The Great Jalmeray Expedition

Game Master Lady Ophelia

Yafeu's father Machmud crashed into the gunwales. The hollow crunch of a breaking clay jug carried over the deck and into the cabin. Yafeu wound the pillow more closely around his head. Machmud would be ill, and have a sore head tomorrow. Yafeu would be putting out of the quay without Machmud's help, but would suffer his wraith if they missed the tide. So Yafeu was determined to sleep, and ignore his father's unchangeably bad behavior.

'Yes, we should be away tomorrow,' thought Yafeu, 'If the goods are not as expected, or if the sale doesn't go smoothly, then as wise to be upriver several hours.' The previous day's boost had been perfect. Nasir and his boys had met them at their river mooring with horses. They'd ridden through the evening to a deserted palace off the beaten track, near the desert. A few hours of exploration, some prying out of semi-precious stones, rolling up some carpets and wall hangings. And the real prize, a set of scrolls and texts dedicated to Pharasma - beautiful works of art locked into a concealed cubby - hidden away and deserted. Just as the customer had said. Though the customer hadn't known how to find the cubby, or open it, nor how to disarm the swinging blade trap that guarded it. Those small things aside, a clean boost. No interruptions. No lurking monstrous beasts.

Yafeu felt something must go wrong. This had not been the boost of the tomb of a megalomaniac Phaoroh, or relieving a wealthy merchant of the contents of his warehouse. There was something.. impious.. about lifting the contents of a shrine, even if only a small household shrine. 'We'll be well away tomorrow. It's a new river every day,' he thought to himself. He touched the crude pendant of Sarenrae on his chest, seeking reassurance against his fears. He tried to find sleep despite his father's drunken ruccus.

Machmud had taken a portion of their wages - the portion Yafeu had not cached on board the ship - and gone celebrating. It was a good payday. Nasir's local man, Efuss, had collected the goods from the ship's concealed stowage, and left for the sale. Efuss had left them the lion's share of their price. Machmud had met him in town later for the rest. Machmud had come back late, drunk, and with several more jugs of wine - so Efuss must have delivered the balance. Yafeu drifted off while calculating where upriver they could convert the remainder of their wages to supplies and a cargo - prefereably somewhere lacking in wine merchants.

Yafeu rose before dawn. It was very quiet, only the lapping of the river water, and the earliest of fishing crews punctuating the silence. Yafeu looked to Machmud's bunk, but it had not been slept in. He busied himself about the cabin briefly, folding his bunk away, but anticipating that his father might want to nap later. Yafeu went out on deck with broom and rag, thinking to clean up before casting off. He looked around the small ship, and it didn't take long to find his father.

Machmud had tangled his feet in the lines. He'd stumbled and crashed through a rail. He hadn't gone in altogether, but rather had been suspended by his ankle from the tangling lines. His torso had been immersed to the waist, head down.

'So Pharasma has had her due. How better can the Goddess of Fate and Death express her displeasure? And now I must take my father to her priests for funerary rites.' Yafeu though numbly, considering his father's fate. Pondering his own fate.

Zethyris's mother was Elayne, a human woman from Kantaria, and his father was an elf from a secretive village in the Barrowood. His mother had been travelling in a caravan, and fell in love with the young elf who helped rescue her from bandits. As he was not permitted to leave, nor was she permitted to stay, Elayne moved to Westcrown to raise their child alone.
Zethyris grew up in the Hope's Altar district, often playing near the docks with swords made of sticks. Ostracized by most of the children for his half-breed nature, he made few friends. In his adolescent years, he made some coin serving at an inn, and spent much time helping at an orphanage of Cayden Cailean. At the age of 20, his life was drastically altered after a fire lit by drunken sailors burned down a section of waterfront, including his house with his beloved mother inside. With little more than what he was wearing remaining, Zethyris decided to leave Westcrown and the memories it held.

