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The leaves upon the groves within the Grand Lodge of Absalom have begun to turn brown. The skies have greyed when you received a missive from an initiate. While you have been associated with the Pathfinders for some time, such invitations typically call you the halls of Skyreach. Instead you are to meet at the Training Arena at sunset.
The Training Arena is a large, dirt-floored arena that has no grandstands, and instead features only a ring of wooden fencing surrounded by scattered benches. While tiny compared to Absalom's great coliseum, this field fills a very different function. Every one of you at one time or another tread these hallowed grounds to learn and spar in martial combat. When you arrive, a group of initiates are going through the very lessons you went through years ago. In the center of the ring of wound-be Pathfinders is your former teacher and the man who invited you to meet on this autumn day: Marcos Farabellus, Master of Swords. (see picture to the left)
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Ruprecht hadn't been to the Training Area in quite some time. The lanky elf remembered all the time spent honing his skills with his spear and learning how to place his bombs exactly right.
He normally had a slight jingle when he walked, as his many vials and reagents clinked together. By now, Ruprecht knew the drill. He stood, waiting to be addressed by the Master of Swords, before even introducing himself to the others gathered for the mission.
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Alafair enters the room, her air of indignation following closely behind her. Scion of a Taldan noble house, she has deigned to serve Lady Glorianna Morilla and the Pathfinders but still expects to be treated with the dignity and humility to which her station demands.
She is tall and willowy with noble features and a mouth set in a hard line. Her hair is blond, nearly white, and her eyes are ice blue. Due to her elemental bloodline, electricity sparks from her fingers, or crackles around her randomly from time to time. Her voice is clear, but her expression and manners are cold, unless presented with one of equal "station".
Her spells all will take an electrical focus of one kind or another.
"Master Farabellus, to what do I owe this summons to the arena? This place smells signficantly of blood and sweat. Shouldn't we be meeting in more...comfortable environs?" says the Taldar noblewoman with an obvious air of disdain.
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Filios saunters into the arena, very much at home in this hallowed area. He can recall many a sparring matches and training in this very dirt. He bows with a flourish to Marcos Farabellus.
He his large and well-muscled for an elf with the hilt of a finely crafted Curveblade sticking out above his shoulder in its back sheath.
Hello, my mentor. It is good to see you again. We are not here to spar, are we? Not that I would mind that in the least.
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"And that my little brothers and sisters is how you turn a Mister into a Misses. I will see you next week. Don't forget to read chapter 3 of Lee's Intercepting Fist."
Once the circle of students break, the Master of Blades makes his way over toward your direction. Marcos is a scarred and broad-shouldered man with a black beard and a booming laugh. He was a career soldier before taking up with the Pathinders, typically hiring himself out as a mercenary commander in important conflicts, especially in the border skirmishes between Nirmathas and Molthune.
"Well met brothers and sisters. I agree Mistress Stormborn a beerhall would be more suitable meeting place. Filios, my friend, your exploits are becoming legendary. I would like to see how well your sword play has improved over the years. But sadly, there is no time to drink or spar for my orders come from the Decemvirate itself and without any delay. You bold few are in for a journey,” the towering wall of a man states.
He rubs his beard for a few moments, as if physically searching it for the right words. “There’s a problem in Ustalav. An embarrassing one. Most of you have probably met Vonran Vilk, the old man who used to work in the library. He was the Master of Blades well before my time; the man lived more stories than you or I have even read. A few months back he returned to his homeland of Ustalav to write his memoirs for the Society. Something happened along the way. Now, a serial killer stalks Vilk’s hometown of Ardis, killing off all his old enemies. Under the full moon. I think you get the drift.
“Look. I’m not going to blow you a lot of smoke. Vilk defined what it meant to be a good man in his day. More importantly, he’s still got secrets buried up in that geriatric head of his that the Decemvirate doesn’t want spilled on the cobblestones by some superstitious Ardisian’s silver ax. Even worse, Ustalav sees the Pathfinder Society as a band of mercenaries and grave robbers. If anyone finds out that as prominent a Pathfinder as Vilk stalks their streets and murders their nobles as the man they’re calling the ‘Midnight Mauler,’ that might be enough excuse to have the entire Society expelled from Ardis’s borders without any debate.
“Ideally, you are to stop the murders without killing Vilk. But if push comes to shove, access to all the history of Ustalav outweighs any one man. Stop Vilk, whatever it takes. Our man in Ardis will meet you at the docks. Any questions?”
