A rapid summons has you speeding to Silverhall, in Brevoy at the behest of Lady Gloriana Morilla, the faction leader for Taldor. A week ago a messenger delivered a hand written note from Lady Morilla, which read as follows:
"Noble Pathfinders,
As the Worldwound’s threat grows, the forces of many nations unite with the common goal of beating back the demon horde. I have been building my own army that I intend to field alongside the Pathfinders. In order to increase our numbers and bolster our resolve, we must have a symbol to rally around, one that embodies might equal to that of the golden age of Taldor. My agents have recently discovered that one such item, the Horn of Aroden, has survived since the Age of Enthronement, and is still in the possession of its original owners, House Lebeda. Alas, whatever magic was bestowed on it when it helped to drive Deskari’s forces into the Lake of Mist and Veils has since faded, but through careful study, we may be able to find a way to restore its powers. Dame Sarrona Lebeda has graciously offered to allow us access to this item, though how much access is yet unclear. Ideally, it would remain in possession of the Pathfinder Society while being studied and—gods willing—restored, and then will be sent to the Mendevian front.
Do your best to persuade Dame Lebeda to permit this transfer. No doubt she will require some task of you in order for you to claim the Horn of Aroden—one simply does not part with such a treasure on a whim! Remember that she and her family are influential in Brevoy and beyond, and winning their friendship could bring great benefits in the future.
Eagerly anticipating news of your success,
Lady Gloriana Morilla"
You are rapidly shuttled into the audience chamber of a well-appointed noble's home. A fire burns merrily in the large hearth of the audience chamber, casting warm light over the long wooden table and high-backed chairs. A pair of guards opens the engraved wooden doors, and a regal woman enters, her hair tied into a tight bun. The guards stay by her side as she scans the room and then takes a seat at the head of the table.
“You must be Lady Morilla’s Pathfinders. I am Dame Sarrona Lebeda, and I am well aware of your desire for the Horn of Aroden. I am sympathetic to the cause of the crusade, and am curious to learn whether the Horn’s magic can be returned; however, the horn has already been pledged to King Noleski Surtova as a fitting part of the dowry for my daughter’s hand in marriage, and such promises cannot be overturned lightly. Nonetheless, I am willing to find a replacement gift in exchange for one kindness on your part: bring my son back home."
“As of late, my son Lander has been neglecting his duties in favor of playing the part of an adventurer. His swordplay admittedly shows promise, but wielding a weapon is only one facet of being a proper lord. Worse, the style and legacy that he has become obsessed with is that of Baron Aldori, which many houses perceive as a sign that we are not as committed to a unified Brevoy as we may appear. The truancy of a second child may not seem much of a threat, but with his older sister spending her days in the capitol negotiating the web of Surtova politics, the increase of bandit activity and wolf attacks in our lands, and Lander neglecting his responsibilities within our holdings, I am concerned that he is as much a liability to our family as an asset. You are adventurous types yourselves, and understand the hazards and difficulties of the lifestyle. Perhaps you could find Lander and convince him that the way of the sword is not the life he romantically envisions?”
She frowns. "My son is proud and headstrong. Lander has taken to associating with a blacksmith named Marek Bogdan. Marek is a retired soldier and a practitioner of the Aldori style, and Lander says he’s a
fine instructor, but my son spends too many hours at the Three Tongs smithy practicing his swordplay when he should be overseeing our cottars and building alliances. He thrives on tales of bravery and derring-do. He needs to accept his responsibilities and end this foolishnes. I can't have him end up like you. No offense intended."
Leaving the noble's home, you head into town. A few questions lead you to the Three Tongs smithy. Racks of weapons and metalwork line the walls of the Three Tongs smithy, and the forge is visible through a wide door. A pair of crossed Aldori dueling swords hangs on the wall opposite the front door. The antlers of several deer and elk decorate the walls. A staircase wraps around the eastern wall, leading upstairs.
The sound of hammer on anvil continues from the back of the smithy. After few moments the hammering stops, and a man steps out. He is a bald Taldan man approaching middle age. His skin has been rendered leathery by years of working the forge, and his black beard and eyebrows are patchy from occasional sparks. He smiles, a genuinely welcoming smile. "Welcome to my shop, travelers. How may I help you?"
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Having kept a tight lip in the presence of the noble lady, Karos feels more free to engage the blacksmith."You would be Marek Bogdan? I am Karos Valdian and these are my companions Hargrym, Rekgar, Gaius and Sir Quinton. We're Pathfinders and we're just passing through. But we'd like to have a word with Lander Lebeda before we move on. We understand he can found here?"
Marek wipes his hands on a dirty rag while replying. "Lander, eh? Perhaps you best come upstairs." He leads you up to the living quarters above. The upstairs room is cramped and sootsmudged but comfortable, with a number of sturdy wooden chairs set out around a small table and a quilt-covered bed built into a corner. A stuffed eagle clutching a pair of tongs perches above the door to the staircase. A cage holding pigeons hangs just outside the window, their coos softly filling the room.
Marek heads to a small cupboard and pulls out a bottle of what appears to be homemade brandy and several mugs. "Care for a drink?" He pours one for anyone who asks, then takes a swallow of his, smiling.
“I last saw Lander two days ago. He was headed out of town on the southwestern road. Over the past month or so, he’s been trying to put his training to good use—slaying monstrous vermin in the outskirts of town, that sort of thing. With the recent attacks by bandits, Lander was convinced that he could stop them himself and live up to Baron Aldori’s legacy.”
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Gaius doesn't have much use for royalty and nobility. The concept of it offends his Andoran sensibilities, though he knows that most of the world clings to the old ways. When Lady Lebeda sniffs about her son being too good to be an adventurer, Gaius has to bite his tongue. His own young child would be whatever he wanted to be; the extremely high of return on being an adventurer for the Pathfinder Society (with its extremely high rate of fatal misadventures) would see that he has all the opportunities of this Lander Lebeda. Gaius simply walks out with the group, not saying anything to the noblewoman.
Gaius takes a drink from the innkeeper, thanking him for it. "Great. The kid's probably in a ditch somewhere. Would he stand a chance against a handful of bandits?"
Marek smiles. "He's not bad, actually. With a few more months of training he might be pretty good. Against bandits, though? He'd have a tough time. They don't exactly fight honorably."
Marek smiles fondly. “I was just his tutor for sword-fighting, at first. He needed a teacher, and I’m the best around. He would come in to ask me about the Aldori style and watch me make swords—I had to shoo him away to keep him from getting too close to the forge. Over the past couple of months, though, we’ve gotten pretty close. He’s a good kid. A little scatterbrained, maybe, but his heart’s in the right place. I see him sort of like the son I never had.”
Marek drains his glass. "Listen, I have work to do. If Lander's still alive time won't wait for you to dawdle. I'd check out the Southwest road, that's the last place he was headed. Kid might have run afoul of some of the nastier stuff out there; there's not any time for you to waste. Please. Find him."
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Sir Quinton suddenly shakes himself, like a dog shedding water, as he seems to come out of whatever reverie he was lost in.
"Indeed. The boy could well be in some trouble," the knight says as he swings up onto his placid mare. "While he is undoubtedly on the way to becoming a great swordsman, he may still need our blades to aid him."
"To the Southwest Road," he declares, turning to the northeast.
Heading out the Southwest road, you ride for some time until, near dark, you make camp by the road. Setting out again the next moring you come across a silken handkerchief tied to a tree. Investigating this odd find, you see that it is embroidered with the crest of the House Lebeda. An old game trail leads off the road where it is tied, clearly used by hunters and hunted alike.
The deer trail winds past a large pond fed by a spring. Reeds and sedges grow around the pond, and piping birds are audible over the gurgling of running water. The pond drains from a stream flowing southwards. A section of grasses has been cleared away near the north edge of the pond, revealing a small fire pit caked with ashes.
Three men are wading in the shallow waters near the pond, combing through the reeds. They don't seem to notice your approach.