He has since travelled in search of adventure. Roaming across Cheliax and Andoran, he honed his swordplay and wit. Over the next four years, he tried his hand at theivery, running cons, and mercenary work. Zethyris came across the Pathfinder Society when working in Almas, while talking to a fellow follower of the Lucky Drunk over pints of Caydenbrew. He traveled to Absalom and was accepted as an initiate, then two years later passed his Confirmation and became a full-fledged member. He became disenchanted with the Decemvirate after seeing assignments given not based on skill, but by rapport with the venture-captains. He befriended similar thinkers, who invited him to join the Shadow Lodge.

Zethyris now travels to Jalmeray to experience the exotic mystery of an "Impossible Kingdom" for himself, and to make sure that the interests of all Pathfinders are being served in the creation of the new lodge.

Nikolos stands an unimposing 5’8” with a lithe whipcord build. His olive complexion and black hair serve to highlight his exotic, almost golden eyes. His ready grin sparks to life as easily as anger also flares to life in his tawny eyes. Now that he can choose his own clothing, he has embraced his Keleshite heritage and tends to wear the long robes and veiled turbans of his people.

Nikolos is a lonely boy who desperately wants to find a place to belong. Having been rejected by his family, abused most his life, and now newly joined to the Pathfinder Society the young man simply wants to find friends and perhaps even a family where he will be accepted. Generally Nikolos is a cheerful young man who seeks to please those around him, but the slightest hurt can cut him deep and the rejection by a friend can leave him emotionally and mentally devastated. Nikolos is a lot like a whipped dog, seemingly friendly, eager to please but very jumpy for any imagined blow, both physical and emotional. Deep down inside is the soul of a poet trying to wade through the hurt and loneliness. Nikolos having been separated from his own people at an early age he was not raised among the Keleshite culture, but know that he is free he is trying to embrace that heritage hoping it gives him some sense of belonging.

Nikolos’ family was once well off but had fallen on very hard times as his father’s business failed and left them in debt. Having six children and finding themselves unable to feed them all Nikolos’ father was desperate for a way out of his debts and a chance to provide for his family. It was about this time that a traveling troupe of performers came through their small town. His father told his 7 year old son that he was taking him to see the show. Nikolos was excited to see the performers and the animals and readily went with his father. But as they approached the field where the show had been set up the troupe was reading to depart. Tears began to tumble down Nikolos' face at the sight, but his father slapped him and told him to shut is mouth. The young boy was so shocked by the out of character behavior of his father he shut down mentally. Nikolos was led to the most richly appointed wagon where his father received a small bag of coins from a darkly bearded man. The troupe master grabbed a hold of Nikolos’ hair and dragged him off to a nearby wagon. As Nikolos stumbled along he glanced back and saw his father walking away, his shoulders bent but never looking back.

Thus began Nikolos’ life among the traveling show of performers, oddities, and animals known as Master Jumba’s Glorious Performing Troupe. As Nikolos grew he became the virtual slave of the troupe’s Master. Nikolos would be kicked, yelled at, and spit upon as he had to scurry about performing whatever menial task needed doing. From cleaning up the animal cages to bringing the master his dinner, Nikolos was never fast enough or skilled enough. He constantly bore the bruises of the master’s temper.

Fortunately not everyone hated and abused the young boy. There was Madame Rousho the animal trainer, who took pity on the poor frightened child and taught him how to work with the various animals that traveled with the show. Then there was old man Bergwick, a hedge wizard who saw something in Nikolos and taught him a few “tricks.” As he grew adept in these new skills the master would even let him join in the show assisting Madame Rousho and the Marvelous and Mighty Bergwick Master of the Arcane.

Eventually Nikolos grew up and began to turn into a man and Master Jumba seemed afraid he would lose his slave. So he stepped up his reign of terror and abuse, even going so far as to keep the boy chained up at night. Madame Rousho had spent years planting ideas in Nikolos’ head, ideas of freedom, ideas of escape until one night when she slipped up to the wagon where Nikolos was chained. She quickly picked the lock holding Nikolos and rushed him to the edge of the camp. Slipping him a small purse of silver and gold, Madame Rousho urged him to run for the near-by port town and to find a ship leaving for the Isle of Kortos. Giving him a name of a contact in the city of Absalom and she told him to make his way to the Pathfinder Society Grand Lodge. She also sent with him one of the dogs he had helped her train to guard him. Nikolos was unsure what to do but Madame Rousho’s advice was all he had, so he acted on it.

