"Get him, Malgrim," grins Arimar, "Show this fool why we are feared throughout Varisia."
Malgrim takes encouragement from his friend's words [ooc](if not from his spell?) and moves across the top of the table to close once more with Raim. This time, however, after an upheaval of dirt that rattles the plates on nearby tables, he arcs downward with a blow, seeking out a vulnerability in their assailant's armor.
The earthen blow it too much and Raim crumples in a heap, longsword clanging on the ground.
The fight ended, the woman saunters over. Through swollen eyes they can see that she is a dusky, curvaceous specimen that is clad to extenuate and tantalize, rather than obscure or mask her femininity.
"Well boys, I must say that few on Golarion could have bested Raim as handily as you lot, though I thought he had you all there for a moment. I hear that the Society has dumped you like a moldy crust of bread. Come. Let us leave this ... establishment and visit another. Here. Drink up." She offers the group small, glass vials filled with curative potions.
She lightly places her hands upon their arms and motions the group to walk out the door.
"Bill me." she calls to the bartender. Turning back as she strolls out of the Saucy Wench.
"Should I take the opportunity to begin my army of the undead?" Arimar asks casually, "I've been thinking about it for a while now, but the Society frowned upon such things. What do you think? Raim here could be a very nice beginning."
Arimar makes like he is checking Raim's pulse, but quickly chants, "Death knell," instead, making it seem as though a quick casting of vampiric touch.
"I mean, it seems like he is already dead and all..." the hidden priest grins mischievously.
Caerador is still trying to focus his blurry vision as rivulets of blood flow from a large slash in his chest when he becomes faintly aware that Raim has fallen. The skittering sound of his longsword, freshly coated with elven blood, echoes in Caerador's mind as he struggles to retain consciousness. He is already reaching in anticipation as the seductive vixen graces him with a draught of healing; it's effects immediately mend the wound and wash the swooning feeling away from Caerador's mind.
Cursing his poor luck at being so close to the swordsman, Caerador straightens himself out and allows the alluring woman to lead him out of the Saucy Wench, pausing only momentarily to place a half-hearted kick into Raim's motionless ribs.
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Benaiah sees the hulking man finally go down, no thanks to his pathetic efforts.
"Child, why didn't you properly release me? When will you learn?"
Shaking off the voice in his head, he puts his hands on his knees as the fog and haze subsides, leaving him gasping for air.
"So its like that? Send your old and tired muscle to his death and replace him with the ones who killed him?" Benaiah spits on the ground, sucking wind deeply between words.
Eventually he stands up, hand on his lower back and stretches back out. One more cleansing breath and he settles himself, shrugging his shoulders and picking up his weapon.
"You are a strange woman, that is for sure. A hell of a lot nicer on the eyes than the venture captains of the society. Well, Dralneen might give you a run for your money. Let's see just how much of a run..."
Benaiah begins to follow, his mind already dismissing what just happened now that the offending party has offered the curatives.
Placing a lithe hand on Arimar's arm, "An army!?! My, my. In my experience you only need an army if you are in a war, and need to win, or you are trying to dissuade someone to enter a war with you. So which is it? Are you going to war or trying to prevent one?
"In either case, I will have a proposition for you," Turning to Benaiah, "Simmer down, it won't be that type of proposition."
Continuing to converse with Arimar, "And one that doesn't as of yet, require an army from you. At least I hope not. But you are now a free man, so whom am I to tell you what to do?"
"Benaiah, you have the wrong of it. Raim was not an old dog, as you can tell from your newly healed wounds. No, loyal employees can expect nothing but fair treatment from me. No, Raim was more a rabid dog. One that needed putting down. Should you all turn rabid, and cannot listen to reason, that you can expect the same from me, and from a great many others. Come the night is young and unless I am mistaken, there are no pressing obligations for you all tonight, and tomorrow either."
Once outside in the crisp Absalom air, she leads the men to a palatial house at the end of the avenue. "Go head. Go in. Enjoy a night in the house, on the house. Tell them Mistress Lanvi offers us the lustrous pearl.. I'll come find you in the morning." She ends with a grin and heads off into the night.
The men push open the door to an opulent waiting room. Richly embroidered couches line the walls while plush rugs cushion and muffle their footfalls. The walls, painted a warm yellow, put the observers at ease while a faint smog of herbaceous aromas wafts lazily through the air. The group can hear the soft melodies of a band faintly strumming a tune.
A pair of barroom brawlers flank the door, while a youthful looking elven woman approaches the group. Her genuine smile highlights her smooth face framed by luxurious golden hair and violet eyes. "Welcome, gentlemen, to the house at the end of the avenue. What can we do for you?"
Malgrim has some serious wounds from after the encounter, though after a moment of concentration his earthen visage fades. He barely spares a look back to the corpse, though his eyes search out some explanation from the woman. A test, then.
