Mathias takes a long drink of his third ale while eyeing his next card. A touch of a curl stretches across his lips, though only on the right side of his face - is he smirking... or smiling? Noting Miranda chasing around the common room he turns an eye to her movements, curious to her intent. Upon seeing the letter in her hand, he connects the pieces. Reading the letter and the room, perhaps there is some connection? I will need to pick her brain later on the matter, but now, to determine who the rest of these players are.
Looking across the table he ponders Erasmus carefully. They are a strange pair, the gunman and the bedouin. Then again, so are Miranda and I, but we were drawn together by our common nature and mutual cause. I wonder what has brought them together, and to this inn tonight...what awaits us all?
Taking another drink, his right cheek curls up further. "Well sir, what is your move?"
Fortunately, the one in your vision, the harder you think on it, is one you've encountered before. A steely woman who wears her black hair in a short-cut bob almost eerily close to how Iomedae is often depicted. You once crossed paths with her while pursuing a missing persons case, one that she was curiously on the trail of as well. It was a brief encounter at a crime scene, nearly devolving into a war of blades as she assumed a Tiefling could only be up to trouble at the scene of a mysterious kidnapping. After clarifying your reason for being there, you wenty our separate ways and you never saw her again, thankfully closing the case yourself before she could do it, for as little fortune as there is in coming across the remnants of a body torn apart by ghouls. What stood out most about your meeting was how strongly she clung to her faith and to her mission.
Raz claps Baqir on the back as he heads to the stairs and folds his cards. "Bust. He never was a good loser." Peeling his own hand up, Raz takes a moment to consider his next move.
A good . . . long . . . moment.
His eyes snap up as Mathias breaks him out of it. "Oh! Uh...stand." Shrugging his duster off, he pushes his hat back and wipes the newly-formed beads of sweat from his brow. "Always gets so damn hot after he leaves." He takes a long drink from his cup, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and sighs, satisfied. Eyeing the cards on the table, he says, "Dealer stands with seventeen. Stand or hit?"
Pondering more about the only discernible part of the vision - the knight - Miranda wanders off in her mind. That woman. She had seen her before, just briefly! With a smile she recalled their meeting. Hmm. Never did I catch her name ... I wonder if she has mine? For a second she contemplates asking either the innkeeper or making an illusion and showing Laurence. But the knight had taken steps to be discrete, and Miranda felt that she might make an even worse impression if she outed her so publicly. Maybe when there was some privacy...
With a grin she jumped down from her chair again and chased down the innkeeper. "A large cup of ... hmm ..." Can't be foamy! "water or milk or soup?"
"Of course, my dear," the dwarf says, pouring some cold milk for the tiefling and easing it toward her with a smile. She then returns her head down to the paperwork she's doing, which bears the title "United Brewers of Absalom" at the top of it. Likely order work and little more.
With a smile she returns to her seat next to Laurance. She puts the cup between them on the counter and concentrates for a moment. Then she motions for him to look inside.
"Anyone you know?"
Inside the cup is a small replica of a knight of the Inheritor. She is clad in heavy armour and has black short-ish hair.
The investigator does not pursue any further line of questioning with Dr. Grey, getting the distinct impression from his reaction that he was prying too closely into his personal affairs. The interaction was inevitable, however; he seemed to be here for the same purpose as Laurence, Miranda and Mathias, and there would at least be one more meeting between the group of them with their summoner. A little small talk never hurt, but clearly William did not have a doctorate in chit-chat.
Instead he followed along behind with his usual quiet attentiveness, listening more than speaking. When the doctor had finished pontificating, Laurence's response has a note of mirth to it. "A question most easily answered by asking the man himself. Or woman herself, as the case may be. We should be hearing from the letter writer soon, I hope."
Laurence takes a long draught of his ale and follows it up by sweeping away lingering head from his mustache with a kerchief in his vest pocket. He was not unfamiliar with magics - there were enough specialists in the Watch who dabbled in the Arts - and he reached out a hand to settle the milk in the cup to get a clearer image.
"Mmm."
The man nods with familiarity at her visage in the milk. He hesitates for two seconds before he continues. "Her name escapes me at the moment, but she has been an established representative of the Church of Iomedae in Absalom for years. Rest assured, her presence indicates that the leaders of the faith have taken some particular interest in a matter."
Miranda grimaces a bit.
"Yeah. I've met her before. Very briefly, but I got the impression that she was a bit of a zealot..."
