After over a month of waiting for an assignment in Kalsgrad, some of you have grown restless. Tusk and Faenethor have moved on to separate assignments. You've kept yourselves as busy as you could. Earning a few coin here and there and devoting yourselves to hobbies and pastimes that have amused you before. However, you are all anxious for a mission. It's mid-Desnus but, it's still cold in Kalsgard. The locals have told you that winter has hung on for longer than normal this year.
The Lands of the Linnorm Kings are a cold, frozen place made up mostly of taiga and marshland. However, by mid Desnus this region generally has the snow melting and a few trees budding. This year however, the spring comes slower. Only a few degrees during the daytime separate the weather of Desnus from Pharast! At night it feels much the same. Some of you from warmer lands are hoping to get re-assigned to warmer climates.
That's why the news that Venture captain Drandle Dreng was visiting Kalsgard was exciting to a couple of you! All of you have heard of the famed Venture captain from Absalom. A couple of you even have seen him before while passing through or training in/at Absalom. The news is exciting because, wherever Dreng travels, he inevitable enlist local pathfinders to aid him.
Your initial excitement at his arrival two weeks ago has been muted somewhat. You would have thought that, the more senior Venture Captain would have called upon, Venture Captain Benarry to muster her available Pathfinders to, aid Captain Dreng in whatever quest that had taken him so far from Absalom. However, you've had no summons up until now and have heard only vague rumors of local scholars visiting the Grinning Pixie and whispers the the venerable Captain Dreng may be sick.
When the messenger comes to finally summon you to duty; it catches a couple of you off guard. Set in your routines, several of you have to drop personal projects or cancel plans. However, it's pleasing to see a few familiar faces as you board the deck of the Grinning Pixie. You are soon summoned to Captain Benarry's stateroom. She is sitting at her desk quietly chatting with a frail looking man. There is another man in the room that you've never seen. Benarry waves you in and motions you to stand to the side of the room while, she gets up and helps the older man re-position his chair to face all of you.
As he turns toward you a couple of you recognize Drandle Dreng famous Pathfinder and Venture captain of the Absalom lodge. He looks to be, suffering from a cold and weak from lack of food and rest, the old venture-captain looked quite possibly the worst you’d ever seen him. Captain Benarry clears her throat and says he her resonating alto, A few of you might know Venture Captian Dreng. Those of you who don't, can take my word for it that he is one of the best Pathfinders that has ever graced the society. He's been on a mission up here in the north but has umm..well I'll let you take over from here sir. Drandle nods and gives a Benarry a smile as she has a seat. He examines your group for a moment before beginning
I have a routine mission for you, though a dangerous routine mission, the old man whispers as the Pixie's side boards settle and creak. You can feel the gentle movement of the deck, as Dreng continues. Through wracking coughs he explained, An ally of ours in the Land of the Linnorm Kings—Rognvald Skagni—is writing a lengthy report on the state of government in the northern countries of Avistan. I received a letter from him a couple months ago requesting several key documents from the vaults in Absalom and a few more from other lodges, including the Grinning Pixie, to help him finish the report. Venture-Captain Dreng pats a large, heavy-looking chest next to him. These are the documents, and I need you to board a boat and head up the Rimeflow River to deliver them to Skagni in Trollheim.
Dreng tried to stand at this point, but a fit of coughing sent him back into his seat. He gestures for the well-dressed, impeccably kept man standing in the shadows of the room to approach and whispers raspy orders to him. The man picked up a small pouch and a large key and handed them both to the party. Venture-Captain Dreng is unwell, as you can see. He wished me to give you this key and this pouch of gold. The key opens the chest, and the gold will buy you passage and get you from the Kalsgard to Trollheim, where Skagni resides. Whatever you do, do not let the chest out of your sight and do not, under any circumstances, allow
it to be searched. These documents are for Mr. Skagni’s eyes only. Are we understood?
At this point Captain Benarry get's up from her chair and motions for the un-named man to give her the gold. The gold won't be necessary Venture Captain Dreng!she says a little too smugly. Jamir here is an experienced sailor and I've hired a couple of locals to help this group row their way up to Trollheim. It should be no problem for this bunch! They did well on their last mission so they're likely looking forward to breathing the fresh cool air of the Thanelands once again! She slaps Craggark proudly on the shoulder, What say you men? Ready for another trip on the Fortune seeker?
