Back in Absalom, the group of Pathfinders find themselves enjoying a few weeks of quiet relaxing. The approaching winter takes away the Absalom's oppressing heat, and replaces it with pleasant cool and gentle winds. A very nice change from Segang jungle. Soon the group starts to notice there is quite an unusual number of Pathfinders in the city. A great number of Society members flock back from the expedition to Worldwound, battle-weary but jubilant. Besides some debriefings, there seems be not much official business, so the halls of Grand Lodge keeps busy with Pathfinders telling tales of their recent adventures.
One day the group is summoned to Grand Lodge, where they join dozens of other Pathfinders on a lawn in the shadow of Skyreach. Many of the assembled agents hold fliers that appeared about the lodge the day before, hinting at a special announcement to be made here this morning. Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng emerges from the crowd followed by an assistant carrying a large stool that she sets on the grass. Dreng spryly clambers up to stand on the stool and addresses the small crowd.
“Thank you for joining me here, Pathfinders,” the milky-eyed venture-captain shouts. “Absalom has a long and illustrious history, and today we add a little more to that ongoing record. The esteemed councilor Hadrel Grayrain of Diobel recently passed away, leaving a vacancy on Absalom’s Grand Council. We’re still many months away from the annual inauguration of councilors, and with numerous acts pertaining to Diobel on the schedule, the vassal city is eager to get a new representative. In fact, with Absalom’s assistance, Diobel’s Kortos Consortium has co-bankrolled a festival spread across much of the Foreign Quarter. Ostensibly, this is an occasion to honor the deceased and welcome his replacement. Virtually everyone also sees this as a chance to advertise and earn some new business.” Drandle Dreng clears his throat and shrugs. “Well, the Society is no exception. We’ve already chipped in some gold to help this be a success, and in doing so we’ve received numerous invitations to the more exclusive events. With our recent work in Mendev, we’ve earned considerable goodwill. This is a good opportunity to consolidate those gains by seeing and being seen by the upper crust—as well as hobnobbing with the common people.” He chuckles and gives the crowd a smile. “All at the Society’s expense! Have a good time, keep an ear out for interesting leads, and represent the Society well!”
This draws a pleasant murmur among the crowd, albeit many veteran pathfinders seem very surprised with this sudden generosity.
"We'll be starting the festivities with an event of our own," Dreng continues, hushing his audience. "Pathfinder Society is hosting an informal social gathering with drinks and appetizers to welcome visiting dignitaries and other people of note. Who knows even some representatives of Grand Council will join us. I invite you to demonstrate your many skills for our guests' amusement"
The venture-captain then hops off the stool and mills about the crowd, recruiting some help to carry some of the Society's relics for display.
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"Interesting, my friends. It seems we've come back to Absalom at exactly the right moment! First, I think we should offer a toast to the late councilor." With a deftness that belies his norm, Gunari snags a tray of campaign away from a waitress. One glass falls to the ground, but the other six stay on the tray, not wobbling a bit. One would almost think that the Caydenite cleric had done that on purpose, offering the first taste to the Drunken Hero!
He passes out the glasses, and holds his up high. "To Hadrel Grayrain of Diobel. I knew him... not, but I am sure that he was a great friend to the society!"
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"I for one could use some time to visit my ....couturier. Present company not withstanding, the first impression is usually the ... correct one."
Deftly taking a glass of champagne, Finarin sips robustly. "These grapes must have come from the drought of 348. Notice the acidic taste of this sparkling wine? They will need to do better to ... impress a more astute group."
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"Gunari!" booms the half orc as he enters the waiting room, so loud that all the Lodge would have been able to hear him, "How have you been? I had a marvelous time up North. Got myself a portable, mammoth driven fighting arena! Talk about good times. You'll have to compete in it some time.
"Now, there's something I've been wondering," Lort continues in a conspiratorial tone, his volume remaining the same, "What if we were stranded in the wilderness somewhere and you didn’t have a tankard for that lovely spell of yours? Could you create ale directly into my mouth - or stomach? I’m sure you’ve tried, but I’d like to see first hand."
It is an exceptionally inebriated Lort who staggers up to greet Venture-Captain Dreng. He sways unsteadily on his feet while Dreng talks, eventually responding with, ”Wurfztmenole… 'brations… sir… dntshloon… fr… setty… mrrr… wofl’meal… ‘petition!… yeah.”