She continues to look down into the cup for a few more minutes, hoping to recall more of their brief interaction - but nothing useful came into mind.
"Did you hear music in your divination?" Laurence suddenly asks Miranda, taking another drink from his ale.
Miranda looks up from the cup with an apologetic look. "It was just visual imprints, sorry..."
She looks thoughtful for a second then continues slowly. "... buuuut perhaps I could try something else. I haven't 'read' your letter. The odds are that it will be the same - or very similar - imprints. And it might be contaminated by now ... But it might be worth a shot!"
He nods with understanding. "It is no matter. There has been a regular musican performing here that I thought might be able to shed a little light on the meeting had she been present at the time. Whom else can one trust but a bard to, eh heh, take note of something?"
The timing was good, but the delivery was, like many things with Laurence, subdued.
He slips the letter out of his vest pocket again and slides it across to the small woman, nodding his assent for her to do as she needs to with it.
"*Hih*" Miranda chuckles and accepts the letter. It looked eerily similar to the other - but perhaps it caught a different piece of the scene. Or maybe it contained a piece of Laurence instead. Or nothing at all.
"The first two birds returned ahead of schedule," says a peppy female voice that you have never heard before. "I can assure you sir that nothing can stop my creations from their task, and hopefully once these letters are done we can discuss the investment you promised."
"Hmm. Now there is a voice ..." Miranda tilts her head to the side, listening sounds only she can hear. "A gnome perhaps? Female. I think she made the birds ..."
"If our summoner has not approached and made his intent clear by the close of breakfast tomorrow, I can spend the morning canvassing the neighborhood for the people who may have involvement, including any gnomish clockwork engineers."
Laurence finishes his ale, wipes down his mug and busses his small section of the bar with a napkin before getting up and walking over to Mathias' card game. He spends a couple of hands lingering and watching wordlessly to see whether Mathias is being taken by a common card sharp...
"The race was just a guess. I heard that they have a knack for such things!" Miranda comments as she follows Laurence to the table. For some reason, she didn't feel comfortable being left alone with the doctor. Without company, his prying eyes ... They they actually felt a bit unnerving.
Putting down her untouched cup of milk (now devoid of images) she pulls up one of the bar chairs to the table. They were tall enough to give her a somewhat normal height-to-table ratio.
"Watcha playing?" she inquires. "I'm Miranda by the way"
Mathias looks at his cards again, "Hit me".
Erasmus notices Mathias's eyes wander away from the table, trailing the lanky doctor engaging Mathias' diminutive companion. His look is one of scrutiny, as though trying to determine the Professor's intent. That bastard is almost as unsettling as I am. I don't trust the way he tracks her, almost like a predator. Why have all us lost souls been drawn here? What kind of game is afoot?
Coming back to the third card landing amidst his, he laughs. "Bust, damnable luck if I ever. Eh, to da matter at han'. Giv'n the nature of the letter, I assum'd t'be an offer of employment ~ the lass and I, we deal with dangers in the dark. But upon seein' ye'all, I be wonderin' a bit meself. Beyond cleanin' yer gun, what tings do ye, and yer companion, fill yer time wit?"
After watching the game (she won't play, but if Erasmus offers her some card she'll happily take them and see what they say about him!) for a while and introducing herself to the new face at the table, Miranda excuses herself and goes to find her complimentary room. First she unloads her stuff in the corner of the room then she takes a quick look around.
It was nice. Not extravagant, but nice. She liked it. With a smile she started to work. First she secured the windows and the door with bells and twine. Then she took her bag and made a small bulge underneath the sheets. Lastly she switched into her nightgown and pulled one of the pillows as well as a blanket with her into the closet. Human-sized bets always felt so weird, so vast. She preferred an enclosed space anyhow - it felt more private and safe that way. Settling in she closed the door behind her, soon falling asleep.
"Treasure hunters," he says casually as he sweeps the cards up. He deals out another hand as the others pull up to the table, dealing in new players. "Spend a lot o' time triggerin' traps and shootin' mummies. We specialize in fool's errands," he says, taking another drink. Turning his eyes to Laurence, he asks, "How 'bout you, pal? What's yer story?"
***
After turning in for the night, Raz tosses his coat over a chair and throws his hat on top, shrugging off his suspenders. He sets his guns on the nightstand, making sure he can reach them even in his sleep. Sitting down on the bed, he pulls his boots off with a groan and collapses back on the bed to sleep.
