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You find yourself in a small town by the name of Fentonville, population 727 in northern Nirmathas. The town is bustling with activity as another caravan has arrived from Lastwall. This small town is a mecca, in the northern reaches of this wilderness kingdom, with all of the caravan activity, fertile land, plentiful game and nearby seaport.
You each see some help wanted signs posted around the town:
Hey, lads! Seems like there's work for us at this guide shop. Let's check it out, eh."
Karnog hefts his rather heavy travel pack and sets off for the listed business, plate mail clinking and tingling as he moves.
Dark hair and beard braided, threaded through metal rings, and sheathed in steel head to toe, Karnog radiates 'dwarf' in every way. He wears a holy symbol of Torag, a hammer cast in silver, around his neck, as well as enameled onto his shield.
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Argrim rolled into the small town of Fentonville with the Lastwall caravan. He had set out a couple years ago in search of adventure and had only found a series of positions holding merchants' proverbial hands like these Lastwall rocks. That probably qualified him to be a guide, still better than mining. Plus, free Mead! That’s the best mead in Golarion! he thought to himself.
He wanders the town looking for Featherton’s Guides.
Rammellorn had all but given up on finding his brother when he came to the small town of Fentonville to rest from his travels with the caravan. It had been a long time since he had seen this many dwarves in one place and he began to get a little homesick. If only there was a home to go back to. He had a score to settle that would eventually come to fruition, but for now, he needed to relax a bit. It was music to his ears when he overheard another dwarf exclaim that there was work to be found, a welcomed distraction. The real blessing came when he read the sign offering free mead. How anyone, let alone a dwarf could pass that up was beyond him.
Besides, he was growing short on coin and some company may be good for him.
Let's find Featherton's Guides shall we? He says to himself.
The intensely quiet Rahadoumi man disembarked in measured, almost clockwork steps. His eyes scanned the premises coolly. Something about this place was ...almost wrong. Almost the sort of wrong he'd been looking for. Patience, Kalim. Chaos is by nature unpredictable. To attempt to predict ...hubris. Follow the chaos.
Vatilda entered Fentonville. The crone had always hurried them past the area around this small town, but something about it seemed familiar. That feeling had come more and more often as she traveled north.
She noticed several dwarves (she had seen so few in her life), and happened to hear one ask directions for Featherton's Guides while reading a posted flyer regarding the same location. "Though I do not know the area, I may be of some use..." She followed the squat fellow to the address posting the job opportunity. Luckily, this dwarf seemed to be a moving a little faster than the few she had met.
As people begin to trickle into the cartographer's shop you notice there is an unusual amount of stocky dwarves present.
The shop itself is quite spacious, measuring 30 by 40 in common space, and the walls are adorned with numerous racks holding parchment and supplies. There are three large hickory tables in the room, one has a spread of food items, the center table has a large map spread out on it, and the last table is empty but for a ledger, quill and vial of ink.
There are several people mulling around the table with food, some greedily eating eating off the honey roasted ham and having fried potatoes, and some crusty bread. Others gather towards the back of the room where keg of the honey spiced mead is located. Tankards are being filled and passed around to the crowd.
"Welcome ....welcome... my friends, please come and have something to eat and drink." The tinny voice echoes from near the map table. There you can see a gnome, who is standing on a two foot box. "For those of you that are new, my name is Walter Featherton, proprietor of Featherton's Guides.
"Great party! Cheers!" Argrim replies to Walter Featherton's introduction. After drinking half his tankard at the keg, he refills it to the brim and heads toward the free food!
Argrim is short even for a dwarf standing an inch shorter than 4 feet and about the same width. His dull gray outfit and blond hair are unkempt with stains from dirt and stone. A chain shirt peeks out at his neck and wrists. He equips a battleaxe and short bow with two quivers.
Greeting Walter Featherton. I am Karnog Kegmeister, and I thank you for your hospitality and offers of food and drink.
Karnog fills up a cup of mead, piles an inordinately large amount of food onto a plate, and tucks into the grub.
In between bites, he asks after his fellow dwarves' and their adventures.
In dwarven: So what's been new, lads? Any choice bits of adventure and excitement come your way?
After reading one of the post located around town, Nib takes a long breath...
