pathfinders may attract.
"So, what do you think - play nice with this fellow or play mean? I'm afraid my skills do not include the art of negotiation in any form."
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I have found in the past that it's usually best to try negotiate first and threaten second.
Eadie is happy to let the others lead, while unwittingly putting on a show of her strength by honing her unsheathed two-handed sword with a whetstone as they walk.
When finished she re-slings her sword and looks over to Mella. Eadie has lived and worked amongst paladins of Abadar for all of her young life. “Someone told me holy warriors don’t tell lies. I assume you were serious about the threat to chop off Chaim’s hands … or did I mishear?”
In a much more conciliatory tone: “Mella, if you are not above listening to advice from a simple warrior, I notice hot weather outfits include head coverings that I assume are traditional in this part of the Inner Sea.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree with Jarlgur. Though I admit I am at my most persuasive with naked steel in hand.”
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It is not very hard to find what you would need the closer you get to the marketplace. Every item you would want or wouldn't want is available for sale. If you were to ask for a vorpal sword, a merchant with a twisted smile would say he has two in the back and would be happy to give you one for half price.
Walking through the throng of people is another matter. After purchasing equipment, it takes an hour to get to the corner of Candlewood and Shackle street.
Outside the topaz painted building are groups of men huddled about talking and jestering to one another. Among them, you can see a man with stark white wavy hair, stuck up in a multitude of points. At that moment, that call to prayer rings out among the streets. The majority of the men and women fall to their knees and begin to pray, leaving the party to stick out like a purulent, blistering boil. The white haired man's glace falls the group. His hooded hazel eyes go wide as he notices the group staring at him in interest. He quickly turns and dashes into the bathhouse.
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The heroes spring into action, jumping over kneeling Qadrians and knocking over carts filled with exotic fruits. Prayers echo through out the bathhouse, providing a backdrop of the half dozen Pathfinders pounding the tiled floors. After chasing Chaim through what must have been half the rooms in the bathhouse, jumping pools and slipping across slick tile, the body of Chaim lies on the floor of a steamy room, a bloody gash where his Adam’s apple used to be. An exasperated voice from further in the room exclaims, “’Think,’ I said, ‘before you stab.’”
The steam separates, revealing two sweaty half-orcs in heavy armor, one looking abashed with a bloody kukri in his hand. A man sprawls luxuriantly in a small steaming pool in the center of the room. His visible skin is covered with horrible scars as if from badly healed burns. Behold Grandmaster Torch, a notorious information broker who has helped the Pathfinder Society in the past—but always for a steep price.
"You got blood all over my Osirian cotton towel!" Torch says as he continues to dress down his bodyguard. "Do you know how expensive this is? More then what I pay you in a year! Do you know why Osirian cotton is so expensive? Do you?"
The sheepish h'orc looks at the floor and shakes his head in disgrace.
Grandmaster Torch continues, "It is because they grow cotton in a desert. Very hard to do, with the lack of water and all. Maybe that's were I will leave you! In the desert without water."
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Rackle skids to a halt on the tile floor, almost tumbling over the body of the merchant. "Son of a... Now why did you have to go and do that for?" he demands angrily. He eyes the man in the water and then his two guards, hopping backwards to stand with the rest of his group, hands on his sword hilts.
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Mella comes to a skidding halt from her chase. Looking at the scene her hand goes to her longsword immediately. "If you would murder a man for trespassing on your master's bath, where does that leave us?" she motions with her shield-arm at the Pathfinders who are filing in behind her. "We had urgent need to speak with Chaim here, and your restless hand seems to have cost the Society precious time."
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After finding no other exit, Maaarv makes his way through the entrance of the bathhouse. He finds his fellow Pathfinders by following the angry shouting that echoes through the tiled halls. He quietly arrives and surveys the situation.
"So... Chaim won't be much help now, will he?" He mutters under his breath.
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Mikhaere is the last Pathfinder to enter the room behind the main chasing group, having slowed to a walk upon catching a whiff of fresh blood from up ahead. He covers his beak with one brown-feathered arm as he approaches, a look of disgust evident in his eyes.
"I was wrong, then," he notes to himself bitterly. "This is not a daisy-chain chase, but rather following a snake's tail to find its head is cut off."
The tengu shifts his gaze to Grandmaster Torch, staring at the man for a few moments. "I don't suppose you can speak with the dead?" he asks, voice somewhat muffled by his arm.
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“Please forgive the mess—my bodyguard was a bit …overzealous in guarding my privacy."
Grandmaster Torch takes his seat while trying to thumb away some of the blood on his towel while composing himself. He looks back up at the party with a half smile-half snarl. He is unable to complete the smile due to the permanent scars around his mouth and cheek
”I recognize Pathfinders when I see them, though, and I’m always happy to be of service to the Society. Except you, you are new. What is your name?," Torch says pointing a finger that looks like an overcooked sausage link at Eadie.
"Anyways, whatever you wanted him for, I’m afraid he won’t be able to provide it now. If it was information you were looking for, I’ve got all kinds in stock. Come, sit down, you could use a good steam.”
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Eadie shifts about nervously at Mikhaere’s constant reference to daisy chains, but *sighs,* *shrugs* and sheathes her sword upon spotting Grandmaster Torch.
What’s done is done. Why do I get the feeling ‘Plan B’ is about to be offered to us on a plate – a hot plate, at that, with a very large catch.
**Catch 22** “My name is Yossarian, sir. It pleases me to be your humble servant." *curtsies*
Then she nods. "Prices for Osirion cotton are certainly high. I hear the market was cornered because someone from the Pathfinder Society purchased all of the available supply – but I’m sure no laws pertaining to monopolies were broken, because everyone’s got a share, right Grandmaster Torch?”
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Eadie whispers warningly to Jarlgur. “YOU said try honey first not vinegar, remember?”
“Grandmaster Torch, as you undoubtedly know, objet d’arts continually get trapped in the web of red tape spun by the Ruby Prince’s Cultural mandarins."
"Does the name of any particular bureaucrat spring to mind that could help a philanthropist liberate an item, allowing all to benefit from seeing it on display?”
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"I'm sorry, Yossarian, is it? I see your lips moving, but I don't understand exactly what your are saying. It must be my burned ear."
"Statues ... Chaim. Yes, I have heard a number of tid-bits that may assist you in liberating them. Typically for four names, I would find 4,000 golden scarabs to be fair market price. But seeing that you are Pathfinders, and I like Pathfinders, 3,000 is a more then reasonable sum to know who bought these...statues."
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Mikaere stares blankly at the Grandmaster; he seems more sadly resigned to this madness rather than angered and upset like the others. "Unless you mean literal scarab beetles, I think not. Although I can get you some of those if you're interested."
"Take the 3,000 gold pieces from your dim-witted guards' pay rather than punishing us for their terrible life choices."