It always seems to be raining in the River Kingdom's city of Daggermark.
Each of the party members (wherever they are currently) receives a message delivered by carrier pigeon.
Pathfinder,
Drop whatever you are doing and make your way to the Dryblade House in Daggermark in the River Kingdoms as quickly as possible. Venture-Captain Istivil Bosk will brief you when you arrive.Venture-Captain, Chamberlain of the Grand Lodge,
PS This pigeon will self-destruct in three seconds.
The Pigeon coos twice before disappearing in a puff of white smoke and gray feathers. **POOF!**
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Brusquely unrolling the parchment, Ean's eyes quickly scan the message and he makes a soft noise of acknowledgement to himself. Stepping away from the pigeon before its untimely demise, the Hellknight armiger doesn't let his disappointment show on his face.
The trip back to Citadel Ordeial for my proving will have to wait, he decides after only a moment of consideration. He was seconded to the Pathfinder Society for another two years, at least, and Venture-Captains were clearly above him in the chain of command.
Dispatching a runner to the caravanserai for the next merchant group heading up the Crusader Road through the Riverlands, Ean begins to don his armor.
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The sun was setting, and Hosser was mindlessly strumming a [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bandora_(instrument)]bandora. It was the end of a long day, and Cready farm was getting ready to harvest. He was interrupted by a bird.
"Hot hell!" Hosser said, as the messenger pigeon exploded. He hadn't even had the time to open the letter. Pulling out his work knife, Hosser quickly read his letter. "Well, hell."
"Auntie Bessa, I know it ain't ideal, but I made these fellas a promise. I'm a healer, and I know the ways of the River. Decent chance these Venture Captains, they'll send some high-falutin' Taldor noble. They need me," he said, placing a straw hat over his head. It wouldn't take too long to raft down the Dagger River down to Daggermark.
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The pigeon arrives during sparring practice, and as it lands, and subsequently explodes, training ends. There are a few cheers and gasps as the pigeon poofs, but Cheliaxians are used to seeing expendable messengers.
"Sisters in arms. I am requested elsewhere for the next while. Daggermark of all places. I shall give a full report of our findings upon my return. Please forgive me if I leave out some details, as usual. Some secrets are worth keeping."
She then packs her helmet into her pack and begins the trek northeast.
She makes sure to stick to the well traveled roads, and even meets up with the crusaders' road before finally arriving outside the lodge. She looks around for anybody who seems like a Pathfinder.
The sun was setting, and Hosser was mindlessly strumming a [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bandora_(instrument)]bandora.
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The Januses are out hunting in the Embeth Forest when the Chamberlain's pigeon arrives. As the pigeon explodes a high-pitched voice from several feet above Janus exclaims "Oh! What a way to go!"
The voice is answered by another, unseen aerial respondent: "Hey, I'd love to explode! Can you think of a more exciting way to end? Besides, we'd be back before long anyway."
Janus reads the letter. "We are needed in Daggermark. Gentlemen, please inform Venture-Captain Firewyne that we have been summoned by her peer Venture-Captain Bosk." Janus looks up as he speaks.
"Oh, sure, she's not going to be at all ticked off about that! I know for a cold-iron fact she wanted you to take a look at some arcane theory of hers this evening and now she'll just chew our ears off instead!" A tiny, winged humanoid appears out of thin air and scowls down at Janus, before bursting into fits of giggles and flying off, followed by a similar companion. "See you around, Januses!"
Janus gathers their black-and-white chequered cloak around them and begins on a familiar route through the forest, towards Daggermark.
She makes sure to stick to the well traveled roads, and even meets up with the crusaders' road before finally arriving outside the lodge. She looks around for anybody who seems like a Pathfinder.
It is unseasonably cold in Daggermark. In fact, it is sleeting when you arrive in town. The cold suits it.
A tall, double ring of gray stone walls that match the sky encircle the largest city in the River Kingdoms. The city gatekeepers under their soaked cloaks and rain spattered silver helms question every entrant into the sprawling metropolis. They take notes of person's name, description, contacts, and what their business is in town. It is all to gauge how much trouble a potential visitor might cause.