"Well... this is better than I expected. Since no one gets in my way, would be great if I can get a few bodyguards."
Then, he take a look on the many dwarfs that roam around, seemingly going to Featherton’s.
He sighs.
"Dwarfs. If you want to get rid of them, tell them about free mead behind a cliff. Surely, they will jump off even without asking..."
"Okay. Let's see if I can find some intelligent and lover of history partner"
The short dwarf replies between greedy mouthfuls.
He see's a large human in the crowd scrunch his face at the word "proprietor", he points with his thumb to his chest, and speaks slower, "Owner". The man nods.
Once inside Featherton's, Nib is dissapointed at the overhelming number of rude dwarves...
He tries to slip past the customers and approach the owner.
"Hello, fellow researcher! My name is Nibbfir Grumepgarth... travelling historian and researcher, and I'm willing to assist you with your request."
Seeing all the dwarves, My ...my was there a cave in the Mindspin Mountains or something, " he teases. "Haven't seen quite so many since my adventuring days." He motions to the keg and the food. "Enjoy...enjoy, I'm waiting on few stragglers to arrive then I'll present my business opportunity to you all." He then proceeds to levitate down from his box and he glad-hands each person in the room.
Before indulging herself, Vatilda waits for the gnome proprietor to make his way to her.
"Walter Featherton, I am Vatilda. Assuming having little knowledge of the area does not render me useless in this endeavor, I will gladly accept your offer of food and drink... and thank you." She bows.
Walter smiles at Valtilda, and the gnome who pushes his way closer, "The lack of personal knowledge of the area in question, may not be a hinderance. In fact, there are very few reliable maps of the area in question.
He pats her on her forearm, then turns his attention to the brash gnome, "Aye, eagerness has it virtues but can be littered with folly."
He steps towards the group of dwarves, "I hope you are enjoying the town and it's hospitality. I moved to the area about two years ago myself besides that is the finest mead, I've ever tasted." He grins, "There's a local apiary," he quickly adds, "-bees and honey-, combined with nutmeg, cinnamon and clove which grow wild, along with the finest barely and hops this side of Lake Encarthan, it is like Cayden Cailean himself has touching a parched throat."
If there was one thing that Varl couldn't argue with, it was that the best mead was one that was free. Accompanying the rest of the dwarves to meet this Walter Featherton Varl gave a nod, It was good to see so many of his kin. After the initial introduction Varl took a attentive sip of the mead. If he was being honest he preferred a good stone cooled ale, but he wouldn't turn down hospitality. Taking a long slow drink, Varl gave a nod of appreciation. Aye, there's some truth to dem dar words. The dwarf stated, taking a much longer drink the second time, the mead leaking past the sides of the squat dwarfs tankard and down into his beard. Putting the mug on the table, he nodded to his as if asking for a refill.
Not much da speak of. Got hired on as a caravan guard out from lastwall with Argrim here.
"Excellent it looks like we have about all there is...looks like 19 interested people today. Excellent" He goes back up to his box and levitates up to the top.
"Now that you all have had a chance to eat and drink lets talk about making money, long dramatic pause, "lots of it, too, all while doing a little exploring."
"I came to Fentonville a couple years back, after my adventuring days, and I opened up a little caravan and wilderness guide business." His arms extend outward to his shop.
"Business has been good but ..." another long pause, "lately a couple thing have happened. First, a couple caravan's that I've supplied some guards to have been ransacked and a few people have died...ain't gonna sugar coat it." Two human's make their way to the door and leave. "I need some muscle to clean up a stretch of the area in question about two days from here."
His gaze falls on the Nibbfir Kalim and Vatilda, "Then there is the real business I want to accomplish. That is to map out and chart an area near where these attacks have happened. The maps are unreliable and in my professional opinion garbage. I want that changed." He is looking directly a the four dwarves.
As Featherton approaches, Argrim brushes the crumbs from his beard and pays more attention to his drinking and eating. He nods and toasts his tankard in reply to Featherton's high praise of the honey mead.
At Varl's nod, Argrim grabs Varl's tankard and heads toward the keg while finishing his own tankard without spilling. This action proving that he must be a very dextrous dwarf. He lets out an affirmative, "Arr," with more nodding at the mention of his name by Varl. He continues to slowly nod refilling both their tankards and returning to his spot next to Varl.