He remains silent as he follows his fellows and lets the more outgoing do the talking, content to watch for the moment, until they reach the house. He looks to the rest and says quietly, "A Den of Ill repute. A gift, or another test?"
"War?" Arimar is genuinely confused, "Oh, right. I wasn't using army in the literal sense. At least, not yet. I am simply capable of having the dead fight for me - and I happen to not be so good at doing so myself. Raim here will do just fine as a bodyguard... and he'll be far more obedient in unlife than he was under your employ." Arimar leaves it at that and asks Benaiah to help him with the body.
"Please just drop him here," Arimar asks Benaiah when they are down an appropriately deserted back alley. The man holds tightly to the holy symbol inscribed on his wrist, smudging the make up so that the skeletal moth may peek through. He calls upon the mighty Urgathoa to befoul the ground beneath him, sprinkling silver all around. The metal shines upon the ground until Arimar finishes his chanting, at which point it oxidizes and becomes a sickly, greenish black.
Pressing the symbol of the Pallid Princess to Raim's deathly cold forehead, Arimar places the appropriate amount of onyx on his chest and calls forth the dark energies of undeath. "Lesser animate dead," he chants.
Instantly, the once-fresh corpse of Raim rots and decays. Flesh still clings to his bones, but it has lost all semblance of well-formed musculature. He is now a meat bag hanging from bones. Arimar smiles. Through the now-jowly face, the resemblance is most definitely still there. He silently congratulates himself on choosing a zombie for this one.
"Come, Raim, we have employment to find," he states simply.
Without protest, Raim the Mindless shuffles forwards on his bloated legs. No more confident striding for Raim. He moves as though a puppet on slack strings. His only desire to obey his Master. Master Arimar. Master told him to follow. He will obey.
"Maaaaaster..." Raim manages.
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Arimar comes to a stop in the shadows outside The House at the End of the Avenue. He quickly reapplies the foundation to cover up his holy symbol and wanders out.
Unused to his zombie follower, Arimar takes a moment to realize that it is still following him.
"Wait there in the shadows, Raim the Mindless," he commands callously, "Remain there until I call for you."
Arimar crosses over the road in time to hear Malgrim's question. "Sorry I'm late, had an 'army' to start," Arimar pauses a moment to consider things, "Probably a bit of both. We should comport ourselves well if we'd like to remain employed. However, I think I owe my mistress some overindulgence... and today has left me very much in the mood to forget my sorrows in the ample thighs of a fat whore - or several. Let us see how many this 'Mistress' Lanvi's pearl will buy us."
Turning to the woman at the door Arimar says, "Mistress Lanvi offers us the lustrous pearl. I'm hoping that means we need to search through more than a few bearded clams to find it..."
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We might each have to say it. That would sound weird. This is a brothel, and if I miss out because I wasn't technical enough... well. Let's just make sure that doesn't happen.
"Yea, you heard the man," Benaiah puffs his chest out, his bravado half false and the other half unsure of what this coded message might actually mean. "Mistress Lanvi offers us the lustrous pearl." the large man reiterates, wincing internally at the awkwardness of repeating the phrase.
"Dibs on the red-head. And the brunette..." The large man trails off as he begins to wander down the hall, scooping up a fair maiden in each of his well-muscled arms. Whatever attention he was paying to his companions is long gone, and whatever ill feelings he had from the nearly deadly combat has long since passed as well.
"That on my shoulder and back? Oh yea, just a little bit of blood. Oh no, it's not mine. Was just carrying a... you know what? I think I need the two of you to help clean me off. Yea, a nice hot bath. I have trouble reaching some spots on my back, you know, on account of the muscles and all." Benaiah smirks as he flexes for the ladies.
"While we wait for that bath water to get hot, I'm hungry for some bearded clam. You ladies ask a lot of questions..."
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The excitement of the day coupled with the memory of the agonizing wounds has been plenty enough excitement for Caerador. He stretches his arm, itches the magically freshly-knitted skin on his chest and nods to the stunning violet-eyed blonde in front of him.
"Yeah, what these two said, lustrous pearl... I would only ask for a bit of food and a dark, quiet room to recuperate and contemplate on my day. No other attention needs to be paid to me."
Caerador waits for the welcoming smile to turn confused, then curve back into a welcoming smile and follows her towards a quiet room near the back of the building.
Malgrim nods at his elven companion, keeping his hood down to hide his goblinoid features. No reason to draw undue attention, especially for the whims of the flesh.
"Simple food and drink for me as well. My companions may have my share of any further hospitality beyond that."
I imagine any of the pleasures to be found within these walls would be too soft for my liking, anyway.
Arimar looks dubiously towards his two abstaining companions and then shrugs. "More for us, eh, Benaiah? Besides, it will be good to have someone watching our backs while we are otherwise occupied! Someone other than Raim the Mindless, that is. Oh, I forgot to give him any guarding instructions. Oh well, I'll get used to having undead at my beck and call again soon enough."
