“Almost forgot them.”
The auburn-haired half-elf polishes a pair of stylish smoked goggles on her green travelling cloak, before tossing them into an overstuffed holdall.
She takes a final look out the window at the throng of people partying in the streets of the Foreign Quarter, in celebration of Absalom’s independence from tyranny.
As one, locals and visitors alike begin moving towards the Irorium to witness the evening’s biggest event, the annual Passion of the First Siege of Absalom.
The woman *sighs* before slinging the bag across her body and heading to the open doorway.
What a shame I’m going to miss it ...
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A young boy who seems to be of Jalmeray heritage comes nearby and disrupts the peace and quiet by blowing a short blast on a horn. "Ladies and gentlemen it gives me extreme pleasure to have the courtesy of introducing a hero for heroes. For it is in this man that I can say we can go to sleep at night safe from the tyranny of evil. His honorary titles are many and brought forward in great favor though he ask not of fancy titles but only for no more than his own name, Henry son of Scranton esteemed and beloved of the Flaxseed clan of Cassomir of prestigious Taldor. It is with want that I continue as my master is humble and care naught for frivolous titles; First Watcher of the Wise Guard of Absalom, honored guest of House Eiredor, honorary Steel Falcon of the righteous Eagle Knights of Andoran, and tamer of beasts. May you have the glory and luck to be in his presence."
The boy bows as an armor-clad halfling struts forward, his blue cloak flowing behind him and a pygmy brachiosaurus stomping along behind. "Very good, very good, Waman! You are getting quite good at that, what?"
"Hello, everyone, hello! What? You may call me Henry, despite what Waman would insist. Hoho!"
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Standing silently off to the side, you see a tall, dark human man with a dark weathered cloak and a longbow and quiver on his back. He has a habit of observing conversations, studying the comments made as if unaccustomed to civilized gatherings. If he speaks at all, he speaks with a thick Varisian accent. He wears a holy symbol of Desna around his neck.
Hello...uh Sir Scranton Knight Eirodor...um Henry.
Are zhose really all of your titles. I am simply called Roland.
Who is zhis Waman lad? And will he be part of zhe mission?
Roland looks from the boy to the dinosaur and back to the halfling.
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Hello...uh Sir Scranton Knight Eirodor...um Henry.
Are zhose really all of your titles. I am simply called Roland.
Who is zhis Waman lad? And will he be part of zhe mission?
"What? What? Oh! Well, yes, but the boy does have a knack for exaggeration. I found Waman on Jalmeray, a poor slave boy threatened with execution but I couldn't let the chap go to such a fate so I bought him and set him free. Of course, I couldn't very well get rid of him so I've been training him as a herald and squire. What? Ho!"
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With a beat of wings an enormous bird lands on the lawn of the Grand Lodge. A tall man in dusty full plate armour carrying far too many weapons tries to make a graceful leap from the saddle, catches his foot in one stirrup, stumbles, and hop's across the lawn flailing his arms and nearly trampling several people before righting himself. Sorry, coming through, don't mind me, oh, I do apologise madam...
The huge bird flaps behind him nuzzling at his pack. Yes, yes, Ka, stop that he mutters swatting him on the beak then pulling out a dead rabbit and tossing it to him. Ka snatches it in midair and then takes off with a rush of air before settling in a nearby tree to eat his meal.
Greeting friends, my name is Torvald Gallonica, servant of Erastil. I hope we are all looking forward to the festivities.
A plain featured young woman wearing a golden cloak, picks herself up from the ground after Torvald’s spectacular entrance and looks him up and down with distaste.
I do apologise madam...
“I prefer ‘Miss’ or if you're slightly more daring … (which I doubt!) ‘Mademoiselle.’”
With hands on hips now, she seems about to deliver the cleric an extended dressing down. “I’ll have you know I’m a Lady knight of impeccable breeding, Padre…”
“Wait a money-making second... Isn’t that Varisian fellow standing next to the halfling with the heroic moustaches, Roland Garros?”
She transfers hands from hips to the sides of her wide mouth.
The young woman looks quite pleased at being called famous, though she tries hard not to show it.
Perhaps you will allow me the chance to make up for my faux pas?
With her beefy crossed arms she peers nonchalantly at the priest. “And just how, pray, do you intend to do that? As for your... foe parr, I care more about the fact that you ran into me!”
She makes a dismissive gesture of her hand. “Besides, we haven’t even been properly introduced.”
