Whether you’ve been sweltering in the Osirion sands beneath the Pillars of the Sun or freezing your buns ice fishing in the frozen tundra of the Linnorm Kingdoms, you receive a missive from a black-clad ninja whose hachimaki or Minkaian head-scarf bears the Glyph of the Open Road, summoning you to an emergency meeting at the Grand Lodge in Absalom.
On arrival in the courtyard lawn under the judging gaze of the statue of Durvin Gest, you stand with dozens of your peers. As you wait for an official announcement you can’t help but overhear a number of rumors circulating among the throng regarding the reason for this gathering …
“Ambrus Valsin and Zarta Dralneen are getting married! Right here, later this afternoon. 'Zambrus' have decided to leave the Society … I hear she’s having a baby.”
“Venture-Captain Hugo Victor is taking over the Grand Lodge faction and becoming the Ten’s Chamberlain. I spotted him talking to that Hellknight Damian Blakros earlier …”
“The Ten are wondering if there might be some other Pathfinder here today who is more qualified to represent the city as its Champion …”
A graceful tiger-striped woman in a tight-fitting black cat-suit, performs tricks, sleights and the occasional flashy flip, punctuated with throaty *growls* to a tiny elfin-fey wearing a garland of red poppies in her hair.
"However, the Ten have reneged on the agreed fee – a holy relic called St Cuthbert’s Mace."
"Now a Mantis kill team has arrived in town. The red woman wants what she’s owed!"
A female black knight sporting a golden cape whispers to a pretty, freckle-dusted pistoleer, wearing a tall hat and a short skirt.
"Word is they are looking to take the Test of the Starstone, with the survivor rising to become the demigod of Greed."
“They have been consulting with a disgruntled Lantern Lodge Seeker named Sawatashi Hasegawa, but whether they are seeking her advice on the Test or are attempting to recruit her for their endeavor, nobody knows.”
An Order of the Scourge Hellknight complains bitterly to a pair of Garundi half-elves. “Do you know how many Pathfinders have asked me how Michellia is and whether I’m enjoying married life??”
The younger of the two pays scant attention to the cavalier’s griping, as he hums an up-tempo tune under his breath. A high quality lute is slung over his left shoulder.
His companion, a tall, urbane man wearing the working vestments of a bishop of Abadar replies patiently, “Not now, Manius. We have more important things to concern ourselves with...”
An auburn-haired working girl stands primly on the arm of a noble, po-faced paladin of Iomedae, gossiping with a handsome, blond man sipping ale from a pewter mug. “Bray, have you heard?”
"The Black Sovereign’s agents have stolen the Sky Key, which has been hidden aboard the merchant vessel Irrational Exuberance, bound for the port city of Cassomir."
"VC Dreng thinks our best chance of recovering the artifact is to intercept the thieves before they manage to smuggle it ashore in Taldor."
|
Vahnt rolls his eyes ever so slightly as the burly fellow nearby gripes about the nature of the emergency meeting. "Why ever would zey send ze likes of you to make a good impression?" he mutters disdainfully under his breath, his words heavy with the tongue of Galt, before moving off in search of more useful rumors percolating through the crowd.
Vahnt is a slender figure of average height, his skin so pale as to be almost a light grey, marked with the faintest tracings of blue lines in places when seen from the proper angle. A faint breeze seems to swirl about him as he walks through the gathering, his slightly hooked nose and piercing eyes scanning his fellow Pathfinders. He notes the presence of a Rakshasha-touched tiefling and a brownie with interest, one eyebrow arching slightly as he considers the diversity one finds at Society events.
Spotting a pair of gnomes in the mix, he pauses in his wanderings and waits a moment, as the smaller race often provides opportunity for interesting observation.
|
Wembly is young for a gnome. He is casually dressed, in clothes that do not seem to fit, and maybe have been slept in more than once too often. His hair is badly in need of a comb, but he seems oblivious to his appearance while his eyes dart back and forth from his strange green cat, to the sky and back. His mind is definitely not focused on the here and now, as he smiles caught in his own thoughts.
Wembly enters with a puzzled look on his face, not sure he can believe half the stuff he heard as rumors on the way to the meeting.
What is this world coming to? I leave the city for a month and the entire place is going bonkers. Whiskers, I need to get a copy of the 'Absalom Enquirer' just to keep up with it all!
Realizing he just interrupted, he looks a little embarrassed and slaps his small hand over his mouth. He gives a slight bow to those gathered.
Oops, so sorry. Hi, I am Wembly Templeton, but you can call me Wembly. I am so glad to meet you all. What is the emergency? Did you talk about it yet?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Why ever would zey send ze likes of you to make a good impression?"