"My the lustrous pearl. Well that will get you anything." Turning towards Arimar and Benaiah, "You may take your pick." She waves her hand and one of the brawlers opens a door to an adjoining room where all manner of creatures devoted to pleasure can be found.
Turning back to Caerador and Malgrim, "The house at the end of the avenue is devoted to its' guests enjoyment. It would be our honor to provide you with a bit more than 'simple food and drink', if you will allow us."
She turns and a man in clean white pants and coats emerges.
"So an elf and an a .." the man squats down to peer in Malgrim's hood, "Seems a hobgoblin. Masters, it will be my pleasure to prepare a course or two for you. Lasses will bring it up within the hour." He bows before departing.
Malgrim and Caerador are led to luxurious rooms, clean and fresh smelling. A large bed dominates the room, but there is a wash basin, and a well made writing desk.
The lasses return a bit less then an hour later with trays bearing fruits and cheeses, and exquisitely prepared amuse bouche.
The night for Arimar and Benaiah passes quite differently.
Morning approaches too quickly. Lounging in bed, each room is visited by beautiful girl bearing a tray of steaming food, and chilled fruits. "Enjoy." she murmurs after she places the tray on a table and collects the overnight guest(s) still in bed.
After sufficient time has passed for breaking the night's fast, a new pair of scantily girls enters. One collects the empty plates while the other begins. "If you would follow me please." Assembled in the hallway, the group soon discovers that the view from behind is just as good as from the front. They easily follow the girls down a few flights of stairs to a set of wooden double doors. An iron ring hangs from the center of each door. Lifting the rings in each hand, she pounds on the door. It is opened a moment later by a pair of sweating youths, clad only in a white loincloth.
Billowing plumes of steam escape the heated room. She quickly ushers the group in before turning to exit. As they step in the large flagstones radiate so much heat that they can feel it through their boots. A rack of wooden pegs lines one wall, obviously to hang up clothes, and multiple arrays of cubbies can be found underneath, obviously to stow gear.
The room slopes gently towards a large drain in the center of the room, and large copper tubs are scattered throughout the spacious complex. Overhead, a series of ropes and pulleys criss-cross the ceiling like the rigging of a galleon. Attached to the ropes are suspended half-barrels that must be filled with heated water judging by the steam that escapes them. Next to each copper tub is a bench with a folded robe, a cake of soap, and a bristle-toothed brush. Braziers filled with hot rocks dot this landscape, and a half-filled bucket and ladle rest along side. One of the youths occasionally ladles some water onto the rocks to produce more steam, or dumps newly heated rock into braziers that have cooled.
The youth motions that the group is to bathe, and informs them that they will happily provide as much heated water as needed. At the merest glance, either youth springs into action. Uncoiling a rope festooned to a peg, they lower the suspended barrels and upend the heated water into the cooper tubs.
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Benaiah raises an eyebrow at Caerador and his companion. On many things, the large man is not always the most perceptive. However, the twinkle in the lady of the night's eye when she leads the frail elf away tells him everything he needs to know.
"Caerador's getting a new kind of education tonight! Haha!" the achlemist lets out a boistrous laugh. "You can't read about this kind of stuff in a book my pale friend. Just remember to relax!"
Just before the two of them walk away, Benaiah speaks low, in a mock attempt to hide his words. "When you've had your fun breaking in the nubile youngster, come on over to my room and I'll finish you off proper." He says, sticking an elbow in the elf's ribs to overemphasize his jest.
......
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....
The scene in the room, should a person walk in having not known of the baudy and erotic tryst unfolding only moments before, looks as though an army of kobolds, or some other nuisance had passed through, turning everything upside down with no regard for any sort of decency. The bathing tub in the corner sits at an awkward angle, its side split from top to bottom. The water that was in it has mostly soaked into the floorboards, though with several areas still having standing water puddles.
Benaiah lies sprawled out in the bed that now has two broken legs. One arm drapes off of the high side of the feathered mattress while one of his feet dangles on the floor on the opposite corner of the tilted bed. The naked bodies of three women pile on top of the man who breaths at a steady, sleepy rhythm. The sound of knocking at the door stirs the large man suddenly, causing two of the working girls to roll off.
ooohhhh my head....
Benaiah shrugs his shoulders, glad for the decadence and lavish treatment, and still amused at his memories from his "bath" the night before.
Still not sure when the third one came in...
He quickly disrobes, uncaring for any sort of modesty, and steps into one of the copper tubs. He quickly closes his eyes, breathing in the steam and allowing the heat to soak into his body, relaxing his tired mucles.
"Hey cabin boy, do the ladies do massages here too?" he says without bothering to open his eyes, then allows his body to sink into the warm water a little further.