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“I am Eadie Navhelan, of the House I Dwell In, late of Korvosa.”
I am afraid that I still find flying rather tricky.
Eadie looks puzzled until she remembers why the pair met in the first place. “Oh … you’ve got a *BLECH* roc.”
Realizing she must sound terribly ill-bred, the young warrior backpedals. “My apologies, Ser Torvald. I had a Sylph druid escort me to dinner one evening, and he thought it sage to bring his roc companion along …”
Eadie sighs “It didn’t go well ...” before an enigmatic smile crosses her lips “But that’s OK. He’s dead now.”
Perhaps we might watch the Passion together?
“Steady, bud. We’ve only just met! Besides, I am engaged to watch the Passion with my sister Lorelendral and a few of her friends.”
I had always hoped to tread the boards one day …
“Really? Me too! I attend the Ivy Playhouse as often as my schedule permits when I’m in Absalom.”
“I gather this is your first Passion, Torvald?” The girl’s eyes glint with mischief. “Perhaps there’s something about it that you should know?”
“No.” She shakes her head briskly. “I won’t ruin the surprise …”
Eadie? Eadie, is zhat you?
“Yeah …” Eadie frowns in confusion. “Who else would I be?”
She has a warm hug for the reserved Varisian archer.
“Goodness me, it must be well over a year since we sealed the gates on that horrid City of Greed and Temptation!”
She *shudders* at the memory before continuing cheerfully. “Lore is well. She’s just returned from a cruise to Jalmeray, where she laid waste to her enemies with a storm of fire and steel!”
“She also found time to get a little sewing in.”
Struggling to keep you out of zhe trouble I wager.
Eadie response is a playful slap to the ranger’s shoulder before she gestures at Torvald. “Oh, where are my manners? Torvald, this is Señor Roland Garros of the Lost Coast, Archer and Forester.”
“Despite his tendency to never shut up,” She *winks* “Roland is one of the best companions an adventurer could have.”
“Roland, this is the Reverend Lord Torvald of Chelish House Gallonica.”
She deadpans, “Torvald enjoys flying his roc into unassuming, young women to give him an excuse to talk to them.”
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Roland nods to the priest, while still marveling at Eadie's ease with words.
Zhis is an honor, Reverend. It is always welcome to have a holy servant to the gods in our midst. I am a devotee to Desna since hers was the main temple in my home village of Sandpoint.
Otherwise, as an archer, I hold Old Deadeye with deep regard.
He looks back to the huge bird with genuine interest.
A roc? Did you raise it from zhe egg? Do you know what to you will feed it once it reaches zhe full size?
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Calistan feels some vibrations through the earth and slowly blinks his eyes as the sun bears down on him. He dons his Physician's Spectacles and looks at the giant bird looming nearby.
He quickly stands and approaches the small gathering, seeing a roc, a few humans and a halfling.
He bows with a flourish before presenting his Wayfinder to the group. Smiling, he lets them continue with their lively speaking.
Eadie looks uncertainly over Roland’s shoulder as the newcomer approaches.
She murmurs out of the side of her mouth, “Do either of you know this guy?”
He bows with a flourish before presenting his Wayfinder to the group.
Eadie visibly relaxes as Calistan’s compass modelled on ancient Azlanti technology is brought into view.
Smiling in return, she begins rummaging through a Coach handbag worn over her shoulder. From the bag’s innards, a number of items are withdrawn and casually tossed on the ground. These include a:
• Single rusty butterfly sword
• Shuriken with a different insect impaled on each of its tines. “I don’t like bugs.”
• Mithral knuckles
• Femur from a drake or dragon-kin, which looks to be streaked with gold(?)
• A jar of green olives that have had the pimentos sucked out of them. “Torvald, don’t get any of the preserving fluid on your skin!”
• 12” flathead screwdriver, with the screw-blade sharpened to a point “For cleaning my nails. (Duh)”
• Wooden goblin doll, whose oversized head *pops* off on the ground to reveal the tip of a dagger
• Pin-less(!) pellet grenade, whose firing lever is held in place with old bubble gum
"Hmm … I’d forgotten I had that! That Aspis boss beyond the Portal of the Sacred Rune was right to tell me to try it."
Eventually she produces her own brass wayfinder and offers to *clink* it gently against Calistan’s. “SNAP!”
