You leave the Augur’s Entrails, intent on searching for a way to reach out to Dakar. You’ve barely left however, before the crowd surrounding your party as you walk down the street vanishes almost before you can realize it. Now instead of a throng of peddlers, hawkers, and other rogues stand only nine burly men carrying cudgels, and a seventh with his hand on a pouch at his belt. All ten sets of eyes are on you. Behind the eerie clearing in the city you can see people suddenly turning and finding another way past your street.
”We’s hear you’s been ax’ing ‘bout Dakar.” that man with his hand in a puch calls out. ”Well looks like everyone’s happy today. Cuz he wants a word wit you.” The other men remain silent.
The talkative man rummages about in his pouch and pulls out seven black sacks - six sized for humans and a small one for a bird.
"Excellent. Always nice to be working with people who know how to go along. So here you's just gotta put dese on, then we drive you to meet wit the man himself. Comprende?"
His fellows take a few steps forward as he approaches each of you in turn and drapes a sack over your heads. The material is smooth but thick, and is impossible to see out of. What's more, the moment the bag goes over you all noise ceases, even the sound of your breathing.
The six (and Archimedes) of you feel yourself being guided forcibly over and up onto a wagon of some sort. then once you are all cramped into the small space, the vehicle takes off. The ride is bumpy and painful, and takes what feels like an hour as the cart twists and turns throughout Kaer Maga's streets.
Finally the wagon halts, and you are dragged out and marched down what feels to your feet like a few streets, followed by a couple of long hallways. At last, you are stopped.through streets or large hallways, and then stopped. With no warning the bags are pull roughly from your heads and you find yourselves in an opulently decorated club room. The floors are carpeted, exotic potted plants line the walls, and a nice breeze is generated as slaves wave large fans at you.
Along one wall, there is a massive backlit screen. Behind it, you can faintly make out a large vague shape moving about as a voice booms from behind it.
“You’ve asked for me and now you have me. What do you wish to know?”
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The material is smooth but thick, and is impossible to see out of. What's more, the moment the bag goes over you all noise ceases, even the sound of your breathing.
“Whoa! Dakar must have read that excit… disgusting ’50 Shades of Slate’ book.”
Holding her great-helm in her left arm, Eadie blinks a few times after the sack is removed from her bare head. She gazes around the plush audience chamber with interest, not particularly surprised to see slaves in attendance.
She *bobs* a couple of times to the shadowy figure behind the screen. “Oh sorry, Mr Dakar Sir. We didn’t realize you were still getting dressed.”
“Have you just got out of the bath? It doesn’t matter. See, I’m used to speaking with Grandmaster Torch when he’s in the tub.”
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Expecting the ice is now broken, the young warrior charges ahead. “We understand some people claiming to be Pathfinders have been causing trouble for you Bosses that rule Kaer Maga.”
“We’re real Pathfinders. The Decemvirate is not happy that some jokers are using our name to cause trouble in your city and tarnish the Society’s good name.”
“We’ve been assigned to sort out these trouble-makers and make sure they don’t cause any problems for both Kaer Maga’s guv’nors and the Ten ever again!”
Eadie scratches her head. “Only problem is, we don’t really know where they are. If you could tell us where we can find them, we’d be happy to make sure they never trouble you again.”
The form behind the screen moves little, but a hint of amusement enters the raspy voice's tone.
"You are 'real' Pathfinders are you? How adorable. You remain ignorant of the very basics of what your problem truly is.
I can enlighten you of course. But I do not give anything away for free, Tens-folk. An exchange then: you receive the information you want, I receive a future favor. Are these terms acceptable?"
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Eadie speaks hesitantly, afraid of giving offense. “Weeeell, I dunno ‘bout that, Mr Dakar. I think I understand the basics of solving the problem just fine.”
Eadie mimes sundering someone with her polearm. “Eadie fix with hammer.”
“It’s the hard bit, like who to hit and where they are that I don’t really get.”
“You receive the information you want, I receive a future favor. Are these terms acceptable?"
“Does the future favor have anything to do with a bath tub? Because my Aunt Alix told me to never get into a bath tub with someone I didn’t love very, very much.”
“Otherwise …” Eadie sinks to one knee and bows her head. “Totes acceptable, Mr Dakar Sir!”
“I, Eadie Navhelan, ex-clerk of Abadar, almost didn’t fail the paladin entry-test of the Same and Lifter of Heavy Things, solemnly pledge you one fully-clothed non-bathtub related future favor, So Help Me Abadar!”
She looks up and looks the shadowy image roughly where its face might be. “I do this for OSIRION!”
”You assume malice. No need.” the dry voice says to Yakima. ”The best bargains are those where each are happy enough with the outcome. Rest assured I can think of something that should not be too…objectionable for you.”
The vague shape seem to loom larger as you agree to Dakar’s terms. ”To business then: your mistake is assuming that these troublemakers are false Pathfinders, seeking to stir up trouble for your little club. They are not: they are very real Pathfinders as true as you. Except perhaps, that they have grown tired of the old ways.”
The voice continues. ”The Society you put so much faith in has been around for centuries, yes? And yet what does it have to show for it? A few new maps and some scant artifacts that are locked away in vaults rather than used. Is it any wonder then that while your bureaucracy grows and each of your little national factions squabble over petty slights, a true new effort has been building to take over your organization? They call themselves the ‘Shadow Lodge’. And they have been growing from within your very ranks for a long time.”
Dakar pauses for a moment before continuing with a touch of whimsy. ”Of course, if I know about this insurgent Shadow Lodge, then surely the Decemvirate must know something too. And yet you Pathfinders seem surprised. Are your masked leaders such deniers to stick their heads back down in the sand? Or do they already not know who to trust?” The voice lets out a raspy chuckle. It is not a pleasant sound.