Malgrim raises from his slumber, pillows and blankets piled neatly on the floor where he set them aside. Even after a night in the luxurious accommodations, he feels restless. The bed too soft...
At the bath, he hesitates and glances around at the attendants with apprehension. In these "civilized" lands, the anonymity his heavy cloak and hood provided had been a greater shield than steel. Yet, the master of the establishment had apparently seen the truth of his race without an adverse reaction.
Watching his companion disrobe, he sighs, then adds his own meager possessions to the cubby, neatly folding his robe and hanging his armor, having no weapon to hang up. Wearing just a loincloth, his blue-skinned body displays a tapestry of old scars from battles and lashes past.
Finally, he slowly eases into the tub, keeping a firm grip on the metal side so that even in the moment of indulgence he can feel the pulse of the Stone.
Even in this den of indulgence, one can never be too careful.
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"Get off my cock," Arimar commands, annoyed, "Your clumsy gyrations are doing nothing for me. Perhaps you should go next door instead. My friend Benaiah is much less discerning - especially if you make it a foursome. No, I didn't mean try to improve... I meant get off and f+!# off... now! Go next door."
Arimar disrobes without hesitation and saunters into the steam room. The man is little more than a skeleton with tightly wrapped flesh around it.
"It's been a while since I've visited one of these," he notes, sitting down in such a way that his ample manhood is not burnt by the hot seats, "This should get the last of the kinks out of my back."
The pale necromancer leans back and enjoys the steam, wondering what other pampering they have in store before they'll be required to do some work.
"Anyone know anything about this 'Lanvi' who supposedly gave us the run of the place?"
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The steaming water is nearly up to Benaiah's ears as he lays his head back, only making enough effort to keep his face above the water level. Slowly his knotted muscles begin to relax, and the temperature begins to not feel so scaulding as his body temperature rises.
"More hot water!" the man raises a hand and snaps his fingers, eyes still closed as he wills his body to fully relax.
It wasn't even this luxurious back home... The slaves here are well trained. Are they even slaves? Huh, didn't consider that until just now. That would be something...
"Don't remember any Lanvi from our previous life as pathfinders. Of course, that only means she didn't have any overt ties to the society. You know the decemvirate, if you aren't with 'em, then you are an evil, parasitic organization that rapes the land of its treasures. The ends justify the means as long as you make sure the public only hears about the charming 'means' and blame the distasteful 'means' on the Aspis and 'rogue agents'."
Benaiah huffs his bitterness towards his former employer through his nose, causing a small splash of water due to the proximity of the water level to his face. He scoops a handful over his head then wipes it off and goes back to his relaxed position.
"Anyone else? You read about her in one of your books Caerador? And where is my massage? No, not from you little boy. I don't want a child's hands on me, I need a woman's touch."
"Don't go to far though. Help us out here. What do you know about Mistress Lanvi?" he asks when the servant brings a fresh bucket of hot water over.
"M'Lord, don't do no rubbing. Just pouring. Need more pouring? Don't do the rubbing. Pouring?" intones one of the boy, while the other loosens a rope.
"M'Lords, don't know much about the Mistress. Been hearing that she was here though. Don't come here much. Stays in Magnimar most of the time." The scantily clad youth yanks on the rope and upends another half-barrel of warm water into the tub.
"Least that's what them says."
"Well, if she doesn't want us to get used to this," Arimar begins as he lowers his emaciated body into the tub, "She had best make an appearance soon... or at least send one of her minions. There's only so much foreplay you can take before you just have to get to the main event. Right, Benaiah?"
Arimar raises an eyebrow at Malgrim gripping hard to the side of the tub. "You really think this woman wishes us harm, my friend? You seem to be having trouble relaxing. I'm sure you'd be allowed to get out, clothe yourself and strap on your equipment if that makes you feel better.
"You getting in Caerador?" Arimar turns to the elf, "Or are you a little embarrassed to disrobe?" Despite the recent unpleasantness with the society, Arimar snickers. My mood seems to have improved in this place. Urgathoa must approve.
After a relaxing stay in the baths, the group dries off and dresses in their plush robes. They make their way back to the cubbies only to find their clothes and gear missing, and the same lasses that fetched the heroes in the morning. The lasses at the door reassure them that the clothes and gear are just getting mended and repaired. She brings them over to a sideboard where glass pitchers hold various scented oils.
"Gentlemen, you are welcome to adorn yourself with this scented oil, should you wish. But I must ask you to not tarry, as we have been instructed to bring you to the Mistress." she informs them.
Once the group has had time to rub the oil into their tried muscles, the doors are opened and the girls leads them out. "If you gentlemen will follow me. Our Mistress is waiting. Something she is not accustomed to doing." Her tone clearly conveys the message to follow quickly.
She leads them down a hallway to an ornately carved set of wooden doors. It doesn't take a graduate from any of the various temples of the city at the center of the world to know that these scenes depict that which a priestess of Calistria would hold dear. Swarms of wasps seem so lifelike that they can almost hear the buzzing of beating insect wings in their ears. Other scenes depict much of what occurred last night, causing the more modest to blush a faint pink color.
The girl gently raps on the door, before pushing in. Seated behind a beautiful desk is Mistress Lavni. She beams as the group comes in. "Please sit. As you can see your items are all here and accounted for, though we have pressing matters to discuss that will superseded your modesty." Along the side of the room are the groups' clothes, freshly washed, pressed and mended, along with all the gear in neat piles.
"Gentlemen, I find that I must depart Absalom rather hastily. This unexpected news, and Raim's recently failures have left me in a unique position. It seems that I will not have enough time to vet a proper replacement, and well, you do seem to know your way around a fight. It really takes a special someone to get kicked .." she stops abruptly to swivel in her chair. She begins to couch in a wracking manner, a bit longer than one would suspect.
She swivels back around to face them. "Sorry about that. The Phoenix trees are aflame, and that seems to tickle me in the wrong way. Where was I? Yes, so I am looking for some protection. My followers here, though well versed in pain, are not suitable to the task at hand. I leave within the hour on a ship bound for Magnimar.
"Any interest in accompanying me on this voyage? I can assure pay would be as handsome as ... well you partook of other services, did you not. Needless to say as there are no other employers banging down your door, so I would assume that my offer would be adequate. Yes?"
Arimar is more than a little off-put by his missing clothes. Not for the first time, he thanks Urgathoa for the wisdom she granted him to have his holy symbol of her tattooed where it cannot be found in his possessions, and can be concealed by makeup or simply crossing one's arms... which he is currently doing.
"I appreciate the services rendered," Arimar begins, remembering the pleasures he received once the inexperienced woman left his room to find Benaiah, "But they are most unnecessary. Yes, we do find ourselves in need of employment and a 'handsome' amount seems reasonable.
"However, I am not so long from my last mercenary job that I do not remember the basics. We are traveling to Magnimar, fine. Are we using the direct route, or will the voyage take longer than usual? What danger are we to be protecting you from? You can keep it a secret, but secrets mean much greater danger and require much greater pay. This brings me to the final point: how much exactly? Oh, and just give us the total amount. We'll work out the split. I detest it when the pay is for 'each'. It assumes even responsibility and leaves it ambiguous what should happen to the pay if one of us dies. Lump sum goes to whoever remains after a successful mission."
Satisfied that he has covered the bases, Arimar moves over to his clothes while Lanvi formulates a response... or his companions add their own stipulations into the mix.
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Benaiah grimaces as they are brought naked before Mistress Lanvi. Not because he is modest, but because he knows there are still a great many things about his body for which he cannot control.
The sound of the woman's voice, the shape of her body, accented by her alluring attire, the scent of the room and the myriad of artwork depicting that most base, and enjoyable desire, is far more than the hormone-infused, childish mind of Benaiah can suppress.
The over-muscled boy-in-a-man's-body stands, slightly tense, but at full *attention* as the employment proposition is offered.
He looks down for a moment before looking back up, locking eyes with the Mistress. "Interesting negotiating tactics. I suppose my poker face doesn't do me any good like this, does it?" He chuckles to himself in a forced effort to break the tension he feels, then walks over to his pile of gear while Arimar begins to take care of the business portion of their budding business deal.
"How long?" Benaiah asks simply as he pulls a freshly cleaned undershirt over his head, still neglecting to put any breeches on just yet. "Is it just for the voyage, or will there be expecations beyond the docks of Magnimar? And Arimar has the right question. Is it just bodyguard detail, or are there more subtle avenues of protection we are providing?"
Bodyguard on a ship is better than deckhand on a ship. Let's hope the hellknight detail in Magnimar is out of the office as well. I don't imagine they will have forgotten what I did to that Captain the day I escaped the stocks. Maybe if I am lucky the news won't have made it as far as Magnimar just yet.
She turns a knowing smile to Benaiah, ”Negotiating tactic? What? Do you feel …. inadequate in your nakedness? That was not my intention.”
”So Arimar, it surprises me that you would take the lead in this endeavour, as I would assume that you and Malgrim, for entirely different reasons, would prefer to stay in the background, hidden.
“No matter, a bit about me and the task at hand. While I will not spill my life story to you all, and there will be secrets, now and always, I can provide you with a bit more information.
“As you can deduce, my pleasure house here in Absalom, though recently opened, has proven quite valuable to me. As one enjoys all that this house offers it happens to put people at ease, forgetting their usual tactium of decorum. Also not everyone’s tastes are socially acceptable.
“Here, as in my house in Magnimar, we provide services. Not unlike those you received last night and today. Though the clients’ tastes vary, they all boil down to feeling good. It is then that my employees, no salves Benaiah, are able to acquire information that is not common knowledge.
“This game is played with powerful players, so demanding secrets from the same client, some demanding from their superiors, it is all rather convoluted and challenging. My my goddess has guided me successfully so far, and I pray that continues.
“It seems that I have angered one too many, or the wrong one. Be it as it may, what is important for you is that they are well financed; hence, well equipped. I need to exit Absalom. Now.
“There is a chance their strike on me is not organized yet, or planned for a future date. Regardless, I shall have protection.
“So the particulars, we are making our way to the harbor, where I have already procured a ship for transport. Once on the ship, it would be my wish for you to continue with me to Magnimar. From there, who knows what I will need.
“For the exact amount, we are do this one of two ways. I prefer a gentleman’s agreement, but should the more legalistic of you prefer, I do have proper contracts.”
She slips open a drawer in her desk, removing a sheet of fine sheep’s vellum.
”Up to you. So as long as you are in my employee, all mundane items that you should need, be it arrows, spell components, or alchemical creations that are relatively inexpensive” ”shall be provided by my house and household staff. Your food and accommodations will also be provided by me, with one day a week furlough when applicable to ‘sow your oats.” My employees are off limits to … well …. my employees.
“Your ‘paid handsomely’ will be 200 gold to get me safely to Magnimar. Once there you will receive a retainer of 80 gold per week, plus completion bonus for services rendered, depending on the type of job I have for you.
“I hope to find a new bodyguard once in Magnimar; your services will be better used differently.
“Lastly, though we can try to keep it unkown, you will be known by some, if not all, as employees of Mistress Lanvi. This carries a certain prestige in Magnimar.
“What do you think?”
"Surprised that I would take the lead?" Arimar raises an eyebrow, "Then you are not as well-researched as you perhaps like to think. I have always found talking preferable to other forms of resolution. Benaiah may take the lead in combat, but we are hardly fighting at the moment, are we?
"And as for my nakedness putting me ill at ease..." he lets the statement hang there, among other hanging things.
"As for the terms, they are acceptable. 800 gold altogether, then? For a voyage all the way to Magnimar? Seems low, considering the 80 gold (each, right?) per week retainer. Let's make it 1,000 gold total to accompany you to Magnimar, or 2,000 gold if we are attacked at sea.
"With the contract," Arimar continues, looking over the vellum, "I don't need to sign anything - but even a gentleman's agreement should be specific with regards to things such as pay and the job description."
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Only thinking that Arimar has already secured the best deal, and not considering that he may have been able to haggle a little more, Benaiah can barely contain himself once the Aasimar has declared his counter-offer.
"Done. Count me in." He winks at the sultry mistress, then pulls on his breeches.
"Get some of your help in here to help me with this," Benaiah says, pointing at the newly buffed and shiny full plate armor stacked neatly in a pile.
"Yea... maybe don't tell your new boss what to do without..."
"Uh.. Please." Benaiah flashes a sheepish grin, interrupting the voice in his head.
"You are such a child."
The group quickly dresses and prepares to depart. A loaded coach is bridled and ready to go in the alleyway behind Mistress Lavni's house. They group emerges and scans for signs of potential threats. Taking their job as bodyguard seriously. They form a protective circle around her as she steps into the coach. As soon as she places her hand on the handle, an arrow whistles from a rooftop and lodges inches from her head into the side of the coach.
"Dammit it! Jump in, there is no time. This is not a fight we are going to fight. Get me to that boat now!"
Malgrim scans the way ahead, and notices the glint of metal ahead in the direction the coach is facing. He stands on careful footing as he bellows out, "Trouble ahead, we need to find a different path" while keeping a sharp eye out for further assailants.
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Eager for a fight, Benaiah is a little disappointed when at the first sign of one, he is told to run.
I just wanna smash someone's face! he screams to himself, while the voice in his head just snickers in the background of his mind.
As eager as he is to fight, he is more eager to please his new boss, and so all of the inner dialogue is a mere split second as he leaps into action.
The brutish man rushes out to the front of the carriage in order to clear a path, physically if necessary, to get his lady's chariot moving. The whistle of arrows is not the only sound he hears in the roar of a scattering and panicked crowd.
"They're communicating with a bastardized version of old Thassalonian! The words aren't literal though," he says, ducking slightly as another arrow thuds into the painfully slow starting coach, "Its code!" he shouts as the epiphany hits him.
"Ha!" Benaiah's eyes light up even more. "I've heard this code used before! I know it! They have the two shortest routes covered, and there is an ambush waiting three blocks up! We gotta go around the long way!"
With that, Benaiah puts a powerful shoulder into one of the quarter-horses, helping the team of beasts start a sharp turn that wasn't exactly planned...
"Good pick ups, Malgrim and Benaiah!" Arimar compliments the two as they first divert themselves and then head around the long way.
He sees the Temple of Sarenrae looming in the distance and wracks his brain for something useful. "And lo, She led us from darkness and deception and into the light..." intones the distant voice of the head Lightbringer, high priest of Sarenrae.
"If I read the ritual right, the dawn service will be finishing in about a minute," Arimar pants while keeping up with the others, "If we get there soon enough, the worshippers leaving the temple will hamper anyone following us!"
Arimar finds a second wind and picks up the pace.
Raim the Mindless follows along, scaring the occasional passer-by with his stench.
Most casual observers, though, think that Raim is just a bum rushing along behind a group of adventurers for no apparent reason.
Stepping into the chaos of the alleyway, the companions can see multiple archers on the rooftops firing crossbows at Mistress Lanvi, and consequently themselves.
In the rush they do not fully appreciate the ornately gilded panels, the deep cherry wood, nor the small team of magnificent draft animals harassed in supple leather to pull this luxurious vehicle.
Malgrim swings himself up to the coachbox and scouts for a path that seems less littered with snipers. After the briefest hesitation and a quick internal second guess he begins spewing a series of turns and sways to keep the coach moving forward in the best possible route.
Stepping onto the crowded streets of the city in the center of the world, Benaiah begins shouts commands in various languages and the populace abates for the briefest of seconds, but enough of a space clears that the coach can accelerate through the crowded streets. He grabs a handle and lifts himself up on a sideboard as the coach rumbles by.
Jumping onto the other sideboard, Arimar relays his useful information to Malgrim who guides the coachman toward the unsuspecting morning worshipers, while Raim holds onto the back of the coach with both hands, letting the coach drag him behind like some death tassel.
The companions can see a small contingent of the crowd move purposely towards them, hoping to cut off their egress from the coins south to the docks.
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Benaiah looks around as they begin racing towards the chapel, noticing the group that looks to cut them off and herd them in the wrong direction from where he wants them to go.
His first instinct is to puff his chest and make a big scary display, causing the crowd to scatter and part in front of them, but in the back of his mind he knows that if they are moving on purpose, they won't be so easy to scare out of the way.
Gotta find another way, or someone else to do the dirty work...
As luck and fate would have it, A short distance ahead a motley crew of people can be seen straining to get a team of oxen to move from the spot they have so stubbornly decided to rest. A half-orc pulls on the reins futily while the others argue, presumably about how to get a couple of stubborn oxen to start moving. The familiar glint of a wayfinder can be seen hanging from each of the strange assortment's necks.
Time to make a hole...
"Двигайтесь или следующая команда будет тянуть груз вашего фланга стейк на мясной рынок!" Benaiah shouts a common Ulfen phrase he learned from one of the few pathfinders he ever met and respected, an ulfen half-orc with a weakness for competition.
Please be Oxen from the north, please be oxen from the north...
At first the oxen do nothing, and no one seems to pay much attention to the rumbling coach as it picks up steam down the street.
Then something clicks with the team of Oxen. Simultaneously the pair of oversized beasts shake and kick out with their rear legs, startled by the apparently familiar command. Beying with an unseen terror, the oxen take off, and the bewildered pathfinders are suddenly panicked as the animals swing to the exact opposite end of the stubbornness spectrum.
"Follow those Oxen! Hahaha, Yah! Yah! Gitgitgitgitgit!" Benaiah urges on the beasts of burden while the coach follows in its wake.
The sting of a thousand hornets will take down the horse, or in our case, those archers. Have to do something about them.
While in most cases leaping to the top of a moving carriage is considered suicidally stupid, when you succeed it just means you're courageous and competent. Malgrim accomplishes the later as he jumps upwards and lets the momentum of the coach pull him further to the center. He flips backwards and manages to cling onto the roof, before steadying himself with the wooden lattice-work.
With determination, he turns towards the snipers and attempts to deflect incoming arrows with stone fists and barriers.
Arimar also notices the villains - whoever they might be - cutting off their likely escape. Let's throw them off!
"Benaiah, Malgrim: you boys remember that time we were being chased by a purple worm," Arimar begins, talking softly and not wanting to tip off any prying ears as to what he was up to, "Remember how we got away from it in the end?" We ran down a side tunnel, disguised our scent, hid and then doubled back.
"This way, I know a shortcut!" he cries, heading down a side street and hoping his friends got his meaning and will follow.
Moments later, Arimar appears a little further down with whichever comrades followed him and checks to see if his ploy worked and any of their pursuers ran to intercept their supposed new path.
Raim loses a shoe as he is dragged along behind the cart. Not long afterwards, the top of his foot begins to scrape off also and a long strip of skin starts flapping from the back of his foot in the same way he is flapping off the back of the cart.
"Follow... master..." he groans.
The large, imposing Hellknight whelp strides up and begins shouting and gesticulating in front of the equines. The beasts of burden do not really understanding what is happening, whereas the half-orc teamster fully comprehends the situation. Responding quickly, he makes great progress moving his team.