Lort steadies himself on a nearby chair and eventually sinks into it. Seconds later, the half-orc’s snores interrupt all conversations within proximity to the drunken warrior cleric of Kurgess.
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"Lort! Good to see you again. We've had some grand adventures. We've sailed all over the place. First, into the Eye of Abendego! Fought some gnarly undead there. Then, down to Jalmaray for a safari! We were hunting tigers, when we learned we were really hunting for a Leucrotta! The evil thing almost killed me, but I was able to kill it first."
Gunari strikes an odd pose, trying to make himself shorter or something. Gets an odd look in his eye... "As me pappy once said, 'when someone is trying to kill you, you just kill them right back!' He stands up again, with a wink, and says,
"You like my dwarf imitation? I think its pretty good!"
He then thinks about Lort's question, and has an answer. "Well, my friend, that's why I always carry at least two tankards! And a pitcher! Though, maybe I should think about getting a couple more."
At this time, Lort notices the monkey that has been rooting around in Gunari's rucksack. "Say, have you met my little buddy, Gilligan? I picked him up in Jalmaray. Just be careful, though. He's a mad drunk, and likes to throw his poo. Other than that, he's a great pet!"
Gunari just shakes his head at the half-orc's antics. "Good to see some folk never change!" Gunari's "little buddy" jumps off of his shoulder, and starts rooting around in Lort's gear. Whether he's looking for food, or for trinkets, Gunari has no clue. However, the monkey does polish off what's left in Lort's glass!
Servants scurry around carrying tables, creating inviting assortment of snacks and beverages. To one end of the great hall, a great display of Pathfinder relics is being prepared. The relics, themselves are still missing, but some curious Pathfinders have assembled around the exhibition area to watch and gossip.
"So, what do you think, will the Society bring out any items worth of value, or shall the guests be impressed just by fancy trinkets?" wonders one flamboyantly dressed halfling, looking at his companion.
"There are quite many relics in the archives, which are better left forever forgotten. So I'm glad if it's cheap trinkets. We just want our guests impressed, not destroyed," answers another Pathfinder, this one in heavy battle armour.
"Bah, always so glum. Have we even acquired anything new?" continues the first one, before noticing the party. "Ah, you lot! I do believe I heard you got a chance to do some exploring instead of fighting demons in the Worldwound.. Did you bring back any decent for the good old Society?
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"Why, of course we have! We just arrived from Jalmeray, were we brought back tomes from an ancient, abandoned Vudrani temple! Also while there, we were able to explore the jungle as sort of a safari! We killed a Leucrotta that had been plaguing the area for years, foul beast that it was. We thought we were hunting a particularly nasty tiger, but it turned out that the variety of leucrotta that live in Jalmaray have stripes much like a regular tiger. I tell you, it was a particularly nasty beast.
"We also brought back some trophies of our hunting, which we have stored elsewhere... probably too big to display normally!"
"Oh, and where are my manners? My name is Gunari Maximoff, priest of the Drunken Hero! My friends here are Lort, priest of The Strong Man; Finarin, noble swordsmith of the Kyonin elves; Cyrus the Flea, a particularly adept adventurer; Ibid. Oxley Abel, able investigator and knowledgician, if that's a word; and Miro Ammers, who is quite the performer! Who might you be, friends?"
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Cyrus leans in as Gunari regals the worldwound veterans, and nods as he is introduced.
"Why we have even had the opportunity to win the favor of some of the nobles here in Absalom by helping with... uh helping! With some specific tasks that put the society in a favorable light. *ahem* And we brought back a particularly interesting relic from seven fingers tomb in the shackles, though I'll be happy if I don't have to do any more traveling by sea anytime soon..."
Cyrus trails off, somewhat distracted by the other myriad of things happening around them in the celebration.
I do so love a celebration, all the women seem to dress accordingly!
”Hunting trophies, eh? Would a stuffed tiger in Valsin’s office have anything to do with that?”, the halfling catches the detail in Gunari’s story, and continues laughing: ”Someone hasn’t picked that up, and the Venture Captain seems to be rather furious about it”
”But where are my manners… I am Marquis Valentino, a swordsman and an adventurer. And a follower of Lady Gloriana’s faction, the one that used to be associated with Taldor. However, I’ve heard some rumours she’s separating the faction from our nation of birth… Have you heard anything to support or dismiss these rumours?”
