Open for dotting.
|
You see a petite girl entering gracefully into the room. Her lustrous fire red hair is in lusterous curls and sometimes seems to move as if by its own accord as the dancing flames in a fire. Her creamy skin suggests a live without hardship, supported by the softness of her hands. Her gplden eyes seem seem to promise untold pleasures as do her ruby lips. She moves with an easy grace. She always wears golden silk armor with red accents and gilded sandals. She has a red and ashen scorpion tattood on her left shoulder.
|
The middle-aged Andoran man had found a short bench and a tall wall to lean back on. His lifelong familiarity with military service nudges him out of light sleep, sensing that a superior is about five minutes from walking in; Hurry Up and Wait - the grunt's doctrine.
Finger pushes back his stringy black hair as he sits upright, wipes his gruffly common face down to his hawkish nose, hilted mustache and square chin. "-mMuh", he mutters something short of a greeting but acknowleding he's awake. He briskly and determinantly puts himself back together; functional tunic and breeches, hard leather boots, slightly rusty four-mirror armor, equally rusty burganet helmet, large shield, longsword; most noticeably, a surcoat of such age and use that the symbol it once bore remains a barely colored shadow.
Once strapped together, he stands 'at-ease' front and center, ready for orders. "Well met", he nods to the others and almost thumbs to himself, "-name's Finger."
|
A chipper little red-headed gnome skips into the briefing room. A bright, enthusiastic smile takes up most of her face, and her too-big eyes are bright blue and twinkling. A bulging backpack is strapped to her back, and a well-polished crossbow peeks out from behind it.
"Whoah, only two people here! Well, two's better than none, I always say!" She sticks her hand out to the ifrit for a shake. "Hiya, girly! Nice to meet ya'!" she exclaims happily, speaking quite fast. "Nice hair! I'm a fan of red, myself." she winks.
Then she gives the man a vigorous handshake. "Hiya, pal! Nice to meet ya! Finger, hey? I want to know why they call you that!"
She takes a step back. "I can't wait to get going! Ya' know this is my fifth adventure? Well, not my fifth adventure at all, but my fifth sanctioned adventure! Man, that training took a LIFETIME! I mean, four years? It's agony, agony, agony to be out of the discovery game for that long! Don't know how I lasted!"
Ayla continues to ramble on without pausing for breath.
"You know what I mean? Of course you do--you're a seasoned fellow, I can see that! Why else talk would ya' be all rusted? Don't think you can fool me! No, siree! Ayla Vivendor let's NOTHING pass her by! Not wind, not words, not time!"
Suddenly her hand flies to her mouth and her eyes widen. "Oh, listen to me, rambling on! Why you didn't even get a word in edgewise! How rude of me, you want a chance to speak, don't ya'?" Without pausing to hear what the pair have to say Ayla continues her rapid prattling. "Of course ya' do! You're a clever fellow, ain't ya'? Plenty going on it that big old head of your, eh? Plenty to know, plenty to share."
"Wow, this is taking forever! How long has it been, an hour? Ah, jeez! A minute! Blasted time always dragging along, eh?"
Ayla pauses her rambling to take a deep breath.
"Hey, did I tell you I'm an author? Here, here! Take a copy!"
Ayla digs around in her bag a produces a professional looking novel entitled 'Ada Mantine and the Solstice Scar, An Adventure Novel by Ayla Vivindor.' She passes it to the assembled Pathfinders.
"Read it, read it! You'll love it, I swear! It's the best one I've written! Ada's gone on 15 adventures--most based on my own exploits, mind you--and this one's by far the most exciting! Dragons, magic, haunted museums, extra-planar breaches! It's got everything!"
She waits a whopping four seconds before asking "Well, whaddya' think? Pretty swanky, huh? Want me to sign it for you?"
|
|
An older man with unkempt white hair staggers in, his large shield deftly blocking a thrown tomato.
You'll be sorry, boy, when They-It-She arrive. She-He-They will consume your soul. Your soul, I say! Bah! Never mind. Tell your parents!
He appears to give up on his latest attempt at religious conversion and turns to the party.
His shield is decorated, front and back, with an incredible amount of formulae, graphs, charts, definitions in strange languages, poetry, and abstract designs. If you watch long enough, they each begin to fade into the background, only to be replaced by something equally or more disturbing and strange.
Is this the...? Eh, I see it is. Very well.
He straightens his soiled and threadbare tunic in preparation, then launches into a well-rehearsed monologue.
Have you heard the Bad News? It-They is coming! She-It will consume all! We only have 10,000 years to prepare. It will not be enough! We must learn the arcane magicks known to the future as "Tekk-Gnoll-oh-Gee" if we are to have any chance of surviving the arrival of She-He-It. How do I know this, you ask? Thank you for asking, good sir or madam!