Malgim puts on a show of nimbleness what would make any street performer proud. Leaping and twisting, he pulls himself up as arrows thunk into the side of the coach, all errant in their deadly pursuit of the moving target.
Giving the barest glances at the flapping undead, Arimar attempts to stage a quick ruse, hoping to trick the pursuers to take a false line and thereby escaping to the docks. Whether it is his dour countenance, or his undead tag-a-long, the pursuers do not fall for the man's cunning plan.
The entrance in sight to the relative safety of the docks, the companions know that one last push is all they need to fly into safety.
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The large, imposing Hellknight whelp strides up and begins shouting and gesticulating in front of the equines.
"Almost there!" Benaiah shouts while hanging off of the speeding coach as it flies past ad-hoc merchant carts and scrambling shoppers, all desperate to get out of the way.
So close... so close... wait, something isn't right...
"That cart with the broken wheel in front of us, its an illusion! It's on the left side of the street, not the right!"
Benaiah is certain that there is trickery in front of them. Inside he hopes he is seeing the truth behind the veil, and not assuming the veil itself to be the truth...
Recognizing the illusionary ruse, Benaiah is able to bark directions to the coachman. The coach bears down on the gate at the entrance to the Docks.
Surprisingly, there is a large contingent of Absalom Watch soldiers here at the gates; whereas further in the is absolutely no police presence. It might have to do with bribes occurring once good enter the city proper, turning a blind eye to what comes into the harbor. This is enough to deter their pursuers who melt back into the sea of bye-standards.
Regardless, the coach pulls to a screaming halt in front of Pier 84. Glancing all around them, the companions see no outwards signs of pursuit and feel fairly confident that they have reached their destination.
Before pulling open the coach door, they notice a small hole of shattered glass, Ripping open the door, they can see Mistress Lanvi, eyes closed, face ashen, as an arrow protrudes from the side of her shoulder.
Upon inspecting the wound, the companions can see that the arrow is barely embedded in her shoulder, and wonder how the jostling of the coach did not detach it from the fleshly quiver. They gently tug the arrow out and notice that a ripple of black spider-wedding from puncture wound and instantly suspect foul play.
Arimar turns the arrow over in his hands and looks at the wound, trying to figure out what might be wrong.
"Probably poison or fell magic," he infers from the facts so far, "But beyond that I cannot tell. I can cast delay poison to see if it will help... but we will still need to get her treatment in the next 5 hours or so..."
To test his magic hypothesis, Arimar first casts detect magic and analyzes the arrow and Lanvi's wound.
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"s$!~ s!*! s#@~ s~#! s*+*" Benaiah mutters under his breath as the fate of his new boss is uncovered.
"Not good, definitely not good." He looks at the arrow, smelling it, touching it, and even bringing the spot on his fingers that touched it to his tongue for a taste. Then he gets closer to Mistress Lanvi, checking her breathing, even smelling the wound for clues as to what might have happened.
For the briefest of moments, he is tempted to drink in with his eyes more of his new employer's body than he might normally be allowed, but the sensation is quickly washed away with a feeling of disgust that the thought even crossed his mind.
Whether it be for money, or pleasure, a willing participant is the only type of woman he was interested in.
Benaiah and Arimar rush over to Mistress Lanvi. Both use their particular area of expertise to deduce exactly what is wrong with her.
Arimar can sense a faint necromancy aura emanating from the wound, whereas Benaiah's expertise with chemicals points to a deadly necrotoxin called Quick Rot.
Necrotoxins fuse alchemy and necromancy to attack not just the body or the mind, but the very soul of the victim.
Charging necrotoxins with necrotic power requires special rituals, reagents from undead creatures, and the channeling of negative energy during the brewing process. The DCs of Craft (alchemy) check to brew a necrotoxin is 5 higher than the poison's Fortitude DC due to the temperamental process of its creation.
Price 450 gp; Slot none; CL 3rd; Weight —; Aura faint necromancy
DESCRIPTION
This smelly toxin causes a victim's flesh to become gangrenous.
Type poison, injury; Save Fortitude DC 14; Frequency 1/round for 4 rounds; Effect 1d2 Con damage, and until the Con damage is healed, the victim gains the stench universal monster ability. The stench DC is equal to the poison's DC, and creatures who fail their saves are sickened for 1d6+4 minutes. The poisoned creature is not immune to its own stench; Cure 1 save
CONSTRUCTION REQUIREMENTS
Cost 225 gp; Feats Craft Wondrous Item; Spells ghoul touch
While investigating, the companions are overwhelmed with the a horrendous smell permeating from the wound.
Malgrim and Caerador are sickened for
Malgrim wrinkles his nose, struggling to keep from gagging at the horrible smell.
Humans. The stink so when sick.
He then looks to his companions. "Can we safely transport her? Our pursuers cannot be far behind, and there is likely more in store where that came from."