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Jawhar is eager to set out. His personal mission to experience different societies has been on hold for the past few months.
Even though he is more than eager to accept the job without thinking about the particulars, he feels uncomfortable negotiating terms with Venture Captain Benarry and decides to stay quiet, allowing someone else to take the lead.
He is, however, quite concerned about the apparent condition of Venture Captain Dreng. Hoping there is some way that he can help, he approaches the man and kneels down next to him.
"Venture Captain, I apologize for mentioning it, but you look unwell. You should probably be resting. We would not have taken offense if you had entrusted this briefing to Venture Captain Benarry, though we do appreciate you coming to visit us personally.
Is there anything I can do to help you be more comfortable? Furs, hot tea, some food perhaps? If Sarenrae's blessings can do anything to ease your discomfort, you have but to ask."
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Torvald welcomes the mission gladly--the past few weeks of his research into "frostbite bombs" has gone poorly, as he would grumble to any who would listen. "It's too blasted cold here, it's messing with my measurements," he'd grouse over drinks. "I can't tell how much of the effect is my recipe and how much is just natural freezing!"
A nice little delivery seems like just the thing to take his mind off such vexing failures. "Happy to do it, just two questions. First, is there an inn or boardinghouse where Skagni is known to reside? Second, why are a series of academic documents so sensitive?" There's no malice in the questions, the dwarf is genuinely intrigued and perhaps doesn't know or care that such a question is indiscrete.
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Jamir has been grinning wider than the pixie figurehead since he boarded the floating Pathfinder Lodge. Since the party's return to Kalsgrad, Jamir has earned a little money crewing on fishing boats, but the novelty of it has long since worn off. He is horrified to realize that it is beginning to feel like the kind of drudgery he left Cassomir to escape.
In the past month, Jamir has outfitted himself with additional adventuring gear in an effort to be ready for any mission the Society might need him for, but over time he has begun to despair of hearing the call again. The occasional night on the town with Craggark and Torvald, or swordplay at dawn with Jawhar, have been the only bright spots in an otherwise dreary month. Jamir makes no effort to conceal his delight and relief at receiving Venture Captain Bennary's summons once again. He bows in her direction, then leaps onto a chair to be able to look her in the eye.
"Venture Captain Benarry, madam, I am honored as always that you have called on me to provide some service to the Society!"
He bows more deeply still to Dreng, balanced precariously on the chair. "Venture Captain Dreng, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I am Jamir Montajay, of the Cassomir Montajays, sailor, swordsman, fighter for freedom, and Pathfinder! On our last mission, we obtained valuable information for the Society from right under the noses of the witch queens of Irrisen, so I am certain we will be able to succeed in the critical mission you have entrusted to us!"
Turning last to the sharp-dressed man assisting Dreng, Jamir asks, "And may we know your name as well, sir?"
Is there anything I can do to help you be more comfortable? Furs, hot tea, some food perhaps? If Sarenrae's blessings can do anything to ease your discomfort, you have but to ask.
The un-named man interrupts I assure you the Venture Captain is in the best of hands and receiving good care. The in-named man scrutinizes Jawhar and says, Besides, there is nothing the likes of you could do for the Venture Captain, that hasn't already been done. Venture Captain Benarry clears her throats and begins to say something but is interrupted by Jamir.
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Besides, there is nothing the likes of you could do for the Venture Captain, that hasn't already been done.
"I am certain that is very true, and yet expressing my concern is such a small courtesy that it would be incredibly rude not to. Politeness is the grease that keeps society moving, wouldn't you say?
Jawhar raises an eyebrow as if actually expecting a response.
Besides, there is nothing the likes of you could do for the Venture Captain, that hasn't already been done."I am certain that is very true, and yet expressing my concern is such a small courtesy that it would be incredibly rude not to. Politeness is the grease that keeps society moving, wouldn't you say?
Jawhar raises an eyebrow as if actually expecting a response.
The un-named man scrunches his noseHmph! Venture Captain Benarry clears her voice ready to interject but is interrupted by Jamir.
Venture Captain Benarry, madam, I am honored as always that you have called on me to provide some service to the Society!