If she spots any strange looks pertaining to the contents of her purse, she replies “Didn’t the Master of Swords tell you to always carry a backup weapon?”
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“Really? Me too! I attend the Ivy Playhouse as often as my schedule permits when I’m in Absalom.”
Yes indeed, part of my reason for working for the Pathfinders is the chance to visit theatres the world over. I recently had the pleasure of delving into the Vaults of Orv, such sweet music those crystals play, I almost chose not to return...
“I gather this is your first Passion, Torvald?” The girl’s eyes glint with mischief. “Perhaps there’s something about it that you should know?”
Not at all, not at all, although I have only ever seen it performed in my home in Egorian, I trust the Absalom natives can do it justice...
“Roland, this is the Reverend Lord Torvald of Chelish House Gallonica.”
Startled at the mention Torvald snaps out, Aah, just a minute now, don't go giving me any fancy titles, that is something my siblings are far more interested in than I. I am just a simple priest, called to serve.
Zhis is an honor, Reverend. It is always welcome to have a holy servant to the gods in our midst. I am a devotee to Desna since hers was the main temple in my home village of Sandpoint. Otherwise, as an archer, I hold Old Deadeye with deep regard.
It is a pleasure to meet you Roland. Ka is not my pet, he is companion, sent to me by Erastil, who consents to travel with me from time to time and occasionally tolerates my clumsy attempts to cling on for deal life when we travel long distances.
Spotting Rolands bow he gives him an appraising look, You favour the bow as well Roland? Perhaps we could get some practice in together?
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She murmurs out of the side of her mouth, “Do either of you know this guy?”
Torvald mutters back, nope, never met him
Turning to Callistan Torvald beams and talks slowly and loudly, welcome friend, it is a pleasure to meet new Pathfinders, surely one of the great benefits of our august association is the chance to meet new and interesting people. Tell us your tale so that we might know you!
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Eadie sighs “It didn’t go well ...” before an enigmatic smile crosses her lips “But that’s OK. He’s dead now.”
Henry pipes in, "What, what? Oh, the sylph fellow? He's a good chap, don't be too hard on him. Just a little air-headed is all. Hoho! Anyway, he's not dead anymore. They got him all fixed up, I hear."
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The Trade Prince gladly clinks Wayfinders with the woman and watches raptly as she pulls item after item out of her bag. The tanned man shows her his own morningstar and stows it to unsheathe the dagger hanging from his neck.
Calistan looks at Torvald, carefully watching his lips before smiling. He drags his finger across his throat in response to Torvald's request and at the thought of him not understanding, Calistan then makes a little key turning motion near his closed mouth.
I trust the Absalom natives can do The Passion justice...
“I guess we shall see.”
Eadie maintains an amused ♪♫ I know something you don’t know! ♪♫ expression as she brings her hand up to her mouth to stifle a *giggle*
… don't go giving me any fancy titles
“But, but, titles are sooooo COOL! As long as they’re genuine, I like them! I say this as a simple, white-collar commoner, Torvald. Though I do have aspirations …”
“Not like, to be a Hereditary Peeress or Venture-Captain. Uh uh. I'm thinking something more akin to an acknowledgement that I completed a righteous quest for a noble Lord, or as a little recognition of my skill with the blade.”
She puffs out her cheeks and mimics a herald’s mouth-trumpet.
“My Lords and Ladies, I present Lady Eadie of Absalom, Knight Bachelorette of the Black!”
Her smile widens as she imagines the possibilities … ”LADY Eadie might even wrangle tuppenny off a ha’pound of Gummi owlbears at Ol’ Man Hooper’s Store in the Coins!”
“Oh, the sylph fellow? He's not dead anymore.”
“Well, I am pleased to hear that, Ser Unter Hügel. I gather you are acquainted with poor Súrë?”
Eadie presses her lips together ruefully. “I keep forgetting what a tight-knit community the Pathfinder Society is, despite all the different places we hail from.”
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Roland considers the conversation of those blessed in wisdom beyond his own before speaking.
"I hail from a backwood village of Sandpoint and had no plans for grand titles or adventures. I was content to live and hunt and enjoy zhe nature Golarion has to offer. All zhis was my plan in life...until evil came and disrupted my simple world forever. Joining zhe Society was my only hope to counter Runelords and someday rid zhe world of zheir stain. While I do not fool myself into zhinking zhis can be done in my lifetime, any progress made to zhis end will benefit all zhe good peoples trying to live zhe simple life some day in zhe future."
