The aftermath of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng’s Eleventy-First Birthday Celebration still haunts you as you roam the Grand Lodge grounds.
It is still debatable which idea was worse: agreeing to drink Master of Blades Marcos Farabellus’ "Snakebite" with pickle juice, or dining on the snake meat that was spicy enough to make a Jalmeri cry.
The dragon firework show was worth the midnight wait –– at least, that's what you've been told.
Stumbling toward the mess hall, a fresh faced Initiate approaches. She appears unsure how to address you correctly. How long ago has it been since you were in her shoes running trivial errands? The message was brief and to the point –– the Birthday Boy wishes a meeting immediately. More importantly, second breakfast will be served.
Turning back toward Skyreach, the five story tower's shadow stretches out over the campus as the sun sets. You are shown quickly to VC Dreng's office. A humble nook with a paper-messed desk and book bowed shelves within a short arm's reach. Six wooden armed chairs fill the remainder of the space. A number of meats and sweets crowd a side-board table jutting out into the hall, along with a decanter of water and a pot of steaming tea.
|
Hullric enters into Venture-Captain Dreng's office. He looks around and seems to be the first one here. He walks to the side table and pours himself a cup of tea and adds some honey to it before crabbing a plate of sweets. Taking his tea and sweets, he moves to one of the wooden armed chairs to eat his snacks and drink his tea.
|
A beautiful half-elf woman with long, dark red hair and deep brown eyes catches everyone's attention as she walks into the room. She is tall, slender, and graceful in her movements.
Her armor, dyed blue and with gold trim, seems almost new, without the slightest crease as if meticulously maintained. She wears a cestus on one hand and a shortbow and quiver upon her back. Doves are etched on many of her items as well as an angelic ankh, the holy symbol of Sarenrae, proudly displayed upon her chest.
With a warm smile and an angelic voice, she addresses Hullric.
"Well met sir. It is my deep honor to serve the Society and join you for this mission. My name is Veres Sol and I offer my bardic magic by way of song."
She offers a deep bow before moving to partake of the refreshments. After gathering some sweets and meats on a plate, she also pours herself a cup of tea and then joins Hullric in sitting in the wooden chairs.
"So my friend..." she purrs with dulcet tones, "...tell me all about yourself while we wait for the others to arrive. I am eager to learn all I can."
|
|
Hullric is a slightly tall human who hides his face behind a mask and hood. He wears a black toned steel lamellar armor and carries a wooden shield on his left arm. The only weapons he seems to carry is a dagger and a sling that both reside on his belt. Hanging from his neck is a wooden amulet with a lantern carved design that is not painted or embellished in anyway. A pin on his armor reveals that he is a Knight of Taldor.
He chuckles from behind his mask. "Nice to meet you Veres. I am Hullric Torsol. I guess you could say I like to enlighten the path for others with the occasional stabbing of people and monsters. Oh... and lately I've found I'm good at healing people." Another chuckle escapes from behind his mask before he continues. "Who would figure that."
|
|
A lithe avian-like figure sporting deep purple bell-bottoms that flare out, exposing sharp talons, and a gold and purple leather jacket decorated with golden filigree stumbles into the entryway, stopping with a loud thud as he leans against the side for support. Belching loudly before readying himself, one eye spots the plate of tea time snacks. Staggering into the humble nook with a convincing swagger, the bird-man stacks a precarious tower of finger-snacks before slumping his way into a chair. Only after cramming three to four of them into beak does he seem to realize that he's not alone.
"Knees up, eh? Where's the gaffer?"
|
The door is flung open wide as a medium height half-elf man with hair in dreads sticking out of a bandanna strides on in. He looks at his compatriots for the upcoming mission, then pulls out a tankard and a bottle of wine. Pouring himself a tall drink then raising it to the rest of his party.
"Bonjour, Mon-Ami! I am ze one and only Roushe Decou'lette; Galt Revolutionary extraordinaire!" Then raises the wine bottle, as if offering it to anyone who is interested.
|
A tall, broad shouldered Nagaji with a dark cloak ducks as he enters the doorway to the room. He carries himself somewhat stiffly for a race as normally sinuous as a Nagaji.
The night black scales that cover his head and neck blend to a lighter but still dark grey under his throat and down his chest, at least from what little you can see under the ornate black and silver tunic and chain shirt that he wears. No weapons are visible anywhere on his person as he takes a formal stance of attention waiting for the briefing to begin.