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Standing silent and observing after having made his way in some time ago a tengu wearing ornate mitral chain and adorned in shiny trinkets makes a low vibrating clucking sound deep in his throat. "Lacaw knows of this man. Everyone has secrets. Everyone. I offer my claws and my eyes."
"By the sacred fire of Apsu you have Lacaw's word." the flamboyantly geared tengu turns to the others assembled, his myriad collection of trinkets and baubles jingle-jangle with the quickness of his movements.
Lacaw the Brokenwing tribe stands with you fellow finder's of the Path." the creature preens his feathers off-handedly, giving them a clean but slightly damp sheen.
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Though well-traveled, Alafair has never been to Ustalav and only knows the place by reputation.
"If we are needed in this place to face this menace, we shall go. But what can you tell us about Ustalav or this "Midnight Mauler" as you call him. Have any of the rest of you and experience with this place?"
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Lacaw nods at Filios. "Our meeting is pleasing as well Filios of the Philandril tribe." the tengu looks about at the gathered Pathfinders.
"Kaw! I ask that you excuse any mis-spoken phrases from Lacaw. Common is rough to the tongue. I swear by beak and claw you have me as an ally. Any ally to Master Marcos of the Farabellus tribe is an ally to all Brokewings." the feathered priest seems to respect the Sword Master as a dear friend.
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The bulky man stands by and listens.. He waits for a response before potentially presenting questions himself. He pays particular interest in Lacaw.. So thats one of the birdmen look like.. I bet they taste like chicken.. Almost beginning to drool he shakes his head and snaps out of it.. "Food! We must get some food! I'm suddenly very hungry.. And umm.. I need some beers."
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Watching everyone closely, Ulflafa waits until everyone has said their piece before speaking slowly and carefully. I don't know much about werewolves or Ustalev, but I doubt he's been a werewolf for long.
Master Farabellus, if we are to be facing werewolves, I will require a silvered earthbreaker from the armory.
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Marcos tries to answer each one of your questions in turn as best as he can.
"Most of our reports are really just trader tails since we don't have a Lodge in Ustalav. Your group will be the first to look into this matter.
"My geography isn't all that great, sister Stormborn. All I know is that Adris is in Ustalav and violence among Ardis’s peasants is nothing new. Criminals, Sczarni, or wild animals claim common folk regularly, so take your choice. But this Midnight Mauler is something different.
"Think about it: swift, brutal attacks under the full moon? What else could it be, brother Ruprecht but a werewolf. But if Vilk is the Mauler or is a werewolf, I do not know. I highly doubt he was a lyncanthrope when he resided in Absalom. Such a condition would have been brought to light by now. No, no, maybe a werewolf likely bit Vilk on his journey to Ardis, and he now transforms under the full moon. That is why you need to travel to Ustalav and investigate this mystery.
"You are all thinking right with gathering a silver weapons. Lycanthropes of all types shun silver, and silver weapons penetrate their unnaturally thick hides. Another item that may the locals are buying in stock is wolfsbane. The herb wolfsbane—also called aconite or monkshood—may cure a victim but is also poisonous and can kill a werewolf just as easily.
"Though the city guard won’t admit it, it has been said they spend the days before each full moon rounding up outsiders and expelling them from the city. Over the past 4 months, the initial fear of the Midnight Mauler evolved into outrage. The last full moon saw a young Sczarni boy lynched, and the coming full moon will likely bring more mob violence. That is why you need to find Vilk. If it is him, try to stop my old friend before the locals do.
"I don't know if there is anything else I can do to help you. I'll let the quartermaster know you will be stopping in later for supplies. You will be leaving first thing in the morning aboard the Aranka's Gambit."
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"So silver weapons and wolfsbane it is, Master Farabellus. YOur information has proven valuable and to the point, not like trying to have a conversation with that accursed Master of Scrolls...We take your leave, but shall return with the matter resolved and the story of Vilk to add to the Chronicles."
Eschewing beer and food with Roary, and not needing a silver weapon particularly, Alafair vists the local herbalist and procures a dozen sprigs of wolfsbane, enough to cover the party should the situation get messy, she believes. Once done, she dines exquisitely in the Grand Lodge and retires to her apartments in the city, before setting out for the Aranka's Gambit
As she arrives on the dock she groans inwardly. "Not another ship. As if that incident with The Hydra's Fang wasn't enough. I swear I would take a month without my feather pillow if I never had to board another sea vessel."
