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A half-elf garbed in new adventuring gear, or fresh oil on his weapons, stands waiting for the briefing.
"I am Omar Posada, Skald and Society initiate reporting.
I was sent by VC Hugo to this mission.
Omar nods in greeting before continuing.
"I originally lived in the deserts of Osirion. However I grew bored and started to travel, eventually ending up in Lamasara, Thuvia. I heard Lamasara was famous for its performers and artisans.
"There is always music in the air, although the most well-known of its artists usually perform in whichever city is currently hosting the sun orchid elixir."
He leans his naginata in the corner and inspects his lute while waiting for others to arrive.
Your boots squash with fetid water as you plod through Absalom's Puddles district. A thick fog hangs in the air, seeming almost to caress the flesh with an unnatural chill. As you stand outside the Soggy Piper in a foot and a half of brackish brine, you wonder what is so Calidamned important to demand your presence in the half flooded slum during Absalom’s rainy season.
You recall your meeting at the Grand Lodge just a few hours earlier with your Faction Head, or in Omar’s case with her 2IC and recently appointed Osirian Venture-Captain Hugo Victor.
“I need you to be standing in or about the Soggy Piper pub at sundown today. But don’t be too conspicuous! Mind you, make sure you can be spotted by any Pathfinder agents that may also be on this mission. BUT not by any War Hounds or other gang-bangers that control Torch’s old turf around the Siphons! Got it?”
Your Faction Boss doesn’t pause to allow you time to reply. “As the sun sets over the Inner Sea there’ll be a signal. You’ll know it when you hear it. Follow that signal to its source, where you’ll be briefed by the Venture-Captain sponsoring the mission.”
“Oh, one more thing ...”
“Written orders will find you, while you’re on the ship taking you into Devil Country.”
Major Maldris smiles. “Yes Lads, I know you’re going to Cheliax. It amuses me how many Pathfinders underestimate their Faction leaders’ abilities.”
“I’m just grateful I lead Liberty’s Edge, where nobody could possibly think that about me.”
“Cupid will deliver a Love Letter to you while you’re on the waves bound for the Homeland.”
The Paracountess smiles. “Yes Boys, I know you’re returning to Home and Hearth. It amuses me how many Pathfinders underestimate their Faction leaders’ abilities.”
As she curls her long hair about an index finger ... “I’m just grateful I lead the Dark Archive, where nobody could possibly think that about me.”
“Some of your fellow agents may have tasks given to perform by their respective faction heads. You can help them or not as you please, but try not to deliberately sabotage their efforts.”
Amenophus pauses and smiles hawkishly. “That’s because I want you to report back to me about what they were up to.”
“Some of your fellow agents may have tasks given to perform by their respective faction heads. You can help them or not as you please, but try not to sabotage their efforts”
The Trade Prince sighs “Either deliberately or accidentally, thank-you Steve.”
“That’s because I want you to report back to me about what they were up to.”
Right on sunset, outside the Piper you hear the music of a large pipe-organ belting out a military hymn popular with village people all over Golarion, called In the Navy.
The sound leads you to a large decrepit building, that was once a Cathedral consecrated to Abadar, god of Civilization and Trade.
Upon entering the building, a catering-size pot of steaming tea awaits you, along with plates of homemade cakes and biscuits. A number of other Pathfinder agents have followed the clue and are staring up at the enormous organ that dominates the church setting, apparently playing itself!
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Jake, walking with a militaristic, ramrod straight posture, paces down the center isla with his Greatsword sheathed on his back and a grim visage on his face. After reaching the altar, he pauses for a moment before turning on his heel and walking to where the others sit or stand.
Hello all, I am Jake Hargrove.
He nods curtly at his fellow Liberty's Edge compatriot.
Where is our VC with the mission?
A number of random organ keys depress in a JARRING out-of-key at Omar’s words.
The CLAMOR causes a trio of bats to flee their belfry across the Metro-Cathedral’s high ceilings towards a broken window above the doorway you entered.
None of them make it.
Three quarrels – accompanied by the harsh rattle of ratcheting sprockets – unerringly find each flying mammal’s centre of mass. Their bodies flutter to the ground before the Pathfinders like cancelled cheques. Jake judges the bolts were fired from the direction of the gigantic keyboard.
A forward flip and two somersaults later, a caped figure lands atop the altar, frightening Steve’s bird to the ground, with an indignant *HONK*
The figure bows to Jake. “Why ser, I'm right here!”
He then *waggles* an index finger at the Skald, though he wears an ironic smile. “Let this be the first lesson of this mission, young Omar. Discretion will be a key factor to its success.”
Before you is a tall Osirian man covered by a cloak dusty from the numerous sandy roads and ancient tombs he has plundered. He carries a black crossbow in his arms and a greatsword graces his back. His intelligent eyes peg him as a scholar or novelist, in direct contrast to his obvious skill at arms and magic, suggesting a successful adventurer or guerrilla leader.
However, the signet ring on his left hand mark his office as a Bishop of one of the richest and most influential churches in the Inner Sea. That of Abadar, Master of the First Vault.
“Welcome to the Bat Cave.” The man laughs. “I am Venture-Captain Hugo Victor.”
“Now, who might you all be?”
“My, don’t you use your words efficiently, Ser Steadfast.”
The Venture-Captain taps his chin for a moment before gesturing at the armored giant. “So you’d be the Party’s Face then Jake?”
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A wrinkled, gaunt elf who appears ready to pass onto Pharasma's Boneyard at a moment's notice was napping on a bench until the ruckus occurred. Jerking around, he falls to the ground in a most ungraceful whump.
After sitting back up with no less than three bones popping, the man of almost three centuries quickly adopts a look of grumpiness (which he promptly loses when he finds his next comment hilarious) and listens to the question. After taking a look at the Beef Patrol gathered today, "Prob'ly have to be; I'm not feelin' up to it on account of this bum hip and it's lookin' like the only face 'round here that won't empty a room, baw haw haw!"
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Wok! Wok! Wok!" The bird scurries around, accidentally landing on a key. The bird begins to panic even more, running under pews to hide behind the old man (who doesn't seem to do much to shield him.)
-Posted with Wayfinder
Venture-Captain Victor gives Steve a hard stare and mutters. “It would seem Trade-Prince Aaqir al'Hakam didn’t get the memo …”
“Sadly you’re not the first of Abadar’s customers to fall asleep on those pews, Master.”
The clergyman can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Though I'd heard you were a Live while I’m alive; Sleep when I’m dead type of guy.”
“Falling is not what matters, Omar. What’s important is how quickly you pick yourself up afterwards.”
“But I will continue to try to behave.”
The Venture-Captain nods. “Very good, Omar. Doing anything else would make me Très Misérables.”
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“I expect you will be involved in several conversations then, Ser.” VC Victor inclines his head respectfully at Jake’s words.
“Though unlike some of us …” The Venture-Captain looks askance at Steve. “A sharp sword knows when to remain sheathed in silence.”
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Abraxi enters the room and sits at one of the pews, staring up at the ceiling. Lowering his gaze and taking in his companions, he says. "I'm called Abraxi. Specialization, close quarters fighting. Secondary skills, infiltration."
Casting an eye at Steve, a confused looks crosses the tiefling's face. When Steve awakes, Abraxi stands and takes the elf by his elbow. "Come on old timer, I think you've wandered into the wrong place. I think the homeless shelter is across the way. Is that what your looking for?"
“Shall I be mother?”
VC Victor pours himself a cup of strong black tea and offers to do the same for anyone that wants one, before parking himself on the edge of the high altar with his legs swinging as he commences the briefing.
“Ever since the series of unfortunate incidents in Westcrown, that led to Abrogail I ordering the closure of our Delvehaven Lodge, the Ten have been waiting for the right time to expand the Society’s influence in Cheliax. They believe that time is now.”
“One of my first tasks as a newly appointed Venture-Captain was to investigate sympathisers and groom contacts in Cheliax.”
Victor pauses to emphasize his next statement.
“My research uncovered a rather embarrassing secret. We had established a deep cover agent in an ideal toehold of the Empire – the northern town of Pezzack. Have you heard of it? It’s a very atypical Chelaxian town, where rebellion and radical ideas have fomented since the earliest days of the civil war. It is currently being besieged by the Chelish navy, after radical elements in the town murdered the Crown appointed governor and his Hellknight bodyguards.”
“To my horror I discovered our agent had fallen between the bureaucratic cracks and was forgotten by the Society after his Handler died of natural causes five years ago. With all the fuss Grandmaster Torch made about how little the Decemvirate cares about its agents, my guess is someone decided to quietly bury this matter - until I came along.”
Hugo Victor seems genuinely outraged. “It is completely unacceptable to have abandoned one of our own. It’s past time he came home.”
He stops again to calm himself. “In truth, he must be a remarkable agent to have survived out in the cold for this long. In addition, he will have gathered invaluable intelligence pertaining to our broader aims of increasing the Society’s presence in Cheliax.”
The bishop looks sternly at each of you. “However, to garner goodwill for our upcoming charm offensive, it is vital that when exfiltrating our man we paint the Society as an upright, responsible organization, which will be a welcome asset in any civilised society.”
The VC gestures with open palms. “So, in a nutshell your mission is to get our man out alive while upholding the good reputation of the Pathfinder Society.”
“There are some additional housekeeping issues, but I will take questions first.”
VC Victor smiles wryly at the tall knight. “No prizes for guessing who the Liberty’s Edge rep is amongst us, huh Jake?”
The Abadarian Venture-Captain's voice turns serious. “The Society has always been neutral to the politics of the nation-states we operate in. This policy has allowed us to advance our own interests successfully over the centuries. That’s not about to change.”
“Look, I haven’t been out of the field long myself. All I’m asking is if you need to take … pragmatic measures against our ‘hosts’ property or citizens, make sure you aren’t identified as Pathfinders when you do.”
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"Come on old timer, I think you've wandered into the wrong place. I think the homeless shelter is across the way. Is that what your looking for?"
Steve wriggles in noncompliance, "Bah! Kids these days, having horns and tryna take their respectable and self-sufficient seniors to nursing homes. No, thanks you; nurses ain't as hot as the comedy picture scrolls insist."
He looks to the VC and muddles some questions together, "Who's this whippersnapper we're picking up from Helltowne look like? He got anything to know we're coming or is he through the portal full stop?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Venture-Captain Victor looks positively amazed at the quality of Steve’s questions.
After closing his open mouth, he responds matter-of-factly. “His name is Olandril. I know he’s a MAM – Military Aged Male – but I have no idea what he looks like. That is SOP to safeguard an agent’s cover.”
“However, before I knew of Olandril’s existence, I had already recruited my own asset in Pezzack. Associate Professor Kalizandrex Poppo, a lecturer at the Universal School of Pezzack’s Academy of Applied Magic. As well as being your initial contact for this mission, Poppo has been Handling Olandril ever since I’ve been aware of his existence.”
“Olandril has told Poppo he wants out of Pezzack.”
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[dice=History (A.k.a. "really old Local")]1d20+10[/dice] Steve's already prune-like face wrinkles further as he scrunches it up in minor disgust, "Name sounds like onena them fat shorties. The ones you decorate up and put in your herb garden."
Steve freely shares any info gleaned, though from the perspective of things from ~200 years as if they had happened mere months ago.
-Posted with Wayfinder
“Well ser, Poppo might think ‘Steve’ is the strangest name he’s ever heard.”
VC Victor mutters under his breath “And he wouldn’t be far wrong.”
"Name sounds like onena them fat shorties. The ones you decorate up and put in your herb garden."
“If by making that comment you are asking whether Poppo is a gnome, the answer is yes.”
Five years ago Just before breakfast, a combination of loyalist Order of the Gate Hellknights and xenophobic strix burned the city of Pezzack to the ground in a battle known as the Second Ashes. The Chelish navy established a blockade on Pezzack that persists to this day.
The Second Ashes began after revolutionary playwright Amalia Wraxton premiered the play Abrogail I, which portrayed the first whippersnapper Thrune Magistrix, who continually refused to get off decent folks’ lawn, as Asmodeus’ lover and blamed her for many of the ills that have befallen Cheliax in the last century - especially arthritis.
Wraxton vanished that night, and rumors about her whereabouts are a favorite tavern debate topic in Helltowne™.
What of the professor...will he stay in Pezzack? From the sounds of it, I would think everyone would want to escape.
The skald’s mentor smiles. “People’s motives for doing seemingly irrational things are often baffling to someone without the full picture, Omar.”
"Greed, Ideology, Love, Revenge and Thrill-seeking are but a few of the things that drive human beings to behave in a manner that you or I might question."
VC Victor raises an index finger. “And then you have gnomes …”
“Another point worth discussing is the legal tender situation in Pezzack.”
Abadar’s Banker seems to be in his element. “Let’s talk money, gentlemen! As you all know, one of the easiest methods to gather information is by buying it. Unfortunately, anything without practical use, such as gold, gems and jewellery are worthless in a town under siege.”
“Instead, I would suggest bartering portable, non-perishable trade goods, such as paper, ink, concealable weapons, wine, spirits, tobacco, flour and rice with the locals for what you need. I would recommend a minimum of 300 gp per agent.”
Victor *shrugs* “Abadar teaches you have to spend money to make money. However, if you don’t dispose of your goods in Pezzack, I will buy them back from you for full price.”
“To save you time, I have loaded my own East Vudraman merchant vessel the Irrational Exuberance with such goods, which you can purchase during our sea voyage to Cheliax. Yes Pathfinders, I said ‘OUR’ because I am accompanying you to the heads of Pezzack’s Fat Harbor, to ensure you make it safely to shore.”
“And besides, it’s not every day I get to take a cruise on my private yacht as a part of a Pathfinder mission.”
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Abraxi is stratled by the elf's statement and drops his elbow, recoiling a little bit. His eyes widen as he realizes the elf is part of the mission company. Shaking his head, he looks to the VC and listens to the briefing.
Nodding, he asks. "Is there a plce nearby to purchase such goods? Are we to meet at the docks when ready?"
Mulling over the mission, he adds. "As the town is under siege, how are to get in? Stealth? Is this, yacht able to slip past the Chelish ships? Are we merely to get this agent out, or ingratiate ourselves with the citizenry? You mentioned trying to establish a presence."
Venture-Captain Victor jumps down from the altar and begins walking towards the doorway.
"I have an Acting Purser assigned by the Sapphire Sage who while not the sharpest bolt in the quiver, is surprisingly good at keeping the hold and galley stores well stocked. It doesn’t hurt that she knows how to swing the falchion that never leaves her side."
“Good reflexes by the way, my friend.” VC Victor claps Abraxi on the shoulder as the tiefling slayer’s questions brings him to a halt. “And I see you’re not just a pretty face.”
“Before the blockade, Pezzack was Cheliax’s premier whaling port, situated as it is on the edge of the Arcadian Ocean. The Chelish admiral allows this industry to continue, so at least some taxes trickle back to Egorian to help fund the siege.”
Hugo Victor taps the side of his nose. “The Whaling captains supplement their income with a bit of smuggling and have been known to move two-legged livestock in and out of Pezzack for the right price, which the Ten have seen fit to meet.”
“We’ll get you in and out on a whaler. When you’re ready to leave, find out which boat’s going out next and do what you can to get on it.”
"Are we merely to get this agent out, or ingratiate ourselves with the citizenry? You mentioned trying to establish a presence."
VC Victor smiles. “Be nice to this fellow, Pathfinders! He has future Venture-Captain written all over him.”
“While I’m impressed to see you have taken the strategic plan to heart, your mission is simply to get Olandil out without making waves. I am certain you will need to speak with some of the locals to manage this, and keeping the reputation of the Society in mind should guide your actions in this respect.”
“Now, let’s get you all settled on board. It seems the fog’s lifted and I don’t want to miss the tide.”
The ocean voyage from Absalom to Western Cheliax is not quite free of incident.
As the Exuberance passes the western peninsula of Kortos Island, a wedge-tailed eagle circles the vessel, before dropping a sealed letter from its talons into Jake’s hands.
A week later as the ship sails under the shattered keystone of the Arch of Aroden, you spot a small, crimson figure flutter down from the enormous bridge and enter the ship via the great cabin window.
“Red alert! Intruder aboard!” VC Victor cries. “Pathfinders return to your cabins and check none of your personal effects have been compromised.”
When Abraxi and Manius return to their cabins they find a tiny, red-winged humanoid slipping a note onto one of their hammocks. Upon spying the duo, it flits into the air, flips both Pathfinders the tines and disappears out a porthole.
Once the Exuberance is thoroughly inspected and found free of sabotage, Venture-Captain Victor produces a coded message of his own. “This cable is from Poppo. He asked me not to open it until we were in Chelish territorial waters. Our little visitor certainly implies we have arrived there.”
Victor hands the note to Omar. ‘Many faces fail to find the path. Send the worthless ones my last request for a vacation.’
“There’s something else. But I can’t tell if it’s code or a diversion ...”
‘Noodles, the highest form of poetry, point all slave masters to my lost memory.’
“It’s all a matter of perspective, young Omar.”
The Venture-Captain peers knowingly over the top of fashionable smoked goggles. “The closer you are to your destination, the clearer the meaning will become.”
Victor studies Omar’s reaction carefully. Wonder if he bought that?
The new moon ensures the midnight sky is dark as the Exuberance sidles up to the whaling vessel Thousand Eagles just outside Fat Harbor. The ragged smugglers silently pull person after person from their hold of scant fish — emaciated elderly people, several haggard-looking young men and women, and even a couple of children — each of them looking like they’ve gone years without rest as they listlessly cross the plank joining the ships. In a quiet, comforting voice, Venture-Captain Victor welcomes the refugees in the name of Abadar and the Decemvirate, while his crew sets to work bringing hot provisions to the newcomers.
VC Victor's parting words are reassuring. “The Exuberance can pick around the coast north of here flying a Nidalese flag for a week before Admiral Sawndannac’s people will start asking questions.”
“We’ve also got smart about signs and countersigns for verifying agents’ identities. Poppo will greet you with the phrase, ‘The wingless dove protects her nest.’ To which you reply, ‘The toothless tiger rules the restless jungle.’ Got it? Good luck, Pathfinders.”
The hour-long trip from the rendezvous point to Pezzack is cramped and unpleasant, but otherwise uneventful. Once the Thousand Eagles docks, two crew members – an aging swashbuckler with leading-man good looks and his tall, brown-furred bugbear sidekick, unceremoniously dump you (and the fish) into a large wagon. The wagon is wheeled swiftly across the town’s poorly maintained cobblestones, before a trap door in the wagon spills you (and the fish) out of its underside, down a metal chute, and into the larder of the Academy of Applied Magic.
A gnome throws open the larder door and helps you to your feet. “Greetings, Passfinders! I’m Kal Poppo. Do you know ‘The wingless dove protects her nest?’ What about if I hum a few bars?”
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Before leaving, Abraxi purchases six hundred gold worth of supplies consisting of rations, paper, ink, tobacco, and daggers.
He also purchases an oil of magic weapon, potion of bull's strength, potion of fly, elixir of hiding, and a pathfinder pouch.
Once ashore, Abraxi does his best to ignore the cramped conditions and slimy, smelly fish. His eye widen and he stifles a cry of surprise as the party is dumped into the larder.
As he stands and begins wiping himself off, he nods to the gnome as Omar speaks the passphrase.
Poppo hurries the PCs down several dimly lit stone halls and into the Academy’s basement, which hosts cramped quarters for them to unload their gear and a single small tub of stale but clean water to help wash off the fish guts, if not the stench.
“Split me like Nethys’s eyebrow! I’m genuinely surprised the Passfinders sent people! Sorry for the lack of a good cover story— didn’t have room in the notes—didn’t expect a response—and sorry for the fish guts and the bumpy roads and—oh, sorry for everything. If we only had a little more time …”
Poppo trails off, but picks right back up after a moment of silence. “Right! You’re here for Olandil. It’s … it’s complicated. He’s, well, he’s not himself lately. He’s four selves. Since your little Pathfinder Society left him behind, he’s had to make do— improvise—take on new names and jobs waiting for rescue."
“When I first met him, he went by Grimy Rick and needed me to enhance some goggles of disguise for some work in Docktown. He kept asking questions about Fat Harbor and the town’s magic item economy. A year later he came in needing me to add some disguise charms to an eye patch. I asked him why, and he spilled it all—so tired of keeping secrets—he was also The Guv’nor! The one-eyed Galtan spy!”
“He kept coming back over the years. He came in one day as Emmy Winner, some hot-shot White Thistles poet. Last week, he comes in looking awful, and said he was a Passfinder named Olandil, and I just… I couldn’t process it! Four people! One person!”
Poppo gesticulates madly, alternating between raising four fingers and one finger to emphasize his point. “I told him my own secret—I had been teaching a Passfinder vantage-captain as a correspondence student—and he told me to send him a message saying he wanted out of Pezzack. As though that’s even possible! But I sent it, and he thanked me, he left, and I haven’t seen him since."
“Night before last, I had Loyalists —” Poppo smothers the word with disdain, and doubles up on his disgust as he repeats it. “— Filthy Loyalists (Aaah … no offense, Private Hellknight) in my office, telling me to stop doing business with Olandil, following me everywhere except the Guts because I bet they don’t like to get their boots dirty. They knew who Olandil really is, too! And they’ve been outside the Academy since, watching, waiting. They don’t know about my ladder to the Guts, but they’ll find out eventually.”
Poppo fishes a rolled-up map of Pezzack from his robes and spreads it out on the basement floor.
“Apart from selling nummy noodles, Mad Madge knows plenty! Lots of information if you can buy it. You didn’t bring money with you, did you? Nobody takes money here. Maybe the filthy Loyalists but still, nobody worth spending it on – No offense, Hellknight dude.”
“Literati hangout. Lots of rebels, lots of fights. Someone who knows Emmy Winner the poet, the one in the White Thistles, will be there, I’m sure of it."
“Loyalist inn. If you want to get to the bottom of Olandil’s connection with the Loyalists, you can try there.”
Poppo *shrugs* “Big tavern in Docktown, and a good place for gossip. But I’d be surprised if you couldn’t find out what you need to know in one o’ them other places.”
The gnome pulls an enormous black witch’s hat from somewhere and slaps it on his head. “To help you blend in, I thought I’d lend you some school robes to wear, so you look more like Academy teaching staff or students rather than foreign spies.”
Huffandpuff:
“Huffandpuffers are steady and loyal. Maybe a mite slow. Good choice for you, Mr Steve!”
Griffanportal:
“Brave, strong and true.”
Crowclaw:
“Wise and smart. Maybe not as practical or street-smart as your average gnome artificer.”
Slimyhen:
“Ends justifies the means. Get it done no matter the cost. Our Hellknight Armiger would fit this house.”
Once you’ve selected your House, Poppo takes off his sorting hat. “I have some critical magical research I’m conducting over the next 24 hours, so I’d appreciate it if you could stay in town tonight after you’ve done what you need to do. Also, the Guts – Pezzack’s network of underground tunnels, is a good way of getting around without being seen.”
“Now, do you have any questions for me?”
“Hope the Dean doesn’t find out I used Academy resources for Passfinder business.”
Poppo hands you out a handbill containing information about the various factions vying for control of Pezzack. “It’s like being back in school again, huh? Except for the whole getting your lunch money stolen at recess thing.”
The gnome eyes the toughs arrayed in front of him. “Did that ever happen to you guys?”
“The Garundi fella’s onto it.” Poppo gestures at Omar. “But if you want my advice, start asking about Olandil or any other business you might have, at one of those locations I’ve marked on the map. Good luck, Passfinders!”