He bows more deeply still to Dreng, balanced precariously on the chair. "Venture Captain Dreng, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I am Jamir Montajay, of the Cassomir Montajays, sailor, swordsman, fighter for freedom, and Pathfinder! On our last mission, we obtained valuable information for the Society from right under the noses of the witch queens of Irrisen, so I am certain we will be able to succeed in the critical mission you have entrusted to us!
Turning last to the sharp-dressed man assisting Dreng, Jamir asks, And may we know your name as well, sir
The un-named man rolls his eyes at Jamir, Tchah...My name is none of your business little sir. Now run along; Venture-Captain Dreng needs his rest. Captain Benarry looks annoyed at the brisk manor in which the un-named man chooses to operate. However, she doesn't seem threatened or surprised. Before, anyone in the party can respond to the rude man, Benarry interjects. He's right, Venture Captain Dreng has already seen a healer and rest has been prescribed. She turns to look at the frail man with concern. He has fallen ill and will return to Absalom. That's why we've entrusted you to finish this most important mission for him.
Venture Captain Benarry walks over to Dreng and places her hand upon his shoulder gently.This is a simple but important mission. Please use all cation and finish the task as quickly as possibly. She points at the chest and motions Torvald and Craggark to carry it. Remember, the documents within that chest contain sensitive Society material. Allow no one but the intended recipient access to the materials. I'll expect you back in 2-3 weeks with a full report. You are dismissed.
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Jamir hops down from his chair, his grin undiminished. To the unnamed dandy, he says,
"You, sir, must truly exemplify the Pathfinder's credo! I can see by your dress that you are a great explorer, from your gregarious nature that your reports must be detailed and thorough, and from your warm and friendly manner that you embody the very spirit of cooperation. I do look forward to our next encounter!"
Jamir starts for the door, then turns back. "I am sorry to tell you, however, that you have a spot of mud on the cuff of your trousers. You might wish to take care of that."
"Venture captains, farewell! We shall return with news of our success!"
Jamir opens the door and steps out onto the deck of the ship. Almost immediately, the braying of a nearby donkey can be heard inside the cabin.
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"As always, Venture-Captain Benarry, it has been a pleasure to do business with you.
Venture-Captain Dreng, I hope that I will get the pleasure to make your acquaintance again the next time I am in Absalom.
Tchah, I hope that we will get a chance to become better acquainted when your mind is less worried about the welfare of your charge.
Farewell, all, we are off into the frozen wastes yet again."
With a bow for the room, Jawhar follows Jamir out into the streets.
"Venture Captains don't like to provide their charges with much information, do they? Did we even get a map?
Sigh... I suppose we should find some way to disguise that gigantic chest while it is in your packsaddle, Jamir. Perhaps we can dress it up as a chest of clothing?"
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"Nice to see you again, Calisro...can I call you Ca---....um, Venture-Captain Benarry? Um, yes, it was nice to be given the mission to aid your Society, and I hope you feel better soon, sir---"
Craggark backs into a bulkhead on his EXTREMELY graceful exit. He ducks back into the room with an "Ah-ha" to snag the chest, which he had left behind.
........idiot........
Later, as the smaller group makes their way towards the prow of the Fortune Seeker:
"You didn't make any friends back there of that grumpy fella, Jamir." Seeing the angry gleam in the halfling's eye, the conciliatory half-orc replies: "Hey, he was a dick, fair enough, but he might have been having a bad day - V.C. Dreng might be his father...." Here, Craggark starts to giggle. "...or lover..." The half-orc breaks into guffaws.
What do I know about Trollheim?
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"We'll be back in a few weeks' time, then. I wish you a swift recovery, Venture Captain Dreng." Torvald resists the urge to make a face at the rude stranger before following the others out.
"Venture Captains don't like to provide their charges with much information, do they? Did we even get a map?"
"No, we did not. We should pick one up first thing." Glowering at the chest in Craggark's hands, the alchemist shakes a stubby finger at it. "And you? I don't suppose we'll find out three weeks from now that you're a magically disguised saddlebag or some such?"
I am sorry to tell you, however, that you have a spot of mud on the cuff of your trousers. You might wish to take care of that.
The anonymous man's glance immediately darts to the cuff of his trousers. Seeing nothing there, he shoots a disdainful glare at Jamir as the party exits Captain Benarry's quarters.
