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The PCs begin this scenario in the gladiator city of Tymon at Smine’s Weaponworks, famed smithy and clandestine Pathfinder lodge run by the dwarven Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine.
The faint scent of smoldering beeswax lingers sweetly beneath the smell of burnt coal permeating the simply furnished common room. The modest decor of Tymon’s Pathfinder lodge allows it to masquerade as a boarding house above Smine’s Weaponworks, the most popular blacksmith shop in the city. Below, the cadence of hammer striking anvil rings clear as apprentices toil to meet the demands of gladiators, warriors, and adventurers alike. Heavy footfalls thump up the stairs, and the door opens to reveal a sturdy dwarf, clad in a thick leather apron and covered in soot— Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine.
His sentences are short and staccato like the sounds from the forges below. “Aha, good! Asked for some veterans, looks like I got’em, so I’ll be direct. We’ve found another piece of Sky Key—rather, found someone who knows where to look. Seems the favors we did in Mendev are paying off. Some dwarves there, they came forward with information—good, reliable information about a community in Chesed.” He pauses for a moment as if awaiting a reaction. “In Numeria,” he adds. “I’ve pieced together some histories. It all seems legitimate. Looks like the eldest prince from Jormurdun went that way. He settled down, had kids. Our contact, Ingret Jor, is his great-somethinggranddaughter. We’re betting she inherited more than just his good looks.” Smine takes a moment to start pulling a hunk of bread and a block of cheese from a cupboard as simple refreshments. “There’s a boat for you at the docks. Plan’s to get you up to Chesed, find Ingret Jor, and make friends. Friends talk. Of course, your friend gets to talk about the Sky Key. Chesed dwarves are pretty close, though. You’ll need to make sure you’re good friends, or at least be her friends’ friends. We dwarves like anyone who has dwarves’ best interests up here,” says tapping his head, “And here,” he says with a hand over his heart.
“Chesed’s a free city in name, but the Black Sovereign and the Technic League own it. Probably already watching Ingret. Learn what you can. When you know where the key is, go get it. Nice people got it? Play nice. Off in some ruin? Go be Pathfinders. Technic League’s got it? Well, make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The Venture-Captain appears to be ready for questions about your mission.
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A sturdy half-orc listens intently to the dwarven Venture-Captain. He is extremely short for a half-orc--barely 5-and-a-half-feet. Strapped to his back is a massive sword longer than its wielder is tall seemingly dripping with blood. Upon closer inspection, the "blood" is actually an aesthetic part of the blade--in truth, the weapon is actually quite polished and well-kept--the guard of the sword appears to be of a set of five angelic wings.
Juxtaposing this imposing image that is this half-orc is the monocle that the man wears--though it is obvious that he cares little for looking gentlemanly.
When the Venture-Captain finishes, he scowls. "I don't do 'friendly.' What is this Sky Key and why do we need it?"
The Venture-Captain gives Aegekt a long sideways look, then looks at each of the other assembled Pathfinders. ”The Sky Key is a long-lost Numerian device said to be capable of projecting a location's past into the present. Soon after the dwarves completed their fortress city of Jormurden, they witnessed a blazing object fall from the sky and strike the hills to the south. Intrigued, they investigated and recovered a small ship component they dubbed the Sky Key.
He then gives Aegekt a solemn, unwavering stare. ”This mission requires ‘friendly’. If you don’t think you can play nice, you can go back to the Grand Lodge and tell them your personality is unfit for this mission.”
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A thin, decidedly non-sturdy half-orc listens quietly. Tattoos cover him everywhere, mostly of magical beasts and fearsome monsters. If you ask him about them, each one has a story of Xichi's bravery and prowess in the magical arts to defeat it.
Nice is not what is usually called for in Xichi's line of work.
Xichi chuckles to himself.
But we shall do our best.
Wilk, who is very friendly, is currently trying to make friends with Luna (visual here).
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"So the Black Sovereign and the Technic League..." Rudzik asks slowly, "they're robot people? And they would want this Sky Key because... it came from the sky?" He shakes his head at the absurdity of it all.
"Do we have a contact in Chesed?" he follows up with. "Or is our best hope to find the first dwarf we see and tell them how much we love Torag and beer and hope they know this Ingret?"
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Mutahir stands at ease in the room, listening to the briefing. He nods a single time as the mission is explained.