The Pathfinders in the vicinity move away from the pair, expecting the half-orc to break the ‘co-operate’ tenet of the Pathfinder creed – and perhaps the Galtan’s skull as well.
However, the verdant-skinned ranger just grins, showing Vahnt his sharpened fangs. “You don't intimidate Mohok, Galtan porc-chien!”
“Your mère was a giant space-hamster and your père smelt of elderberries! I cut the fromage in your direction générale!”
The muscle man then turns his back on Vahnt and strolls in the direction of a pile of bronze clockwork housing a female gnome, carrying on a rather one-sided conversation with a tall, dark Varisian man bearing a weathered longbow and quiver on his back.
“Did you hear zat man’s acczent, Diri? C’est très ridicule!”
The gnome engineer pauses for a nano-second to sigh. “The probability that you have switched your active auditory senses to stand-by mode relative to my personal space-time coordinates approaches Factorial Zero raised to the first power, Roland.”
"Now if you'll authorize me to get a word into your verbal stream after rotating it 90º about the y-axis ..."
“The pair is presently meeting with their superiors in Absalom to organize a truce between the rival organizations, so they can negotiate permanent access to the site with the Cult of Deskari.”
“Queen Galfrey of Mendev has asked her allies the Pathfinder Society to eliminate the dissidents, get the two organizations back at each other’s throats and keep the Riftwardens firmly onside with the Fifth Crusade.”
|
|
Vahnt is surprised at how good the half-orc's ears are - and at the quality of his Galtan accent. Fortunately, Vahnt is quite a bit quicker than the burly ranger, and not unaccustomed to making a quick exit when others fail to see the value of his keen insight, and he dodges nimbly away from the smiling fangs. What in all ze planes is a 'amstehr'? he asks himself as he moves into the crowd, making a most unconvincing show of pretending to spot someone he knows.
He almost breaks his stride on hearing the gnome's observations - Now zat sounds like a Pathfinder worth sharing a glass of Galtan red with! - but decides against it and continues his peregrination through the assembly, trying to discern why the meeting has been called.
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Standing a tall 3'3" and humming a beat to her steps, a halfling in a dented chain shirt with a green cloak over it strolls in, offering a high-five to the gate guard as she returns to the Grand Lodge, happy to see it in a little better shape each day. A motley collection of small weaponry crisscrosses her back, and uncontrolled blond hair falls over her face whenever she moves, typically followed by an unladylike spitting when her split ends find their way into her mouth. This doesn't seem to ever lessen her smile. She offers friendly waves to the staff she recognizes, (unless she's close enough to give a high-five) as she heads to the parade grounds, where the statue of Durvin Gest stands, composing lyrics in her head to the footsteps she makes.
"Back at home but it ain't time to rest
Gotta meet near the statue of old D-Gest
Letter from a ninja 'bout a brand new quest
Put in the hands of the one who's best-"
Overhearing the clockwork-covered gnome and her overly wordy rumors breaks Jillia out of her reverie, losing her place in the rap she was creating. She grimaces for a moment, then says audibly
"C'mon Jillia, it wasn't that good of a verse anyway," Jillia tells herself, shaking her head and laughing warmly. "Besides, there's work to do."
I just hope I don't get paired up in her squad- -listening to her speak gives me a headache.
Unsuccessfully trying to recall which of Kreighton Shaine's lectures dealt with Blackfire and Grayflame (and what she dreamt of as she slept through it), Jillia scans for a few like-minded individuals, hopefully seeing someone she recognizes, but never hesitating to offer an upward handshake and a warm smile.
"Jillia Tennille, Student of Swords!" she introduces to anyone close by and willing to listen.
Diri punches a few buttons and maneuvers a joystick on the outside of her armor, to direct a small parabolic dish on her right shoulder in Jillia’s direction.
The tinker-gnome frowns in concentration as she squints into a pop-down monocular lense. "Halfling. Female. Pathfinder."
"Disposition: manic cheerful; likely unpredictable and prone to whimsy."
THREAT ASSESSMENT: LOW++
"Nutty as a chipmunk’s cheeks – but relatively harmless." Diri misdiagnoses as her monoscope flips down again. "She’s probably a bard."
A passing dwarf bearing a holy symbol of Erastil, and wielding a roc drumstick in one hand and a gallon stein of lager in the other remarks, “Too much ale made me think I was a bard once. Harraharrrr.”