He stops to look for a response, feeling embarrassed for having spoken so much.
“Did you hear that, gents?”
Eadie teases her friend mercilessly. “The ‘simple’ woodsman has the long term ambition of toppling the Rulers of Ancient Thassilon!”
Pausing as she notices Roland’s unease, Eadie wipes the smile of her face. “You know, the way you fill critters with arrows, I wouldn’t put it past you to knock off a Runelord or two, Roland.”
“So, Mr Underhill …” Eadie turns to Henry, looking to change the subject. “The only halfling Venture-Captain I know is Trotter Flaxseed.”
“Have you worked for him before?”
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“So, Mr Underhill …” Eadie turns to Henry, looking to change the subject. “The only halfling Venture-Captain I know is Trotter Flaxseed.”
“Have you worked for him before?”
"Worked for him? What? What? Hoho! Why, Trotter is my very own son! Hoho! And m'daughter Melody is off investigating some ancient Spire."
“Uh, huh … yep … so true …”
Eadie nods as she deals with Torvald’s advice the way she always does when she doesn’t want to hear what she's being told.
I don’t think he gets it …
… and get cheap Gummi bears.
"Which reminds me..." The young warrior has some advice of her own. “I'd keep an eye on Ka if you visit that Sweet Shoppe in the Coins, Torvald.”
“Master Hooper doesn’t like Big Birds.”
"Trotter is my very own son!"
“Yeah? Whoa! Small world – but I wouldn’t want to paint it.”
Eadie *pouts* “He yelled at me once for calling a crocodile a lizard. But they’ve both got four legs and tongues, right?”
“And is it true what they say about him and snakes?”
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Strolling in at a slow, deliberate pace, a pile of bronze clockwork with a gnome inside of it makes it into the courtyard. Her armor is rife with scorch marks and heat damage, though it looks as if even those imperfections have been polished significantly for the occasion.
"Sorry I am late," she says in a flat voice, more a greeting than an apology. "The inability of my currently unperfected bleach grenade to safely defoliate streets without significant damage to cobblestone has been reinforced so for now I should be able to focus on the next objective," she says with a smile. "Diri Lizzenbettolze," she tacks on abruptly, an afterthought. "If you would like to see my most current research on the similarities between all manners of various ways the humanoid body can absorb physical trauma I have complied a reasonably presentable introduction," she says, rifling through a cluttered backpack that has more paper than gear in it.
"Ah, here!" she exclaims, presenting a 17-page pamhplet written in shorthand for anyone willing to read, "The Lizzenbettolze: A Unifying Unit for Which to Measure Physical Trauma; An Abstract."
A *startled* Eadie dives behind Ka! at Diri’s *clanking* approach.
"If you would like to see my most current research…”
A head juts out cautiously from behind the roc’s feathered ruff.
“Has it got any pictures?”
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Calistan bows to the newcomer, ensuring an appropriately low bow for the gnome. With a flick of his hand, he tries to draw a small card, but he fumbles it and its flits through the air before falling to the ground.
He rapidly picks it up and presents it to her, trying to rub off the dirt.
Calistan, Trade Prince of Qadira, Flaxseed Lodge Pathfinder
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"Graphs are on page 15," Diri responds to Eadie.
Receiving the note from Calistan, Diri gives it a once over, scrawls a short reply and passes it back.
Below the name, Diri scribbles an incomplete physics problem.
Eadie snatches the booklet from Diri's pocket/armor, while the gnome is distracted with Calistan’s note.
“You said page 15 for the pics, right?” The warrior calls over her shoulder as she hustles back behind Ka! again.
“WHOA! Is that a Flaming Dr Salt you’re lighting up? My sister Lore is a theologian of the Dawnflower. She looooves flaming drinks!”
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"The real issue with flaming drinks is that while pure per the inherent boiling temperatures it is difficult to taste anything let alone the libation in questions with second-degree burns on your tongue," Diri replies, matter-of-factly. "If an acceptable means for prevention of thermal breakdown of the general oral vicinity could be implemented...," Diri trails off, haphazardly scrawling a hypothesis and theoretic conclusions in the margin notes of the Passion's program.
"Anyone willing to endure a small amount of pain for science?"
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“Nuh.” Eadie says bluntly as she stalks out from behind Ka! with her arms folded.