”Oh, and the tall man here is… Ludwig, right?” the small swashbuckler looks up the man, who replies in silent nod.
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"Well met, Marquis. I too am currently pledged to same faction. Although the nation of Taldor is not the nation of my .... birth. I for one would be .... quite interested in any rumors regarding a possible fracture in our ... faction. What would you do if such a ... split were to occur?"
Finarin interest has piqued now that the conversation is relevant to him.
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Is that monkey drinking my beer? He is! F*cking turd, I'll teach him a lesson. Oh, it's so... floaty in here. I like it. Mmm, a stream of golden ale for me to swim in. Ah, Cayden, how you tempt me sorely to convert. But Kurgess is the greater soul, I think. Ever the best in men and half-orcs he sees. Gunari is in fine form tonight, he seems a bit wavy though. Think I'll float over to him. Hi, Gunari, why do you talk to this painted lady who should be a man? No more, we have tasks to perform, tests to complete! Oh, why am I spinning? No! Someone has taken the cork at the bottom of the stream away! The beer is going and I'm going with it. Must swim away, swim away. Can't... make... it... NO! Beer is for drinking, not breathing. Yes, thank you kindly maiden fair. Thank you for mouth to mouth...
Lort wakes with a start as Gilligan attempts to lick the ale from his beard. The great half orc flings the monkey aside but it lands gracefully in the corner and attempts to steal someone else's beer. Lort chugs a flask of alchemical anti-booze, straightens and heads over to the companions.
"Gunari!" he bellows at a reasonable volume, sounding more like regular shouting than his usual, "That monkey of yours drinks more than my mammoth!"
Seeming to notice them for the first time, Lort turns to the others, "Wow, the whole crew is here! Well, except the Garundi. It is great to see you! I hear you've been on safari and shot some pretty impressive game. I have been on my own journey, reconnecting with my roots and redeeming my great grandfather, Jort the Insane's (rightfully) sullied name.
"Oh, and it's a pleasure to meet you, too, Marcus," Lort adds as an afterthought, completely misunderstanding poor Valentino's title, "and you too, Lewd Wig. Great party they're throwing, isn't it? I've not heard any rumors to that effect but do tell me more about what you know. Mark - sorry, Marcus, may I call you Mark? - Mark, there is much to be said for ignoring politics completely and focusing on physical competition. I've just recently come into possession of a roaming shrine to Kurgess. I've half a mind to to set up the pavilion and let the games begin! Do you think that's what the Venture Captain meant, Mark?"
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"So, I see you've really met my little buddy! I haven't had the chance to train him very well, yet, but I am working on it!"
"Little Buddy! Come here!" For once, the monkey actually listens to Gunari, and jumps onto his shoulder! He is rewarded with a little tasty treat that Gunari grabs off of a passing tray.
"Mark?? Eh, you can just call me Valentino", the halfing says baffled, staring at Lort. "I do believe our orders were for once just to have good time. And to keep up a good image of the Society. I don't think we are required to follow Absalom politics, I think the officers are here to worry about that. If the society needs to meddle, then they tell us the details. I wouldn't care much about who's in the council, and who's not, but you'll never know when you might need a favour from somebody in good position..."
Turning back to Finarin, Valentino seems to ponder the scenario for a while before answering. "I am a Taldan, and proud of the nation, even if it's full of pompous idiots..." the halfling quickly looks around him to confirm there no known Taldan nobles about. "But... I'm very impressed by Lady Gloriana and her campaign, so I think I'll follow her in the end. Wherever she may lead..."
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"So Taldor is splitting off from her patron country? That seems big news indeed! I wonder if that is the only faction, or if that is a political move soon to be followed by the others. Osirion included?"
Cyrus wonders out loud, trying to be part of the conversation.
"I guess I haven't gotten to much into my faction's politics, so far I just do what I am asked. But I would be intrigued to see how that plays out..."
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Feeling a chill come upon him, Lort pulls on his warm winter coat. Alas, the bottle of Chelish wine he intended to give Finarin broke and stained his big, white-cuffed coat a deep red. Deciding to keep wearing it anyway, Lort gives a deep chuckle, "Ho, ho, ho! Oh well."