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Gaius leads the way, trying to track the young man once they find the silken handkerchief. When they come within sight of the three men wading in the shallow pond, Gaius stops and motions to the others. He can see them from a ways off, long before they might notice the group, and tries to get an idea of what they are doing.
As the party approaches the reeds , one of the men suddenly looks up and catches sight of you. "Ah, looky here lads! We are a blessed lot, my lads." As the other two men straighten up, the leader smiles widely, displaying a few missing teeth. "And what praytell can we do for such fine gentlemens on such a lovely day as this, eh?"
The man smirks and looks at his companions. "Lander, eh? Can't say I have. Is he a friend of yers?"
"Oh I'm pretty sure he's feeling the 'error of his ways' yer lordships!" The man guffaws and his companions chuckle with him.
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Quinton follows the others, looking in the water.
What luck, he thinks. If there are people panning for gold here, surely that means there must be some here. I just hope they don't think we intend to jump their claim. That could be bad news.
Out loud, he asks happily, The lad didn't try to take your gold, did he? If so, be assured we shall speak quite harshly with him."
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Sense Motive
Hagrym is pretty sure he is picking up on what the leader is communicating. He nods, and starts rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Alrighty, it seems we are ready to have a disagreement here. You know where the boy is, or was, and we need to figger that out. So, you'll either tell us, or, by Gorum, the one of you we leave breathing will tell us. Your choice, buddy."
Intimidate
The man's demeanor immediately changes, going from jovial to sullen. "I guess you gotta learn the same lesson the boy did; ain't smart to mess with us! Get 'em!" He and his compatriots surge forward, hands going to maces at their belts as they do!
Initiatives:
Round 1:
24 Karos
21 Quinton
19 Thugs
17 Gaius
13 Hagrym
9 Rekgar
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"What the hey! We're not here to jump your claim, dagnabbit! You can have all the gold! We just want the boy!"
Nonetheless, in case they won't listen to reason, he whips his massive sword free of its sheath and swings wildly as they approach, clearly trying more to scare them into listening to "reason" than actually hurt them.
Karos blesses the group, but Sir Quinton's swing cannot be saved, as he trips on a stone and his swing goes wide. The two thugs and their leader move up to surround Quinton and Hagrym and swing their maces at them!
for nonlethal damage!
for nonlethal damage!
for non lethal damage!
Rekgar assumes a defensive stance!
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From his hiding spot, Gaius quickly unleashes a pair of arrows as soon as the bandits show their true colors. The arrows sail across the distance and bury themselves into one of the thugs attacking Quinton. He makes no attempt to hide himself after, knowing that they are at a tactical disadvantage if they try to close the distance between himself and them.
Hagrym swings at his opponents, but his sword swing goes wide. Gaius is doing better as his arrows strike one of the thugs, sending him to the ground bleeding.
ROUND 2:
24 Karos
21 Quinton
19 Thugs
17 Gaius
13 Hagrym
9 Rekgar
Sir Quinton swings again, his sword whistling through the air, but the thugs is able to dodge... directly into Karos' shot.
The leader grins at Hagrym and attempts to tumble around him , moving fast to avoid being swatted. Thus flanking Hagrym, both the thug and the leader swing at him! and Hagrym manages to avoid the thug's swing, but not the leader's, taking nonlethal damage!
The second thug goes down with a gasp and a fountain of blood. The leader's eyes go wide, but he snarls out a reply. "I haven't even started fighting yet!" Rekgar readies himself for the fight, while observing his vows.
Round 3:
24 Karos
21 Quinton
19 Thugs
17 Gaius
13 Hagrym
9 Rekgar
Rekgar eschews his normal waiting and lunges to attack, but comes up just short of the bandit leader. Quinton, on the other hand, smacks the leader hard, causing him to reel. Karos reloads and fires again! for damage!
The bandit leader slides to the side, drawing a light mace as well as he goes. He strikes again at Hagrym, his blows becoming desperate!
for nonlethal
for nonlethal damage!