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Later, as the smaller group makes their way towards the prow of the Fortune Seeker:
"You didn't make any friends back there of that grumpy fella, Jamir." Seeing the angry gleam in the halfling's eye, the conciliatory half-orc replies: "Hey, he was a dick, fair enough, but he might have been having a bad day - V.C. Dreng might be his father...." Here, Craggark starts to giggle. "...or lover..." The half-orc breaks into guffaws.
Jamir lets out a snort. His new donkey, trailing behind at the end of a short rope, echoes it.
"I should think, my friend, that any son of Venture Captain Dreng would not hesitate to claim the filial relationship in a room full of impressionable young Pathfinders. And based on very brief observation, I should think that Venture Captain Dreng would in any event have better taste in lovers than that priggish, self-important, fustilarian! I would curse him if I but knew his name! But ho!" Jamir turns to Jawhar. "Yet I do, for Jawhar has named him! And so this is for Tchah No-Name, may his boils ever fester!"
With that, Jamir spits onto the dock. The donkey does too.
Glowering at the chest in Craggark's hands, the alchemist shakes a stubby finger at it. "And you? I don't suppose we'll find out three weeks from now that you're a magically disguised saddlebag or some such?"
Jamir bursts out laughing at this, his mood instantly improved. His spirits rise even higher as they board the familiar Fortune Seeker.
You arrive in Trollheim after a 12 day journey only stopping at the towns of Ullerskald and Hellirinn along the way. Henrich and Gustav are impressed with Jamir's knowledge of the Rimeflow river. The burly Ulfens are true to their word and buy Jamir a drink after your group manages to extract the stubborn donkey off the boat on to the docks. After tying the chest as securely as you're able to the donkey. You head off the docks to one of the waterfront pubs, to have a drink.
Jamir, Gustav, and Henrich step inside The witches brew pub. The three remaining members of the group debate who else should join them and who should stay and guard the chest. Ultimately it the choice comes down to Jawhar or Torvald to stay and guard. Craggark has been to Trollheim twice before, both times as an escort for trade/diplomatic entourages of his people. Craggark's knowledge of the local customs and behaviors might be invaluable in asking around for the whereabouts of Rognvald Skagni's residence.
About an hour after they went in; Jamir, Gustav, Henrich, and the rest, come out of the pub. Gustav and Henrich are entrusted to care for the boat until you're ready to return to Kalsgrad. You now face the decision of getting an Inn for the night or beginning your search now an hour before sunset.
Trollheim has many stockyards, tanneries, and textile mills, and the
scrubland near the city is heavily grazed by sheep. Unlike the citizens of most large cities, Trollheim’s residents are heavily involved in its defense. Every able-bodied citizen is expected to be trained with a sword, spear, or bow, and public squares and alleyways are often given over to weapon practice. Craggark believes the best chance of finding Rognvald Skagni's is to ask the local stall vendors, many of which are closing up for the evening as you speak.
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The halfling stifles a yawn as he exits the tavern between Gustav and Henrich, barely weaving at all. As they brace themselves against the cold wind, Jamir continues what he was saying to them inside.
"... and that's why most people don't even know there is a third verse!"
Once the two sailors head back to the Fortune Seeker, Jamir yawns again and shakes his head to clear it. "I think perhaps we should find an inn for the night and start fresh in the morning, my friends. I have little experience with academic sorts, but I assume they are stolid, early-to-bed-early-to-rise people, who are unlikely to be found in the kinds of establishments that others of us might prefer."
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"And HE said - 'I USTALAV her, but I had to kill her!' AH-HAHAHAHA!" With the half-orc's 10 days of penury on the Fortune Seeker at an end, Craggark kept the barmaid at The Witches' Brew on ice skates back and forth to their table. His state of inebriation likely shocks even the sailors.
"Bang on, hoys, I mean....hang on, boys." Craggark stops his weaving perambulation in front of another drinking establishment abruptly, pitching forward violently as he regurgitates the contents of his stomach up against the side of the building. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Craggark stumbles back to the gang.
"Right. Let's find this Skagni rat! I'm sure one of these peoples knows where he is and who his house lies." He lurches towards a stall-keeper, and then lurches back at Jamir. "And don't think of going to bed just yet, Hamstring! We've got Path-finding to do!"