However, the greasy bearded brother gets spooked by an unnerving glance from Diri’s Varisian companion and hurries away.
|
|
She can think I'm a "low threat" all she wants. If she wants trouble, I'll just briskly walk away, Jillia thinks, pondering if she could literally run circles around the gnome seeming surrounded by her body weight in bronze clockwork. She walks off, her steps again making a rhythmic beat as she raps to herself.
"I ain't a bard, just quick with a verse
Ya'll ain't a threat- -come quick with the hearse
Not being polite just sayin' it terse
Being so slow must be the worst"
"I should write that one down," Jillia remarks to no one, wide smile on her face, before promptly forgetting as she overhears Wembly's greeting and unceremoniously inserts herself into the conversation.
"Wembly! Jillia Tennille, Student of Swords!" She introduces with a smile and a handshake. "My letter wasn't very specific. But it was sent by a ninja, so hopefully it's equally awesome."
A downcast Kelishite priestess of Sarenrae speaks quietly with a muscular female half-orc, accompanied by a well-nourished owlbear outfitted in leather barding.
“A young, up-and-coming skald named Omar Posada has been booked in his place! He’s a protégé of Venture Captain Hugo’s you know. And VC Hugo is a good friend of VC Filosten, who owns the Alembic tavern!”
*shakes head* “It’s not WHAT you know in the Society …”
The half-orc ranger rummages inside a hessian sack before producing a stunned Children's python which she tosses casually to her animal companion. The owlbear HOOTS with glee before sucking the treat down his gullet, like it's spaghetti.
“VC Dreng is only seen after dusk these days, and disappears before dawn!”
“Everyone knows he’s got a new day job moonlighting as a sales assistant at the Black Mask costume shop in the Ascendant Court.”
“What many people don’t know is his new found fondness for red wine. And he always has a dhampir Pathfinder fill his glass from a private reserve.”
|
Stepping onto the lawn, a cowering, viscious looking reptile in tow, a tall amazon-like tiefling looks over her assembled peers. Quickly spotting Master Mido, she uneasily marches towards him, her heavy armor jingling with every step. "Mido the Riddlemaster. I see you again. Is good" she says tersely by way of greeting. Toying nervously with the ragged pelt of an other-worldly canidae, she gestures towards the assembled crowd. "What is? Lot of talk. You know what happen?"
An Irorian paladin-monk, her dark hair braided into a tight bun at the back of her neck and wearing a formal white linen kendogi over a long, royal blue hakama hails Wembly.
“Brother Wembly! Allow me to shout you and Whiskers a round of milk later at the Frothing Alem…”
The distracted female’s greeting stops suddenly as she collides with the gold-caped black knight, still chatting with the attractive Alkenstargazer. The monk drops like spilt milk to the courtyard lawn, her slender form a tangle of arms and legs.
“Remember your vows, sister.” The black knight offers her hand to the fallen paladin, who ignores the gesture huffily, regaining her feet with a back-arching flip from a seated position.
As the proud monk stalks off, the armored warrior *shrugs* before returning to her conversation. She gestures in Rika’s direction.
“Jez, is that Brother Desmond? We should go say hi.”
With a casual finger-flick, the gunslinger tips her hat back on her head a little. “Well I jus’ dunno ‘bout that, Tigerlily.”
“Seein’ her down yonder’s a heifer and Suntan’s a steer, I’d stake there’s a fair t’middlin’ chance t’ain’t him t’all. I’m open to bein’ friendly with them new folks, mind.”
|
|
Wembly rushes up to the Irori Paladin with a wide, almost unbelievable smile for his friend. He is not sure whether to high-five her, hug or bow. Whiskers nearly tackles the woman.
Antonella! Is that really you? We have not see you since...well, wow...a long time. It took forever to get the seawater out of my backpack. Whiskers still holds a grudge on that one!
Having just raised herself up – the paladin falls for the second time today.
Though she may be the first white knight in history to fall through the actions of a giant, green cat.
“Yes, yes. It’s lovely to see you too, Whiskers.” From the place where she sits on the lawn, Antonella attempts unsuccessfully to dodge the eidolon’s broad tongue. “May I get up now?”
As the braided bun at her neck unravels and her linen chemise is vanquished by wet-matter, Antonella stoically endures her second bath of the morning, as she marvels at the complete absence of odour on the Astral native’s breath.
A phenomenon Drandle Dreng would be well-advised to research.
Once back on her feet, the cat-slobbered cleric opens her arms to the young gnome. “Care to share the love, Wembly?”
“The perils of Diobel harbor, Cassomir’s Locker and the Overflow Archives cannot compare to the tidal power of Whiskers.”
“Hello, Chicken. Where’s your momma?”
Antonella has a soft spot for ‘raptors, as a trio of the beasts heralded the end of her previous existence, ultimately leading to her rebirth in Irori's Palm.
Antonella kneels, murmuring soothing nonsense for Pratts’ benefit. She absently searches her pockets for a tasty treat for the dino, before remembering she’s a vegetarian!
D’oh! Old habits die hard.
The paladin returns her gaze to the Summoner and grins. “Wembly, when did you decide Whiskers needed a little siste..? NO, BROTHER!”
“Um … at least I think he’s a brother.”
|
|
As the crowd builds and the excitement of the gathering crescendos, Jillia tries to get a sense of exactly what is going on; as usual, it seems she will have to rely on someone else to clue her in, however. With her gaze wandering across as many Pathfinders as were at the last Convocation, her mind wanders as well, and she compulsively hums to herself.
"Quick with the rhyme 'cause I'm licensed to ill
Quick with the blade 'cause I'm licensed to kill
Quick with the feet 'cause know I'm licensed to thrill
Quick with the Jill 'cause I'm licensed 'Tenille'..."
Unconsciously, her rhyming to herself becomes rhyming aloud, possibly raising he eyes of onlookers, but she seems not to notice.
..."Slinging steel from Diobel 'cross Kortos
Destined to be the best- -not 'almost'
Three-foot-three and over your level
Quick past the fight to get on with the revel
And ready to commence another verbal mission
Leavin' all the Aspis in my wake steady wishin'
They never crossed paths with this baller
When you're lyin' at my feet, who's taller?
Light with the armor and heavily armed
Foes catch wrecks with friends unharmed
Light on the wind like a feather token
Unmatched, Unscathed, Ungrounded, Unbroken
No glory declined 'casue I have what I hold
Casted this masterpiece then broke the mold
So lets get started on this mission tip
'cause this crazy halfling is the slickest slip!"
Jillil notes that she's ceased rhyming to herself and broken into word aloud, and catches herself (and likely the eyes of nearby onlookers). She shrugs and smiles widely.
"I guess I got a bit carried away, heh," she admits, her grin seemingly breaking the confines of her face. "How was it?" she asks anyone nearby willing to lend an ear and a critique.
When you're lyin' at my feet, who's taller?
The black knight now chatting excitedly with the bronze-encased gnome pauses to suggest blankly:
“Um … you would be?”
'cause this crazy halfling is the slickest slip!
The Garundi half-elf in bishop’s robes covers his ears with his hands. “HELLKNIGHT MANIUS! Clean up in the front aisle, please Manius!”
"I guess I got a bit carried away, heh."
The engineer gnome of Brigh curls her lip. “YA THINK?”
|
A blonde woman in heavy armor strides across the grounds of the Grand Lodge, up to the statue of Durvin Gest. It appears that she's talking to herself as she walks. "Yes, Brom. I can sense it too. There's something in the air - Oh, shush! ... ... No, I don't think it will be 'glorious battles' and the 'chance to prove myself'. I know you'd like that, but that would mean another attack on the Lodge, mostly likely. Heaven's forbid, let's hope that's not it!"
The woman, a half-elf, seems to have inherited most of the typical elven looks: she's of slender build, green-eyed and with long ears sticking out from a thick mass of platinum-blonde hair. It's quickly apparent, though, that she has inherited none of the fabled elvish grace. As she comes upon the statue and hears Jillia rapping, she looks back over her shoulder while walking, nearly stumbles over the woman in the tarnished white dress, and promptly drops her bag. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz. [i]- Yes, I know..."
The woman is dressed in full plate armor, decorated with modest embellishments in honor of Iomedae. Despite its weight and her general clumsiness, she seems to wear the bulky armor with the ease of a seasoned general. She quickly apologizes and offers a hand to help up the Iroran as she moves to pick up her bag. At the conclusion of the halfling's performance, she applauds, nearly dropping her bag again in the process. The clapping is enthusiastic, even though it seems out of encouragement, rather than actually liking the performance. "That was... quite different from the songs usually sung here." She looks over her shoulder again. "Say, has any of you seen Wembley Penderton? Gnome with a large green cat in tow? Did I just miss him? We'd just been on a mission to the Worldwound together, and I thought I'd say hi."
--
She quickly apologizes and offers a hand to help up the Iroran. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz.”
Master, how you test me!
Once again on her butt, the dishevelled priestess of Perfection takes Mariel’s hand and allows herself to be pulled to her feet.
“Antonella the Thrice-Fallen. Once deluded she was in favor with the Master of Masters.”
The paladin’s expression is unreadable. “Worry not, Sister. The fault lies not with you.”
“Pray excuse me, for I seek a warm tub. After which I will fulfil my quest this day in a lateral position, with my eyes closed, inside a locked cell.”
She holds up her right palm in tribute to Irori’s holy symbol. “Go in peace.”
|
|
A man wearing an impressive suit of armor - modeled after a demonic creature - with his horned helm under one of his arms looks around the area with eyes the same steely color as his armor taking it all in.
The dozens of Society members, the great statue of Durvin Gest.
" ..I wonder what is going on that so many of us are called here at the same time.."
|
|
Mariel touches her hand lightly to the sunburst emblazoned on her chest, in return to the woman's greeting. "Peace."
Her attention is then forcefully drawn by the tiefling, shouting in a language she doesn't understand. She seems quite intimidated by the hunter in the exotic armor, warding off the woman's question. "Oh no, it's nothing. He's... I was... just going to say hi. No need to eh... track him down. I'm sure I'll run into him some time." She points to the velociraptor, careful not to make any sudden movements. "So. Pratts. He's.... dangerous?"
”The Decemvirate are truly grateful that so many of you have answered this summons to the Grand Lodge, for they, above all, know the trying lives that field agents endure. Indeed, you have only to look about this courtyard and gaze upon your colleagues to know they have come from all ends of Golarion to be among us. Look not grim, but rather determined, for this summons is not one brought of dire threat or terrible consequence. No! The Decemvirate has instead summoned you to taste the opportunity to enter the greatest contest of martial arts the world has ever known—the Ruby Phoenix Tournament”
”The legacy of Tian Xia’s legendary mystic arcanist, the nearly immortal Grandmaster Hao Jin, the Ruby Phoenix Tournament is held only once every ten years. The Tournament is run by Sifu Xho Nuo, Emissary of the Ruby Phoenix and sole heir to Hao Jin’s secrets. The prize for victory: an artifact pulled from Hao Jin’s fabled collection of the greatest wonders Golarion has ever known”
”Though Xho Nuo has made no formal announcement, we have learned the sifu has chosen to hold the qualifying round for this decade’s tournament here in Absalom. The Pathfinder Society has long sought to send one of its members to compete in this tournament. If our information is true, this means that for the first time, the Society has the opportunity to qualify a good number of its field agents. While the chance to glean an artifact from Hao Jin’s collection is enticing, that is hardly the entirety of our goal. However, I shall speak more on this subject at a later time”
”At present, we have learned that Xho Nuo plans to host a covert meeting to address all would-be contestants. Don’t get too excited though; it’s supposedly being held at a decrepit tavern in the Docks called the Devil’s Dregs. Go there and see what details you can pick up about the competition and the other entrants, but watch your backs. There’s little law to protect you down on the wharves, and it’d take a riot to raise any attention. Oh, and I wouldn’t expect an appearance from Xho Nuo either, as his social status prevents him from contact with such filthy and common places. My guess is that he’ll send one of his agents to rile up as many lowlifes as possible to serve as fodder for the first round of the contest”
”Lastly, though its likely Xho Nuo is aware of our interest in the competition, we need all our agents to maintain as much secrecy as possible. For all we know, he has deliberately chosen Absalom to bait our interests, so it’s imperative that he identify as few of our agents as possible. From here out, to keep our affiliations covert, we request all of you make arrangements for your stay outside the Grand Lodge. Try to pick a place that’s low key to avoid attention. Don’t worry about the cost though. The Decemvirate will pick up the tab. Good luck.”
An auburn haired working girl leaves the arm of her companion and strolls towards Manius.
“Maralictor Blakros, how is Lady Michellia? I trust you are enjoying married life?”
The female Pathfinder seems taken aback by the hellknight’s presence. “Is the Order of the Scourge looking to qualify for the Tournie? No matter. I bet my squad will be first to the tavern.”
“In case you didn’t know, the Devil’s Dregs is actually Pathfinder code for VC Filosten’s public house – the Frothing Alembic. I’ll see you there … if you make it in time!”
|
|
Preliminary round of a fighting tournament? Everything's coming up Jillia!
"If they don't want to know it's us, then that tournament won't know what hit it!" Jillia exclaims, punctuating some shadowboxing with a fist in the air, her display containing significantly more irony than subtelty. "Last one there is a gnome in bronze, I bet!"
Jillia waves to the nearest five Pathfinders to hurry. "C'mon!"
|
|
Mariel occasionally nods during the announcement. "I get you were right, Brom," she says to an unseen figure just to her left.
When the auburn-haired girl addresses the Hellknight, Mariel looks confused, from the girl to Manius. "Blakros? You're not... Are you related to Damian?"
She seems caught up in the flow of things, hustling after Jillia. "Right. I should drop off some things at the Lodge, though. From what we're told, bringing our Wayfinders isn't a good idea." As she hustles along Jillia, she extends a hand. "I'm Mariel, by the way." She keeps her distance from the tiefling, but extends the greeting to her as well by raising a hand. "Sure, let's go to the tavern first."
As you exit the Front Gates of the Grand Lodge, you find a number of enterprising merchants have installed pop-up stalls to cater for the outflux of Pathfinders on a Mission.
A dwarf with a meticulously waxed beard and mustache, sweats over a small portable grill.
He hails Mariel. "Spiced dumplings and sausage? These'll put color in your cheeks, luv! If you don't mind me sayin', ye look a little pale!"
Another vendor, a shifty looking human hunched under a black trench coat sidles up to Jillia. He speaks Taldane with an appalling foreign accent – though his tone is friendly enough. "Used wayfinder, mate?"
He pulls out a wayfinder that looks dented and scorched. It glows in his hand. "See? Still works! Any yobbo can flog you a pristine wayfinder, but I'm the only bloke who can sell you a piece of history!"
$¢£¥
In a quiet, rundown section of the Docks, you spot a weathered wooden sign hanging above a wide alcove that reads Filosten’s Frothing Alembic. The area outside the tavern smells of rotten wood and old fish. A pair of thick double doors within the alcove lead into the tavern. It looks like the word is out that something is happening here.
Small teams, some recognizable as Pathfinders and some that clearly are not, are streaming into the place.
|
|
"Pale?" Mariel asks the dwarf with the portable grill. She's about to remark that she might want to buy some, when she sees that she's about to lose the rest of her group. "Sorry," she calls out the dwarf as she hustles to catch up.
En route to the tavern, Mariel finds herself dithering, then eventually speaks up, a different subject then she was going to bring up at first. "So, if we're going to be joining this qualifying... event as a group, we should probably think about how we're going to present ourselves. Right? I mean, since we're not supposed to be a group of Pathfinders. We're a rather eclectic bunch," continues as she looks around the group, from her own celestial regalia to the tiefling and the Hellknight, "but I suppose that could work as a sort of adventuring group, interested in proving themselves. But we need a name, of course." She's silent for a moment, trying to come up with something. "Any good suggestions, anyone?"
--
Mariel looks unsure as they approach the tavern. She says something over her shoulder, whispered but still loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Patience, Brom. I'm sure there will be plenty of battle in the qualifier, but it's not like there will be a giant brawl the moment we enter the tavern. Right?" She looks up, and feels like she owes some kind of explanation to her companions. "It's eh... I can communicate with spirits. You can't see them. They're not actually here, if you know what I mean. But they kind of demand my attention some time - Oh, please, Asherah! Some more than others," she adds with a sigh.
|
|
The aging Ulfen strides out among the Pathfinder's gathered at the Grand Lodge. Lots of younglings here... trying to make a good impression, I suppose... try not to intimidate them, Val.
Valjoen looks to his fellow Pathfinders, "Pleasure to meet you all... don't think I've had the pleasure to work with any of you yet, but I suspect that will be remedied soon..." He places a hand over his heart and gives a slight nod to Manius followed by a deep bow to the ladies. With a quick wink and smile, he responds to Mariel, "I talk to things I don't see, as well, but normally, that occurs after I've been to the tavern."
|
|
Master Mido had been blessed in life with old age and wisdom but also with short legs, even for a Gnome. It was thus, that despite being one of the first to make his way t the Tavern the wisened old scholar was one of the last to arrive. Spotting an obvious group of Pathfinders Mido approached and spoke in a quite but authorative voice.
Good day young Pathfinders! This one goes by the name of Mido but you may call me Master Mido!
He then peers over to the not overly appetizing tavern and suggest:
So shall we enter and see what we can learn?
|
|
"No need for a wayfinder when you're only moving forward," Jillia calls over her shoulder as she jukes left and spins around the right side of the wayfindermonger. "Pardon your dusting," she says with a laugh as she skirts his vicinity.
----
"Sounds like you're invisible friends are itching for a fight," Jillia offers Mariel, grinning excitedly. "Me too," she admits, punctuating with a couple of shadow jabs.
|
|
"Pratts can carry you Master" remarks Rika to Mido. "Kami-speaker, you let know if problem. I take care of" she follows with, addressing Mariel before taking stock of the Ulfen man. "Searaider. I am Rika. That is Pratts. We go in now, I not like outside." She begins to walk in, but slows to a stop, realizing that she has not considered Mariel's all-too reasonable question. "I say we are explorer of Crown of World. Explain Ulfen Searaider and Oni Abortion. If we have name, you tell me before I talk. I am good at saying without talk. PRATTS. We go" she finally commands to her pet before striding forward, seeming already irritated with ... something.
Manius knows that the once trendy Frothing Alembic has fallen on hard times. A few years back, it was a popular meeting place for Pathfinders to hear about new missions. But it has undergone a steady decline since its proprietor – a Qadiran Venture-Captain – disappeared.
Now it is popular with dock workers for its cheap ale, and with Absalom’s criminal class for being a place where the staff ask no questions, and have recurrent bouts of amnesia whenever the First Guard visits.
The wines are often watered down, but their homebrew 'Test Tube Pilsener' is supposed to be a tasty if somewhat salty brew. They offer fried bread and kippers that are pretty good, but the rest of the appetizers are of dubious quality.
With Rika and Pratts leading, you enter a set of double doors set before the rickety piers in the tavern’s west, revealing the sizeable taproom is filled to capacity!
The smells of cheap ale, unwashed bodies, and thick pipe smoke mix in the crowded room, as tightly squeezed contestants push and shove their way about the tavern. As one might expect in the Docks district, the tavern extends over the harbor, and beneath the floor lies the silty, brackish water of Absalom’s wide bay. The dim light of the tavern’s few lanterns exposes few specifics about the patrons or the surroundings.
|
|
"C'mon, let's get a spot where we can see," Jillia calls, waving a hand to follow as she slips through the crowd with the grace and agility of a mediocre football player. "Let's get a spot where we can see what's going on," she suggests, finding a spot that's merely crowded instead of overly crowded, scanning the crowd as she politely shoves her way through.
|
|
Mariel gives a polite chuckle at Valjoen's joke, and returns Master Mido's greeting. Well, the group got even more eclectic. Explorer's of the Crown of the World? I've never even been there. "I'm sure it'll be OK, Rika," she offers by way of encouragement. "We all have each other's back, right?"
She then hurries to catch up to Jillia, pushing through the crowd as she tries to follow the energetic halfling, hoping to correct the woman's ideas. "Well, you're sort of right, I guess. But that's just Brom, honestly. He's more... present, now, because he sense that something is about to happen. The others are not that bloodthirsty, I can assure you." She then spots Wembley and is off, making some motions over the buzz of the crowd that she'll be back in just a minute.
--
As Jillia passes a table of three, she notices the flash of a bronze badge on a half-orc wearing ornate heavy armor. At the Hisss of his Garundi companion, the insignia is hastily stuffed under a cloak.
To the halfling’s left two priestesses hold hands across their table. They complain loudly about the performance of the half-elf mandolinist on the glass stage.
“I bet you could do much better, honey.” One of them calls to Jillia.
“And when you’re done, how about coming back to our table for a drink?”
Master Mido identifies the pair as a Riftwarden and Blackfire Adept, whose respective organizations are currently at war. The gnome scholar is baffled by their holy symbols, which display an ebon six-fingered claw.
Mariel and Valjoen see two women in the south of the tap room, wearing nifty red and black armor bearing some sort of bug motif. Weird insectile helmets rest under their chairs.
“MARIEL! MARIEL!” Wembly calls to the half-elf. “Come visit at my table!”
The young gnome gestures at his companions – a lithe tiger-striped tiefling and a tiny fey-elf. “This is Scarlet and her particular friend, Poppy.”
“How about that final battle on our last mission? Whew! I thought I was a goner there for a while.”
Rika and Pratts pass by an arbalester having a rather one-sided conversation with an invisible being called ‘Mathilda’. His words are being translated into angry gestures by his table companion.
Finally, Valjoen, Mido and Manius spot a pale, scarred Tien guy standing in ornamental black armor at the end of the bar scowling. His helm resembles a skull. He orders some wine, only to *cough* and spit it out later.
He notices the three of you watching the crowd and challenges you in broken Common. “What group you with? Why you look long time at me?”
And the people keep piling in...
|
|
Seeing how full the bar is and knowing from experience it's the savest to have a wall against your back in any place where you don't know everyone Manius heads for a relative save part of the bar as he looks around to see if he recognizes anyone. Maybe someone he can count on when trouble starts, perhaps someone who will start said trouble.
As he hears the Tien guy challenge him he stops moving and looks at his companions who traveled here from the Grand Lodge.
"Does one of you want to handle this guy, or should we just ignore him...I would "handle" him myself, but we we're told to keep a low profile."
|
|
Mariel gives Wembley an enthusiastic greeting, and also introduces herself to his companions. "Hi there, Wembley. I thought I saw you down by the eh... statue this morning, but we must have just missed each other." She nods and shivers. "Yeah, tell me about it. When that thing came crashing in!" She shivers again and looks sad for a moment, but then draws herself up. "Still, I think we did good that day. We did."
She then points out the two women in the red and black armor, hoping to act casual (and failing). "Those two... Are they who I think they are?"
Without warning, a flash of smoke flares up from the center of the tavern floor. As it clears, a towering, golden-skinned humanoid of hideous and terrifying countenance steps forth, ebon teeth gleaming fiendishly. Standing before the crowd, she greets them with a slow and gracious bow, yet her eyes never look away.
The creature gestures to call the crowd’s attention, and one by one they fall silent.
“Good evening and allow me to introduce myself, I am called Kiang Zhen. My sifu, Xho Nuo, the Emissary of the Ruby Phoenix, wishes for me to tell all of you that he is most pleased to see so many of you eager to attend the tournament. It is his desire that everyone please find a table and make yourselves comfortable at his expense.”
The room becomes increasingly packed as contestants file in, and barely a minute later arriving contestants quickly fill all remaining tables leaving the tavern with standing room only – yet more and more continue to fill the place out – it is tightly packed and it is a struggle to both keep a hold of your own food and drink as well as dodging the spilled food and drink of others.
A short time later…
”Again, your attention please. I regret to inform all of you that Sifu Xho Nuo will not be present this evening, though he has appointed me to speak on his behalf.”
”To speak with candor, there are many who wish the Sifu dead and wish to steal from him the ancient secrets he was appointed to guard. This comes as no surprise to the Emissary, for he has been charged with the protection of a great and terrible power. Even now, in this very room, some of these same individuals sit amongst us. To them I say, Sifu knows who you are and fears you not. He even entreats you to join the Ruby Phoenix Tournament, for he shall not compromise the primary intention of the contest – to find the world’s greatest martial artist. Rest assured, this tournament shall test the mettle of its contestants, regardless of their intentions. Competition shall be fierce and violent without regard for contestants lives. That is your concern – not mine, not the Emissary’s. Those who fail might be lucky enough to walk away with their lives. For this reason, there are few places where our tournament is truly welcome. Thus, given the nature of the tournament and other circumstances, the Emissary has expressed to me the need to retain secrecy. However, I assure you he shall make an appearance before the end of the qualifying round.”
”Lastly, I have noticed many of you have come as teams. This is good, for initially, you may need help from allies you trust.” The beast pauses for a moment, letting his dark, pupil-less gaze hover upon the crowd. From his belt he unfastens a leather satchel and holds it aloft before the crowd. “I have here 100 rubies. On the morrow, fifty of these rubies will begin to glow, and those individuals or groups in possession of one such gem shall be contacted by one of our agents, who will give them the details of where the first event of the qualifier will take place.” then with a wide and wild grin he says “And so it begins!”
On his final words, he tosses the bag into the air, sending the rubies scattering everywhere. The next moment, he vanishes, leaving behind only a vaporous wisp.
Kiang Zhen’s form shifts as the huge oni *casts* a spell causing the glass stage to shatter, its pieces falling into the dark harbor waters below. Sifu Xho Nuo’s Herald then disappears from view.
Meanwhile, rubies are flying in the air like confetti!
As he hears the Tien guy challenge him he stops moving and looks at his companions. "Does one of you want to handle this guy."
The ronin shifts away from Manny, calling over his shoulder. “This not tasteless manga! You no handle me! Me handle jewels instead! Kiss my mule, perverted one!”
She then points out the two women in the red and black armor. "Those two... Are they who I think they are?"
“Aye.” The blue-haired gnome replies. “But they’re scrambling about on the floor for gems like everyone else!”
“Might be time to get back to your team, and find some rubies yourself, Mariel.”
SURPRISE ROUND
If you have combat reflexes (or some other feat or class feature that prevents you from being flat-footed) you may act in the surprise round to catch a ruby flying through the air with a DC 22 reflex save.
Three individuals wielding short swords, who you don’t recognize as Pathfinders also appear to be searching the floor in your vicinity.
The youngest of them pipes up. “Let’s work together! There are plenty of rubies for all of us!”