The city itself sports wide thoroughfares lined with three-story-tall, high-peaked, gabled shops with space above and behind for their owner's and their families. Stone gargoyles leer down on the street from nearly every rooftop. Some of the buildings lean noticeably into one another, having settled that way over the course of a century or two's worth of time.
Everything about the place seems slippery. From the furtive glances of the people on the street huddled under the eaves to the icy river stone-smooth cobbles of the street, where water pools in between the humps of the stonework. Alleyways like tributaries in a river run between some of the buildings and intersect the street at all angles. Their walkways are overhung with balconies and rooftops to such an extent that one might need a torch to walk them even on the brightest day--not that there is much chance of that anytime soon.
As the characters find their bearings a strange man, with the features of a sly ferret approach each from out of a dim alleyway.
"Sausage-inna-bun™? Today, only three silver." says the man holding a curious tray full of the things. "And I'm practically cuttin' me own throat sellin' 'em for that, I tell ya. Cuttin' me own throat."
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Jurmo steps out of the dark dockside building, 'Sailors wouldn't know art if I tattooed it on the back of their hand.' she would need to get work soon the coin in her purse would not last forever.
The bird arrives before she gets more than a block, as she reads a smile spreads across her face, she does not even notice the bird explode, as she turns to find a boat.
Later...
This is the wizards first time in the river-lands and her nerves are showing in the way she counts the links of her whip back and forth between her hands, when she hears an argument from the next alley
"Cut-- me --- throat, ---carve you open,"
She staps into view. "Ho there friends no need for blood shed today
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You feel a soft breeze, carrying a faint scents of copper and rosewater, coming unexpectedly up from behind you.
"Dibbler???" Inquires a rakish voice from the direction of the mysterious breeze.
Suddenly a lithely handsome young man, whose Keleshite features sorely mismatch the incredible pallor of his skin and hair, wearing light armor of some strange bark-like material over over loose-fitting finery, rushes past you and embraces the suspect sausage-monger!
"DIBBLER! It's been ages! Still trying to make an honest living, I see...tsk, tsk, tsk."
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The priest hadn't been to Daggermark since the last harvest season. He didn't like the place. It often seemed like someone had covered the whole place with grease and soot, Hosser thought. Too many people with too many agendas. Even the few times that Hosser had left for a large city (and he had been to the Opaline Vault and the Shores of Heaven) Hosser didn't feel as ill at ease as he did in this scrubby little den of thieves.
He had passed through perpendicular to an alleyway when he heard a voice of Cheliaxian breeding threaten a street vendor. He always thought it was important to keep nice and polite in this city of assassins, but perhaps a foreigner forgot that seemingly half of everyone here could slit a throat as easily as carve a pie.
He had stopped, hoping he wouldn't need to call on his divine patron, Our Most Holy Lady of Toads and Mushrooms, to heal someone who got too aggressive on the streets of Daggermark.
"Ah hell, she's a Pathfinder, ain't she?" Hosser said to himself.
"I'll take a sausage, if its pig or goat, or at least mostly so," he said, turning into the alleyway. "But you have to make change for a gol' piece."
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"Three silvers for a Daggermark banger in a piece of stale bread is a scam. You could hire a novice poisoner for that, and have change for the ale he'd poison as well.
But overpriced offal is not usually something to kill a man for, even here in Daggermark."
We have found other agents. But agents less familiar with these streets.
"This is a peaceable town."
This is the wizards first time in the river-lands and her nerves are showing in the way she counts the links of her whip back and forth between her hands, when she hears an argument from the next alley
"Cut-- me --- throat, ---carve you open,"
She staps into view. "Ho there friends no need for blood shed today
"Not to worry, dear. We were just haggling over the cost of my weenier. But old Dibbler's got enough for all. Care for a Sausage-inna-bun™?" the man says holding an approximation of what he just offered to Jurmo up for her to see.
