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Eadie picks up the length of old stage rope that she thought was her missing falchion.
She grasps its ends in both hands and rants angrily at it. “I’ve never liked you. Put you under any kind of strain and you’d break!”
“Everyone says you’re twisted! Well guess what? You can go and get knotted, ‘cos I’m gonna splice you good!”
Eadie pauses as if listening to the rope’s reply, before prodding it in the middle with her index finger. “Oh, yeah? How about you make me.”
In a flash she pulls the length of cord up and around her neck, twisting it like a garrotte as ‘the rope’ tries to strangle her.
Eadie whacks herself in the face with a nearby rope while Dvalin hurries up to the Shadow Lodge agent. A quick check confirms that the man is alive, albeit bleeding out. A few applications of pressure and a pinch of herbs stabilizes the traitor, and the dwarf begins trussing him up.
--
Ali sees many papers scattered around the stage floor and piano. Most of the legible sheets seem to be lists of supplies, but many of the pages appear to be written in some kind of cypher or code. One seemingly un-encrypted ream is a list: Absalom, Sothis, Kaer Maga, Oppara, Whitethrone, and Almas.
Looking at the wayfinder that fell out of the fallne man's pocket, Crowe and Dvalin see that it is engraved with the name "Wymund Pratt.
The members of the team not on stage continue to harm themselves.
[dice=confusion]1d100
Dvalin hurries down the aisle to Stabilize the fallen oracle.
for
for
for
for
for
for
While the two women pucnh and stab at each other for a few more rounds, only a light stab and then one final blow from Yakima connect.
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Once the fuzziness leaves her mind, Eadie gapes at her bloodied gauntlet like a goldfish and apologizes to her friend. “I’m so sorry, Yakima. Let’s get poor Traber sorted out.”
Eadie kneels down beside the unconscious Chelaxian and begins pouring potions down his throat until he recovers.
"Thanks for the healing burst, Dvalin!"
She then drinks a couple of CLW potions, before letting the others have a turn. “So are there any more clues on the dead Pathfinder renegade? I wonder if Miss Feathers knows him or any of his associates?”
Eadie retrieves her 'stolen' falchion from where she dropped it and stands apart from the others squirming her left big toe in the mouldy theatre carpet as she speaks. “Uh, guys?”
“When I was bewitched, did I like mention that I was … oh, I don’t know … in love with anyone in particular? ‘Cos I’m totally NOT!”
“Also if you thought you heard me confessing to stealing an apple pie my sister Lore baked for a member of her congregation who was feeling poorly, you TOTALLY HEARD WRONG!”
“It was probably some other 'Eadie' who nicked the pie.”
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Crowe places a heavy hand on Dvalin's shoulder. "Thank you Dvalin. A devil's sorcery was at work here. I am glad I did not have to put one of you down to protect the rest of our band. We have a debt, and I shall see it is settled." The rager heaves his earthbreaker unto his shoulder and stands ready.
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"Perhaps we should make sure everyone has at least 1 potion? They can be self administered during an encounter when a wand would be more difficult to use?"
“That a good idea, Big D. If I drink another two little ones, there’ll still be nine left AND I’ll be stronger for our next battle.”
“Can I have a look at Him’s compass, please Crowe-man?”
Eadie examines the captured wayfinder thoughtfully, noting the engraved name. “Him’s name musta been ‘Wymund Pratt.’”
She glances at the corpse. “Him looks a bit like a ‘Wymund,’ and he’s definitely a prat. So do we want to go ask Mr Dakar about him?”
While the others weigh in, Eadie stands sentry in case additional Shadow Pathfinders return to base.
With your injured colleagues recovering, you conduct a search of the fallen Pathfinder traitor, Wymund Pratt. There are a few items of magic on him, and some of the papers from his robe are in fact scrolls . The vials he held also appear to be potions. Etched on each glass is a human with his hands outstretched to the sun: the same symbol found on the healing elixirs your goblin foes carried.
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Eadie nods vigorously – like there’s a danger of her head flying off at Dvalin’s words. “I’m with D on this.”
“We could tie Him up and stash Him at Collgardie’s place. Every day we give him water, smack him into unconsciousness and stabilize him until we’re ready to leave the city.”
Eadie curls her lip in distaste under her great helm. “So do we want to wake this traitor up to hear what he has to say? It’ll probably be some rant like ‘we’re everywhere, you can’t stop us, you’re all ignorant slaves of the Ten, yadda, yadda.’”
The six of you manage to tie up the unconscious agent and bring him back to Collgardie's home. The sight of a group of armored and bruised men and women carrying around a bound man raises far fewer eyebrows than expected as you parade through the streets.
Holing up in the dead-agents home, you dump Pratt in a room and reflect on your discoveries. The Shadow Lodge is not simply a rumor or operation, it is real and operating in Kaer Maga, at the very least. For an operation of this size and scope, Pratt can't have been working alone, but who else is part of this insurgency is a mystery for another day . Pratt himself is a figure in the poor graces of multiple powerful men and groups in the city, and their response to your capture of him remains unclear. Disquieted, but rightly prideful of your successes so far, you rest up and ponder your next steps...
As Dvalin grumpily questions his colleagues about your next steps, you take stock. Still tied up in the office is Wymund Pratt, but even after a few days the Shadow Lodge Pathfinder has yet to give you any useful information. The man admits to being Shadow Lodge readily enough, sure, but every question about other Shadow Lodges around the Inner Sea are met with rote recitations that no Shadow members knew people beyond their own team, to keep the faction safe from corrupt and lazy Decimvirate scum. All of your other interrogations have been met alternatingly with cold silence and rueful laughter.