Sometimes opening doors requires a key, not a boot. His heavy Rahadoumi accent makes it obvious where he's from, even if the white cape emblazoned with the sigils of the pure legion didn't give it away.
I have no objections to this mission.
He chuckles at Rudzik.
I feel they may have difficulty believing that I care much for Torag. Some quid pro quo usually illuminates paths that may otherwise be unavailable if they are not forthcoming with information.
Enora, a small female halfling in fine robes looks at all of you with interest.
She walks through the room and says "Oh yes, I am here!! Hello, my name is Enora. I assume we are all professionals here!! Might be a good chance to get to know each other. I am from Rahadoum originally and am quite interested in magical phenomena - I hope to have your support in uncovering the secrets of this wonderful world. And I am quite optimistic that we will be successful!" she says cheerfully.
She turns to Mutahir and seems a little ashamed. But she doesn’t say anything else.
Smine smiles at Vilk and Luna despite himself.
Responding to Rudzik: ”The Black Sovereign is the title given to the ruler of Numeria. The Technic League, well...Dangerous. Dastardly. Cutthroat. That’s on good days. Very secretive with lots of wizards. Long on ambition, short on morals. They’ve been studying the Silver Mount and other things that crashed on Starfall. Really don’t like other people snooping—especially Pathfinders. In fact, Pathfindering’s illegal—punishable by death. How’s that for tyranny?” He grins wryly but becomes serious again if nobody else laughs. “Anyway, best to lie low and not make a ruckus. Unless you have to.”
“Paying lip service to Torag isn’t gonna get Ingret to talk, and what fool doesn’t love beer? Plenty of like-minded folk in Chesed. Look for community leaders who care about the dwarves’ lot. Brissa Klygvauther comes to mind; she’s earned a lot of respect, what with being the high priest of Abadar inna city made of coin. If you see her, give’er my regards. “There’s also a fellow—Vel Bindergorrp—got a salve and tonic shop. My sources say he’s done alright by the dwarves. Bit of an eccentric one, but trustworthy.”
”Ingret Jor runs a tavern on the east shore slums. Earns her a lot of coin and respect. That sort of work also makes her too public to hide a secret well; she’s going to be tight-lipped. No love of strangers asking questions. She won’t trust just anyone, but she’ll trust her friends. Find who they are, and be their friends. They can vouch for you.”
Smine pulls aside a floorboard and extracts a leather-bound book. Keeping his voice low, he says, ”This is a copy of A Thread of Silver, a very valuable text and one that the Technic League takes great pains to keep from falling into anyone else’s hands. Detailed field notes about dozens of Numerian crash sites and other points of interest in the region. Our Society got it from the Technic League at great cost.” He places the text on the table. ”It is yours to use for the duration of this mission.”
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Mutahir looks at Aegekt like he grew two heads.
What kind of idiots don't believe in the gods? They can bloody talk to us if they feel like it.
He rolls his eyes.
You've probably been listening to some religious propaganda. Rahadoumi believe in gods, same as I believe in you standing right there. What we don't believe in is worshiping them, scraping and scrounging for their pity for a few scraps of power. Just because some seek to trade their most valuable possession, their immortal soul, to so called "Good Gods" doesn't make them any less fools than those who sell their souls to devils. The gods are unworthy of worship and devotion, and we have banned their worship in our country so that we may live our lives to the fullest and free from them. They bring nothing but trouble.
To Enora, he looks her up and down for a moment with a frown. It's almost like he's reading her mind... she's all to familiar as someone from Rahadoum with the Pure Legion and their ability to ferret out those who follow the gods.
As for those who forsake this view that people should control their own destiny, they are free to leave... even if they are not welcome back.
This, she sadly knows, is also true.
Mutahir listens as more information is given.
I've dealt with the technic league before. Nasty bunch, trying to hoard advances and technology that could improve the world for everyone. Though, Chesed is a good place... while they do allow slaves, any slave who can reach the city and not be captured will be declared free.
He shrugs.
Would be better if they just killed all the slave masters and set them all free, but practicality demands we work up to that.
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Aegekt’s expression turns from mild annoyance to pure rage as he grabs Mutahir by the collar of his robes and meets his gaze.
”How DARE you compare me to the abominable scum of the multiverse! I ought to have your head for that comment!”