Dr. Grey had, seemingly at random, simply stopped conversing. It wasn't exactly typical behavior for him but few things were. When he came too, the others were already leaving, and he was only now processing some of what had been said. Miranda seemed oddly skilled, as he had noted while he was thinking the image in her milk. It hadn't meant anything to him, as he had little knowledge or care of local dealings below a certain line of wealth or status. Ontop of whatever she was able to pluck from items at hand, Grey knew he would have to keep careful watch on his things, lest she learn something best left unlearned by most.
Laurence, an apparent acquaintance of hers, seemed trusting enough to believe that someone arranging such cloak and dagger meetings would be honest in other ways. And the rest all had their own curiosities.
Curious. That was what Grey would describe it all as and that was certainly what he'd describe himself as. In the end, he retired as the others began to, seeing little need to stay in the common room. As he had promised himself he did check the small sampling of stew for poison before going to bed, more out of boredom then any real suspicion.
Despite his original plan to stay awake all night, the possibility of facing danger meant he'd require his energy over the next few days. To create extracts and... other things. Which necessitated sleep. However, he did decide to keep his spear beside his bed, opposite the door so it could not be seen. He wasn't exactly skilled with it but in a pinch it would do, and serve far better then his other options would where people might see him.
A fool without any errands, he nearly quips to the treasure hunter, but instead takes the time to form a more deliberate answer. "Local law enforcement. Could be our petitioner wants someone with palace connections."
But even though Laurence left it at that, he knew better. A man who not only claims to have expended resources to find them but also dragged these treasure hunters from whatever foreign port they transacted in must know that Laurence's bridges were loaded with kindling and just waiting for a match.
He bid the players a good evening and retired to his chamber for the night, methodically undressing in the same manner he had done for years. Out of habit he reached to pluck the symbol of station from his belt loop and his fingers found purchase on warm leather instead of cold steel. After a light laundering and folding, he opened his traveling case to stow the clothing away and was met face to face with his past. An even older symbol of station stared up at him with hollow, sightless eyes, pallid skin and silvery lips flecked with gold. He lifted the mask in one hand and ran a finger over the cheekbones until the old chill ran down his spine and an electric heat built behind his eyes, at which point he tucked the constant reminder away and settled into bed for the night, socks still on his feet and a comfortable nightcap on his head. Normally he would have a great deal of difficulty getting to sleep at this hour, but that single ale was enough to settle his anxiety and lull him into a sleep made shallow by anticipation.
Looking across the table at Erasmus, he drains his mug. "Me story, eh? Dat's a tale of woe an' loss. Let's just say I had me fair share o' run-ins with de dead an' fiends when I was young. Twas much de same for de lass. An' fate deemed we'd be able to manage it better toget'er. Now we deal wit de dark, de arcane, de otherworldly ~ she's de eye an' knife, I'm de hammer an' anvil. We seek out missin' persons, purge crypts of the undead, dat sort of ting. When tings go bump in de night, we bump back."
Looking down at his empty mug, then across the empty taproom, he sighs. "Twould seem we're de last awake dis eve. Time to turn in, I should tink. P'rhaps our employer will pay us a visit in the morn. Until den, g'dday."
Mathias rises from the table, and fingering his key, heads upstairs. He stops by Miranda's room and knocks. When she opens, he briefly asks, "Ye Good?" and (assuming) she says yes, he nods and turns to his room. Stepping in he drops his light pack on the ground. He had brought enough for several days, though they may need to stop by the flat if it stretches longer. Checking the bed, it seemed up to standard. He leaned his sword against the wall, removed his longcoat and the hidden breastplate beneath, then tucked a chair under the doorknob. Checking the windows are secure he climbs into bed with a dagger beneath the pillow and a cestus still on his right hand.
What to make of all this indeed? A host of vagabonds and tormented souls, drawn together in this strange inn. What will the morning bring...
The night stretches on with little in the way of interruptions, whether you're comfortable and safe enough in this strange arrangement to sleep or not. The din of the tavern below you is not as rowdy as expected, a mixture of its middle class locale and construction solid enough to drown noise. However, the lighter of sleepers among you make out the proprieter's stern shout of, "I'm sorry, but we're closing early tonight for repairs! Everyone out, don't worry about handling your tabs, but if you never come back to pay them I'll have my husband at your door!" followed by another laugh.