Running one stubby callused hand through his beard Varl stares down Walter. What da ya know about the area? I won't lie. I'm interested, but before I scratch my name down saying I'll do something, ah like da know what I'm stepping into. Picking up the tankard, Varl give a nod of thanks to Argrim before taking another long drink.
"A man to the point, I like that, no fooling you." He taps his left temple with his forefinger, "need cautious thinkers."
Well there is stretch of about 170 miles, along the coast road, that has been really lost in history. It's traveled on but the maps are poor quality and often just a simple drawing. This is some rugged terrain bordered in the north by the foothills near the lake and the Forest of Hope inland. It stretches over the Dragonmarsh Lowlands then over the Westend River in the south."
He drinks from his tankard, The bandit raids have been happening near the northern end. Well, since Nirmathas loves it's freedoms, there have been less than adequate protection lately. Sure there are military guards....here and there...but it's not enough." He drinks again.
"Of course, there is the legend of Rappan Athuk that permeates the region." He trails off with that sentence.
Kalim eats sparingly, and watches as others speak. "I have some skill in the making of maps from my militia days."
So all of this was about hound's work...
"I have to agree with this dwarf gentleman over there. Is not wise to involve in such activity without some background information."
"So, a little blade swinging, some cartography, and general reconnaissance of the area? That sounds like something my cousins and I can handle."
Quaffing another draught of mead, Karnog smiles at the quality once again.
"So, two major questions: what's the pay, and what can you tell us about this 'Legend of Rappan Athuk? I've heard tell about it, but no-one seems to have straight answers when questioned."
To the human Kalim, in common: "Militia, eh? What kind of work did you do for them? Logistics and command? Quartermaster? I have some experience myself, blacksmithing and patching dwarves up, and whatnot."
"Of course, there is the legend of Rappan Athuk that permeates the region." He trails off with that sentence.
Upon hearing this, the gnome's eyes glitter with joy.
"Rappan Athuk you said?"
Kalim gestures towards the longspear strapped to his back. "I was in the standing-and-stabbing department," he says with an eerie smile.
"Aye, the pay. 25 Gold up front, plus a wonderful handy haversack filled with useful items. Once the bandits are taken care off that'll get you 100 gold each. Then each area of map you can bring back will get you 50 gold each. Of course, the treasure you find is yours."
He ponders the second question about Rappan Athuk, "My friends let's refill our tankards." With this two more half-elf's slip out the door waving off the job offer.
Two assistants who come out of back room carrying armfuls of handy haversacks and they place them on the table my the ledger. The empty one to show what they contain.
After everyone refills their tankards he motions everyone to join him surrounding the large center table with the map spread out. There is the area of interest, it is only vaguely detailed in one section, he points to it. "That is where I want maps made."
"Now for the legend of Rappan Athuk. Long before Aroden died this land and Molthune were part of Cheliax, when it was still a land of renaissance and enlightenment. But not all was peachy....evil lurked...or so they say. Some say Zelcor, a powerful wizard and the great paladin Banor chased the remnants of an evil Orcus cult into this area." He motions the section that needs to be filled in. "Great battles were fought and the cultist where driving into a secret cave that was eventually destroyed...sealing it up.
Some believe in the ruins an entrance to Hell exists, while others believe it leads to one of the infinite planes of the abyss. One thing is certain that band of heroes led by Zelcor and Banor completely disappeared. Some even say they have been entombed or even turned into evil minions for Orcus himself." and there is a long pause,"And that Orcus himself resides in an incredible dungeon complex."
Nib rushes to the table and grab one haversack (the one that suits most to his size) and smiling looks at Featherton.
"Good sir, as I said before, I shall help you with your request. I shall unveil the mystery around Rappan Athuk! upon seeing himself, Nib takes a breath an regain his composture, "And... *cough* help you with your charting problem... of course."
Rappan Athuk? That’s where my grandfather Hadrin was rumored to disappear at while looking for some dwarven ruins. Nodding slowly from behind the rim of his tankard Varl sets it on the table with a belch. Looking first to Argrim and then to the other dwarfs Varl raises an bushy eyebrow in question.