(It should be noted that nobody actually asked, but this speech was written for a larger audience where you can get away with picking someone out of the crowd at random.)
He moves on quickly, before most commoners have the presence of thought to ask questions.
They-It-He chose me as The Herald, but instead of preparing the planet for consumption, I have chosen to warn you instead. Listen, for I have seen the future, and it is "gnarly" and "tubular", among many other wonderful and terrible things...
The Herald continues on in this manner for some time, unless interrupted.
|
|
"You are going to be a great addition to my next novel!" Ayla exclaims. She watches the crazy old man with eager eyes. "Go on, Old Man! I'm listening! This stuff is gold!"
With a glance at the others, Ayla explains, "The kids love a good Crackpot. Draws in a younger audience."
Turning back to the old man, Ayla asks "Is Narly spelt with one 'r' or two? And these gnolls are wizards you said? Rocking!"
Despite telling the old man to conitnue, her rapid-fire questions leave little room for the continuation of his speech.
|
|
The Herald either does not hear, or chooses to ignore, being called a "Crackpot". You get the sense it's not the first time he's been called that.
...and therefore we must...what? Uh, with a "g", I believe. And oddly enough, there are no actual gnolls involved in Tekk-Gnoll-oh-Gee, as far as I can tell.
Sensing (incorrectly, most likely) a potential convert, The Herald focuses on Ayla.
A book, you say? Tell me, do its pages appear magically upon a thin slate, only to be dismissed with the swipe of a finger? May I read it? There are clues hidden everywhere for those who can See.
He takes Ayla's book and begins leafing through it.
Yes, fascinating! You understand, I assume, the implications of this passage on page forty-three? And taking the fifth-order latitudinal prime letter on each odd page reveals...well, it appears to be in some sort of Crypt O'Graffick code, but those can surely be cracked once one finds the correct Graffick crypt to read it in. Yes, yes, fascinating...
|
|
"No gnolls? Pffft! What poor naming! Hahahaha!"
"Nope, it's on paper. But that swiping thing sounds nifty! You should look into that for me."
"Read it? Of course you can read it! It's yours! Read it twice, thrice, and then buy some more! Did I mention there are fifteen volumes?"
Ayla, also sensing a potential convert, nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, I hide all kinds of stuff in those novels! You know there's a fan club for Ada Mantine called the Adamants, who dig around and try to find all the hidden gems in those babies! I'll give you a pin!"
Ayla pulls out a pin from her backpack that says 'ADAMANT! I <3 ADA MANTINE!' She pins it onto the old man's shabby tunic.
"You should join the fan club. It's gonna be HUGE!"
|
|
Feuerseele looks at the book shrugs and hands it back.
"I will wait for the play."
Then she looks at the herald and her nose rises.
Ever heard of water and regular bathing?
She still smiles, but the smile does not really touch her eyes.
"Well for my part, I am ready for the mission. Can´t be that bad!"
I HOPE!
The adventure begins as you approach Dawnton.
Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury is stoic yet shows signs of exhaustion as he strides into the room and places a piece of paper on the table. “Pathfinders, some weeks ago we received this letter from an anonymous source, advising us of the discovery of a Sarkorian site in rural Mendev, near the village of Dawnton. We sent three Pathfinders to perform an initial investigation.”
“Word came to us two days ago that the entire team has been arrested for murder and is scheduled to be hanged in seven days’ time. I would appreciate your traveling to Dawnton, investigating the crimes, and finding any evidence necessary to clear their names.”
He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his will or holding back strong emotion. “As much as it grieves me to think this possible, you may find evidence that implicates our comrades. If they are guilty of this crime, let them hang. It’s justice of a sort, and we must all remember that we are guests in Mendev and subject to all its laws. Your predecessors’ reputation has tarnished the Pathfinders’ name in Dawnton, so I recommend you not travel and investigate openly as Pathfinders agents. “Be careful,” he recommends, “and remember that three comrades are relying on you.”
”I request that you depart the following morning or earlier, giving you enough time to pack your things and purchase any equipment. The debacle in Dawnton has developed rapidly, and I have little more information than what I have told you.”
|
|
"You got it, pal! You won't see me slowing us down! No, siree! Not THIS gnome! Come on, then, let's get a move on!"
"Oh, hey! Does Dawnton have any weird laws we need to know about? You know, I was once in a town where they fined you for hopping on one foot! Crazy, right?! Something about hopscotch being bad for the soul." She shakes her head and laughs. "Well, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
|
|
I used to have a name. Once, I was a wizard (or sorcerer, I'm not sure any more) of considerable power in my home land of Cheliax. But my summonings attracted the attention of something beyond the stars, behind the Veil of Sanity, something older than Time and more ravenous than a Black Whole.