He lurches back at the shocked stall-keeper. "Hey you, my good fellow man! Know a guy named Skagni? We are looking for him! *BELCH* Excuse me..." Craggark spits the remnants of vomit out of his mouth, some particles entangled in his beard.
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Jamir face-palms for a moment, then pulls the half-orc back from the shocked merchant. He fights back another yawn, then addresses the stall-keeper.
”Please excuse my friend. The man he referred to — my friend’s family owes this man a debt. My friend has travelled here to repay a small part of it, although I am afraid that after this evening’s expenses, it will be a somewhat smaller part. He needs rest before he locates this man in any case — in his current state, he will not be much good at negotiating for more time to pay the rest of what is owed. Would you be able to recommend an inn nearby?”
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Jawhar enters The Witches' Brew with the remainder of the party, finding it not that different from any other drinking establishment that he has been in so far.
The songs are generally the same, the coffee is burnt, the conversation becomes decidedly dull as the others get further into their cups, and he grows tired of the looks he keeps getting from the tavern keeper.
As such, after an hour, he orders a couple of tankards for Torvald and goes outside to learn some more about society in Janderhoff.
"So, there are still tunnels that lead into the Darklands? They need to be constantly guarded against monstrous incursions?
Tell me, why don't the dwarves simply collapse the tunnels?"
Seeing the rest of the party emerge from the tavern fully inebriated, Jawhar sighs.
"I suppose we'll have to bunk down for the night now. I'll collect our drunken companions, let's stable the donkey at that inn down the street and let them sleep this off.
I was going to attempt to pass the chest off as a Lady's clothing, but that would have required Jamir to spin a believable story. I can still make an attempt, although I would like to come up with a story a little closer to the truth.
Do you have any ideas, Torvald?"
Jawhar walks to Craggark and supports him. "Going on about your imaginary friends again, Craggark? You are an interesting individual when you get under the weather.
Ooh, look at the sign on that inn down the street. Is that a succubus or a dragon with a maid on it's back?"
Jawhar turns Craggark and Jamir toward the inn and starts walking.
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"Since when are travelers obligated to explain their every belonging to innkeeps? I say we simply don't mention it, none of their business anyways!"
Breathy clouds puffing in the chilly air as he lugs the chest along, Torvald rolls his eyes as the others' inebriation.
"To answer your question--there's lots of good reasons for having the tunnels open. There's more'n just monsters down there, there's rich ore veins and trading partners, and swift routes open year-round without surface weather to turn them to muck or bury them under snow. As for the beasties, yes they're a problem, but for the most part they're feral and disorganized and mostly just hungry. They give the clanguards much-needed practice without placing them in too much danger, after the traps and wards have worked 'em over a bit.
And sometimes we do collapse 'em--not a tunnel I can think of that isn't rigged to drop if a serious threat or invasion comes along, but for the most part the benefits outweigh the risks."
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"Since when are travelers obligated to explain their every belonging to innkeeps? I say we simply don't mention it, none of their business anyways!"
"Is it common for traveler's to carry locked chests up to their rooms? I do suppose you are right that simply not commenting on it will rouse less interest than an unbelievable story.
Sounds like a good plan to me"
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Whether or not the merchant replies to his friendly and not-intended intimidation attempt, Craggark replies loudly to the approach of Jawhar and Torvald.
"Hey!!! HEY! It's my friends. You guys --- where have you guys been?" He launches back at the merchant. "These guys are the best! The BEST! They'll tell you."
Craggark turns back around to Jawhar and addresses him solemnly.
"You are my BROTHER, Jawhar. I love you, man."
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Craggark barfs again. He follows animatedly wherever he is led, hugging whoever will let him hug them, including the donkey.
The donkey suffers Craggark's hug in stoic silence.
O.K. you guys find an common quality Inn (the Tanner's mitts) offering 1 large room with 4 bunks and a wood burning stove for 1 gp. a night min 2 nights stay. For an extra 5sp (a day/each) you can get two basic meals provided and a complementary pot off tea or mug of ale (your choice.)
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The accommodations at The Tanner's Mitts seem more than acceptable to Jamir, so long as there is an associated stables for his trusty Nag of Holding.
In the morning, Jamir will stick to variations of his original story about why they are looking for Skagni.