“Clever people would wait for the highly concentrated alcohol to burn out AND for the drink to cool down so it doesn’t burn your tongue, Diri.”
Eadie *rolls* her eyes. “That’s assuming you’re not a tiefling of course.”
“Like, you certainly wouldn’t throw a pitcher of high-proof white rum over the drinks like I saw one silly girl do at the Frothing Alembic.”
Hands on hips now. “By the way, it totally wasn’t me.”
"Cessation of conflagrational activity in a libation makes it cease to be a 'burning drink'"
“By applying a wholly literal interpretation of the term, you would be correct. However, I propose that the purpose of these concoctions is dramatic entertainment in a highly-charged social situation where participants are getting bombed mainly for fun.”
“As such” Eadie holds her finger in the air. “The central attraction needs a punchier name than ‘ex-burning drink.’”
“and sacrifices the sensation of tasting a concurrent chemical and possibly alchemical reaction,"
“Thank the Master of the First Vault!”
The fighter keeps her expression carefully neutral. “Unless your mouth in lined with asbestos.”
"'Safer' is a well-founded designation, however."
Eadie grins and curtseys. “Of that we are in total agreement, Diri.”
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The sun-kissed man continues to look at you all oddly before shrugging and walking away.
They must be speaking a pidgin of Common that I am unfamiliar with. he says looking for a group more his speed.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"Magic is a solution but finding a nonmagical route to duplicate its effects would be more easily implemented in bars not divinely blessed," Diri counterpoints. "Lady Eadie may be on to something with her hypothesis-" Diri cuts off and makes a few fevered calculations "-does anyone know where we can get a large quantity of asbestos, preferably already in a liquid state?"
"Magic is a solution but finding a nonmagical route to duplicate its effects would be more easily implemented in bars not divinely blessed."
Eadie stands directly in front of Torvald with her arms folded, nodding sagely at Diri’s words. “So true.”
"Lady Eadie may be on to something with her hypothesis-"
As Eadie’s arms unfold, both of her index fingers point directly at the smug/cool expression on her face.
"-does anyone know where we can get a large quantity of asbestos, preferably already in a liquid state?"
“Mindspin Mountains.” Eadie replies, like the answer is obvious.
“The Mindspins have dragons. Some dragons are red. Red dragons breathe fire. Fire doesn’t burn red dragons’ big mouths. THEREFORE, red dragons’ big mouths are lined with large quantities of asbestos.”
Hands move to hips. “Queue Ea-Die …as the Sapphire Sage likes to say, before sending me out to get him coffee.”
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"Excuse me, did someone say 'conflagration' and 'burning'?"
An undine walks up to the group gathered around the gnome. "Hello all, my name is Shiradaz Gaunt, preacher of Feronia,. Let the power of Feronia be upon you!" he adds while passing out wooden holy symbols of Feronia. Each of the symbols has a little note on the back that says "Cast spark here" with an arrow pointing towards one spot on the back of the symbols.
“Hello, Shiradaz. I’m Eadie.”
The warrior’s brow knits in confusion. “I don’t think I’ve met a Low Azlanti before, let alone one who worships an elven Empyreal Lady.”
“Falayna is awesome for a non-Abadarian demi-god! Beautiful girls smashing things!”
“What’s not to love?”
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Shiradaz looks at Eadie with a bit of confusion, then his face lit up as he understood what Eadie said.
[b]"Ah, sorry. I'm not a Low Azlanti. My heritage comes from the Elemental Plane of Water itself. People tell me that I actually belong there, although I find this plane more enjoyable.
"And I agree! What's not to love? But when Falayna acts in this world through the power of fire, it's not just about destruction. Fire cleanses, fire illuminates, and fire gives birth to new life!"
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Me thinks someone’s been reading too many novels about exiled Iblydosian princesses birthing dragon triplets by fire.
Eadie raises an eyebrow at the Undine, before noticing the length of the shadows cast by a nearby lodge. “Axis above! Is that the time? I’ve gotta run!”
Eadie shakes hands in farewell with Calistan, Diri, Henry and Shiradaz. She has a shy smile for Torvald and another quick, bone-crunching hug for Roland.
“Lawgiver’s Hammer you can talk, Roland!”
She calls over her shoulder as she runs in the direction of the Irorium. “DON’T FORGET, CHECK OUT THE SAUCY WENCH WHEN THE PASSION’S OVER. CIAO CIAO!”