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps up the stairway bring someone up to your row of rooms, all perfectly lined up from 201 to 206 in the hallway. One by one, you're awoken a little after midnight by a firm but considerate knock at your door. "I'm terribly sorry to wake you my dear, but I have need of you downstairs," Mrs. Davids says through the door. Any sleepy refusals are met with stern, kind insistence that you really must join her, and that it is a matter of the business you've been called to. Silence is met with a few more knocks as the dwarf is determined to get you out of bed and downstairs. Once she receives her confirmation, she tells you to get ready and be down in a minute, she moves on to the next, better the noisy patter of a dwarf's footsteps make their way down the stairs. For such tiny packages they're certainly noisy.
When you make your way down the stairs, the tavern room is quite the sight to see. Despire being closed, it's full quite full of people, though clearly not clients. Nobody is dressed like a typical citizen, and in fact it has the strange makeup of a massive warband of disparate adventurers. The Palain of Iomedae from the vision sits opposite a Mwangi mage whose haircut and bulky clothes seem to intentionally mask their gender. A deathly pale Tien woman whose cloak bears symbols of Pharasma quietly looks at a gnomish man standing on the chair, pouring frantically over a pile of books laid out before him. Another gnome, female this time, whose floral dress and face are smattered with grease stains, has cleared a wide berth of floor to flaunt a clockwork spider to several interested parties, including the elven bard with the very short-cropped blond hair who Laurence has seen performing on the stage each night he's stayed. A woman bearing the uniform of the city guard leans against the wall, talking to nobody.
But all the din and commotion ceases as you descend. Everyone goes still, watching in varying amounts of curiosity, distrust, and eagerness as you make your way downstairs. They clear awak from the front, where three square tables have been pushed together and six chairs lined on your side of it. On the other side, Mrs. Davids, the Paladin, the elf, and the guardswoman each take their seats, the final being taken by a weary-looking, well-fed man in noble's clothes who sits in the middle. Miranda recognizes the sleeves as being the ones she saw in the vision. "Please, take a seat," he says, motioning toward the row of chairs set for you. "We have a lot to discuss."
Knocking... The annoying sound pierced Miranda's pleasant sleep. Blinking awake she yawned - yet the knocking continued. So it wasn't a dream! Taking a few moments to adjust her nightgown she picked up her gun and made her way out of the closet and towards her 'front door'. With a peppy 'just a minute' she undid her bell-and-twine arrangement and opened the door.
About a minute later she was fully dressed, if a bit unkempt. As she stepped down the stairs the last of the sleepiness vanished from her visage and she stopped trying straighten her hair. Instead she grinned widely and looked around, taking it all in. It was a motley looking crew, this boded well! She gave the clockwork spider a long look - her desire to read it was overwhelming. But before she had the chance to say hi to the gnome and her invention, she was directed towards a seat. With barely contained excitement Miranda hopped up on the one bar-chair available at the table and gave the welcoming comity a toothy wide grin.
Baqir stumbled downstairs in fine bedclothes, not bothering with armor or gear.
As he comes across the group below he pauses for a second.
I'm half tempted to...
He shrugs and then joins everyone, saving a seat for Raz.
Laurence's fitful dozing made it so that he awoke to the sound of Mrs. Davids clearing the common room. Under different circumstances, he would think nothing more of it and roll over to the cooler side of the bed. But given what Miranda had said about their petitioner's hours and Laurence having taken no note of repair equipment being brought in over the past couple of days, he assumed something was afoot and immediately sat up, rubbed his jaw, yawned, and then slipped into an undershirt. He was strapping his trousers with a set of suspenders when the knock came at his door.
"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Davids. I will be down presently," he answers without hesitation. He spent the next two minutes tightening the straps of his quick draw holsters before putting a sap into the right handed one and a wand into the left. He fished a small key ratchet from his pocket and wound the springs back into a loaded position before throwing on a white button-up, careful to tuck the hem but forgetting to snap the collar, leaving it open and a little unkempt.
While descending the stairs, Laurence is careful to mark each person and their position, but his gaze lingers a long time upon the clockwork spider and the elven musician who, if she looks to him, gets a small and toothless smile of recognition. The woman in the guard uniform captures his attention the most, as he tries to identify her. And if not her, then at least her rank in the watch.
It is not his preferred seat, but Laurence sits down directly across from the severe paladin of Iomedae as the seats are quickly taken up by the others. "Thank you," he nods, showing gratitude when invited to sit.
Dr. Grey was one of the first to be ready but one of the last to descend. The first part was relatively easy since all of his clothing, even his armor, was laid out quite carefully on a nearby table within the room. It took him only moments to dress. He eyed the longspear briefly, but decided against it. A trap, if there were one, would involve everyone in the inn. Hiding his trump card would only cause him problems at this point.
The fact that he was expected made sneaking down a non-option, so as calm as a man walking down the street mid-day he strolled down the steps. As he was want to do, the good Doctor likely offended half this curious patronage with a look. His eyes surveyed them looking for threats or curiosities and those he thought were neither got a dismissive sniff, if that. The only people he actually seemed interested in were the gnome with the clockwork spider the paladin, so perhaps more then half the room.
He pulled one of the seats near the edge. He wasn't sure about the abilities the others possessed but were he of the need, Grey would need freedom of movement to act quickly. Curiously, he has chosen a seat across from the guardswoman, someone who had been so readily passed over by his eyes it was still uncertain whether he knew she was there. Grey said nothing, the better to listen. Finally his eyes settle on the noble man.
His blade sprang out from under the pillow as the the knock rang out across the door. Checking his surroundings, Mathias quickly calms, and hearing Mrs. Davis's strange invitation he agrees. "Tank ye. Give me a few if yuh'd please. Tis late an' I'm us'lly asleep 'efore now."
Quickly he dons his armor, pulling on his longcoat, and lashing on his scabbard. He leaves his pack in the room, though makes sure it is ready to move. Finally he slides the dagger back his sleeve. Stepping out into the hall, he checks the other nearby doors as he heads for the stairs. Coming down to the crowd, his mind reflexively reaches for his sword, though he manages to keep it in its scabbard. Calmly approaching the table, he sits beside his companion Miranda. "Care to share de nature of de game?" he asks as he pulls a mug of ale to himself.
Mrs. Davids has to knock insistently several times to rouse Erasmus Ames. He moans and rubs one eye with the meat of his hand to stop his head pounding behind it. Already dressed for the most part, he pulls on his boots and straps on his guns, leaving his coat and hat. He runs a hand through his hair, not doing much to alleviate the combination of bedhead and chronic hat hair. Arriving downstairs, he takes a seat next to Baqir, eying the clockwork spider. "That's one mystery solved," he mumbles to Baqir. He glances at each of the others, more tired than interested.
Shortly before seating himself, Laurence's boots clomp together at the heels and he crosses his right arm over his left breast while looking at the lieutenant from the Lotus Guard. It was both a matter of habit and respect to salute the superior officer.
When Mathias comes down to join her at the table, she leans up to whisper in his ear "Remember the writer I mentioned last evening?" and frantically nodded towards the man in the middle with a big grin.
The human in the middle clears his throat once all of you have gathered in your seats. "Thank you for coming," he says in a clear voice, the sort someone well-versed in business uses when closing deals. Welcoming and friendly, but with confidence and certainty beneath, all of it said convincing enough to persuade any with second thoughts about what he has to say. "First, let me apologize for what you likely noticed upon arriving, that this is not exactly the finest inn in Absalom. Forgive me; I thought it would perhaps draw a little more attention to talk it up, and I'm sure nobody can blame me for exaggerating about one of my businesses." He gives a small chuckle, the polite sort that you follow your own jokes with to clear the air so that it's not an awkward transition to another subject. "But I imagine you're curious for answers, as you're right to be, having been called to a strange place and given a paid room with little explanation. Forgive me for that as well; we needed to be secretive about our intentions, in the event your letters fell into the wrong hands or you were intercepted on the way here.
"What I said in the letter was not entirely false. You have indeed been sought out with great effort for a task that certainly relates to the subject matter I mentioned, but I am not a lonesome, fearful man eager to pay experts in exchange for safety. My name is Lord Alandre Burton, and I am the financier of the Ordo Lumina. With me are Lieutenant Stella Riodos of the Lotus Guard, Annabeth Kirn of the Church of Iomedae, Miriel Liowyn of the Church of Sarenrae, and while you've already met Mrs. Kotri Davids and her husband Gilliam, you were likely unaware of their former career paths as inquisitors for Pharasma. Behind us are much of the rest of our order, who you will be introduced to in due time, but at the moment we've little need for long-winded introductions when there is other business to discuss.
"We wish to induct each of you into our order, for as loosely as we can be considered one. Aside from those devoted to faiths that need little explanation for their presence, each member of our order, one way or another, has encountered horrible things they could not face alone, and have either found their way to us or been sought out for their skills and experience, to combat the growing darkness across Golarion, and specifically within Absalom. We came upon each of you through careful consideration in search of new members who posess the skills we require, and now here we stand, inviting you to join us in this dark time. Kotri, if you'd please?"
Mrs. Davids speaks, and you notice that she has since pulled out a necklace from beneath her blouse, a proudly-beared silver symbol of Pharasma that she's kept hidden. "Our order began a few years ago, when Gilliam and I retired and returned to tend to duties at Absalom's Church of Pharasma. We met with representatives for Sarenrae and Iomedae, to discuss growing concerns that there was a swell of undead activity and cults brewing in the city. But now, a mere five years later, we're nearly two dozen strong, with resources Lord Burton has generously provided that have allowed us to extend far beyond the reaches of our faiths. Through our budding network of spies, hunters, and scholars, we have come to determine that there are not only massive groundswells of necromantic activity and cults appearing at worrisome rates, but that most of the power structures and institutions in Absalom have been infiltrated and corrupted by agents of some grander conspiracy."
"Should you accept, of course," Lord Burton continues, "You will of course be paid for your service, likely more than the going rates to hire you at the moment. You will also be free to stay here at the Gilded Unicorn, room and board taken care of at no charge. I imagine you've a lot of questions for me before you make your decision, so please, ask away."
Dr. Grey considered the implications of the offer very carefully. At the same time, he considered what he recalled of nobility in the area. And at the same time he was doing both of those things, he also considered what it'd be like if he could convince a noble to start funding his research. Being a man of quite the sharp mind, he did these things simultaneous, though he didn't really feel the pride in being able to do so that he had once felt.
Rather then speak first, Grey decided to remain quiet and let the others have a go. He had his concerns, and to the many in the room who were combat trained he still looked ready to spring out of his chair at any moment, but he made no move to either reply or start attacking just yet. Because, though he was worried, indeed recalling the one time a vampire he had hunted sought to trick him by pretending to be a hunter, Dr. Grey was a perhaps dangerously curious person. The situation didn't just intrigue him. His mind was a whirl with possibilities, so much so that despite having accepted nothing yet, the gaunt man in his brown plague coat and loose spectacles wore a rather small, but unnerving, smile.
Good pay, free living and food. Miranda thought with a cheerful smile. I wonder what the hook is - other then fighting the terrible terrors of the night! Despite her racing thoughts, she couldn't think of one question to ask!
Laurence sat straight in the chair, his large hands folded in front of him. When Lord Burton had finished, he takes a moment to digest all that has been said before inquiring further.
"My first instinct is to question why you would not take this to the Palace. Vigilantiism is...ah, frowned upon."
He stammers a bit, realizing the irony inherent in his statement and feeling certain at least some people at the table know why.
"But you say that many institutions have been infiltrated as part of a grand conspiracy. I assume this includes the Palace as well as the College of Mysteries in the Petal District," he gives a nod to the lieutenant. "What hard evidence have you of this conspiracy?"
"Yes, the Palace and every major academy in the city are among the infiltrated organizations. They've yet to take any seat of total power, as far as we can tell, but have positioned themselves into high positions of advisorship and succession. The city guard, the militia... the Pathfinder society. There are no major power structures left in the city that don't have something involved. Unfortunately, we've yet to link the exact players, but there's too many coincidences to ignore. Many of our members have their own stories, reasons they sought help from Pharasma or Sarenrae and were in turn brought into the fold.
"I won't tell you the stories of anybody other than myself, as they aren't my stories to tell. My dear daughter was a Pathfinder. She wasn't supposed to divulge details of her missions, but she would often correspond with me on distant trips through magical messaging services whenever she was in a major city, and would regale me with the tales. As someone who could never leave the city due to duties to my family's company, I lived vicariously through her adventures. On her last mission she was dispatched to Korvosa, her letters claiming to be on the trail of a lost artifact. The very last one I received was a frantic and hastily-written warning, that she had stumbled upon something dark and necromantic. She believed she couldn't trust the Pathfinders she'd been dispatched with, and it implied that her venture captain was on the way to inspect it herself.
"Not only did no letters follow, but she never came home. In trying to contact the Society, I was given a lot of obfuscation and confusion, before ultimately meeting her captain and being told she hadn't been dispatched to anywhere for three months. Claimed that her paperwork had been misplaced and couldn't be found, and that any attempt to contact her was returned with silence. Given her listed address was my own home, I know for a fact they made no attempts to contact her, but I couldn't push any further without arousing suspicion, which I began to believe would make me a target. So I came to the church of Pharasma in search of aid."
"We've already had our eye on venture captain Vanelia Corten for quite some time," Kotri adds. "Certain figures within the Society have risen up rapidly to low and medium positions of command with surprising quickness, all of them having ties to the same handful of people of interest. Obviously, we have reason to play our cards close until we've had your trust and oaths, but hopefully this will be enough to earn a modicum of trust for the time being."
Mithias leans down to Miranda as she whispers to him, "I see..." he replies simply while evaluating all those here gathered. A secret society of monster hunters... a cult to hunt the cults... intriguing proposition... though why hadn't Miranda and I ever crossed their paths before...
He takes a large drink from the mug in his hand. "Well, Miranda an' I've certainly had our han's full these past two years, so I agree dere's someting not quite right in Absalom. An' honestly, we'd be doin' de same ting, so its not much different for us. The network, an' resources, would be a plus. But, given de corruption in so many places, have ye not doubt about de churches as well? Men of de cloth can be manipulated just as well, an' given de blind obedience of laymen and low-ranked clergy, it's possible for one evil seed to corrupt de whole pot. I know dis well."
"It explains why the expense to go so far afield." Grey added quite suddenly, caring little for who he interrupted with his words. "We are not just skilled in the task you seek to recruit us for, we are each of us far less likely to be one of these... secret society members that you are tracking. In fact, some of our reputations are disreputable enough to make it very unlikely."
It was a simple thing, but it put a slightly less noble spin to their tale of seeking out talent. The ones besides Grey might very well be the best at what they do, but their value came as much from their separation from the dangers at hand as the skill they wielded. That separation, and reasoning, was dangerous though. Even subconsciously, the group, order, or whatever they called themselves might carry with them for some time a nagging feeling that those they had chosen might be not as worthy... or perhaps disposable. At least in the short run. None of this deterred Grey. Even if his guesses were completely on the mark it showed competence in leadership he thought was rare.
"All of that said, my interests lie in research that can be gleamed from what I hunt. This groups organization and skill is certainly not the norm but undead in general are rarely... valuable specimens."
As you continue to deliberate and inquire, plates of spiced potatoes are slid onto the table in front of everyone gathered around by the old cook, half-inch cubes of potato tossed in herbs and cooked crispy in oil, steam still billowing off the fresh food. Half-pint cups of milk are added with a grumble about not needing to drink at this hour before he returns back to the kitchen.
"Precisely, Dr. Grey," Alandre says, taking a small sip of his drink. "Through one means or another, each of you are independent, very much your own people, free of the associations or establishments that, were you agents of some dark cause, you would likely be members of attempting to infiltrate further. Not that we haven't taken extensive looks into the backgrounds of each of you." The silence hung after that remark, the nobleman taking some of his potatoes, eating them not quite gingerly but certainly with conversational patience. "A doctor engrossed in his own work, rather than an expert from the surely corrupt Acanmirium. Two foreigners who raided tombs for hire. Two local investigators of peculiar crimes the city watch would rather sweep under the rug. And a disgraced reject of the watch, who beside his keen knowledge of cults would not be on indefinite leave were he connected well enough to anybody of power.
"I think you'll find that, beyond those of strong faith in our order, most of us are misfits and outcasts, circumstance and horrible fate driving us into some dark stretch of the world where we saw something horrifying and could not stand idly by. By and large, outsiders fill our ranks, so don't feel singled out. As for your other question, doctor, we've currently little need for specimens, and value is of little importance given the resources I have committed to this order. If you wish to examine strange creatures upon discovering them, then I don't believe any among us will stop you."
Miriel regards the burly Tiefling's question with a smile. "That's what inquisitors are for!" She's devoured much of her potatoes already, eating rather gracelessly for someone so obviously elven. "Pharasma doesn't have many followers in the city, and the few working in an official capacity are ones we know we can trust. Most of Iomedae's ranks specializing in the undead and demons are at the Worldwound. Annabeth's our only official one, actually. Sarenrae has many agents who fight the undead, but among those who specialize in the matter and work with the order, there is only myself, my friend Darvin, and High Priestess Anthea. While we can call on our faiths for many tasks when needed without explaining ourselves, we keep the official involvement to a careful minimum, in case anybody attempts to infiltrate us from the ranks of the clergy. Of course if we find out there's some spies trying to get to us, feel free to put them down! Nothing bothers me more than people who use the Dawnflower's name in their lies."