Reluctantly, the lady of Taldor boards claiming the largest cabin for her private use.
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Lacaw arrives right after Alafair, minus a few baubles and trinets that were pinned to his vest yesterday. A finely crafted rapier made of silver on his hip. "Good morn to Lady Alafair of the Stormborn tribe. Did you rest well?" the tengu careens his neck at an awkward (to a human!) angle to better see the ship.
"Kaw. Ah, a crow's nest! My favorite part of any sea travel." he concludes, matter o'factly.
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Alafair favors the bird-man with a rare smile, a spark of blue electrical energy crackling from her skin.
"Aye, friend Lacaw. I did rest well, however, I fear that I will not rest nearly as well aboard this craft. My last experience with ocean going vessel ended up with me nearly drowning while under attack by sahuagin and sea cats. Hopefully, this trip will be without incident."
Alafair sits down to read a book found in the Grand Lodge library about the strange land of Ustalav. She plans to study up on the place as much as possible during the journey.
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Boisterous birdsong fills the air once at sea. You can tell the flamboyant tengu loves being up high, singing a bawdy mariner's tune in his native tongue.
We are two mariners
Our ship's sole survivors
In this belly of a whale
It's ribs are ceiling beams
It's guts are carpeting
I guess we have some time to kill
You may not remember me
I was a child of three
And you, a lad of eighteen
But, I remember you
And I will relate to you
How our histories interweave
At the time you were
A rake and a roustabout
Spending all your money
On the whores and hounds
(oh, oh)
You had a charming air
All cheap and debonair
My widowed mother found so sweet
And so she took you in
Her sheets still warm with him
Now filled with filth and foul disease
As time wore on you proved
A debt-ridden drunken mess
Leaving my mother
A poor consumptive wretch
(oh, oh)
And then you disappeared
Your gambling arrears
The only thing you left behind
And then the magistrate
Reclaimed our small estate
And my poor mother lost her mind
Then, one day in spring
My dear sweet mother died
But, before she did
I took her hand as she, dying, cried:
(oh, oh)
"Find him, Bind him
Tie him to a pole and break
His fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he
Wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling
Of his grave"
It took me fifteen years
To swallow all my tears
Among the urchins in the street
Until a priory
Took pity and hired me
To keep their vestry nice and neat
But, never once in the employ
Of these holy men
Did I ever, once turn my mind
From the thought of revenge
(oh, oh)
One night I overheard
The prior exchanging words
With a penitent whaler from the sea
The captain of his ship
Who matched you toe to tip
Was known for wanton cruelty
The following day
I shipped to sea
With a privateer
And in the whistle
Of the wind
I could almost hear
(oh, oh)
"Find him, Bind him
Tie him to a pole and break
His fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he
Wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling
Of his grave
There is one thing I must say to you
As you sail across the sea
Always, your mother will watch over you
As you avenge this wicked deed"
And then, that fateful night
We had you in our sight
After twenty months at sea
Your starboard flank abeam
I was getting my muskets clean
When came this rumbling from beneath
The ocean shook
The sky went black
And the captain quailed
And before us grew
The angry jaws
Of a giant whale
(oh..)
Don't know how I survived
The crew all was chewed alive
I must have slipped between his teeth
But, oh, what providence
What divine intelligence
That you should survive
As well as me
It gives my heart great joy
To see your eyes fill with fear
So lean in close
And I will whisper
The last words you'll hear
(oh, oh)
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Alafair has to use her Exchange contacts to procure some wolfsbane as it is not readily available on the open market. She is given 12 springs for 'medicinal' purposes.
Captain de Leon allows Lacaw up into the Crow's Nest. It is obvious that the captain is more entertained by a crow-man in his Nest then if its is being used for its functional capacity.
The journey is swift and calm. Our Pathfinders arrive on a cool cloudy morning. An excited young man strains for a view from behind a row of dull, bored, gray-clad observers on the docks of Ardis’s modest harbor. His face beams with equal parts excitement and relief as the gangplank drops.
“Well met, my brothers and sisters,” the young man says. “Thank you for coming so quickly! I am Ryado Erudyta.”
Despite his youth, Ryado approaches with a limp in his left leg. “I have a coach waiting to take us back to the safe house. We can speak more freely away from these crowds.”
The rented cab is small but well appointed, and after a moment of securing the luggage, Erudyta continues. “By now you must have heard of the unfortunate circumstances of Master Vilk’s… condition. I ran into him by chance six weeks ago at the library of a mutual friend. I was researching the Dracora family’s lineage, but that’s neither here nor there.”
He glances out the window, peering at the long, orange shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. “To my shame, I didn’t put all the clues together until the most recent round of murders, but now I see it all… Vilk’s overland journey into Ustalav under cover of darkness, the low profile he maintains, and the identities of the seemingly random victims.” He shakes his head, showing more years than his rosy cheeks would suggest. “I wish I could stop him myself, but fighting a werewolf would’ve been well beyond my skills even before the ghouls got to me.” He knocks gently on his left leg.
“The full moon starts tonight, along with Vilk’s next round of murders. I beg you to cure our wayward master if at all possible. You’ll find curative magics scarce in Ardis, but I believe a powerful dose of wolfsbane may reverse his condition, should he survive it. There might even be enough humanity left in his bestial soul to reason with. The guards grow wise to the beast, and the locals are on edge as well—if the guards or an angry mob beat us to Vilk, the Society’s relationship to the Midnight Mauler will be exposed. We can’t let that happen. One way or another, Vilk’s rampage must end tonight.”
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"Finding Vilk has been part of the problem. I've spent six weeks trying to track him down without any luck; too many of his records were simply wiped clean after his exile. If anyone in Ardis knows Vilk well enough to predict his actions, it would be his ex-lover: a half-elf courtesan named Markov Rutowski. Despite the urban decay, Ardis’s courtesans remain well insulated, and I lack the influence to even gain an audience with him. I understand Vilk’s exile was something of a black mark on Rutowski’s own career, and it likely remains a sensitive topic.”
"What, they didn't tell you Vilk was exiled from Ustalav? I guess when the Society disavows any knowledge of you, they mean it. Most of the records have been destroyed or moved to Caliphas over the past fifty years. Rumor has it Vilk lost four fellow adventurers looting a noble family’s tomb. The family has since relocated, or else I’d say they’re our prime target. I know nothing else about the trial or the parties involved. Not many remain in Ardis with memories that long.”
"But don't know who his next victim will be, but I can tell you about the previous ones. There have been fourteen murders over the past four months. He began with Wanda Oteski, the granddaughter of one of Vilk’s old adventuring rivals. Afterward he slew an elderly merchant and his son who bore witness at Vilk’s trial. The next month saw the death of an elven information broker; apparently she directed Vilk and his band to that ill-fated tomb. The list goes on, but all of them bear some connection to Vilk.”
"In truth, we don't know if its a wolf at all, let alone two of them. Densa's mercy, I hope you only have to deal with one Midnight Mauler."
The cab arrives at its destination. The safe house itself offers few amenities, being more a museum and office than a home.
"This is our safe house. Feel free to rest as needed, but I'm sure you'll want to start your investigation before the moon rises."
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"Did you guys see how empty this place is? Nests abandoned, kaw! People are afraid here, really afraid." Lacaw adds, "Lycan or no, something bad is happening here and we must swoop down upon it quickly my friends."
Bowing his head the exotic bird-man bows his head and says a prayer to his equally exotic draconic deity.
"Kaw! he quarks when done and bobs his head up and down.
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"I don't know of any way to speak with Rutowski. Those noble types typically require a name backed by 12 generations of history before they will glance in your direction. Or like the lady said, gold could work too. I can point you in the right direction, but other then that you are on your own."
You are directed to Rutowski's place of residence. As the Pathfinders approach the address in question, they are greeted by a scraggly hedgerow. Thousand storms’ worth of water stains mar Rutowski’s otherwise beautiful townhouse. Wellworn marble steps lead to oaken double doors and an ornate, yellow bell pull.
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After a minute from when Lacaw pulls on the yellow bell pull, the door opens. Before the Pathfinders in the doorway stands a well dressed man in coattails and powdered wig. His neck cranes in your direction, but his noses his pointed so high and stiff that it appears he would break his neck to make eye contact with any of you. After a sniff at the nose, the manservant drones out his greeting.
"How can I... help you?"
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"I am Lady Alafair Stormborn of Taldor here to pay a call on Madame Rutowski. This lot is my entourage, bodyguards liverymen and the like. Please inform your mistress I am calling, and see if you can make my men comfortable while I wait. No be a good man, and show me to the parlor. I am parched from travel and do think a cocktail would go down nicely."
Alafair places her calling card in the man's hand and steps right past him into the foyer of the townhouse as if she were a welcome guest.Her air of refinement and snootiness matches or exceeds that of the manservant.