Madame Rousho’s contact was a member of the Pathfinder Society and a part of something called the Shadow Lodge. Nikolos, was not sure of all the politics within the Pathfinders but the Shadow Lodge made him welcome and he was eager to please. After several months and a chance to begin proving himself, the opportunity to join a Pathfinder mission to Jalmeray was under discussion within the Society. The Shadow Lodge wanted a presence on this important mission and a call went out for a member to volunteer. Nikolos jumped at the chance to please the leaders of the Shadow Lodge and to serve this group that had made him welcome.

"The young Yafeu? Yes, I've a good feeling for his character," responded Venture-Captain Fassel. "I know he's an unlikely recruit to the Silver Crusade. He's a rapscallion, rogue, vagabond, and criminal. But for all that, he's got a good heart and a sharp mind." The old crusader looked across his desk, "Yafeu was raised without a mother, on a river boat with his late unlamented father. He had no other family, except the loose network of river-side smugglers that allowed his father to stay drunk and lazy, but still in posession of his boat. In those times, Osirion was closed, and there was much demand (and profit) to be extracted from old ruins. Yafeu was small, clever, capable, and could be wherever he was needed. His training was makeshift and happenstance, but effective."

"Yafeu's father died in a squalid and undistinguished way three years ago - Yafeu was 16. Yafeu kept the family franchise operating. From time to time he would bring help onto his boat, but never for long, and always from a small circle of known associates." Venture-Captain Fassel tapped a finger on his polished desk, "Yafeu was very fortunate. His father passed shortly after the ascension of the Khemet III, and just as the Ruby Prince was opening Osirion to outsiders. The network of scoundrels Yafeu's father had done business with had a sudden need for his services. They knew him from years past, and steered the worst of the cutthroats and exploiters away from him."

Fassel chuckled. "Yafeu knows many things. He's an intellectual omnivore. He can disassemble a lock faster than I can blink. But he does not study people. After his father's death, Yafeu was exceptionally vulnerable. In slightly different circumstances, with slightly different friends, well..." he gazed into the distance for a moment. "Yafeu is a very lucky young man. He's charming. He works hard and observes the honor of theives. He doesn't assume the best of those he meets, he expects the best. And he expects the same of himself. Frankly I've been amazed at how frequently truly villanous characters respect Yafeu and deal fairly with him."

"Naive? No - Yafeu isn't naive. He knows evil. He lives with cruelty, calousness, and exploitation every day. And he hates evil in the abstract. When he meets people, however, he finds evil to be disappointing and saddening. It's a queer burden he places on people." He looked a bid more sharply, "No, I haven't seen him faced with inhuman evil, or immorality. Knowing him as I do, I suspect he'll take the elemental on its own terms, and not attempt to treat with it on a moral basis. True, inhuman evil? If he is anything other than an implacable, if canny and realistic, foe of the darkness. Otherwise my recommendation of him to the Silver Crusade was badly mistaken."

"Oh yes, after his father's death. Part of what kept Yafeu in demand was his knowledge of the ruins, temples, and crypts across Osirion, along with his explorer's bent, and a certain flexibility about legalisms. Many of the Pathfinders flowing into Osirion hired Yafeu's services in the next year or so. He added value to each venture that he hired onto, and he ensured that his value increased because of each venture. I came to know Yafeu during this time. Many of the delivered items from upriver were delivered to the Lodge here in Sothis by his hand directly. I would ask him from time to time how the ventures progressed, and what he carried. He was always very careful - he never said he knew what was in packages that were sealed. But he also does not dissemble with great skill. Yafeu opened and inspected every item he delivered here. When pressed for details of dates or names, he would refer to his own Chronicle, and in that Chronicle were frequent transcriptions from scrolls, or sketches of artifacts, and other esoterica beyond the mundane details of business."

