Khellek noses from the common room down a short hallway, past a door with two guards out front. Inside a woman in a high Taldan voice can be heard shouting impatiently, "Where is my breakfast?! Is this the kind of service that passes in your ramshackle inn?"
The well-appointed kitchen is in disarray. Several nervous cooks and other kitchen workers linger at the sides of the room, watching the loud argument unfolding in front of them. Two cooks are locked in a shouting match about how some 'Lady Qualstair of Taldor' ought to be served her breakfast. However, on seeing Khellek and the other Pathfinders behind him, one of the arguers promptly leaves the room.
"Yeah, and stay gone!" shouts the other one, only then noticing the new company. "Oh!" He sidles over and says in a hushed voice, "Are ya here about the beasties?"
Peter is not surprised to see no Qadirans among the staff of a Varisian bed-and-breakfast.
"Oh, him? He's upset I'm a better cook than him." He leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen! I think one of the 'psuedodragons' might actually be a real full-sized dragon!"
In fact, the man who left quickly returns with a well dressed man who can only be the inn's proprietor. "Thank you for coming so quickly," he says, "Oliver Cadmion, at your service. I'm the owner here and I'm right glad the Acadamae is doing me this favor -- I sure need it! My dragons are usually very docile, but now you see them going utterly insane! I don't know what might have upset them! Thankfully no one's been hurt, but I really can't lose my guests, or worse, see the dragons move out! You're the psuedodragon experts, so please, head upstairs and see if you can calm them down."
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Renn thinks back to the earlier Harrowing that led them to the Unicorn in the first place.
The Unicorn promises rewards from a friend -- but some friends are false, and some prizes are poison.
Shrugging, he makes little of it given the limited insight he has into the potentially forged Green Market cards and the news that some pseudodragons require "coaxing".
Smiling, he nods.
"Massaging egos is one of my specialties, dear sir. Do you have anything special I can offer them for their... ahhh, loyalty? Some sort of retention incentive perhaps? Are they fond of a particular dish?"
"Oh yes, of course! They tend to make do on their own, but they're terrifically fond of salmon. You there!" he shouts at a nearby prep-cook. "Get me a salmon prepared, pronto! Give it to these fine gentlemen on our finest platter."
"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to my most important guest... she's growing quite impatient."
Once Cadmion is gone, the cook who addressed you earlier sidles over Peter.
Designed to emulate Castle Korvosa’s Seawatch Tower, this turret is cramped but has a high ceiling, with wooden rafters crisscrossing overhead. Slim windows offer breathtaking views of the city and beyond. The furnishings are covered with drop cloths, which are themselves bedaubed with many seasons’ worth of dragon droppings.
A tiny, tiny dragon sits on one of the rafters 20 feet above the floor, eyeing the entering Pathfinders cautiously.
Khellek barely gets the first few words out before he's surprised by a stirring of the pillows on the floor. A small-ish hippogriff burst from the bedding and barrels into him beak-first!
MISS
Round I -- bold may act!
1. Hippogriff
2. Renn, Varian, Peter, Horlan, Zordlon, Khellek
3. Dragon
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Renn recalls a couple songs from his time spent in the odd Varisian caravan rolling through the wandering hills connecting Magnimar to Korvosa, and inhales sharply.
"I've... heard songs of a 'griff like this. It's just looking for some fun and intends no harm."
Renn looks to Peter, an expectation clear on his face, that the ranger should be able to something with the beast before its claws get a little too friendly.
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"What did that cook have to tell you, that the rest of us are not privy to?"
"He told something abou an egg...", he continues walking to the upstairs when...
"Well, it seems that the egg is shattered now", Peter points to the shattered egg, of large-ish size and speckled with brown spots in their way.
"I've... heard songs of a 'griff like this. It's just looking for some fun and intends no harm."
"If you are saying..."
Peter tries to calm down the animal.