Good morning, madam! My name is Jamir Montajay, and my colleagues and I seek a local scholar, an historian called Rognvald Skagni. We have been retained by a noted barrister in Magnimar to locate Mr. Skagni, and bring him news of the death of a distant cousin, who recently died without any other heirs.[/quoute]
The fruit vendor woman looks down at Jamir,Never heard of him, you going to buy somethin?
Ah, sir! Please pardon my interrupting you at your work! My friend - yes, the big bluish fellow who just bumped into that display cupboard, I'm so sorry, we will certainly clean that up and make good any damage - anyway, my friend there has a bit of a problem that we are trying to assist him with. His father - may Pharasma judge him kindly - left a will that charged my friend to repay his father's debt to an old friend. It is not a significant sum by any means, but the debt must have weighed on the old man's conscience, for his will provides that if my friend does not repay this debt in full by dawn on the first anniversary of his death, then the rest of his estate will go instead to a cousin in Ustalav who is widely said to be an execrable toad of a man, and who does not need the funds in any way. And that anniversary is rapidly approaching. The man to whom the debt is owed? Why, none other than Rognvald Skagni, of this very city! All we need to do is arrange a meeting so my friend can pay his father's debts. I suspect there might be a few gold pieces in it for a man who could help us locate this gentleman.Hey There! Watch where you're going you blue skinned lout! You break it you buy it! What's that little one ..Scargeghtti ..ah never heard of him. Now both you run along before you do break something. Says a merchant that sells preserves and jams.
Shiny, is it not? My employer - no, no, I could not possibly say who that is, you understand these things, I am certain - is very particular about who she - or he! You see? I give away nothing! - hires for certain types of jobs. Very particular, but also very generous, eh? So for this job, she - or he - needs a scribe. 'So I will go down to the temple and find you an acolyte, and you will have your documents written for the price of a few silvers in the donation box!' But my employer says, 'No, this is a special job, and I need a special kind of scribe. Get me that scholar in Trollheim, get me Rognvald Skagni.' So of course I immediately get on a ship bound for Trollheim, because the alternative would have been to admit to my employer that I do not have the first idea who this Skagni is. And that I could not do, because my job is to know things and not to ask stupid questions. So now I am here, and I must find this Rognvald Skagni, and this shiny fellow and a few others like him in my pockets are cold comfort when what I need is to find someone else whose job it is to know things, who can help me find this scholar who is needed for this very particular job.The bar tender raises an eye brown. He nods and mumbles um hmm and oh really?. As Jamir continues with his yarn. finally he grows impatient and the bartender holds up his hand signally Jamir to stop. Ya know, you probably don't remember it but, you were in here last night. Come to think of it the wooden placard with the witches cauldron out front did look vaguely familiar.You were busy drinking with two sailors, bragging about some sort of conquest or another,that you had with a southern lass or two. However, your friend had a much more free tongue about an important Pathfinder mission... The bar tender crosses his arms in front of his chest daring you to dispute him. Now I don't know what you and that fellow are about but, I can tell you Pathfinders are viewed with suspicion around here. Always sticking their noise where it don't belong. Now I think it best you and your friend don't come back here no more. Otherwise Uthgar over there the bar tender nods to the hulking bouncer by the door, will have to escort you out by the seat of your pants. Now get along before I change my mind and ask Uthgar to escort you out now.
I know, it is impossible to believe, is it not? But yes, the dwarf, he sold his great-grandfather's forge hammer to a local scholar. Oh, he had good and proper reasons for his financial need, I am certain - I believe the honor of a lady of his kind was involved - but the shame of it has weighed on him ever since. He wishes to find this gentleman to offer to buy back his ancestor's hammer, so that he can return to his homeland without being shunned by his kin. The scholar's name? Rognvald Skagni.The fish monger's mouth hangs wide open and he just stares at Jamir through the whole story. When Jamir wraps it up he says. You sure do talk a lot you going to buy some fish? His blank expression leaves no doubt this man has no information to offer.
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Craggark nurses an extreme hangover the morning after, refusing any breakfast save for some strips of dried beef, and failing fantastically at aiding, or even following, the constant stream of diplomatic chatter emanating from the halfling's mouth.
After the fishmonger pans up empty, Craggark retreats.
"Gotta. Sit." The rather green-looking blue-skinned fellow tromps back to the Tanner's Mitts without discussion.
Craggark spends the rest of the afternoon plowing through two plates of rare and bloody reindeer meat. He literally growls if anyone attempts to interrupt him.
I have got to find some more of those 'gentleman's packets'. Maybe the innkeeper can help.
"Excuse me," Craggark off-handedly mentions to the freaked-out innkeeper clearing away his second tray of raw reindeer meat. "Do you know where I could find someone in this town who makes powders and poultices? Like, an apothecary?"
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Jawhar makes his way to a more commercial area of the city where artists and specialty shops can be found.
Stopping first in scrivener's supply store, He purchases an inkpen and some black ink.
This ink is superior, I am quite impressed. You must be frequented by every scribe in the city. Perhaps you know a correspondent of mine in the city, one Rognvald Skagni?
I'm embarrassed to admit that I have gotten quite lost attempting to follow his directions. I am supposed to meet with him for an exchange of information about our regions."
Heading over to an herbalist's shop...
No? Amongst other things I find it quite useful for taking care of hangovers and my travelling companions often find themselves on the wrong side of the bottle.
Yes, I am sure your is quite effective, but I prefer to keep looking for now. Your supply is quite impressive, I'm certain I shall return once I fail to find any.
Say, on the journey here we spied some interesting beasts in the woods. Large, hulking, white-furred things. We were thinking of taking a trip to find out more about them but would like to confer with someone with local knowledge first. Our contacts in Kalsgard mentioned a man name Rognvald Skagni here in the city. Might you know how I can find him?"
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Returning to the inn, Jawhar approaches Craggark, who is still sitting in a dark corner.
Speaking in a too loud voice:
"Sorry, Craggark, but I couldn't find anything to help out with hangovers. It appears the city has run through the entire supply.
Perhaps the pain should be useful as a reminder to pace yourself a little? Hydration goes a long way toward preventing hangovers.
No, no, I said HY-DRAY-SHUN. You know drinking WATER? Down a glass after every second drink, next time."
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The bar tender raises an eye brown. He nods and mumbles um hmm and oh really?. As Jamir continues with his yarn. finally he grows impatient and the bartender holds up his hand signally Jamir to stop. Ya know, you probably don't remember it but, you were in here last night. Come to think of it the wooden placard with the witches cauldron out front did look vaguely familiar. You were busy drinking with two sailors, bragging about some sort of conquest or another,that you had with a southern lass or two. However, your friend had a much more free tongue about an important Pathfinder mission... The bar tender crosses his arms in front of his chest daring you to dispute him. Now I don't know what you and that fellow are about but, I can tell you Pathfinders are viewed with suspicion around here. Always sticking their noise where it don't belong. Now I think it best you and your friend don't come back here no more. Otherwise Uthgar over there the bar tender nods to the hulking bouncer by the door, will have to escort you out by the seat of your pants. Now get along before I change my mind and ask Uthgar to escort you out now....
Swallowing his pride, Jamir forces out a hearty laugh as he pockets the platinum coin and hops down from his stool. "No need for that, my friend, no need at all. And of course my friend is a Pathfinder, on a very important mission, just as he said last night." The halfling raises his eyebrows. "And just as I said last night, I had to flee north after my dalliances with each of the two youngest daughters of the Prince of Qadira were revealed to their father. Jamir bows to the bartender, gives the bouncer a cheerful wink, and strolls out of the tavern.
Greetings. I wonder if you might have any insert random Qadiran herb here, my supply has run quite low.
No? Amongst other things I find it quite useful for taking care of hangovers and my travelling companions often find themselves on the wrong side of the bottle.Yes, I am sure your offered local herb is quite effective, but I prefer to keep looking for now. Your supply is quite impressive, I'm certain I shall return once I fail to find any.
Say, on the journey here we spied some interesting beasts in the woods. Large, hulking, white-furred things. We were thinking of taking a trip to find out more about them but would like to confer with someone with local knowledge first. Our contacts in Kalsgard mentioned a man name Rognvald Skagni here in the city. Might you know how I can find him?