Yet even as the dwarf speaks up, one of you by Collgardie's front window notices movement outside the building. The street in front of the shop has suddenly become unusually deserted - except for the half-dozen burly men ringing the door carrying cudgels and black bags. A familiar skinny man bedecked in robes and jewels stands before them, directly at the Pathfinder gazing out through the shades.
"Why hello again. I hope we're not coming at a bad time." Dakar's man calls out.
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Eadie finishes pummelling Pratt into unconsciousness for the umpteenth before dumping his bound form in his ‘bedroom-cupboard’ for Dvalin to stabilize (or not).
“Wow, you’re right on time!” she calls cheerfully from the bedroom. “A true gentleman is so hard to find these days.”
“I’m nearly ready. Just need to grab my bag and run a whetstone over my dagger. See you downstairs!”
Once they’re assembled, Eadie pulls a silk bag bearing a floral pattern from her backpack. The name ‘Eadie’ is clearly visible on the hood’s front, made up of poorly stitched appliqué letters. The i’s dot is a little ♡.
She puts in her ear-plugs before preparing to place her own bag over her head.
"Sorry dwarf man: orders' orders." the man out front replies with a shrug. You notice a few of the silent men smirk at Eadie’s comments, but the lead agent’s thin smile never wavers. ”Wonderful. Always good to see pros who know not waste everyone’s time.” he comments as the party allows themselves to be hooded again. The last words you hear before the bag’s descent drops you each into utter silence are: ”Besta luck. Time to pay off your IOU.”
Hooded in darkness and silence, you still can feel yourselves being taken on the same type of journey as before. When your coverings are lifted the six of you once again find yourselves in the meeting room of Dakar. The room remains spacious and finely upholstered, though you notice some of the artwork and rugs appear to have changed since your last ‘meeting’ with the Commerce League head. This time too, a divan and several chairs stand before the large backlit screen. A slave extends a hand, motioning for you to sit as two more wave large fans to create a cooling breeze throughout the room.
Your ‘guides’ silently excuse themselves and Dakar’s rasping voice sounds out once more from behind the opaque wall. “So, Pathfinders. A favor is owed, and it’s time to pay up.” His vague looming shape moves back and forth as its dry words continue. ”You have met Besel Ardoc before. A fellow power, him and his artificers. He and I have been in discussion on a mutual problem, and our interests align. This Shadow Lodge business is growing tiresome. It needs to be gone. Now.”
”And as this complication came from your Pathfinder Society, it would be only fair of course for your Society to take care of it. You will track these agents. You will find their headquarters. You will exterminate its members. And you will leave Kaer Maga rid of their meddling once again.” A note of smugness enters the voice’s tone. ”You see, is Dakar not even-handed? I told you my favor would not be unpleasant for you, and it is so much better than Plan B”
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You are correct in that once again our interests align. However, as neophytes to your city, it would be useful for us to have the information about these meddlers which you so obviously have. What areas are they making themselves known, and annoying you in? Have you heard any more possible names of the Lodge members? Or have at lest descriptions of their leaders.
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Eadie stands at parade rest behind the sumptuous seating set-up. She removes her earplugs but keeps her floral bag over her head.
She lifts an edge of the silken hood to call after the departing bully-boys. “I take mine with cream and three sugars. Quick as you like. Thanks!”
“I am a new member of this crew. I shall reveal my true identity when you do the same, Mr Dakar.”
She places an index finger on her uncovered chin. “While we negotiate, you may call me … Noteadie.”
“I need just two things from you: how many and where they are.”
“Oh, one more thing.” The warrior puts an index finger in the air. “I will not get in your bath tub. That is non-negotiable.”
At a loud *harrumph* from behind the screen, two men come hurrying in from the door behind you. They shove down a black hood on top of Eadie's head: her words are immediately cut off.
This done, Dakar's form seems to cock its head. "Does my language offend your ears then? How about 'eliminate' them? Or 'dispose of'? Harsh words are hardly the worst thing you will find in this city. Though," it trails of for the briefest of moments, then continues. "While I suppose you could take them away, if you would rather not deal with the time and expense of transporting known traitors for interrogation, I would be willing to accept any men delivered to me."
Dakar's mood seems to darken as it speaks to Yakima. "I was under the impression it was you paying off a favor, not I. Why should I waste my own resources filtering out which of your group are prodigal sons? Enterprising little Pathfinders such as yourselves should have no problem tracking your former own. Otherwise Besel and I will have to find ourselves inclined to move more thoroughly against you little Explorer's Club.”
"Spring cleaning. An apt way of putting it."
Dakar muses at Dvalin's words. "And yes, I had heard tales of some commotion at the old Naderi Theater. I was delighted that my direction was able to be of humble service to you. My men say that the place was left as barren as a ruin however. You must tell me: whatever happened to the agents you found there? I would be delighted to have words with the individuals ordering attacks on the Path."
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Bags-on-head, Eadie remains animated but completely silent behind the scenes.
Her angry fingerstabs are punctuated by shaken fists, tapping feet, cutthroat gestures and shadow-puppet bunny rabbits.
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Crowe, watching in silence for most of the conversation, walks over to Dakar. The tall Shoanti stands over the man, resting his earth breaker on his shoulder. "Words. Bah. I have had enough words. I care not to do your bidding, Maegan. I will have words of my own to share." The rager grins and stalks off.
As Crowe approaches the opaque backlit screen, all three slaves tense up and one starts to reach for something hidden behind a potted plant. As the bloodrager storms away, they relax - slightly.
Dakar, if he is shaken, show no sign of the affront, instead merely rasping. "Maegan? What an odd people you Shoanti are."