Annabeth nods slowly, and sitting next to the eager elf looks even more contained than the usual steely appearance of someone clearly acting as Iomedaen as possible. "From what we have encountered, this corruption is not the temptation or enthralling of those already in office. Anybody can buy a politician's vote, but to place your own agent as a politician? That is much more valuable, and most of what we have encountered. Few agents are bought or swayed, but rather fiercely loyal and silent to whatever cause they've spent much of their lives prepared for. They slowly work their own agents' ways to power. To combat infiltration however, we tend to work in groups of at least two whenever possible, as they have dealt in temptation before."
"And as an extra layer of security," Kotri adds, "After you leave tomorrow, you won't be using the front door anymore. We have a tunnel between here and the Church of Pharasma, only a few minutes' walk, and if Gilliam can make it then you young folk have no excuse. The churchside entrance has an artifact embedded into the gate that will alert us to any ill intentions, so should any of you find yourselves bought or corrupted, you won't get far. I might look old, but I can still hit the whites of your eyes from two hundred feet with my crossbow."
Dr. Grey tilted his head to the side. Undisputed access to any specimens he encountered was something he already enjoyed as a private contractor in his field, which meant they weren't offering much other then a continued status quo there. Despite the fact that he hadn't done so in a long time, and definitely not without a bit of help, Grey heard a voice urging him to barter. Never except the deal that was on the table until the person across from it was only just happy enough to be done. "I think you misunderstand. If all I'm to face is undead then useful specimens will be quite rare. Most undead are... Corpses. And there's little left to learn from those for me. I'll need a little... more then that if I'm to continue my work while joining in yours. An agreement that your other agents in the field will bring anything unusual to me... should it prove possible to do so without revealing themselves or risking themselves that is. And a room suitable to set up a lab to study them in, of course."
He leaned back in the chair, one hand already reaching out toward the bowl in front of him. "In return, I can do a little to return the favor. On the days I don't hunt, I can turn some of my energy toward specialized potions, so long as the costs are covered, for any of yours that need them. In fact, if you find or have access to any wizards spellbooks, I can expand my repertoire and make that doubly useful. You may not hurt for resources, but there must be some limits to what you can get if you want to remain hidden..." He paused, then added as an after thought, "I'll also make any definitive findings I've discovered available for all, useful should they ever encounter such creatures again."
Potions. That had always been her specialty. He hadn't the skill she had, the knowledge, or even the drive to pursue it quite like she did. His interest had always been focused more internally, on the benefits his science could provide a person longterm. But he still could make them, and well at that. In fact, he had a few on him right now. Sharing his work would be a little annoying but it's not like they had his mind or tools at hand. They'd never be able to encroach on his territory, which meant he could continue his research without the issues that would crop up from it being more widespread.
"I understood quite well. We may face more than the undead, and specimens are of little use to any of us. The only other option we'd have for a strange being nobody can do much with would be to sell it to the mages for reagents, which given the likelihood of enemies among their ranks... We have a lab in the tunnels that we can set you up in, assuming you've no issue with working underground. Well, more of a medical room, but we currently have no proper doctors and would be happy to set you up to work in it. As for your findings, I do request you wait on publishing anything too immediately. As far as we know, our enemies do not know yet that there exists an order in opposition to them, and while such knowledge should certainly be put out into the world, we must take care to protect our mission."
Raz chews over the offer about as carefully as he chews his potatoes. He and Baqir share numerous silent looks and glances as the situation unfolds, Raz giving small shakes of his head. Once it's all been laid out, he's got his piece to say. "I reckon we've all seen some pretty weird stuff in our time, but what makes you think it's all connected? I mean, there's cults and there's cults, and you ain't talkin' about the first kind. But what's some undead conspiracy doin' hidin' out in Absalom when they could be hangin' where the real party's at, down in..." He pauses, gulping and blinking involuntarily before finishing, "Geb?"
Leaning back in his chair, he takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair again. "No offense t' you an' yours, Lord Burton," he says, raising a dismissively placating hand, "but Pathfinders aren't exactly known for havin' lengthy careers. They're always stickin' their noses in places they don't belong messin' with things that ought not be messed with, and I say that as a man who makes his living stealin' from mummies." He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "It jus' don't add up."