"Misss Veress I pressume?" he says in a sibilant, yet strong voice, tilting his head to indicate the lovely red headed singer.
When Veres nods, he continues. "My name is Raskorro and I am your replacsement for this misssion. It sseemss that you are needed elsswhere, and sshould report here for reassignment. Immediately."
He hands her an envelop that she quickly opens.
As she reads the folded paper inside, she stifles a gasp, then quickly gathers her things. She bows and nods gracefully to the group, offering quick apologies to all those she only briefly met, and rushes from the room.
"Well met to the resst of you. I will do my besst to honor the Ssociety, and all of you, on thiss misssion."
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
" 'Ello, I am Carl Zigmund. My friend, I have never seen anyone plagued with such psychic afflictions. Also 'ello to ze rest of you. Please will you allow me to refocus your id I assure you zis is harmless and will aid you in combat especially where you are weakest."
“I’ll take somma that Galtan flagon action!”
Your discussion is interrupted by a wiry old man with a wild gray beard opening a secret door from behind the bookshelf to enter the cramped office.
"Niblets too! Niiice." the man exclaims as he scurries towards the banquet trestle, holding up a dirty whiskey tumbler expectantly to Roushe.
He piles a palm full of cakes into one hand, while licking the fingertips of the other. He then greets each of you individually as if you were old friends, even though this maybe the first time you have formally met. Instead of handshakes, he gives out high-5's.
“Gaffer’s right here, Mister The Black Crow.”
Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng then walks over to his bookcase and thumbs through a series of rolled pieces of parchment. With his other hand he licks each fingertip to clean it of powdery confection. He then points at one of the rolls and unfurls a map on his butcher’s-block table and places a nimble finger on the parchment.
“The abandoned district of Beldrin’s Bluff was once the gem of Absalom’s Precipice District — now it is but a weathered crag of broken rock at the edge of the roiling sea. When the great quake hit ten years ago, entire blocks of the Bluff sheared from the mainland. Cliffside tearooms and exclusive estates fell into the waves and carried hundreds of nobles to a watery grave.”
“An elite academy, called the Tri-Towers Yard, remained on the mainland, but sank wholesale into the Golarion.”
“Children unfortunate enough to survive the quake lay pinned under debris as sewer water slowly rose from the ground and drowned them.” He pauses to look you all in the eye. “Nearly every student perished.”
“Today, crumbled stone walls and weed-filled lots sprawl where Gentlemen’s Clubs once stood, filled with pipe smoke and hobnobbing lords. The Drownyard — err, that’s what the ill-mannered call the school these days — lies behind a fence of black iron pikes, erected by the families of the dead to discourage morbid trespassers.”
“Even respected archaeological groups have been denied official access. Our own Society has itched to explore the site ever since the quake — that is, ever since we discovered that the school fell through the roof of a lost necropolis. Unfortunately, the emotional trauma attached to the school has remained fresh. But finally, after ten years of mourning, the politically-connected families of dead students have sanctioned our delve request.”
With a toothy smile and a clap Dreng says, “I’m pleased to announce that I’ve selected your team for the delve. First, you are to attend a gala put on by one Lady Miranda Dacilane tomorrow night. It is her sponsorship that has allowed this investigation to take place.”
Dreng then takes out a piece of rolled vellum, etched in gold leaf and places it on the desk for anyone to read: Lady ‘D’acilane's Invitation
“At the dinner, *ahem* dig up what you can about the Tri-Towers Yard. After the event is over, I want you to immediately go over to the Yard.”
“Find a way into the necropolis, document your findings with professional detail, and recover artifacts of historical significance.”
“The Society is interested in one artifact in particular — a finger ring in the shape of a ruby salamander. A door long closed to us has now been opened and I want the Pathfinder's Society the first ones through it!”
Dreng then flops into a dusty armchair and shoves a honey cake into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully and finally swallows.
“Filthy sick task, eh? Any questions I may or may not know the answers to?”
“Well … you lot, hopefully.”
VC Dreng raises two bushy eyebrows like he thinks Dr Carl should spend some time on his own couch. Then the copper piece drops.
“OHHHHH … you mean besides you, right?”
He pops another delicious victim between his chops as he ruminates. “I’d say Lady D’s kith and kin – folks that want to support her during tough times like.”
“After all, she has decided to open up a dig site that contains her daughter’s grave.”