Khellek backpedals, nearly tripping over his robes in the process. Renn rushes in and quickly makes sense of the animal, prodding Peter to make hushing, cooing noises that gradually get the animal to sit on its haunches and lick its beak instead. Maybe it wants a treat.
Three breaths later, a trio of larger tiny dragons fly in through the windows. Each Pathfinder hears a scream in their mind: "GET OUT, FRIENDS OF EGG THIEVES!!!"
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"Ohh... " says Khellek, "Now the story comes out..."
"Little ones, we are no friends of egg theives. Did someone come up and take from your nests?"
Says Khellek from the safety of the rear.
"Can you tell us what they looked like? "
He glances around the kitchen for a treat to throw to the little hippogriff.
Despite diplomatic words, most of the party looks like wizards to the psuedodragons, and they don't like wizards very much. Peter is more their type and, fortunately, Renn remembered the salmon.
The center dragon hisses audibly, then the silent voice continues. "Tell us who stole our children from us! Justice will be done, and we will not stop until we find them..."
"First, the eggs must be found! Four we had, yesterday, and this morning we mourn with only one..."
The dragons seem intent on staying put until their eggs have been returned to them.
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Renn shrugs.
"Seems an easy solution to fix. Shall we, gentlemen?"
As Renn gives the little dragons his closest approximation of a sincere smile , he wonders aloud when they are a safe distance.
"So they have rumors that one of those little guys is an actual full-sized dragon. Perhaps that's our angle? Suggest to the cook that our, uhh, expertise has confirmed such, and he's known to have been the instigator?"
Down in the kitchen, the cook in question is still arguing with Cadmion's personal chef. The man looks up from his discussion and looks hesitantly at Peter. "Um, you're back. So, any news for old Craik?"
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"You know.." adds the diplomatic scholar.
"I've never before seen the attraction to using human skin to cover a book... but it might just be that when I pen my next missive on the history of psudo-dragon and human interaction that I have one very special copy so bound..." smiles the suddenly sinister scholar.
Craik backs away nervously. "I... I don't know what you're talking about! Stop this nonesense or I will have my Lady put you in irons!"
The cook is clearly shaken, but he reveals no eggs...
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"Now.." smiles Khellek. "We can be reasonable. Or not."
He pauses, thinking back on a story to tell. "When the orcs came upon the village of Wintersmeet, they were met with a hail of arrows... understandably enough. But while the arrows caused the orcs to bypass the village... they had no effect on the family of trolls that was intending to dine on the orcs. "
He pauses for a moment. "They dinned instead on the good people of Wintersmeet. Round about now... you are thinking 'what does this have to do with my situation?' Well, I want you to think of yourself as one of the good folk of Wintermeet. And my friends here as some friendly orcs who want to warn you about some incoming danger."
He points up the stairs.
"There is a horde of very angry psudo dragons who think you want to make omletts out of their youngsters. And they have a pet hippogriff. Now. Think of them as the trolls..."
He pauses.
"Either return the eggs NOW so we can distract the dragons with them, or they will come down in person. Of course, I've wanted to view the effect of psudo dragon poison first hand for some time, so I'm not too sure why I'm giving you this warning. It must be my better nature shining through."
He turns his head as if listening upstairs.
"Don't take too long..."
The scholar then fumbles around for a writing implement. "Do please describe in exquisite detail the sensations you go through. Remember, this is for posterity!"
A ripple of aghast gasps runs through the kitchen staff. Lomen, the Frisky Unicorn's head chef who had been arguing with Craik, takes a step forward and growls in a shaking voice, "Omelettes?! Dragon omelettes!"
Craik takes a step back and spreads his hands. "No! Look, see? I only have chicken eggs here in my basket. I really don't know where you got this idea... search the kitchen if you like..."
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Renn smirks at the man, taking a step forward and putting an arm around his shoulders before swiftly grabbing a free rag from the kitchen and dabbing at the man's temple.
