A fresh sea breeze wafts in through the open windows facing Lake Encarthan, lifting the embroidered curtains. Beyond the balcony, you can see a few small ships playing their trade, shuttling back and forth from the trade routes which crisscross the lake. Kerse, capital of the Kalistocracy of Druma and trade hub of all of Avistan, stretches off along the river.
The opulent parlor in the manor of Temel Passad is far more comfortable than a typical Pathfinder Lodge's briefing room. Rich mahogany paneling lines the walls, and intricately-inlaid tiles are visible between several lush carpets. Ornate furniture provides comfort for guests, and an impressive assortment of art and artefacts is calculated to occupy the interest of those waiting for the Master of the house.
There are six people in the room, presumably all called here for a common purpose. As you survey the others, each of you considers the letter which summoned you here.
Pathfinders,
Society agents recently learned of a lost, previously undocumented Sky Citadel in what was once Sarkoris, the land now consumed by the Worldwound. As we cannot push into that demon-infested wasteland ourselves, we have recruited dwarven aid in the dangerous expedition. In exchange for military assistance and historical expertise, the dwarves will have the opportunity to reclaim this lost stronghold. Two weeks ago, Highhelm sent an entourage of diplomats and tacticians north toward Mendev to meet with Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury to discuss terms and develop a plan of attack. When they failed to arrive in a timely fashion, Jorsal commissioned sending magic to contact Rakuska Ingardam, the mission’s leader. Rakuska’s return message—cut off due to the magic’s limit—was as follows:
“Passed Xer, paid our way, but attacked and overcome. Razmiri priests hold us for unknown purpose. We are held somewhere near the Glass River at…”
One of several possible places they are held is the Gray Revelation Inn, about thirty miles east of Xer—we suspect the Razmiri priesthood uses the site to interrogate prisoners. You must investigate and liberate the three dwarven envoys—if indeed that is where they are imprisoned—and then escort them to Mendev. Accompanying you are two other dwarves who will take the captured envoys’ places if you aren’t successful: merchant Metella Raugar and respected Pahmet mystic Amauhak. The Kalistocrat Temel Passad, a Druman with whom we have dealt in the past, has volunteered a boat to transport you north, and I see little reason why we should not take him up on this offer. Building a good working relationship with one or more influential merchants would be to everyone’s benefit.
Good luck!
(signed)Ambrus Valsin
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Cepsihir reads, and re-reads the note, committing its contents to memory.
Metella... sounds like a person of interest. Though his time with the Trade Prince has been short, Cepsihir was a quick learner -- Amara Li saw to that.
Cepsihir slips from the high-seated chair, lands gracefully on the balls of his feet, and bows low to his fellow Pathfinders.
"I fear I don't recognize any of my new friends; I would be remiss if I didn't introduce myself. I am Cepsihir, though feel free to call me Cheppy if it would be more convenient for you."
The wayang offers a friendly smile to anyone who looks his way; the weathered leather armor and scratched scabbards on the plum-colored creature give the impressions of both Pathfinder and oddity.
Cepsihir climbs back into his chair and listens intently to the remainder of the introductions.
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A raven haired woman, Kelish with large, dark eyes enters the parlor. It is clear that the opulence pleases her, as she looks around the room a slight smile on her ruby lips. She is dressed for travel, but her outfit seems overly fashionable and likely uncomfortable. Around her neck a black choker with a coin sized holy symbol of Asmodeus.
She does not take a seat but carefully examines some of the art, waiting for Passad to make his appearance.
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Ossok breathes deeply behind his wooden mask, taking in the smells of the shore.
It not ocean, but it do.
Ossok is a tall humanoid with dark, grey skin and muscular features. His upper torso is always exposed, as he tends to typically wear only a haramaki around his waist and cloth that extends to his knees. His face is concealed by a wooden mask, painted with various shades of red and black in decorative patterns, and tipped with two slightly curved horns. His body is covered in various scars and rarely speaks unless addressed directly, and even then, his sentences are fragmented and direct. His gruff, grunty voice suggests something other than human, perhaps some orcish heritage blended in. A large axe remains strapped to his back.
After exposing his senses to the sea around him, Ossok heads towards the designated meeting point based on the letter he received. Being a member of the Pathfinder Society, he knew he'd find others there as well with the same purpose.