A Black Whole "what", you ask? Ah, that's the essence of it! It's a Black Whole something, but it's so hungry that it ate whatever it used to be!
Herald waits for the import of this story to sink in.
No, I no longer have a name, and I never shall again. As my penance, I shall be The Herald of that Great and Terrible until my soul is consumed and I exist no more.
Until then, you may call me "Herald".
|
|
"Harold, huh? Yeah, I can see that," Ayla replies with a rapid nod, apparently taking Harold's Black Wholes and Terrible Things in stride. "Although, I still think Tim's a pretty rocking name for a doomsayer." She waggles her eyebrows at Harold, as if that would entice him to change his name. "So this THING. What's it look like? It's all old and wrinkly? Suffering hair loss?"
|
|
Young lady, were I to begin to describe They-It-He to you, you would not believe me. And if I were to fully describe He-It-She to you, you would never stop screaming in horror. On the day you die, you would awaken in the afterlife and begin screaming.
And those expressive eyebrows of yours would run away screaming themselves.
|
|
Finger joins readily into the group, sharing introductions and light conversation. When he finds himself momentarily aside and happen to be standing near another male, he comments privately as he admires Feuerseele from a distance, "I love redheads." Then he suddenly realizes he's talking to the Herald, he adds, "Love her.", pauses, "She.", then moves off to a less uncomfortable spot next to the gnome.
He answers the question Ayla had asked earlier, "Finger? That's the name I got from mom and pop - no story to it really. Well, that's not entirely true, I guess I got my fingers caught in all sorts of trouble when I was a boy, but that's just how boys are -young, dumb, lots of fingers."
"As for the last name...", Finger makes a sour face, "Some jester captain a long time ago thought it was funny to mispell my last name in a Chronicle. Without it, I could not serve or take up arms for the royal family in Almas, even if it was misspelled. So that's how Metalhammer became Middlehammer."
***
Once Jorsal concludes the orders, in soldierly manner Finger picks up his gear and leaves without further questions. "I'll see you all in the morning, we set out at sunrise."
The Venture Captain adds, ”The trip will take about three days by horseback. I can loan you mounts if you wish.”
Diplomacy(gather information),Kn.Local
Dawnton is a small village at the crossroads of the
local trade highway and the Setian River, a tributary of the Egelsee. It has a small permanent population, but
swells to many times its size on festival days and during the harvest.
As with many small villages in the region,Dawnton has become distrustful of strangers since the fall of Kenabres. This distrust is especially virulent toward tieflings and others with demonic roots, inf luence, or appearance.
Tobias Luin is both the village’s sheriff and mayor. Local opinion holds that he is fair to the point of being so . It is unusual that he would hold an execution, but local law calls for a vote of the citizenry to decide the fate of those guilty of capital crimes.
There are rumors of similar brutal crimes in other villages near Dawnton. When a guilty party was found in those cases, execution was always the result.
|
|
Herald approaches the small number of locals who seemed receptive (or at least not hostile) to his message, for additional information.
He finds that, after reflecting on his message for a while, they mostly think he's a crank who should move on, and quickly. Nevertheless he shares what little information he finds.
It takes you three days to make preparations and to travel to Dawnton from Nerosyan. You arrive in the early evening of the Third day. The prisoners are scheduled to be hanged at dawn on the seventh day. You have this evening and three full days to solve the crime and prove your colleagues innocence.
Dawnton is little more than the crossroads of a highway and a navigable river, and its population barely exceeds 100 during most of the year. Because of this crossroads, though, as many as 3,000 people converge on the settlement just after the harvest to transfer crops from wagons to barges. In the off season, more than half the village’s buildings lie empty, awaiting their seasonal tenants’ return. At the peak of harvest season, a tent city forms in the fields east of town to house and support the surplus population.
It is not harvest season, but Dawnton is crowded with visitors who have come to witness the executions. Despite the morbid circumstances, the villagers see this as an unexpected opportunity to gossip, barter, and celebrate, giving much of the village a festive atmosphere complete with games and drunken revelry. At night, most of the village becomes eerily quiet as people retire and fearfully watch the shadows for signs of more murderers or demons. A portion of the tent city remains active long into the night.
As you approach Dawnton a few children play in the fields.
|
|
Ayla talks NON-STOP on the journey, yammering on with barely a breath here and there. In her free time in the evenings writes feverishly in her journal, trying to capture every moment of your mission for her report.
When Dawnton comes into sight, she examines the place with interest. "Tiny, hey? You know I've never seen a place so small? It's fuller than I imagined though, what with its shifting population! Whoah, look at that! A festival! Ha! They're treating this execution like it's a party. Well, isn't that morbid? Fascinating!"