“Maybe someone there?” Dreng asks hopefully, before continuing more assertively, like Carl has walked into a kobold chieftain’s well-laid trap.
“But you know what they say about ‘assuming,’ Agent Doctor.”
“Well you could say that.”
Venture-Captain Dreng appears to be sweating. “But the greenest Pathfinder Initiate knows there’s no ‘I’ in ‘wise.’”
“But when you assume you … err …”
"ONE OF YOU!" He *snaps* at the assembled Pathfinder throng. “Tell Agent Doctor what happens when you assume.”
“There you go, Doctor!”
Dreng crows at Carl. “You get made redundant — when you’ll have plenty of time to peel back your layers like an onion, to find your authentic self.”
“As for the ring.”
The spymaster nods knowingly, as he ticks the points (and icing sugar) off his fingers:
1. It’s round
2. Forged from a precious metal — or common alloy disguised as a precious metal
3. Is topped by a ruby salamander
4. May give off a near negligible (or actual negligible) to overwhelming magical aura
“But if there’s only one thing you take away from today’s briefing about the ring: ”
The VC holds up a sticky index finger. “It’s that me wants it, (Precious).”
|
|
"Please will you allow me to refocus your id I assure you zis is harmless and will aid you in combat especially where you are weakest."
Raskorro bends at the waist to better answer the helpful gnome.
"sCertainly ssir. That would be most welcome."
As the briefing draws to a close, the large Nagaji nods his head with approval of his new compatriots.
"It sseemss that thiss group will be very well ssuited for thiss tassk. I am looking forward to meeting the hosstesss. I feel for the losss of her daughter."
A suspiciously green rollie suddenly appears in Dreng's hand. He *snaps* his fingers at the end of it and the tip begins to burn and smoke. The Venture-Captain takes a long drag, then coughs it out at Hullric's mention of undead.
*Splutter* *Coff* “Undead? In Absalom? Are you trying to dampen my vibe? What a horrid thought. No, no, my boy. There can't be any undead roaming about! Otherwise the shining knights –– Pharmasists or Serenaders would have hunted them down long ago!”
“Just rich and ancient treasures waiting to be found. See, nothing else is really known about the Yard since nobody has been allowed to research it. Hence the reason you are going forthwith.”
“Other than that, I can give you directions to a good tailor in the Ivy. Be resourceful. I'm sure you can figure things out. Speaking of which, all this spooky talk is messing up my meridians. I have to go get some sage and …”
Dreng stands up, takes a few more pastries while mumbling, “… of you or me. Hmm.”
He then shuffles towards the hidden door and exits the room.
As you make your way through Absalom on your shopping trips or to gather information, each of you is approached by a page dressed in recognizable colors.
Carl + Hullric, the military cadet wears a blue dress uniform and tricorne with gold trappings.
Rask, the aasimar girl wears a shift of silver and white.
Roushe, a brazen strumpet (just barely) in scarlet and black *winks*
Each page addresses you by name, hands you a note and then disappears into the crowd.
The Black Crow’s contact, a youth clad in green and tan conveys his message verbally. “VC Valsin’s compliments, Agent. He asks that you carry out Lady Dacilane’s wishes per the letter she provided.”
“He also asked me to remind you to inform the others that their little faction games are NOT IMPORTANT to the mission outcome.”
With a smile now. “Also, the Ten are providing a carriage to convey your group ‘in its finery’ to Dacilane Manor at seven bells tomorrow.”
“Anything not needed at the party can be left with the driver, as I understand you are heading directly to the Drownyard afterward.”
|
|
Raskorro stops and talks with many people as they travel from place to place, making sure to pick up whatever information he can about the Lady Dacilane.
"What a terrible tragedy, to loose one so young." he often says, referring of course to the Lady's daughter, Junia.
Try as he might, he can't seem to recall ever hearing anything about Tri-Towers yard.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
“We don’t need a healer, Kallus. I’ll just punch a hole under your beautiful green epidermal layer, plug in the Numerian chip and I’ll never lose you again.”
The Black Crow, Dr Carl, Raskorro and company, chance upon a slender half-elf with stringy, raven black hair and a large stony-faced half-orc bearing a literal knife-block of cutters, having a minor disagreement-between-friends.
“Look, I’ve already done it to Fen’s dog and apart from that practically unnoticeable tail spasm he’s fine.”
The dodgy half-elf smiles as the party approaches and happily shares the local goss about Miranda Dacilane.
“Lady D? The Chelish noblewoman? Yeah I know her. Still quite the looker. Lost her daughter, Junia after the quake in the Tri-Towers Yard. Sad that.”
“Every year around this date, she holds a nosh-fest at her manor house in the Ivy to honor her and the other kids what died that day.”
Nod and a *wink* “It’s rumored she had something going with that Taldan bigshot, Baron Jacquo Dalsine some years back.”
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Information about the Tri-Towers Yard is more difficult to come by.
Eventually, Carl corners a Deep Sea Octopus rolling along the Coins District’s cobblestones in a spherical aquarium, taking his aquatic elf witch familiar for a walk.
The trident strapped to the marine elf’s back begins keening:
Water of Black, pools in the Drownyard grounds.
Not muddy water, or deep ocean water —
Water literally as black as midnight,
Like something sucked all the light and life out of it.
The Olde People say any living soul that dares enter the Stygian flood,
Is lost from the world of light forever.
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Information about the Tri-Towers Yard is more difficult to come by.Eventually, Carl corners a Deep Sea Octopus rolling along the Coins District’s cobblestones in a spherical aquarium, taking his aquatic elf witch familiar for a walk.
The trident strapped to the marine elf’s back begins keening:
Water of Black, pools in the Drownyard grounds.
Not muddy water, or deep ocean water —
Water literally as black as midnight,
Like something sucked all the light and life out of it.
The Olde People say any living soul that dares enter the Stygian flood,
Is lost from the world of light forever.
"What ze crap? A singing trident and a hamster-ball Octopus? What kind of fairy tale land of nonsensical idiocy have I landed in?! What kind of godly entity designs such circumstances to allow zis to be real?!"
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"Blrblrblrblrbl <chuckle> blrblrblb."
The octopus informant points two tentacle tips at Roushe, before pressing its bag-like face to the concave surface of the aquarium ball.
The memorable mollusc fixes the Galtan with a GLARE that would terrorize small children.
|
|
Dr. Carl Zigmnud's finary has a presentational aesthetic. Though he is small and stature and a rare silver gnome which makes him look almost like a bleachling his dress is both formal and ornamental. His velvet coat has long tails and is a deep maroon, which sits upon a crisp navy shirt, and tan vest all of which are accented with gold embossed buttons. The tailoring is what makes the suit unique the lapels are broad, nearly reaching the shoulder seams, the shirt collar high and heavily starched, and his jacket has a folded galt cuffs (french cuffs) and gold cufflinks.
He is of course well accessorized. He has a sapphire ring on his right hand and sapphire ascot pin in a tan ascot. These are used as minor hypnotic implements to fool people into thinking he is more charming or more intimidating than he really is.
This is how the Dr. showed up for the mission and how the Dr. will remain.
|
|
Roushe goes out to purchase a Courtier's Outfit that includes a red vest, white loose-fitting silk shirt, and long dark pants that cover his ankles that is just loose enough to allow him to not feel like an uptight noble. He also purchases a ruby ring to feign the idea that he knows what Nobles are all about. As for his hair, refusing to get it styled as anything else, he instead gets a wide-brim red hat with a styled over-sized feather to wear over his bandanna.
"It was once told to me zat ze richest of colors was a deep red. Zis will possibly make me look like I belong to zis party.
|
|
The Black Crow is always dressed for the occasion, and merely dusts off his gold and purple jacket and readjusts the leather strap that holds what appears to be a strung metallic axe in place. He does take the time to purchase a decent bottle of whiskey though to refill his flask in anticipation of the party. If the party takes more than an hour to acquire their costumes, he will wander to the local inn to spend the time and wet his palette... to prepare, that is.
|
|
Even though Hullric would love to attend the party wearing beggar cloths, just to get a rise out of them. He knows he is on a mission and should at least appear supportive.
He dons his cleric vestment, which he rarely wears since he doesn't perform 'official' duties that often. His cleric vestment includes a black robe with golden sleeves and a golden belt. Hanging from his neck is a golden pendant in the shape of a lantern revealing he is a clergy of the Lantern King.
While in his gaudy vestment, Hullric still wears his mask as it is also apart of his faith.
|
|
Raskorro takes to the tailor's shop like a duck to water. He offers and accepts suggestions on each piece of clothing and how best to work it into to his ensemble.
Favoring browns and greens, he looks for an understated natural theme, while still remaining regal in its presentation.
A doublet of rich brown silk, with silver and green brocade is the most notable piece he wears, while he also incorporates loose fitting silk trousers that tuck neatly into his well polished boots. He throws his familiar and magical cloak around his shoulders once more as they prepare to leave the tailor's shop, and he checks one last time to make sure his sleeves are not so tight as to interfere with his movement.
Satisfied that all is in order, he pays the tailor and makes to accompany his new friends to the next point of interest.
The Pathfinders stand at the Grand Lodge’s Main Gates, like teens awaiting collection for a Winter Formal. The gray sky provides Hullric of the Lantern King a clue that a heavy rainstorm is readying to sweep over the Flotsam Graveyard and lash the city proper.
The Ten’s promised carriage arrives just before sunset, drawn by two coal-black Shire draught horses. The driver, a slender Mwangi woman, wearing a dark anorak against the swirling gusts, climbs to the ground and flashes a shining wayfinder – symbol of the Silver Crusade faction, along with a friendly smile.
“Antonella Schiavo. I don't know what you have to do, but I am sure it is for the betterment of the Society.”
As well as unlocking the carriage doors, your driver opens a large trunk under the driver’s seat, which provides enough space to hold any equipment you bring for exploring the Drownyard after the gala, which cannot be admitted to the dinner party itself.
“Ivy district parties won’t let in guests wearing armor or bearing heavy weapons.” She explains. “And be assured, their security people will check.”
“Light one-handed weapons that are peace-tied should be fine though.”
Once everything is properly stowed, the woman scampers up to sit atop the locked truck and takes up the reins. “The cabin fits four comfortably – or six very good friends with a squeeze. Otherwise someone is welcome to ride up front with me, or take the footman’s position at the back.”
“Are we all ready?”
The party arrive at the address on the invitation to find a sprawling estate surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence and overtly decorated in diabolic statuary, fountains, and a carefully landscaped garden. Other carriages arrive, belching forth their well-dressed occupants at the end of a long canvas-topped walkway extending from the manor grounds’ front gates to the villa’s front doors, offering new arrivals protection from the newly falling rain.
As they arrive, the party is greeted by cowering, rain-soaked servants along the relatively dry, canvas-roofed pathway from the front gates to the main hall. There, drier servants take any coats and hats while other servants escort the group into the main hall where many of the guests have already arrived.
The majority of this manor is richly furnished. Trophy-heads and paintings line the walls, and rooms and corridors are crammed with fine gilded furnishings. Each room has painted ceilings, gold-spun wallpaper, and Katapeshi rugs that, if sold, could easily feed a family in the Puddles District for a year.
The Banquet Hall is an immense chamber, pleasantly heated by six huge fireplaces and lit by constantly glowing crystal chandeliers. The fireplaces do not burn wood — the flames within simply emerge from the carved mouths of devils within the fireplace and seem to burn without fuel.
The walls are decorated with unsettling landscapes of twisted hellish realms that seem to depict Absalom as if it were located in Hell itself. Closer examination reveals a tiny figure, hanging out of one of the diabolical tower windows, its pleading hands outstretched. Curiously, its clothing and facial features look remarkably like your own.
Two thick, wooden pillars carved to represent tangles of serpents rise to support the roof, while a balcony for observing the banquet from above, winds along the east and west walls at a height of 15 feet. The largest feature in the room is a huge, “H”-shaped table. To the northeast stands an immense grandfather clock whose sides are carved to depict hungry devils chasing 12 unicorns. Its bells toll deeply and ominously when they strike the hour.
There are a number of different and unique looking people at the gala milling about. Currently it is cocktail hour with 1,000 Year Eggs plated for hors d’oeuvres. The common drink being offered is a wine that has the same color and constancy of blood. Haunting music is played in the background with an accompanying song sung in Tongues.
If you care to ask, you are told that these duck eggs are preserved in a mixture of clay, ash, salt, lime and rice hulls for several months. Through the process, the yolk becomes a dark green, cream-like substance with a strong odor of sulfur and ammonia, while the white becomes a dark brown, transparent jelly with little flavor.
The blackened color and history of the egg represent the black wastes and eternity of suffering endured by the denizens of the infernal layer of Avernus.
Your hostess, Lady Miranda Dacilane stands near the entry way greeting newly-arrived guests. She is a middle-aged woman dressed in a low-cut form-hugging burgundy gown. Her long auburn hair reaches to her shoulders, covering her pointed ears. She wears a bejeweled skull broach above an ample bosom.