Seeing a pitcher of a delicious, creamy egg-custard drink, Lort grabs it and has a sip. Knowing just what to do, he pours in a liberal amount of Magnamaran spiced rum. With his belly shaking from laughter, and rosy cheeks visible over his near white beard, the man in the big red coat spreads cheer throughout the party.
Valentino shrugs, obviously not interested in politics of other factions. However, Ludwig turns towards Cyrus, breaking his silence. "I don't think Amenopheus is in Ruby Prince's favour any longer, so he might not feel the commitment to Osirion he once did. Besides, he went into the deserts looking for old allies, and found a new cause in reviving the order of Jeweled Sages"
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"Valentino, do you think that most of the Taldor faction will come with to this ... new faction? What would the goal be if not to advance the ... nation of Taldor? Mayhaps one day you and I will explore together."
"Lort, you spell like pepper, and blackberries. You would taste ... delicious. If is so nice to see you again ... and inebriated at that. Many thanks for spreading your own particular ... cheer. I trust your journeys were ... productive. I believe that is only a matter of time before you and I are once again on a ... boat."
"Cannot say... I think it's best to let Lady Gloriana tell about her plans. As for the faction..." Valentino ponders, curling his mighty moustache between his fingers "... I'd say most of us want to see Taldor in its former glory. Unless the Venture Captain will directly oppose that, I doubt there will be great number of deserters"
Valentino calls for a servant girl carrying drinks, and picks up a goblet. He looks at Finarin, smiling, and rises the goblet. "To Taldor! And to many great things we shall accomplish in Her name!"
Impressive amounts of wine and snacks consumed, the Society reception draws to its end. The guests and Society members thank the hosts and step outside to cooling evening air. Some have had enough celebration for the day, and head home. Some individuals have still official business to conduct, and hurry to the next event, while most just set on their way to next drinking joint.
As the group makes its way southwards towards the many taverns of the Docks district, they find the streets of Absalom full with people. Besides the celebrative crowd, many enterprising merchants and peddlers roam the streets, hoping to make good business during the festival. One such individual spots the Pathfinders, waves at them and approaches with a cheerful smile.
”Good day to you, gentlemen! I hope you have enjoyed the festival so far?”, the woman says, eyeing each adventurer in turn. ”You, young master!” she continues, stepping closer to Cyrus. ”You are from southern lands, are you not? Osirion, perhaps? Old Iara has good eye for people, she has. As it happens, I have this beautiful amulet; old Osiriani craftsmanship. Here, see for yourselves…”, Iara produces a silver amulet that depicts a scarab with feathered wings spread in flight. It looks old and Osirian in origin.
”You have girl you like? Perfect gift for her! Beautiful, and reminder of your homeland… Only 25 pieces of gold! Special price, just for you!”
The amulet looks authentic and price is fair.
The symbol in the amulet is that of an Osirian family that fled Osirion to Absalom to escape Qadiran occupying forces, but that disappeared nearly two millennia ago.
The symbol in the amulet is that of an Osirian family of Khemi, that fled Osirion to Absalom to escape Qadiran occupying forces. The family perished from a terrible disease around 4000 AR, and the city provided them a burial following Osirian traditions: a secret tomb bearing grave goods hidden underground.
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Not interested in any goods made from something more brittle than steel, Lort surveys the district. He catches sight of several pilots going about their business, navigating ships through the treacherous flotsam graveyard. On particular dwarven pilot seems to be eyeing their group intently, but Lort pays her no heed.
"Well, looks like it's time to see what the after party has to offer," says Lort, starting to sober up, "You buy that trinket if you like, Cyrus, I'll meet you at the promising looking pavilion down there. Pretty sure I saw some gnomes rolling some kegs into it earlier. Anyone else coming?"
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"wow, that is a fancy bauble," Cyrus says taking the scarab to look closely.
"I suppose a chance like this doesn't come along all that often. Now if you are familiar with my country, you know that we consider it an insult not to try to bargain, so how about I offer you 15gp and we call it a deal?" Cyrus offers, with his best snake charming smile.
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"Bargain all you like," says Iara the peddler. "But 15 gold is outrageous for such a valuable amulet. But since you are such a nice boy, Iara will let you have for 20. Shall we have a deal?"
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Cyrus smiles at the charming little woman.
"Indeed, I apologize if I offended you for offering too low of a price." he says, dipping into a low bow in respect.