What da ya say lads? Sounds better then another run as a caravan guards, eh?
"Good sir, you will need to provide your name and mark in our ledger so we can account for your services. One of the assistants nudges Nibbfir.
Vatilda felt a chill and rush of excitement. She thought for a moment wishing she knew more about the history of this area, but the thought of her own haversack was dominating her idle thoughts.
She sets down her tankard; ready to sign. She remembers her question... "What are we to do with bandits who surrender to us?"
A look of bewilderment crosses his face. Hadn't actually thought of that. "Well, there are patrols they could be turned over to, then again, we have a jail here that will do just fine."
"Seeing that we have enough for two groups here today, I would suggest splitting up. Some of you do seem to know each other, I'd ask that the two groups come up with some sort of name for identification."
Immediately several people bond together leaving the four dwarfs, humans and gnome staring at one another. The other group proudly announces they are the "Red Swords".
"Finally! An adventure! Aye, you can count me in." Argrim nods replying to Varl.
Argrim watches the other group get cohesion sipping his tankard. When they proudly announce they are the "Red Swords," he surveys the remaining group and sarcastically says, "I guess that makes us the 'Short Swords," giggling to himself.
My hammer is swift and it will strike true for any man so kind as to show us hospitality of this here magnitude, Rammellorn declares in between bites and mugs of mead. By Torag's hand we shall make Fentonville a safe haven for commerce.I know a bit about maps myself. He exclaims trying to keep up with the conversation.
Where do I sign, good sir? the dwarf states more rhetorically than inquiring.
Karnog examines the mapped area intently, almost absent mindedly grabbing a haversack off the table.
"I'm in. This area seems like it needs the strong and resilient order of the Great Creator. Lads, perhaps we join up with our human neighbors and this enthusiastic gnome?"
He signs his name in the ledger and says a brief blessing in dwarven.
Nib looks for a quill and ink while mumbling "yeah, yeah..." and signs the contract after a quick look.
"I guess that makes us the 'Short Swords,"
Nib puff his chest and says afer hearing Argrim.
"The Short Swords... I like that name. Deadly as a sword, and swift as a dagger!"
Then, after checking the haversack's content and adding his own, he look at his would-be companions.
"Very well. Gentlemen, shall we depart now?"
"Perhaps we are all departed soon."
Dat was sarcasm. Varl notes, downing the tankard in one final gulp. I can't say that I know a good name, but I think "The Short Swords" is silly. Clomping upto the ledger, Varl grips the pen in one knobby dwarven fist. And da be fair, I don't know how I feel about taking prisoners. Nirmathas has a bit o' a live and let live policy. Well if you rob and kill someone then I think you waived your rights. Scratching his name the dwarf hands the pen to the next in line. How about "The Mithril Delvers"?"
"You can always count on a warm meal and fine mead in Fentonville."
He watches everyone sign in the ledger, "So we have the second group, The Short Swords, is that the name you want?
The second clerk hands out small worn greyish leather coin purses with the 25 gold signing bonus.
"I sense you'all be anxious but tomorrow is good day to begin. In the meantime, may I suggest the Slywink Tavern and Inn. I'll spot you all a night's rest. The rooms are clean, to besides the owner, Ms Hickory, makes this delicious mead," he holds up his tankard.
Nib looks for a quill and ink while mumbling "yeah, yeah..." and signs the contract after a quick look.
Walter's ears perk up,"...or is it Mithril Delevers s your group name?" acknowledging there is bit of conversation going on.
"Perhaps, you all need another tankard to decide the name...my friends." By the way, you all get the sense he is straight forward, no nonsense or ulterior motive.
I don't care what you call me so long as you call me for food, fight and drink
Rammellorn moves eagerly to sign the ledger and begin the adventure.
Finally, some prospects, some companionship, a town worth fightin for.
While waiting for a clerk, Argrim goes and loads up his plate from the food leftover. When the clerk becomes available, he makes himself comfortable and reads the contract before signing anything. He munches as he reads enjoying the non-trail rations.
Compared to the others, he does not to appear in a hurry at all. Must be dwarven patience or wisdom. Maybe if something must be done, it should be done well. Or maybe if you want to commit yourself, you should know what you are committing. Whatever it is, the food and drink are free and better than trail rations.