As the group strolls into town, Ayla hands out a few copies of her most recent adventure novel, giving her customers the typical spiel.
Turning to her pals, she asks, "Let's head over to the Sheriff's House. I want to hear everything they'll tell us about his case so we can get started investigating!"
|
|
Ayla asks Amaron a long series of rapid-fire questions about Anzu (and dinosaurs in general) on the journey, taking copious notes on everything she learns. "I've never seen a dinosaur before! Where'd you get him? Did you buy him? Is he for sale? Is he a boy? Girl? Do they even have a gender? Ah, I'm sure they do! 'Life finds a way,' and all that. What does she eat? Gnomes? Why not? Gnomes are the best! Not that I want to be eaten." She grins. "You know, when I write our tale -- in my novel, of course, not my Pathfinder report. Reports are for the truth! -- I'm going to make Anzu at least ten times bigger! Yeah! With teeth as big as ME!" Ayla pats Anzu on the head affectionately. "And you'll be terrifying and vicious! Won't you! Yes you will!"
|
The druid smiles at the inquistivess of the gnome
I have raised Anzu since she was a hatchling. There were poachers that were looking for veliciraptor eggs that I came upon as they were raiding a nest. When they were caught rather than face druidic justice they began to destroy the eggs and they had been able to kill the parents. Though they had tried their best to destroy evidence they still fell to the justice of the Druidic Circle.
As I was on my way away from the scene I heard a chirping. Behind me was Anzu. It looked like she had been the first of her clutch mates to hatch and had hidden while the raiders did their business. She has been with me ever since. We protect each other. If you have any meat on you, giving her a bit would go a long way to make a friend of Anzu. he says as he pets the dino.
|
|
Finger walks casually along the path towards the town, his helmet and shield stowed aside in a march pack manner. Spotting the children in the field, he breaks off and approaches them, splaying out a few copper pieces in his palm, "Hey kids -come over here. You all play in this field often? I'm looking for some friends, no not the ones getting the rope. But these friends would have arrived around the same time but not in the same group. You'd remember them, there's not many travelers at this time of the year right? Best answer gets a few coppers... What do they look like?" he waves the coins at them.
The group heads to the sheriffs house.
A well mannered child sees the coins and says energetically,
”Orug Foram discovered the second victim in front of his general store. He says he fought the murderer before he escaped, but has been known to stretch a point in the name of a good story.”
As befits his station as the village’s mayor and sheriff, Tobias’s house is the largest private residence in Dawnton. He lives there alone, having lost much of his family in a demon attack more than ten years earlier, but his basement doubles as the region’s jail, where he currently keeps the three Pathfinder prisoners. Though the building is hardly an airtight prison, a trio from the local militia—the closest thing Dawnton has to a police force or town guard—stands watch outside at all hours.
As you approach a young guard approaches.
”STOP! What is your business here?”
|
|
"Hiya guys!" Ayla exclaims as she waves hello. "My name's Ayla Vivindor! Famed adventure novelist and author of the Ada Mantine series of novels! They're amazing. Trust me! In fact, I've got some copies here for you!" Ayla pulls out a few copies of her latest novel and holds them up to the guards. "It's a gift! From me to you! And you! And you!" She grins widely before continuing to chatter on.
"I'm here doing research on my next novel! It's going to take place here! In Dawnton! I sure would like to ask some proper law enforcement some questions! I'm all about the authenticity, you see! You guys looks like the people to talk to!"
Ayla takes a step closer, holding out the novels. "Do you mind if I take notes while I chat with you? It's super helpful! Yeah, of course you don't! Better I take notes than misrepresent! Right? Yeah! You know what I mean! So what's your names?You're what? Militia?"
Ayla waits a beat for them to give them her names....
And if they don't she makes some up!
"So, I hear you've got some prisoners here who are going to be hung! I want to hear all about it! I'm going to make my next novel an investigation, you see! It'll be awesome! Come on! Spill!"
|
|
The Herald steps physically in front of Ayla, obscuring that she is even in the room.
What my diminutive friend is trying to say, in ten thousand words or less, is that we are charged with ensuring that your prisoners receive the justice they deserve. As a man of the Law, I'm sure you understand the importance. We seek only a few moments of your valuable time.
|
|
When the party has a private moment, Finger relays, "Those local children say that an Orug Foram discovered the second victim in front of his general store. He says he fought the murderer before he escaped. Although a general store owner fighting anyone is probably horse manure.”
"The Venture Captain likely didn't know there was more than one murdered. Herald -can you see if there is anything 'dark' about our brethren when we get to see them?"