Upon arriving, he stands in the corner of the room away from the door. He nods to the others that are waiting, unfamilar with any of their faces. When the called Sepsehir introduces himself, the half-orc simply nods in respect and replies with, "Ossok.
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"Pavanna al-Azario at the service of Asmodeus and the Ten." Pavanna says, acknowledging her fellow Pathfinders, then returning to her examination of Passad's art.
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Pale of skin an blue eyed, Diana Seraphina looked to have descended from the Heavens, her skin seemed to shimmer slightly as if tiny motes of light were dancing around her, and her dark brown hair swayed slightly before the fresh breeze had reached it.
The breastplate she wore gleams brightly as the curtains dances in the small zephyr. The mithril was etched with the sigil of a bow. Across her back rests an ornate darkwood longbow.
Diana lifts her note and looks to her strange companions. Looking confused at the strange tongue they speak. Her eyes narrow as she sees the holy symbol upon Pavanna's choker, and her mouth frowns at the Kelish woman's introduction.
I don't like the look of that one...
Seems I was too quick to judge. Pray forgive Erastil.
"I'm Diana, a huntsman of Old Deadeye. Pleased to meetcha y'all." Her voice seems like the kind to make babes laugh at the sound of it. "Sorry I didn't catch any of that other stuff you two were sayin."
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An angelic one of Erastil. I would do well to prove myself not a demon...
"Apologies Diana. So far from home, this one enjoys hearing his own tongue on occasion, and I seek only to extend that courtesy, especially with something as personal as a first greeting. It shames this one to admit he does not speak the tongue of angels," Cepsihir bows low, "But he is pleased to make your acquaintance."
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“Nonsense you can speak anythin you want to. Just thought you should know that I don’t understand nun of that gobbledygook. “ She gives him a curt nod as she looks over his strange appearance.
“In fact it is I who need to ask for Pavanna’s forgiveness.” She turns and looks to the dark eyed woman.
“Seems I was too quick to judge you. It’s a bad habit of mine and I’m trying to break it. It’s not to often I see that symbol on an ally.”
Looking to the hulking form of the grey-skinned man she eyes the scars and looks as though she were about to say something, then stops thinking better of it.
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Pavanna waves a hand dismissivly at Diana's apology. "You are not the first who has passed smug judgement on me, nor I suspect the last. Though it will be my Lord Asmodeus' final judgement of our contract which I concern myself with. As for who wears what iconography, so long as you are sworn in your duty to the Ten as am I, then you may count me as an ally." Pavanna withdraws a wand carved from devil bone from within her sleeve, showing it to Diana, "Though I will avoid using this on you unless things are particularly...dire."
Two silent servants open a pair of richly lacquered doors, and a human and two dwarves stride into the lavish parlor. The man, clad in immaculate robes of whitest silk, is short and round with a blond oiled beard, and his eyes are alert and amused. His long white gloves stretch almost to his elbows. He takes a touch of snuff from a golden box and sneezes before saying, “It is a pleasure to welcome Pathfinders to one of my estates once more. I am, as you may know, Temel Passad. Allow me to introduce—”
One of the two dwarves, a redheaded female in deep scarlet robes, curtly interrupts the man. “We can introduce ourselves, Passad. I am Metella Raugar, representing the interests of several Highhelm mercantile consortia. My companion”—she gestures to a dwarven man with leathery skin baked by the sun, his head swathed in a bright yellow scarf—“is Amauhak of Reth Bezel, a mystic of the sand dwarves of Osirion."
Passad pauses for the interruption, then nods to the dwarven woman and continues. "And you are the Pathfinders, of course. I trust that your wait was not over long, or unpleasant?" Without waiting for an answer, he continues. "I've offered one of my ships, Abacus, to take us to Nerosyan. Across Lake Encarthan, up the Glass River to the Sellen, to the Diamond of the North. We'll stop along the way to see if you can find the first group that went missing. Are you ready to sail, or do you require additional time to prepare?"
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Sense Motive on Metella Raugar:
Sense Motive on Amauhak:
As Temel enters, it's almost as if a switch is flipped in Pavanna's demeanor. "Blessings of the First upon you Temel Passad. Pavanna al-Azario available to your service. Thank you for agreeing to provide this assistance to the Ten. Before we become engrossed with the fascinating world of sailing, perhaps you can share anything you know with us on the town of Xer or the Razmiri charlatans that operate there?" Pavanna sits at the table, withdrawing a sheet of parchment and quill and ink, scribbling on it. "I believe we have a small list of items, which I'm sure one of your agents can fulfill for us and have waiting at the Abacus for our departure."
Passad turns to Pavonna. "Razmiran is a strict theocracy, following the "Living God" Razmir, who passed the test of the Starstone but chose to remain on Golarion. No other faiths are permitted within its borders, although priests of other religions are allowed to pass through, so long as they do not practice their faith or seek to recruit or convert the populace. The security forces of Razmir subject visitors to many unannounced inspections, tariffs, and searches in their efforts to keep heretics from 'infecting' the country."
The sand dwarf Amauhak breaks his silence, his voice carrying strength even though it rarely rises above a whisper. "Given the fate of the previous envoys, it would be wise to keep our presence," he indicates Metella and Passad, "secret on our journey throughh Razmiran."
Passad nods to Cepsihir. "Of course, friends! Draw up a list of the supplies you require, and my people will see to it at once. And at the best prices - my vast trade network allows me to offer better prices than much smaller consortia!" He casts a sly glance at Metella, who scowls but says nothing.
"Of course, we shall sup before we leave," replies Passad. He claps his hands, and a pair of servants rush in and escort the four of you to an elegant dining room. The repast is excellent, featuring a variety of cuisine from across the Lake Encarthan region, and is served in several courses.
Throughout dinner, it becomes clear that Passad and Metalla are fierce competitors in matters of business. While all of their conversations are polite on the surface, neither passes up the chance to make a point at the other's expense. Amauhak stays aloof from these discussions, only speaking when spoken to directly, and answering with as few words as possible.
"Your purchases have been made, and are aboard Abacus. I've also received word that your Society is sending two more agents to join you; they shall meet us at the docks." Passad frowns slightly, as if contemplating what additional risk he hasn't been informed about. He takes another touch of snuff and sneezes softly before continuing.
"We shall sail at first light. Abacus will hop along the coastal ports along the eastern shore of Lake Encarthan until we reach the Glass River, and the city of Xer which guards its mouth - about 5 days' journey. That is likely where trouble will begin, as officially we shall have to dock at Xer and submit to inspection. We shall stop at the Grey Revelation Inn, and you can go ashore to attempt to locate the missing envoys. From there, it's up the river to Nerosyan. You are all welcome to stay here for the night, or you can bunk aboard Abacus, as you choose."
The evening passes uneventfully, and before dawn a servant gently wakes each of you. Passad and Metella are already downstairs, finishing breakfast; Amauhak comes in a few minutes later. After a light repast, Passad orders two of his carriages to be brought up to convey you to the docks.
Abacus is a fine schooner, three-masted for service on great Lake Encarthan but broad and flat-bottomed to allow river travel. A thin crescent moon hangs low in the east as you board the vessel in darkness. The crew helps load your gear and stow it in the hold.
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Scorpion yawns heavily and awakes from his near comatose nap to find he is on board a strange ship. Grumbling about needing to use less mandrake root in his next alchemical experiment so that he stops winding up in strange locations with no memory he searches around in his pack for his letter. After pushing aside a few empty vodka bottles and taking a dose of alchemists kindness, he eventually finds and reads the note. Standing up and stretching all his extremities (including his tentacle) he walks to the prow of the ship to gaze at the sea.
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Diana carries only her weapons and armor, leaving her baggage where ever it is that she is sleeping. She will see if she can locate the two other pathfinders who are supposed to be on ship.
"Blighted Crops! What is that thing?"
Diana is taken aback at the grotesque human stretching out its arms, legs and what appears to be a tentacle.
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Cepsihir notices the unfamiliar company join him at the bow, smelling lightly of alcohol, naphthalene, and something else not recognizable by name but certainly by volatility.
The additional limb does not go unnoticed.
A dabbler of chemicals, like those in Goka who taught this one how to administer poison to blade. This one imagined the stories of permanent body manipulation were cautionary, but alas...