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“The Society you put so much faith in has been around for centuries.”
Whoa! I knew VC Dreng was old, but not THAT old. Hmm … maybe those rumors about him being a vampire are true?
Eadie stands at parade rest during the remainder of the Crimelord’s speech. Most of it sails over her head, though she keeps an ear open for any mention of waffles or limes.
“If I know about this insurgent Shadow Lodge, then surely the Decemvirate must know too.”
Eadie holds up a hand to her mouth and whispers to the paladin and the thrush. “Ali, has Dakar told us where the dudes that we gotta put in pine boxes are yet?”
She then faces the shadowy figure extolling confidently. “Now, we know that you know that the Ten that no one knows, know that we don’t know.”
“Duh. Obvious.”
“BUT what we want to know is what you know about where those that are in the know are now! Know what I mean?”
"I can offer where one of their leaders is at this moment. The Naderi Theater in Bis. He's been holed up there training and collecitng a set of goblin minions."
"Is that 'pertinent' enough for you?" the voice rasps coldly.
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“Yes?” Eadie guesses.
“I know a knowledge-broker as clever as you would know any secret ways into the Naderi Theatre, Mr Dakar. Also, if he’s holed up in a playhouse does that mean the Shadow Lodge boss is a bard?”
She puts her hands on her hips and whines. “Do really hafta wear those bags on our head again, Mr D? Pleeeease don’t make us. Please? We’ll be good.”
Eadie pouts. “But if we gotta, I want the same bag I had before. It smelt of old sweat AND peanut butter! I marked it on the inside with a big ‘E’ when your goons weren’t looking, Mr Dakar.”
“I’m pretty sure I spelt ‘E’ correctly too.”
"You take this as a jest then. Fine. That is your right. Just try not to die, Pathfinders. I like cashing in favors that are owed to me.” the voice spits out humorlessly. As its last words echo slightly around the large room, the backlight behind the screen goes dim, leaving you alone with the fanning slaves and several men who approach you once more with bags in hand.
Eyes and ears cut-off from the world once again, you are taken back in a similarly circuitous way. Finally your bags are removed in a flurry. Blinking, you see you are back near where you were picked up in Downmarket. Dakar's men are already receding into the crowds.
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Having nothing further to add to the interview with Dakar, Eadie is resigned to wait for the black bag to be placed over her head again.
“Hey! This isn’t my bag.” *sniff* “This was the bag Ali’s bird was in!”
Sack-on-head, she turns in the thrush’s direction. “You-reeka, Archimedes! When was the last time you took a bath?”
Back on the mean streets of Kaer Maga, Eadie turns to her companions.
“Welp, I guess now we need to find out where the Naderi Theatre in Bis is.”
The young warrior thinks about the encounter Traber and Crowe had in the bordertown bar earlier in the day. “How big was the tip you gave Miss Feathers, Traber? Surely he could tell us the way.”
“Otherwise, I guess we can ask random strangers again.”
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Crowe growls at the thugs as they remove his hood after being dumped back on the streets of Kaer Maga. "I know we have a job at hand, but I would like to have another talk with that man again. Our talk would have few words." Crowe rubs the back of his bald head and nods to Eadie. "Please point me to this place, I need to hit something."
It’s fairly easy to get directions to the theater Dakar mentioned. Making your way south through the streets towards the border order the Cavalcade district, you eventually come before a run-down, wooden facade with the words “Naderi Theater” painted across the top in faded letters. The painting of a young, pretty woman soaked to the bone with water and carrying a tiny dagger in one fist splashes across the front of the theater beneath the sign, though this mural is as faded as the lettering above. The ticket window is boarded up and the walls are covered in graffiti.
The two front doors are chained shut. A sign that reads “Closed for renovation” is nailed across them
Does this look like a closed roof theater or a traditional outdoor theater ala The Globe?
As Yakima crouches down to unbind the door, she finds that the chains are not hard metal but flimsy fakes, looking imposing from a distance but a pittance the unbind from the door handles.
Pushing the now cleared door aside, you see a small hallway that runs east-west and leads up to the theater’s dusty balconies. Another set of double doors, just across the hallway from the entrance, is unlocked.
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Eadie unslings her backpack and sets it just inside the doorway.
She draws her falchion and looks and listens at the door for goblin Pathfinder activity and traps.
She then returns outside briefly and whispers to her companions, “What say we head left and try to get backstage to survey the battlefield and hopefully get a drop on the opposition?”
Eadie and Yakima listen at the door. Neither woman's ears pick up any noises from beyond.
Ali kicks in the door to the main theater. The large space is built in the classical style, with rows of seats all covered in white sheets which themselves have a fine layer of dust. On each side you can see sets of dusty balconies overlooking the room. Birds flap around in the rafters, and the fallen remnants of nests can be seen all about the seating area. On the stage is a covered piano and several chairs—the chairs are uncovered, their sheets cast aside, and piles of papers sit nearly around them.
A single man stands on the floor before the raised stage. Before him lie three unnaturally vicious looking creatures. Looking at you as you appear, he gives a mock clap with his hands.
"So, I see Vadoma and her little pets failed to killed you. It seems I’ll have to take over!”
Initiative
Crowe
Dvalin
Traber
As Crowe moves down the main aisle and Dvalin and Traber prepare themselves for a fight, the Shadow Lodge agent waves his arms and chants something. "The time for talking is over! And soon your establishment will join you!" Suddenly, all of you in the entrance are hit with a wave of disorientation.
Initiative
Eadie
Yakima