The herb dealer scratches his beard for a moment and he says You mean that kooky old sage that lives in the outer district? Can't say I've seen him in a while but me boy regularly delivers snap weed root and some tobacco to his place. Hey boy get over here! the herb dealer motions for one of two boys throwing snowballs at each other to come over. A skinny blond boy with a ponytail springs forward. Yea master Lars, you got a delivery? the herb dealer shakes his head no and pulls out a quill and a dirty piece of parchment. you know that old sage you deliver tobacco to in the outer district? he points to the paper. Draw this man a map the boy nods and does as he's told. The herb dealer hands the crude map to Jawhar and says hope this helps, sure I can't entice you with any of my local remedies?
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hope this helps, sure I can't entice you with any of my local remedies?
"Most excellent! You have my gratitude." Jawhar flips a silver to the boy.
"I honestly plan to let the fools suffer through their headaches. There is no better cure than not getting drunk in the first place, is what I say.
Still, prepare five batches of your local remedy for me so I can sample its effectiveness. Oh, and a couple of pouches of tobacco would be wonderful for myself."
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Back at the inn:
After sufficiently torturing Craggark's swollen head, Jawhar will subtly mix an Alchemist's Kindness into water for him.
"Here, try this glass of sparkling water, it might help. I believe the locals call it Elbillug.
Well, good news everyone, I was able to procure a map to our contact. Shall we head out?"
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"Elbillug, eh?" Craggark gingerly takes the effervescent liquid offered. "Thanks, Jawhar." Craggark drains the glass.
Too. Loud. Too. Bright.
The half-orc smiles ruefully and squints at the cleric. "About last night....um....did I do anything too bad? I can't really recall what all happened, yeah?"
In response to Jawhar's proclamation (and buoyed by the 'Elbillug'), Craggark groans to his feet, picking his pack up from the floor where he had pitched it. "Right. Business time. All set."
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The half-orc smiles ruefully and squints at the cleric. "About last night....um....did I do anything too bad? I can't really recall what all happened, yeah?"
"It wasn't pretty, I can tell you that. You might want to pick up a new pair of boots.
However, I was outside with Torvald for most of the night, so I can't tell you what happened inside. I do remember the name of our employer being exclaimed rather loudly as you left the tavern though.
Oh, and I never returned your sentiments."
Jawhar quickly stops in the middle of the street and gives Craggark a great big bear hug. "I love you too, man!"
Laughing out loud, Jawhar keeps following the map.
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Jamir spent the time between his final attempt at gathering information and Jawhar's return sullenly sharpening his rapier on a whetstone. At the first hint that they might be able to move forward with their mission, he mutters something about "the sooner, the better," and liberates the Nag of Holding from the stable at the Tanner's Mitt. He "supervises" the others in getting the chest secured to the donkey's pack saddle, and leads the donkey by a short rope tied to its harness as they walk out of town, stopping only when Jawhar grabs Craggark in a bear hug.
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"Alright, alright," Craggark growls in surrender, "I enjoy all of your company and I like being around you and perhaps - JUST perhaps - I may have expressed that extensively last night."
Here, he points at Jamir. "But YOU can stop your grinning, and YOU---" here, he points at Jawhar --- "you can keep your silky words, and YOU---" here he points at Torvald --- "don't think I don't see you giggling, dwarf. You ALL know who I truly have feelings for..."
Here, Craggark plants a big kiss on the nose of the suffering donkey.
"My one TRUE love. Now stuff you all, or the people of Trollheim will think us even stranger than we look."
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"Hee-haw!"
The directions to Skagni’s home provided by the herb vendor's assistant are unclear, but after a few wrong turns due to poor handwriting, the party finally locates their destination. But there’s a problem: it’s been burned to the ground. All that remains are the stone ruins of the
small home’s walls and a few scattered piles of rubble. Skagni’s now-ruined home sits in a sparse neighborhood of scattered stone and timber homes on the very edge of town. When your group arrives, the streets are quiet and deserted.
Where the directions indicate Skagni’s house should be stands only the charred husk of a burnt-out building. Bits of burnt timber and ruined furniture lie scattered about, but if anything remained after the fire, it seems to have been picked over and looted. Though most of the walls are blackened with soot, a patch along the former front of the residence still shows relatively clean, white walls. Smeared across those white walls, written in reddish-brown letters four feet tall, are the words, “Pathfinders go home.”