"This one is called Cepsihir, and is pleased to make your acquaintance."
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Takes a swig of vodka and then offers it to the curious new comers before speaking in a thick galt accent.
Well met comrade Cepsihir and well met...uh worshiper of defoiled vegetables... cocks his head slightly as he says the last... But I am not a thing. I'm a human being. Nut that's beside the point, for where are we bound?
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Krystiana walks up the gangplank trying to get her armor to sit right and looking a bit groggy with her short hair thoroughly tossled. She is a bit startled to see the others on the boat and waves awkwardly. "Sorry, that I didn't meet up earlier," the paladin stretches. "I was observing obedience to the Host of Delectation and it left me a bit ... tied up."
The Abacus sails along the eastern coast of Lake Encarthan, stopping in at several small ports along the way. The weather is fair, but Abacus' flat-bottomed design magnifies the effect of even small swells, and so the passage is somewhat rough. Those of you unfamiliar with travel on the open water are likely queasy for at least the first day.
Abacus has a crew of five, plus Captain Siggurd, a no-nonsense third-generation sailor from Druma. The crew are kept quite busy operating the ship, but in the evenings when the weather is calm there is occasional time for singing and dancing. None of the sailors gamble, being quite intent on accumulating wealth through more certain pursuits.
On the third day of travel, you sight the Kyonin city of Greengold off to starboaord.
"Normally I'd put in at Greengold," explains Passad, "but your mission is too urgent for that. Besides, I'm sure the cost of missing Greengold today will come back to me eventually, yes?" He smiles warmly, but his eyes flicker about the boat, settling on Metella, who wears her trademark scowl. Passad's small falters ever so slightly, and he excuses himself and heads back below decks.
On the morning of day four, Passad invites you all on deck for a meeting. "We'll be approaching Razmiri waters soon, and I'd like to find out how you plan to handle things. As we discussed earlier, it would be best if the authorities didn't know about our dwarven passengers," he begins.
"Typically, we'd put in at Xer, the Razmiri city that guards the entrance to the Glass River, for inspection and to pay our tariff. This will give us the paperwork which should prevent further entanglements - especially if we add a "gratuity" to our tariff payment." He removes a pair of platinum coins from his purse and holds them up. "I'd be happy to pay the toll myself - consider it part of my investment."
Across the deck, Metella is already shaking her head. "How typical, Passad. You know you won't be grabbed - but the Razmirans abducted our dwarven brethren! Why give them a chance to do it again? What if the Razmirans aren't just grabbing passersby, but are actively interfering with this mission? She shakes her head angrily, and mutters under her breath.
Passad scowls in return. "What would you have us do, then, Metella? he shoots back. ['b]"Run the border? Sneak past, and hope they don't notice? And then when we encounter one of the Razmiri faith barges farther downriver, and get caught without legal paperwork? What then?"[/b] He shakes his head angrily.
Amauhak holds up his hands, and waits for silence before speaking. He has a calm majesty about him, such that both Metella and Passad cease their quarrel and fall silent.
"If I understand things, this is a Pathfinder Society mission, and thus the decision falls to our Pathfinder guides to make." He steps back, and looks expectantly at the group.
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Platinum... such a precious metal to flit around so freely.
"This one suggests attracting as little attention as possible by making port. If these Razmiri are as cut-throat and greedy as insinuated, perhaps we should use a more appropriate gratuity, lest we suggest more valuable cargo than listed on our manifest?"
to have taken the Test of the Starstone and ascended to divinity. He appeared before the people of Xer in the Duchy of Melcat 52 years ago and now acts as both sovereign and god of those captured lands. It is no secret that the Razmiri clergy rely more on bullying than on divine miracles, often exploiting travelers to fill the church’s coffers. The regular patrols of faithful enforcers searching for dissension has resulted in the paranoia that runs throughout the government and the populace. Any friendliness from a native is cause for suspicion.
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Ossok stands with arms folded, his face concealed behind his wooden mask. He simply snorts and adds, "Agree with Pavanna."
"Razmiran priests are bullies, believing in false god. Push people around to look for traitors. They all very paranoid people. If Razmirans nice to us, be cautious. Things about to go bad."