"But I was not alone in recognizing Yafeu's growing value to the Pathfinders in Osirion. Other venture-captains also dealth with him, each supporting their own projects. Yafeu was very busy in that time." Venture-Captain Fassel looked intently at his guest, "Yafeu was not unique - rare, but not unique. Until the day he came to me with an issue. His manner was somewhat insolent and 'tough', but it barely masked his concern and disillusionment. One of the Field Operatives (no, I'll not name names) tried to draft Yafeu into our internal Pathfinder faction of Osirian ascendency - and seal the affiliation by defrauding a foreign Pathfinder. Yafeu explained to me that he was not going to be held responible for pointless squabbles between Pathfinders. He dumped the original fee, the item, and the responsibility back in my lap. He said he didn't want to lose business with the offender, or the intended mark, but that he didn't have time or inclination to finesse everyone's feelings and confidence." Fassel chuckled, "No, not much patience for negotiating personalities. Nor for soothing the foolish and self-serving."

"So I solved the internal Pathfinder issue - allowed the bad actor to believe he'd succeeded, traded the 'victim' a juicy assignment in exchange for buying into the fraud. Then I let the bad actor know I had proof of his bad action, and held his Commission hostage against his cooperation and information. More importantly though, I prevailed upon another Venture-Captain to sponsor Yafeu to training at Absalom. I quietly arranged for extensive and glowing recommendations from many of the Pathfinders Yafeu had worked with. Yafeu returned 9 months later with a Commission from the Society." Fassel shook his head ruefully, "I still don't know Yafeu finagled an 'at-large' venture-captain assignment. I do know that the quiet Confirmation, the lack of announcement of a new Field Operative, and the local cover story explaining his time away were all my doing. Yafeu is among the lowest profile Pathfinders ever. For now, it suits him."

"After his return, Yafeu resumed his previous activities, picking up smoothly where he'd left off. His network of scoundrels was accustomed to people occasionally making themselves scarce. Yafeu worked well as a detached Field Operative. I steered many ventures his way, particularly those of interest to the Silver Crusade. I also gauged his reactions to those assignments, as opposed to other ventures or 'jobs' he was involved in."

"Everything was proceeding very smoothly until last month. Yafeu's good fortune played up on him. In one of his private ventures, Yafeu was confronted with an opportunity to prevent an injustice. Yafeu's employer wanted a payoff and rent treasury stolen, so he could evict the tenants, and resell the property to a shadey compatriot. Yafeu wouldn't have minded in normal circumstances, but the property in question was a hospital. Yaseuf arranged to have the assignments stirred, and ensure his employer came out of the deal poorly. Yafeu showed admirabel skill in ensuring blame and recriminations fell elsewhere (did I mention he was clever?), but he felt it was time to make himself scarce again. I helped arrange for him to have several low-profile exploration and smuggling assignments in the Obari Ocean, around Osarion's Scorpion Coast."

"So yes, I've been watching him, and quietly mentoring him. He's well situated for your assignment at Jalmeray. And if the Silver Crusade has special interests, I know he'll support them. I feel, however, that we need to explicitly recruit him to the Silver Crusade. Yafeu understands aligned interests, and quiet evaluation, and even compartmenting information for protection. But he hates being manipulated. If we want him to act as an agent of the Crusade in this, we have to get his willing cooperation. Otherwise, we risk alienating him altogether."

within luxury settings surrounded by rare and exotic bric-a-bric, ”What do you mean she won’t give us the scoundrel’s name? I want to know who found this… this priceless artifact of Azantl civilization and where! This is for the good of Absolam and the reason of our Pathfinder Lodge! Uh? I don’t care about some foolish sappy bit of a promise made to a sniveling guttersnipe. Cavalier? Order of Seal? Fine. Let us test this, see if we can’t provide a little flexibility for her employers. I’ve got a perfect mission in mind.”

The next day, in the debriefing room at the pathfinder lodge, the assignment officer chuckles gleefully in a bit of schadenfreunde, ”Don’t know who you pissed off but looks like you’ll finally be getting to see a bit more of the world. He frowns when an envelope, sealed with a high ranking officer's signet, drops from the sheaf of papers. He taps it gently on the desk, reading the simple script Eyes only, J’nal Nnul before handing it over. His demeanor changes with anticipation followed by disappointment when J’nal merely tucks the envelope into her shirt for later perusal. She reports to the assembly room with the others.