When someone inevitably comments about the Society’s tenet of “Cooperate,” Aegekt will drop the Rahadoumi without another word.
”I’ve dealt with the League before—they horde Numerian technology for themselves and modify themselves with technology and merge technology and magic into an art called ‘technomancy.’ They say even the Black Sovereign is under their thumb.”
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As Aegekt sets down Mutahir, the Rahadoumi dusts off the front of his robes... and then passes Aegekt his own holy symbol back, which he somehow plucked off the man during the attack.
It's alright Godslave. Just as some slaves weep for the death of their mortal masters, it is only to be expected that some would balk at the idea that slavery is slavery, no matter how "kind" and "Magnanimous" the master is.
He looks at Aegekt with probably the most infuriating expression in the world. Not anger or arrogance, but Pity.
Perhaps someday you'll see that and be able to free yourself from your Master. Until then, we are not in Rahadoum, and I cannot compel you to see reason... but do not mistake my following the pathfinder oath with cowardice to your threats. Your god has no hold on me... and neither do you.
To Enora, he looks her up and down for a moment with a frown. It's almost like he's reading her mind... she's all to familiar as someone from Rahadoum with the Pure Legion and their ability to ferret out those who follow the gods.
As for those who forsake this view that people should control their own destiny, they are free to leave... even if they are not welcome back.
This, she sadly knows, is also true.
Enora looks to the floor and tries not to look into Mutahir's eyes. Then she starts speaking without looking up.
"You Mutahir have not opened your eyes for the potential for learning that exists beyond the strictly secular paths of Rahadoum. A combination of rage and sadness overwhelmed me as I realized that my own rejection of Nethys and other gods of magic had been holding me back from attaining the knowledge I’d always yearned for. How could I return to Manaket and these governmental positions knowing that so much more information remained beyond my grasp, simply because it was held in libraries dedicated to deities our nation Mutahir had shunned? NOOO! Now I ... I am a worshipper of Nethys - god of magic!"
And now she looks into Mutahir's eyes with a pleading look on her face.
"I ... I have not told my parents, yet, soooo .. ehhh ... please keep this to yourself ok?!?"
She sighs.
"Okay, that was awkward ... so you guys know a lot about Chesed. I just want to add that slavery is legal in Chesed, but slave trading is outlawed. Any slave not registered properly within one hour of entering Chesed is freed immediately, making Chesed a popular destination for runaway slaves and fugitives from the Technic League."
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Rudzik shakes his head again. "You'll have to pardon me for saying so," he says to Mutahir, "but that's as stupid a belief as the ones you scorn. The last time I was in Rahadoum it was because a plague was killing its people by the score. A plague Rahadoum could not cure, but was easily treated with magic from the gods. But hey, at least those who died got to live their lives to the fullest, eh?" he says scornfully.
"So let us be clear. I do not care that you do not worship the gods. I do care that your zeal for 'freedom from the divine' killed people - and that you would do it again without hesitation." He turns his back on Mutahir and addresses Smine.
"Let us be off then," he says briskly. "The sooner this mission is over, the better."
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Aegekt stares at the wooden holy symbol—a red wing crossed with a sword, representing Ragathiel’s rage at the loss of his sixth wing at the hands of his father, the archdevil Dispater. Aegekt hadn’t used the wooden icon in years—he had forgotten that it was even in his pack.
The brief moment passes and Aegekt grabs the symbol.
Today we are a team, but Avantador shall drink your blood one day, Blasphemer of All.
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Mutahir looks at Enora and shakes his head.
You do not need to worry cousin. It not my place to interfere in family affairs. So long as you do not spread your... life choices... around Rahadoum, I have no quarrel with you.
At Rudzik's comment about the plague, Mutahir nods, seemingly missing the sarcasm... or choosing not to recognize it?
Indeed. They died free, and their souls will remain free in the afterlife, not enslaved to some god who would prey upon them in their hour of desperation and need for all eternity. Such is the way of Rahadoumi.
At his suggestion he snaps a smart salute at Smine.
Yes, we've wasted enough time on theology and philosophy I think.
Smine observes the heated back-and-forth between the Pathfinders with a blank expression. Encara makes a confession about her devotion to a certified-insane deity and asks Mutahir not to tell on her. Xichi, perhaps wisely, stays silent during the debate.