"Look, friend. It's not that hot in here. I'd like to remind you that we're asking nicely. The dragon's aren't likely to be so accommodating. How about their eggs, now?"
"Unhand me sir! I really must protest! all you like but touch me again and I'll fetch my lady's guardsmen!"
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Charm person DC 16 will save, +5 to resist if he was threatened or attacked. If he fails, he treats me as friendly.
"Sir we are trying to remedy a situation you might have started. We found a broken egg on the stair way up, so we know some one was up there and attempted to still the eggs. The dragons do know some one stole the eggs from them. If we tell them that your mistress likes dragon egg omelettes and we may have acted to late in trying to get them back from her cook, which is you. Who are they going to suspect had stolen them? Either way, it does not look good for either you are you mistress. Let us remedy this situation on your behalf, we will take the eggs back to them. So please hand them over or tell us who has them so they can be returned."
"She is not my mistress you impudent brat! She is a noblewoman of mighty Taldor!"
Juhah leads the ranger to a small cupboard near the stove, whereupon Craik begins looking very nervous! Inside, Peter notes two brown-speckled eggs, a little larger than a chicken's egg.
Lomen leaves abruptly and returns with Oliver Cadmion, whose mixed emotions are evident as he furiously has Craik arrested and jubilantly thanks the Pathfinders for recovering "his dragons' dragons." The pseudodragons, meanwhile, are extremely grateful and propose that their youngest of the brood join the team to learn more of the world.
In thanks, Cadmion slips you a platinum statuette of unicorn to remember the inn by.
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Khellek fingers his chin for a moment or two.
"There is still the issue of the masks and the poison... it may be that there is yet some devily afoot here."
He gives a little sigh.
"A historian should report on history, not try to be part of it. But one cannot help but wonder what plans connect the psudo dragons, the theatre and the down and outers. "
He turns to the inn keeper "What nationalities are your guests from today? Any from Quadira?"
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"Don't worry. I'll take care of him", Peter told to the pseudodragons as he makes a cuddle on the cub.
The ranger turns to Khellek, "I searched this place for a Qadiran, but I didn't find one."
"I agree with Varian. Maybe we should go back to Zeeva and tell her what we discovered, although I think that we only found his method, not the real intentions of our man, or perhaps where we could find him", he concludes.
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"Well... we saved the old lady in the boarding house... just" says the scholar. "Then we saved the players from the Anhegs. Now we seem to have saved some baby psudo dragons too. If we can find the fortune teller on the way back to the Green Market, that would be best - for the sake of completeness. However let us not tarry too long in case further information has come to light to her."
He sighs.
"None of this seems to have required getting a team in from quite this distance though. I hesitate to wish for something more, but Zeeva's foreboding might yet prove unfulfilled..."
Cadmion happily reports that his guests come from all over, though none from Qadira recently. He proudly notes that a noblewoman of Taldor, Lady Auralina Qualstair, is currently renting his most expensive suite.
On their way to the Green Market, the Pathfinders pass through a mostly-empty square. A greybeard half-orc in rags and rusty chains prances atop a worn barrel, a grimy raven perched on his shoulder. He shouts at all passersby apocalyptic doom that awaits all Golarion. "BLOOD!" the raven shrieks, and the greybeard whips his head in the Pathfinders' direction.
"You! Yes, you!" He leaps down from his barrel. "Blood indeed! Yes yes! Come come, yes, disasters past but more to come! I offer a smear of what the future wreaks, yes! Will you listen?"
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"Now that I think about it, I recall that Taldor and Qadira have had a bitter relationship for centuries, and have warred often. The scars of those conflicts are still quite fresh. Perhaps someone is trying to foment an international incident?"
When the party comes upon the doom-saying beggar, Varian wrinkles his nose.
"I'd rather not. I have no idea where you have been, I don't want you smearing me with anything."
He then gives the miscreant a wide berth, and continues on his way.