"DIBBLER! It's been ages! Still trying to make an honest living, I see...tsk, tsk, tsk."
Dibbler seems taken aback by the stranger's over-familiarity but recovers quickly and says "Well, ya know, I thought it would be nice fer a change."
"Say, do you have a sister by any chance? You seem familiar."
He turns away quickly to what are likely paying customers. "Scuse me. On the job you know."
"I'll take a sausage, if its pig or goat, or at least mostly so," he said, turning into the alleyway.
"Thank you for your patronage, sir. It's hard to make both ends meat these days if ya know what I mean. Every little bit helps as they say. As it is, I'm practically cuttin' me own throat sellin' 'em for this price. Ahh mustard? Relish?"
"But you have to make change for a gol' piece."
"Oh.... Well if I must. But you know, I'm cuttin' me own throat out here."
"Three silvers for a Daggermark banger in a piece of stale bread is a scam. You could hire a novice poisoner for that, and have change for the ale he'd poison as well.
But overpriced offal is not usually something to kill a man for, even here in Daggermark."
"Over Why I'll have you know, sir, that these sausages are 105% offal-free! *koff* Give or take 10%. And that I, sir, am practically--"
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Cready still thought this group of people were being dangerously reckless about politeness here in Daggermark. Who knew who was secretly a highly-skilled master of daggers here? "Listen, listen, there ain't no need for no raised voices here," he said, raising his palm outstretched, "Why don't I pay you for the sausage, and we all go about our business. We just keep calm and move on about our day. Nice and simple-like." On his palm was a toad, crowned with flowers, a symbol of his deity.
"Half! But I'm cutting me own throat already! It is affront to my merchant's principles!"
The Dryblade House sits in the heart of the city, in the more refined district behind the second curtain wall--called the keep. The street itself is crowed with similar merchant town-homes abutting one another.
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"You're not using enough quotation marks around SAUSAGE. There's definitely rats or something in that. Ain't illegal here, but if he was back at home. Oh man, he'd be loosing fingers per word. I've had enough of this foolish salesman. Let us get to the mission. We've definitely kept the captain waiting long enough."
With that, Andolyn turns with a flourish and approaches the front door of the dryblade house.
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"We think you have sold as much as you are going to on this pitch, Dibbler. No doubt there are hungrier persons elsewhere who crave your 'sausage.' Search hard enough, and you may find that there are those who cry out for just the idea of 'sausage.' There is your ideal market, Dibbler."
With that, the Januses follow Andolyn. As they go, there is a deep growling sound from Janus's 'bag'.
The porch has a Glyph of the Open Road carved in the stone just before the townhouse's double door. Even better, the porch's overhang provides cover against the falling sleet.
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The front door flies open and a hideous man sticks his head out, and says "BOO!"
He wears a heavy, out-of-date, black overcoat that barely conceals his vast array of surgical scars.
He continues "Excuthe my thartling you. I could not help mythelf. It'th jutht how I am built. That, and I thought you were never going to knock. You thould have theen the lookth on your fatheth. Prithleth. Pleathe come in. The Mathter ith expecting you."
"I am Igor. Coatth?"
Once everyone is inside he shuts the door, and leads you into the front room.
"Pleathe, walk thith way." says the limping Igor.
"The mathter ith in a meeting jutht now, tho pleathe make yourthelveth comfortable. Would anyone like a drink?"
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Sirius spends a little more time shooting the breeze (as it were) with his old blood Dibbler.
Dibbler seems taken aback by the stranger's over-familiarity but recovers quickly and says "Well, ya know, I thought it would be nice fer a change."
"Say, do you have a sister by any chance? You seem familiar."
"None that I know of, nudge-nudge! But seriously - or rather, Siriusly - I breezy well ought be familiar to you! Don't you remember when you and I helped pull Baba-Ali's Forty-Cake Caper???"
Sirius is by no means hard of hearing when the breeze brings an offer of drinks to his attention.
"An ozone schnapps, if you've got any!" He cheerfully calls in.