"20 gold it is, and a little token of my appreciation." Cyrus pulls out the necessary coins, adding a small ghost orchid, the token of his thieves guild tucked into the little pouch.
He takes the bauble, smiling, and wears it proudly, for the time being. After walking on, and out of earshot of the woman, Cyrus pokes ibid in the shoulder, showing off his purchase, obviously proud of his 'bartering skills'.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Pleasure doing business with you, good sir. Here is your amulet," the woman says, handing the amulet to Cyrus. "Have a nice day, enjoy the festival!"
Cyrus runs after the others, who are heading towards a pavilion Lort spotted nearby. Just as Lort is about to order a beer from the makeshift bar, he notices a familiar figure of Amenopheus, the leader of Osirion faction. Sitting in a table nearby. the Sapphire Sage motions for the group to join him. "Please have a seat... Would you care to drink anything?" the ancient sage asks with his raspy voice, and waits for the Pathfinders to sit down.
”I see you are enjoying the festivities. This is good, you have certainly earned it.” Amenopheus puts down his goblet, and stares at the Pathfinders with his deep, ancient eyes. A mysterious smile appears on his wrinkles lips. ”However, even during festivals we must be alert. Keeping our eyes open for any … Society interests. Tell me, have you noticed anything peculiar?”
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"Well met, sir. I am Finarin Moonstep. Other than a few ... rumors nothing has caught my eye other than a bit of ... uncharacteristic generosity buy this so called society. Is there something paticular you would like to ... draw our attention to?" Finarin watches the faction leader for any hints at what he is getting at.
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The Sapphire Sage!
Cyrus does his best not to be awkward (a difficult task, however made easier because he isn't conversing with an attractive female) in the presence of the esteemed leader of the faction he has pledged his service to.
"Good evening my lord" Cyrus dips into another polite bow.
Don't get all star struck now that you are talking with the big man in charge...
"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Amenopheus. My name is Cyrus. My friends call me..."
He doesn't care about how high I can jump...
Cyrus pauses, the awkward silence only lasts a few seconds as he looks up at his real friends gathered around him.
"Well actually they call me Cyrus." He smiles at the man, as he takes the offered seat.
Answering his question, "I haven't seen much, then again it doesn't seem there has been much to see from our vantage point so far, this evening anyways." He takes the offered drink from the barmaid, quickly lifting his glass to the esteemed faction leader, then winking at Gunari as he spills a little bit out before taking a drink. "I did hear some members of the Taldor faction speaking about Lady Gloriana splitting the faction off from the country proper."
"I must admit I am not as caught up on our own country's politics, but rumor has it the Ruby Prince's favor is.. ahh... well, not favoring you so much lately. um... no offense intended." Cyrus flushes red in the cheeks a little, realizing that rumor might be a little bit more sensitive in this company, and only realizing it a few moments too late.
Cyrus clears his throat and speaks again, "That's just the rumor though. Heard it in passing. Doesn't mean its true. " Cyrus stops abruptly to take a big swig of the brew in his mug as his mouth and throat are suddenly exceedingly dry.
Oh man... Hope I didn't stick my foot too far in my mouth. Learn to keep quiet! Less is more.... Ugh, probably too late. Great. I can already see it. The next assignment will be the crown of the world. 6 months garrison duty... Oh Cyrus you fool!
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Lort smiles politely as the Sapphire Sage has his say. When Cyrus offers him an opportunity to do so, he heads for the bar and procures a nice, foamy beer.
"Strange and peculiar?" asks the half-orc when Cyrus has finished, "You mean apart from a beer drinking monkey and the fact that the Society is actually putting up he money for a massive party? Nothing strange at all - well, nothing stranger than that!" Lort bellows heartily and gives Amenopheus a good-natured clap on the back before taking a long pull from his tankard.
"Methinks you might have something particular in mind however, so why not quit playing games to find out how perceptive we are and just have out with it? We've had our fill of that from Valsin."
"I cannot say about Gloriana Morilla; her plans are her own," Amenopheus says dryly. "As for me, there is truth in saying the Ruby Prince does not have the confidence in me he once had. But relieved of my duties for the nation, I had more time to research and track down the remnants of the order of Scarab Sages. With the Society's help, of course. I... I.. believe the order and the Pathfinder Society can work together... But that's a talk for later time."