Armed with knowledge and a special secret book, the Pathfinders depart for Chesed. Travel to Chesed from Tymon is relatively expeditious and, “punctuated by a few failed attempts by river pirates to waylay the PCs’ boat; at this point in the PCs’ adventures, a few pirates are little more than an inconvenience.”
(See the map of the city) Mighty Chesed stands proudly where the headwaters of the Lake of Mists and Veils flows into the Sellen River. On the western bank, the spires of the Cathedral of the Lawgiver and those of the council offices tower above the opulent estates of merchant princes, and the clamor of the wealthy patrons of the luxury markets mingle with the cries of excitement coming from the arena. Across the river, the east bank sits in comparative squalor. Short mud-brick and wooden hovels crowd together in rundown blocks. Filth-lined streets occasionally give way to a morass of poorly drained night soil.
Yet everywhere one looks there are people—nobles and ruffians, humans and halflings, crusaders and merchants alike mingle in the markets. Shop stalls and vendors set up on every street corner give the illusion that the city is but a single, extended bazaar.
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Mutahir shrugs.
It is not my fault you godslaves react so violently to having your beliefs challenged. It's not like I have any authority outside of Rahadoum. A tonic seller however, that is someone I can get along with. Discoveries of science for the betterment of the world.
He begins walking in the direction of the tonic seller's shop, stopping to ask for directions if necessary.
Enora is clearly eager to check out the city and see how slaves are treated here.
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As the group begins to set out for the Tonic seller, Luna peels off behind her master and over towards Sir Wilk again. Approaching him from behind, she takes an exploratory sniff underneath his tail before sidling up next to him, trotting in perfect harmony.
Exactly like the two had done since they first met in the office of Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine. Of course, there was a lot more circling, a bit of hackle raising and some good natured chasing around the office at first, but only a few stands were knocked over in the process, and hey! Those papers looked better scattered all over the floor anyways.
Life was good. This Sir Wilk seemed rugged and maybe a bit unrefined, but this was definitely going to be a good doggy friendship, Luna could tell.
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"It never ceases to amaze me how many agents that pledge themselves to the society can be so polar opposite in beliefs, yet find a way to work towards a common good."
This commentary is all Pooka offers, electing to stay in the back during the heated discussion of religion and gods. Espousing the freedom from a divine master seemed like over-simplifying things, but ensuring all men and women had the ability to be their own master was something that Pooka agreed with.
"This Technic League sounds like pretty bad news. As if I needed more motivation for this mission. Especially if the Liberty's edge leadership is correct that the Technic League is making a push to make Slavery fully legal. I get the sense there is some good work to be done here."
The Pathfinders make their way to the Chymist’s Ward, which distinguishes itself as an entirely separate district from the rest of Chesed.
When the Pathfinders arrive at Bindergorrp’s Fine Salves and Tonics, A gnome is comparing the clarity of two different tinctures behind the counter of his shop. As he notices the Pathfinders walk in, he immediately launches into an over-the-top sales pitch, ”Well hello there! You’re obviously adventuring-types, so you simply MUST try my latest miracle cure to all aches, pains, troubles, and worries!..” He continues on in this fashion until interrupted or until he runs out of breath, whichever comes first.
"Hello!" Enora says with great enthusiasm and interrupts the gnome after a while.
"We are here as we heard that you are a true expert in your field! And that you are one of the few merchants that does not overcharge poor crusaders. Is that correct? If that is so we would very much like to do business with you. My name is Enora, originally from Rahadoum but now from everywhere!"
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Mutahir steps forward and speaks in that calm, "No nonsense now" voice that police officers tend to use.
And Mine is Mutahir. The worldwound is a blight on this world, and we represent certain factions who feel it would best serve the world at large if we directed our... patrons... towards shops with a combination of good product and their heart in the right place.
He looks along the shelves, looking like he is ideally shopping.
After all... a man must make a profit, but what good is that profit to him if he is eaten by demons, yes?
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"You know, I've had some really good luck lately with tanglefoot bags. You happen to have any of those on your shelf?" Pooka asks while meandering around the shop, thankful for the energetic Enora to interrupt the gnome.