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"Alright, alright, alright, word o' caution to those of you who ain't ride the rivers this far east. Try not be pickin' any fight with any of one here in Daggermark. Never know who here has a dagger, and how well they can use it. Dangerous town this is, and the best shield is a bit of politeness."
The half orc takes a seat, though he still feels uncomfortable in this heavy armor.
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"Hosser is correct, for the most part. But every city holds dangers for the uninitiated. In this one, even a commoner can field deadly force against an enemy, since the Guilds sell their services cheaply. But a poor man will only buy the service of novices, and novices are easily dispatched by the more skilled fighter. Even so, there is nothing to be gained from rudeness. Most folk in Daggermark are plain craftsmen or... merchants."
Janus glances towards Dibbler as he finishes the sentence.
"None that I know of, nudge-nudge! But seriously - or rather, Siriusly - I breezy well ought be familiar to you! Don't you remember when you and I helped pull Baba-Ali's Forty-Cake Caper???"
"Er, no."
Grey-haired Venture-Captain Istivil Bosk emerges from his office accompanied by a sturdy-looking dwarf in a military uniform, both still in conversation over two crystal tumblers.
“I’ve already made excuses to my superiors, and I’ll check in myself every few hours to make sure the safe house is still secure. You focus on hammering out your agent’s escape route.”
“Already working on it,” Bosk replies with a smile. The two raise their glasses in a toast.
“Then may we take this story to our graves, and drag our heels the whole way there,” the dwarf proclaims as they each down their vodka.
The dwarf sets his glass on the side table. Igor helps him with his thick wool cloak and he trudges out into the sleet where he buys two Sausages-inna-Bun™ from Dibbler before stomping off.
"C'mon back into my office. Igor can serve us back there."
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As Igor opens the doors, it takes everything in Andolyn's power to not draw her weapon instinctively. She realizes he's a Pathfinder and relaxes a bit. She walks in and takes a seat by the fire.
"I know how to carry myself, thank you very much. If a skilled assassin is on the street selling S#*&&y sausages, then he deserves whatever's coming for him." She then turns to Hosser as she removes her helmet for the first time. Underneath is an obviously Varisian woman with a large, disfiguring scar across her face. Due to the scar, her left eye appears almost blank, half her nose is missing, and she has a cleft upper-right lip. She speaks in a deep, tonally-rich Chelish voice, now that its not obscured by all the metal she's been wearing. "And my shield is plenty good enough. Thank you very much. I have no need to hold my tongue against mission-interfering street riff raff."
She then turns her attention to the Venture Captain and gives him a nod before putting her helmet by the fire to let it dry for a bit. She pays careful attention to the large furry bit.
"Fair warning to everybody. If a fight breaks out when that helmet's not on, I may be useless for 30 seconds as I put it back on. I may also relive some of my more traumatizing memories. Don't ask. All you must know is that YES, I did work for Queen Illiosa prior to her death. And yes, I did do some things the society would NOT approve of."
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Jurmo looks at the odd lot of Pathfinders and feels like maybe this is the right place for her. As the vigilante sets her help down Jurmo has to hold herself back from walking over to feel the heat spread across the metal.
She misses most of what the Venture-Captain says, but seeing him leave she turns to follow.
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As Bosk was physically the closest Venture Captain to Cready farm, Hosser and the captain had a long correspondence, ever since Hosser joined the Society.
"Howdy, Captain Bosk. Haven't seen you in, what, 18 months? I don't get down here too often." Hosser enters in, "Don't recognize that dwarf that just hustled out of here."
Bosk welcomes to the meeting room outside his office with a handshake he turns into a hug and back slap.
"Old Clovesh?" he says nodding toward the door. "Oh, he's a big deal in Daggermark's army. He’s taking a terrible risk to help me out of a dire situation, the same situation that led me to request your aid. I'd ask how the farm was but I imagine Igor will be serving my answer to me later this evening. I hope you brought some of those peas and carrots again. Where are your friends? I've got something that needs telling."
The older man draws Hosser close again to whisper in his ear.