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Miro, walking around exchanging pleasantries with the other Pathfinders and others he sees, spies Cyrus and the lady hawking her item to him. He ventures closer, taking a good look at the amulet.
His general knowledge serves him well as the symbol strikes a chord in his memory. He turns to Cyrus as the man haggles with the woman, getting the amulet for 20. "The symbol is that of an Osirian family the fled its homeland to Absalom a couple of thousand years ago. I believe they were trying to escape occupying Qadiran forces. A worthy find and purchase!"
He joins the conversation with the Sapphire Sage. "I can't say I've noticed anything peculiar, just been mingling with the masses, really." He shrugs, smile in place. He helps himself to a drink, waiting to see if the respected leader has anything else to offer or add.
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After Miro has examined the amulet, the old man asks Cyrus if he take a further look at the treasure. "Would you mind, Cyrus?"
Taking the amulet in hand, the old man rolls the items over and over in his grasp, randomly stopping its tumbling to examine the amulet from seemingly odd angles. "Hmmm," Ibid murmurs to himself, looking over the item further.
"The symbol within your amulet is quite old...." the old man says, briefly pulling his journal into view. After another few moments of flipping aimlessly through its pages, apparently lost in thought.
The symbol in the amulet is that of an Osirian family of Khemi, that fled Osirion to Absalom to escape Qadiran occupying forces. The family perished from a terrible disease around 4000 AR, and the city provided them a burial following Osirian traditions: a secret tomb bearing grave goods hidden underground.
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"Well I suppose that qualifies as peculiar, wouldn't you think sir? Ibid, your breadth of knowledge never ceases to amaze me. You as well Miro! How in the world would you know something as obscure as that?"
Cyrus jabs his thumb over his shoulder in Ibid's direction while looking at the sappaphire sage, raising his eyebrows, looking for the affirmation of the impressive knowledge of his friends.
"So this tomb is here in the city?"
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Lort concentrates very hard on his brew, glad that his companions are able to ask such intelligent questions. When the beer is finished, he pulls out a whetstone and begins to hone his greatsword. One never knew when a freshly sharpened blade might be of use.
It is a shame that Gunari is distracted. An arm wrestle or drinking competition is just what this snore-fest could use.
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"Huh? Is something going on? Hey, is that the Sapphire Sage?" He doesn't wait for a response, just offers his hand and says, with a bow, "Gunari Maximoff, at your service. You got some tomb for us to rob or something? Did you offer us a drink? I don't know how I could have missed that. I am sure I am going to have to offer penance tonight! So, where we going?'
The monkey, of course, has jumped off of Gunari's shoulder, and is now checking the table for goodies.
Amenopheus looks disapprovingly at Gunari, but shakes his hand in greeting nonetheless. Then he takes the silver amulet from Cyrus, and studies it for a moment. "Yes, yes... You are quite right. The symbol is indeed that of the Khemi family. If I recall correctly, they had an traditional Osirian burial here in Absalom. Very unusual... I had heard rumours such items had appeared to market lately..." the sage mumbles, eyes fixed on the amulet. Then, suddenly, he slaps the table in anger.
"It’s infuriating that others continually violate the sanctity of our dead and the treasures of our people, as if our ancestors were simply corpses with no rights." Calming slightly he continues, "Someone has either found the hidden tomb or decided to make a clever forgery, but I suspect the former. The city has its hands full with current events, and this is a job better suited to trained explorers. I shall reimburse you for the amulet. I ask that you find the tomb, place the amulet back where it came from, and reseal the vault so that no one else disturbs it. So long as you do not take any of its contents, one might take this as an opportunity to study a rare form of Osirian burial."
Amenopheus gives the amulet back to Cyrus, along with 20 gold coins.
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Cyrus nods in agreement with Amenopheus. He doesn't necessarily think he might be as passionate about it as the sapphire sage is, but a task from the leader of his faction is enough to peak his interest.
He isn't really old enough to have formed hard and fast opinions about the rights of the dead, though the words of his faction's leader rang with the truth of the culture he was raised in.
He doesn't need to know I don't share his passion for the rights of the dead, but there doesn't need to be any questions about my willingness to complete a task for the faction, and the society.
"I will see this completed, m'lord. I don't think I'll have to twist my friend's arms too hard to join me either." He says with a smile.
"Hey Lort! Wanna help me put this back and lock a tomb back up here in the city? There is a good chance we might come across some tomb robbers to bring to... ahem... justice. Plus I'll buy the next round when we are done." Cyrus turns and winks at the others.
Just thought of a funny quip about un-robbing a tomb and not blowing it up... probably still too soon. Plus Ibid said he had something to tell me before that turkey race... Wonder if I should bring that up again...
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"Well brothers, I am not sure how good we are going to be at putting artifacts back, but let us give it our .... concerted effort to right this wrong. Sir, I will happily accept this ... task. Are you aware of whom might have ... violated the sanctity of this tomb? We are a ... society of grave robbers are we not? I would hate to come into conflict with brothers doing what we pathfinders ... do"
Thinking trouble will find them sooner rather than later, Finarin puts down his glass and also begins to sharpen his scimitar with his whetstone. Secretly he worries that Cyrus will again act rashly, possibly to impress the mighty Lort, possibly to defend the honor of his country. These humans show strange allegiances at time to their homelands.
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Gunari turns to his little buddy, and says, "Put that back, Gilligan. We're just guests here. Now, come on... back on my shoulder."
To Finarin, he says, "Yeah, I don't know if I've ever put any relics back before. Just doesn't seem right."
Embarrassed, he says to Amenopheaus, "Sorry, no offense meant. Just that our typical mission is more graverobbing than grave-restoring, if you know what I mean."
Before he can put his foot even further into his mouth, he pulls out his own whetstone, and copies what Finarin is doing, but with his rapier.
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As their three blades are rhythmically honed to a razor sharp edge, Lort smiles eagerly at his companions.
"Cyrus, my friend," the half-orc bellows from where he sits, "It would be my pleasure to put some grave robbers in their place! Sounds like enormous fun, and a worthy cause to boot! When can we depart and leave this dreary affair behind us?"
"Thank you Pathfinders, I wish you luck in your task," Amenopheus says, standing up. "You can find me later in ambassador Salhar's residence, where I will await news of your success." With that Amenopheus exits the pavilion and disappears into the crowd, leaving the Pathfinders to enjoy their drinks among themselves.
After a while, their thirst sated, the party leave the bar. The streets of Foreign Quarter are busy as ever, people of many different colours and races go about their usual business, and in addition numerous people are enjoying the festival. Amongst the crowd, Cyrus spots the familiar peddler, Iara, who sold him the amulet just while ago.
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"Ah-ha! There she is! The woman who sold me this amazing little amulet. Tell me, I need to know, do you have any more like it? Where did you get it from? I am looking for more like it. My girl you see, she is very... High maintenance. Can you help?"
Cyrus smiles his biggest charming smile, waiting expectantly.
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"My favourite customers!" Iara greets them, cheery smile on her at first. With Lort's approach, she starts to suspect something's amiss. "I.. I.. am sorry to say I don't have quite similar amulets, but perhaps your girlfriends would like some other kind of jewelry" the peddler says, startled. She presents a variety of cheap trinkets, which obviously are not of Osirian origin.
"And I just can't divulge any information about my suppliers, I'm a trustworthy businesswoman. I can't go telling all trade secrets to anyone who happens to ask"
But businesswoman she is, and there is one language they all understand; Gold. A small sum might be enough to loosen her tongue.
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Cyrus starts to get frustrated with the woman, but quickly realizes this is indeed business, and he can't fault the woman for trying to make a living.
"Here you go, but if you mis-lead us in the slightest, I'm going to have Lort here show you the wrestling part of his traveling shrine..."
Cyrus hands over a small pouch with 25 gold in it somewhat begrudgingly and waits impatiently for the expected information.
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The old man watches as Lort stands ready to grab the woman if she attempts to run, and then steps beside Cyrus knowing the half-orc has her escape guarded and covered.
"I've got a few gold pieces on me, as well. If you would like to share this burden, Cyrus. Though I don't have great fortunes to share... just enough to cover this cost."
"I learned a great lesson after our last hunt, and spent what precious few gold I could muster on new equipment." Ibid says, turning to Iara a moment later.
"A great many new goodies to help us conquer whatever may rise up in our path, attempting to block our way," the old man pauses once more. "Or help catch anything that may run from our grasp."
"Or worse, mislead us."