"You have a keen eye, we are adventuring types. What is this latest wonder cure you have? Oh, before I forget, Pooka is my name. This is my first time to Chesed, but it has an interesting reputation amongst my kin. What with the chance for freedom from slavery and all. Luna is the one over there sniffing that lower shelf." Pooka gestures to his faithful, silver-haired dog.
"You must be the legendary Bindergorrp, I assume?"
Start easy, get him talking. Vel, you and I are going to be best friends in no time.
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Cottonwood root.
Beaver dung.
Hippo snot.
Dragonleaf extract.
Fey Ash.
Ah-ha! Grizzly bear musk. MY FAVORITE!
Hey! Someone's tail just wagged and knocked that jar of musk over. Why is Pooka telling me to sit? Ok I'll sit. No that most certainly wasn't my tail. At least I don't think it was. Then again, I try not to think. Way to tiring.
Oh man! They are cleaning it up! How am I supposed to rub my neck and roll in it if they clean it up!?
Aegekt does his best to simply restrain himself. Enora interrupts the gnome’s sales pitch with a bit of flattery and introduces herself, as does Mutahir. Pooka somewhat over-casually enquires about Tanglefoot Bags and the gnomes aforementioned “cure-all,” then introduces himself and Luna as well. He also slips in his interest in the slavery situation here in Chesed.
”Oh sure, plenty of tanglefoot bags! Right useful those things are.” Seemingly ignoring the “cure-all” for now, Vel says, ”Well I don’t know about legendary but I am he, yes indeed. And If my guess is correct, you’re here in my shop not so much to shop but to talk to me specifically,” he says with a knowing smile. Ignoring the spilled musk, Vel says matter-of-factly: ”So. How about you tell me why you really came calling?”
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Rudzik struggles to keep the horse-sized Wilk from forcing his way into the shop to investigate this powerful smell. "Sit, you great loony. I know you can see my hands - you're obviously not looking at them. Down!"
Wilk whines, but eventually does so. Every so often he tries to inch a little further into the shop.
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"Perceptive, and straight to the point. I am going to like you." Pooka says with a contrite smile, his hands folded behind his back.
"In simplest terms, we want to be your friend. I don't make that statement lightly. You are clearly far too intelligent to accept that at just face value, so I'll be blunt. Our ulterior motives are that we want to make friends with Ingret Jor. I only know a few things about dwarves, and one of them is that friends are almost family, but it can be difficult to break that ice. We were hoping you could help with that part."
With the groups intentions laid bare, Pooka waits for a few moments so the gnome can absorb the rather bold proclamation.
"I wouldn't dare ask you to do something so bold as to vouch for us after having only met us moments ago. So what can we weary travelers do to prove ourselves to be worthy of your friendship?"
When Pooka mentions Ingret Jor, the gnome pauses for a moment, his friendly manner wavering. He politely asks, ”Why, exactly, are you interested in Ingret? And whom else have you been speaking to since arriving in Chesed?”
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Mutahir stands at parade rest and continues.
Our organization believes that Ingret may have access to an item that could be invaluable to our research. Since certain actors based in Numeria have forbidden our organization from traveling in these parts, I will frankly admit that you are the first person we've spoken to in anything other than a passing fashion. We hope to keep our trip here brief.
Mutahir gives a wry smile.
Do forgive my vagaries, I hope to give you plausible deniability should such actors decide to give you a headache later on down the road.
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"Furthermore," Pooka adds, slightly worried about the sudden change in direction of this conversation, "If this item were to fall into the wrong hands, and by wrong hands I mean the technic league, it would be exceedingly bad for this city. It would be bad for all free people, dwarves and halflings, and it would be even worse for slaves hoping to be set free." Pooka takes a deep breath.
"I know enough to know that Chesed teeters on the edge. Were the technic league to gain more power, slavery would become legal, and encouraged. I do not want to see that happen. This item could give them the power to make that happen."
Pooka raises an eyebrow, a hopeful look on his face. Even Luna has given up trying to inch back towards the musk stain on the floor, cocking her head sideways and looking at the gnome expectantly.
Vel looks at Mutahir. ”Ah, so you and your organization are already well aware of certain actors.” The gnome then replies to Pooka. ”Funny you came here inquiring about Ingrit; I need you to deliver this tincture to her, to, um, treat her gout.” He then collects a tiny parcel wrapped in wax paper and sealed. As he walks around the counter to hand it to Pooka, he whispers very quietly: