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As each of arrives at the Eleder Lodge, you’re met by a tall, incredibly handsome Mwangi man with a wayfinder clipped to the waistband of his native-style kilt. He wears no shirt on his broad, well-muscled, ebon chest. He escorts you individually to a reception area outside an office at the rear of the lodge with comfortable seats and cool tea on a sideboard. Fans in the rafters are turned by some magical means to provide a slight cooling breeze as you wait. The dry season has brought a respite from the rains, but the heat still hangs oppressively across Sargava.
”Venture Captain Bellaugh is waiting for all of you to arrive. Please make yourselves comfortable,” he says in the deepest, richest basso voice you’ve ever heard. As he returns to his post at the front door his bare feet make no noise on the wooden floor in spite of their size.
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As is his early morning habit, Mishka Krieger stands in Skyreach’s Great Hall, cup of steaming jasmine tea in one hand and absently grasping his mother's zoic fetish in the other. He leans over the Atlas Tableaux, poring over its illusory map of the Inner Sea region as new Pathfinder reports come in.
Hmmm. This report from the Mwangi Expance sounds interesting. A request for assistance relating to a sole survivor of a failed Pathfinder mission long ago. I'll need to get something to deal with the heat, I imagine.
If I want to get myself assigned to this team, I'd better get moving. He flips through the scant document and focuses on the administrative data on the report. The reports officer is listed as GM Nomadical. That name sounds familiar...
Krieger glances down at the object in his left hand. Hwang Fei had crafted the small charm out of twined braids of her own hair and a lump of black granite, an abstract representation of a dire bear, symbol of the Bearpelt following, the people of his Kellid father, the Mighty Kuldor. His Minkaian mother had told him the fetish was enchanted with powerful druidic magic.
Krieger is an impressive figure, 6'4" tall and weighing some 14 stone. His mixed heritage makes it difficult for most to place his origins. His formal bearing hints at military service. In fact, he had served in the army of Po La the Bureaucrat, the Tian leader of Icestair, the largest settlement in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, wedged against the wall of ice that marks the edge of the Crown of the World.
Letting go of the fetish, Krieger scratches his chest through his noble's attire, a gift from Taldor's Princess Eutropia for services rendered. The signet ring on his forefinger, another gift from the princess, bears the sigil of his new, noble house, the clawed paw of a dire bear. The wicked scars on his body, a constant reminder of his initiation into the Bearpelt following, are concealed by the fine silk shirt and satin waistcoat.
"Woe unto the foe who sees these scars," he whispers, a grim determination furrowing his brow.
---
Arriving at the Eleder Lodge in Sargava, Krieger bumps into a tall, handsome Mwangi man wearing a native-style kilt but no shirt. Mishka raises an eyebrow. Local attire, I presume. Functional, I'm sure, if you've no need of armor.
"Well met, Pathfinder. I'm Mishka Krieger." He holds out his hand in greeting, wondering if the man will share his own name.
Krieger follows the barefoot man to a reception area, where he's told to wait for a meeting with Venture Captain Bellaugh.
Stealthy fellow. Mack observes, when the man silently returns to his post at the door to the lodge.
He pours himself a glass of chilled tea and takes a seat, appreciating the fans' breeze, respite from the oppressive heat.
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A man dressed in a well-crafted, Gebbite noble's outfit is the next to be escorted into the room. His every movement appears controlled and calculated. Flashing the seated man a smile, revealing suspiciously long canine teeth, he extends a hand. Despite his slender build, the breastplate peaking out from beneath his clothes and the firmness of his grip suggests he is significantly stronger than he looks.
"Good day, I am Faust Alhazred. I suppose you're one of the help? I will endeavor to learn your name quickly, but I can make no promises. What is more than likely is that I will commit your abilities to memory first. Try not to be offended," he explains as he pours a glass of tea before seating himself in the most significantly placed chair. Seated, he pulls a skull inlaid with onyx gems and cracked across the temple from his bag and onto the table facing away from him. The faintest of glows can be seen bobbing around behind the eye-sockets, peering out of one eye and then the next.
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”Please make yourselves comfortable."
"Comfort is for the weak. It softens the otherwise competent."
The short half-elven woman, clad in spider-silk and ochre smears snorts. "The Mwangi is my mother. She taught me to embrace hardship in order to survive."
The druid casts her gaze over her companions. "You drink tea."
Aeliah looks unimpressed at the choice. "A domesticated plant, grown in bulk for domesticated people."
"Aeliah would drink fresh water, Mwangi Pathfinder. If you have no cup of clay or stone, I would hold its life-giving succor in my own two hands!"
Aeliah notices Mishka's position in front of the fan. She curls a lip but makes no comment.
Faust's skull however, captures her attention. "Is your fetish some trick of prestidigitation to frighten small ones, Faust Alhazred? Or is there a true spiritual dimension to your companion?"
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Mishka maintains a stoic expression, observing the other two reveal themselves.
He eyes the damper's bejeweled skull and his attitude toward the Mwangi Pathfinder that brought them to the sitting room. This one values objects.
He edges away from the half-elf. She endeavors to mark her territory. No need to get my boots wet.
He offers a courteous nod and slight bow. "Well met, Faust Alhazred, Aeliah. My name is Mishka Krieger."
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A lean halfling with fiery red hair and mutton chops walks up to the lodge, sweat on his brow. Short, even for a halfling, he stands just over three feet tall. He is followed by a fat donkey carrying his bags. Surprisingly, a pair of tap shoes hanging from one of the saddlebags. He pats the the donkey on the mouth and gives her a treat before entering the building.
He enters the room with a graceful swagger and a large smile. A rapier is at his side, bouncing quietly along. Before addressing any of you, he pauses and addresses the Mwangi man. "Thank you, kind sir. Find some shade and a place to put up those big ol' feet." He laughs, then his face snaps into an overly respectful position. He bows deeply to the fellow pathfinder, forehead nearly grazing the floor. As he bends down, his mithril chain shirt tinkles and falls out of the way to give a view of his tattooed chest. The large black slave identification tattoo spread across his chest identifies him as property of a Cheliax noble.
Waiting until the Mwangi man leaves the room, he turns to the rest of the group. His eyes drift over all of your quickly, taking everything in. The perceptive notice that his lips tighten slightly when he sees the noble outfits worn by some. Then, his mouth opens up into a smile. "What a lot! 'Allo, my name is Forrest Glavo, but that's just Forrest to all of you!" He finds a seat and spreads out with a sigh of relief. His eyes linger on the skull. "Curious artifact, that. I met a young woman who spoke with ghosts once. Nice lady, very... haunted." Moving on from Faust, and looks to Mishka. His voice takes on a slightly hostile tone. "So, noble. Nice outfit. You ever get that silk dirty?"
He grabs a cup of tea, smiling at Aeliah as he does so. "I think you and I will get along just fine." He smirks, enjoying his tea and the gentle breeze.
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Ha! A savage, how quaint. Sure, sure, survival of the fittest and all that. What a joke. I've noticed people tend to change their tune when they aren't "the fittest" any longer. Shamelessly, Faust takes a long drink of his tea and fills it back up again. "Lovely, isn't it?" he asks the room.
"Oh, this? My brother Dumont. I suspect he will make an appearance while we are together. I can only sustain him for so long, but he is willing, I assure you of that," he says with a dark smile. "This is the first time this outfit has been clean, if you must know, Mr. Glavo. You may have been a slave boy, but don't assume you're the only one who has done an honest day's work only to have the fruits of your labor thrown in your face," Faust snaps back before composing himself again.
"A pleasure, Mr. Krieger. What talents do you bring to this expedition?" he asks smoothly and with genuine interest.
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Incredibly Handsome Mywangi Man leads the last of your teammates to the sitting area. He places a jug of water on the sideboard alongside the tea and remaining cups then opens the door to the nearby inner office and peeks in. Nodding to the occupant and opening the door fully, he turns to you all and announces in his deep, smooth voice, ”The Captain will see you now.”
Finze Bellaugh, Venture-Captain of Sargava, paces around his desk, filling glasses with cool iced tea before sitting down, filling his own glass, and pushing aside a velvet cloth filled with pieces of a wayfinder under construction. The sunlight slanting through blinds casts his features in shadow as he takes a swallow of tea before launching into an extended mission briefing.
“Thank you. Those of you who are new to Eleder, I hope you are enjoying my city. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it more upon your return, as your talents are needed inland. Ten years ago, an expedition into the Mwangi interior discovered some interesting items from the Age of Anguish: items believed to belong to the King of Biting Ants, abandoned in his defeat by Old-Mage Jatembe. Clearly, these are worthy of study—so much of that period is still half-myth! But we never had the chance. The expedition’s return journey crossed through Mzali territory, and, as I am sure you know, the Mzali despise trespassers. Only one agent made it out alive, and he bears... many scars. Some of a nature it has been impossible to heal,” he finishes with a pained look and a glance out the window.
After a moment, he resumes. ”Stuinvolk was an excellent field agent before this. But the trauma of seeing his friends die, from being hunted, tortured, and then barely escaping... upon his return, we tried to find a place for him, but the limited fieldwork we provided showed he hadn’t recovered enough for that type of stress. His moods changed without warning. Anger mingled with icy reserve, throwing himself into needless risk to protect others, or shutting down in a panic mid-fight. We tried to find him other work, but in all cases he had become unsuitable. Even when simply taking reports from other agents, he would break out in a sweat when hearing about experiences even slightly similar to his own.”
“We have been trying to find ways to help those who suffer mental distress like this on the Society’s behalf—Stuinvolk is not the first, of course. And, in the past year, he has made some success. He is working with a specialist who has soothed many of the rough patches in his mind. He now understands the deaths of his friends are not his fault. There is one element to his therapy that remains to be seen, though: revisiting what he feels is his greatest failure. At the end of the Mzali hunt, Stuinvolk was alone and unsure if he would survive. He hid the artifacts where the Mzali wouldn’t find them. But they caught him, tortured him, and left him for dead. He would have died if not for a twist of fate. Have any of you heard of a creature called a nuno?”
”No? Well, no wonder. They’re odd, solitary gremlins, mushroom-headed and possessed of an affinity for ants. Stuinvolk was left staked out among this particular nuno’s anthills. While it eventually set him free, it was so outraged by the intrusion that it laid a curse upon Stuinvolk—a curse we have not been able to remove. Stuinvolk managed to return to civilization, but he has lived with the nuno’s mark upon him all this time. And that is the key to how he can undo his greatest regret—those who are cursed by a nuno also have the ability to unerringly locate that nuno again.”
Bellaugh leans forward on the desk, and his voice lowers to a whisper. “To be clear, this is no mere treasure hunt. As important as the artifacts are, they are trinkets. You are escorting and protecting Stuinvolk because his counselor believes he needs to reach some kind of closure. He is willing to revisit the place of his greatest nightmares and retrieve that which he feels he lost. I would like those artifacts, yes, but my main concern is helping my agent. I have seen too many lost to horror. I am sending you all along to bring him home again. Find the treasures, compel the nuno to lift its curse, but most of all, help Stuinvolk find peace.”
He finishes the last with a significant look around the room, making sure to establish eye contact with each of you. Once he is sure that you all understand the gravity of this endeavor, he makes the standard request for questions.
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As you listen intently to the mission briefing, you recall what you know about the history of the area...
... and Mzali in particular.
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Mishka offers a polite reply to Faust, "I bring an inquisitive mind and a knack for conflict resolution, through diplomacy or, when discourse fails, my blade." The hilt of his greatsword rises above his back.
Mishka listens with intense interest to Venture-Captain Finze Bellaugh's mission briefing. "I'm not familiar with the history of the area, but I've encountered, in my readings, something about Mzali."
"Mzali is a xenophobic city-state on the Pasuango River in the Mwangi Expanse. Its people hold a strong ethos of “Mwangi is for the Mwangi only,” rejecting colonialism or trade with outsiders, especially Avistani. They are hostile toward Sargava, and have attacked the city of Kalabuto multiple times. Outsiders are generally not allowed within their borders."
"The Mzali people’s distrust of outsiders stems from its ruler, the mummy-god Walkena. In distant generations, corrupt rulership led to a decline in the city’s fortunes, but in the past century, Walkena’s return has reversed that, making it one of the greatest strongholds of Mwangi culture on the continent, in spite of the child-god’s isolationism."
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“Oh, this? My brother Dumont. I suspect he will make an appearance while we are together.”
“Ah. You engage in primitive ancestor worship.”
Aeliah nods her misunderstanding curtly. Aeliah shall withhold judgement until she sees the spirit manifest.
“'Allo, my name is Forrest Glavo, but that's just Forrest to all of you!”
“Aeliah appreciates your attempt at cordiality, presumably to promote group bonding, Forrest Glavo called Forrest.”
"I think you and I will get along just fine."
Aeliah feels herself warming to the halfling. “I must observe how you conduct yourself in battle first, but my instinct is to agree.”
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“This is an escort mission.” Aeliah states simply, her expression neutral.
She changes tact quickly. “Is there any relationship between the ‘King of Biting Ants’ and the gremlin with the affinity for ants?”
“The chronology of Stuinvolk’s story implies not, but the common ant theme does not strike Aeliah as coincidental.”
“Similarly, is there any relationship between the gremlin and the Mzali? Or does the wild nuno just happen to dwell within the borders of the territory the Mzali claim?”
The druid scratches the dreads on the right side of her head briskly. "Why should this nuno lift the curse if we invade its home again? Is that not why the curse was laid in the first happenstance?"
"Does the Pathfinder Society know of any special interest or service it requires?"
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A fighter with a level head. I can work with that. Faust nods in approval to Mishka.
"Ancestor worship? It is by no matter of worship or reverence for my ancestors that I've managed to- You know what? I sense you are one of those people that cling to the first thought in their head and are so self-righteous as to become incapable of moving beyond. I have nothing to explain to you," he concludes with a dismissive wave of his hand. You're right, believe what you wish." Might as well get the torches and pithforks ready. Conclusions before questions, what a manner of thinking.
"I, on the other hand, know a little of the area's history and naught about Mzali," he begins. "Old-Mage Jatembe was practically a god among men. After man had lost the knowledge of magic, his work wrested the control of magic back into the hands of man a thousand years after Earthfall. The King of Biting Ants was perhaps one of his most significant antagonists. A vestige of the Age of Anguish, he was a sorcerer who was eventually crushed by the Old-Mage and his fabled band of Ten Magic Warriors. I'd have selected a less obtuse name, but I suppose when you're the one who brings a lost art back into the realm of the living, naming conventions are best left obviously functional."
After Aeliah finishes her line of questioning, he adds his own. "Does the death of the nuno remove the curse, or is negotiation our only option?"
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Venture Captain Bellaugh listens to your questions as he polishes off his glass of cool iced tea. He moistens his fingers with a bit of the condensation and scratches his beard as he considers how best to answer.
They’ve certainly got an … interesting … dynamic going on between them. I hope they can keep it civil and work together. Or the Mwangi will eat them alive. Again….
”Stuinvolk never gave us any reason to believe there was any relationship between the nuno and the King. The items that his team … lost … to the nuno could be historical relics or actual magical artifacts with some kind of residual powers. But, I think the ant theme is likely a coincidence.”
He continues addressing Aeliah, and segues to answer Faust's question also.
”Actually, I’m pretty sure that the nuno’s hill is just outside the Mzali’s claims. Though lines do shift often, it was our understanding that the Mzali patrol had continued to pursue him beyond their territory in order to punish him for the team’s intrusion. They were doing some general surveying on their way back; crossing through Mzali territory was unexpected. Avoiding it entirely is difficult, but hopefully you can skirt the edges. Also, by the time they met the Mzali, the team’s resources were depleted and they couldn’t fight the patrol. If you encounter a patrol and they aren’t willing to negotiate, I trust you have the skills and resources to ensure your—and Stuinvolk’s—survival.”
He stands to refill his glass from the pitcher of water that his Agent had brought in. He looks to the ceiling fan for a moment before answering two questions at once.
”I’m unaware of any service you could trade for its cooperation. But you’re Pathfinders, I know you’re creative. Of course, if it comes to it, killing the nuno will lift the curse, by the way.”
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"Venture-Captain Bellaugh, can you tell us more about Stuinvolk?" Mishka asks. "Some knowledge of his personal background and his former skills might help us assist him during our journey."
He considers the implications of their mission.
"We can expect to encounter trouble with the Mzali and the nuno. How is he likely to react under stress? Will Stuinvolk present a danger to himself or to others?"
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A small bit of shuffling and bumping is heard as what must be another Pathfinder agent drags herself in through the door. Though she bears human features her pale blue skin and pale blonde hair, almost white, hints at a different sort of heritage. She moves with a sluggish manner, a small sheen of sweat on her face.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she huffs. "My ship in only docked a few minutes ago and this dry heat isn't something I'm used to."
She quickly moves to take an empty seat, letting her pack thud softly on the floor nearby. "But I think I overheard enough that I shouldn't need a briefing refresher..."
"...but I'm also afraid that I can't offer any more information than what's already been shared."
"Oh and I'm Callah," the woman adds. "I serve as the voice for spirits from my people's history...and sometimes from the history of others, too."
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Captain Bellaugh begins to pour a glass of water from the pitcher for the dehydrated undine, but stops and simply hands her the whole thing. ”T’kannaa, another pitcher of water, please,” he calls out to Incredibly Handsome Mwangi Man.
”Agent Callah, you could have left your gear on the ship and transferred it to the riverboat after the briefing.”
Registering the confused looks on the faces of the assembled agents at the mention of a riverboat, he points a finger at a map to a region a few hundred miles inland, south of the Screaming Jungle. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t mention your travel arrangements. You’re going here, roughly. I’ve arranged for a riverboat to take you as far as the Lake of Vanished Armies; from there, you’ll travel inland, guided by Stuinvolk. It’s a savanna, so don’t worry about jungle travel. But it will be hot and dry,” he says looking worriedly at Callah.
“The river journey is a few days. It’s a familiar route, so don’t worry about that leg. Overland... Stuinvolk estimates it might be a week or so to travel to the nuno’s territory. We’ll arrange for the boat’s return to retrieve you a few weeks after they drop you off.”
“Speaking of Stuinvolk, you’ll meet with him tomorrow morning. He can be distant, often. His therapist theorizes he keeps himself apart from emotional connections so that he doesn’t suffer if people die. He can help in a fight—he’s quite the singer of old songs from the Ulfen lands. He shouldn’t involve himself in hand-to-hand combat, but he’s a good archer; staying at a distance should keep him from overextending himself. He still has mood swings, though they’re less extreme than before. Depending on the day, he might be enthusiastic, or he might be irritable and easily distracted. Please just be patient and remember what this man has given—and is still willing to give—for the Society.”
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Noting Captain Bellaugh's worried look, Callah swallows a gulp of water and offers him - and the rest of her fellow agents - a wry smile. "Don't worry about me too much. I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't really used to this sort of climate but it's not the first time I've experienced it."
She reaches into her pack and pulls out a small wand. "After my last trip to Sargava I learned my lesson and invested in this. Just didn't want to spend a charge here in town - and I was in a hurry."
"Anyway, are there any other hazards we need to keep in mind besides the nuno itself? Hopefully we won't have to tangle with these Mzali but there are plenty of other things that live out in the wilds here, I'm sure."
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There is only one way I've seen a sickness of the mind handled effectively... Faust looks at his blade briefly. If it wasn't for what the Society has done for my research, I wouldn't put myself in the field with a madman. Alas, this may give some material for my research to consider regardless... What happens when you force a madman back to the area and person that induced it in the first place? To be considered a dark line of research by many, but after that godsforsaken island and it's venerable estate, it is a mere shadow in the name of the greater good.
After anymore questions, Faust rises and stows away Dumont's skull. "I have some quick purchases to make, but otherwise am ready for our expedition. I shall meet you all at the riverboat," he declares before heading out.
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As he wraps up the questions, Finze dismisses you and informs you of the times and locations for both your meeting with Stuinvolk the next morning and your departure on the riverboat the morning after. He advises anyone who needs to purchase supplies where they might best do so; Eleder is not the largest or wealthiest city in Sargava, but it can provide anything that you should need.
The next day, you meet with Stuinvolk at a quiet tavern. He is tall, lean, and handsome, though not nearly as easy on the eyes as the gentleman now known forever as the Incredibly Handsome Mwangi Man. Unfortunately, the nuno’s curse has burdened him with gruesome, haircovered pustules on his neck and chest. He appears somewhat resigned to his disfigurement, and in the heat of the Mwangi Expanse, rarely bothers buttoning his shirt to hide it.
He describes his plan of how you all will be able to travel around Mzali lands and into the savanna.
“The nuno’s curse is double edged,” he explains. Waving his hand at the growth on his neck, he continues. ”This mark also links me to the creature. If I pour melted wax into water, it forms a compass, of sorts, always drifting in the nuno’s direction. I can use that to locate it.”
While open to questions regarding relevant information about the first expedition, he becomes notably disinterested or uncomfortable if you share personal information or expect any from him.
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“Callah.” Aeliah acknowledges simply.
“You speak for your spirits. Aeliah speaks for the trees.”
“It’s a savanna, so don’t worry about jungle travel. But it will be hot and dry.”
“Do we need elemental endurance wards, Venture-Captain Bellaugh?” Aeliah asks bluntly.
“Callah is prepared, but the rest of us may need to forage for this magic before we leave.”
“Ah, Stuinvolk. Aeliah thought Venture-Captain Bellaugh may have been playing us, and you were actually the Incredibly Handsome Mwangi Man.”
The druid smiles. “While Aeliah was in error, Stuinvolk makes for a comparable substitute. I look forward to working beside you and learning from you.”
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"Venture-Captain Bellaugh, from your description of the mission, I estimate we should expect we'll be gone about three weeks. Is the Lodge providing rations and other provisions for the journey?"
~*~
Entering the quiet tavern, Mishka studies the Ulfen man, noting the physical scars, reminders of his own. What wounds did this man's mind suffer? Loss of his team, torture at the hands of the Mzali, and cursed by the nuno. Yes, but such extending suffering often has its roots in some act or omission of one's own.
"Well met, Stuinvolk Hendrakson. I am Mishka Krieger. Thank you for agreeing to accompany us on this mission. What provisions do you suggest we acquire for the journey?"
A good thing we have an extended journey ahead of us. One footstep at a time, we can help him rebuild his devastated psyche and rediscover his courage.
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"Callah, was it? I have unique medical treatment needs," he says point-blank. "Is this a wand you would be able to use?" he asks, revealing what appears to be an ulna with bizarre runes engraved upon it. "The usual methods for healing wounds will damage me. I will be using this for myself, but should I fall for any reason, it always helps to have another person know not to kill me with positive energy when they intend on saving me."
I'm sure a joke about how he isn't a marvelous specimen of his kind will work wonders for a man recently cursed with that on his body. "Bartender, whatever concoction the locals drink, if you please. But not the cheap swill, I have a life to continue living to a certain standard. A double, neat," Faust orders. "Perfect, a way to find the nuno will be invaluable. As one of the other Agents asked our Venture-Captain, but was deferred to you, what hazards beyond the nuno, heat, and the Mzali can we expect?"
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Forrest walks with the group to the tavern, a new respect found for his companions. These nobles seem to be able to hold up for themselves. We'll let the savannah show if that proves true. Aeliah and Callah though, they seem alright. Along the way, he buys an outfit to help him out with the dry heat. Can't hold a rapier with a sweaty hand! He smirks as they enter the tavern, always a popular place for the halfling.
"Stuinvolk! I hear you're a hero! I'm glad we have you with us!" The halfling goes to the barkeep and grabs two of the cheapest swill they offer. He hands one to Stuinvolk and begins to down the second. "Tell us your tale, friend! I understand that talking about our ills is often what's best!" He settles in, looking at the Pathfinder with respect. To care for a bruised mind, there is honor in that. This society, they do right by us.
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Callah studies Faust and the strangely decorated ulna in his hand for a moment, a look of understanding dawning on her face. She nods. "Yes, I can do that for you. Hopefully it won't come up but it's good to know these things ahead of time."
"Though it wouldn't be my own first choice it isn't so unusual for some of the speakers of my people to carry about bits of their ancestors," she adds, knowing that most people likely found Faust's choice of wand distasteful. "Some of the more powerful ones eventually learn to speak with the dead or to summon their ancestors to grant them power in battle or insight."
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At the tavern, Callah offers a simple smile and handshake to Stuinvolk, assuming he seems open to it. "It's good to meet you, Stuinvolk. I'm Callah."
Noting the man's rather distant manner, she opts to simply take a seat on a nearby stool and listen as he works through the questions her companions have for him.
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Ouch. Mishka winces when Forrest Glavo gets personal, despite the venture-captain's cautions against doing so.
Nodding at Callah's gesture, Mishka extends his own hand in greeting to the Ulfen man.
"Of course, we'd all like to know about one another's capabilities at least, before we embark. Venture-Captain Bellaugh says you're a fair hand with your bow. A skilled archer will be a welcome member of the team. If it comes to a fight we can't avoid, I'm better in the front lines."
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"I'm glad to hear you're prepared, Agent Aeliah, as is Callah. I'd expect no less from a seasoned team such as yourselves. You certainly won't need any protections while you're on the riverboat. You might even have the necessary skills to survive on the savanna without magical assistance, but it's up to you."
He turns his attention to Mishka as you all gather your gear. "Obviously, provisions are provided on the boat. It's no noble's luxury yacht, but you won't starve. The Captain of the riverboat was asked to stock sufficient rations for your overland journey, also."
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Adjusting himself amid his loose-fitting trousers, Mishka takes a seat at the table next to Forrest.
Sitting and tight pants. Bane of the giant-blooded, he muses with some embarrassment. Why couldn't I have simply inherited oversized hands or fiery red hair?
He coughs, clearing his throat. "So, Stuinvolk. If you haven't eaten, let us order you some dinner. Might be the last hot meal for a while. We probably don't want to risk a fire out on the dry savannah near Mzali territory, right?"
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Stuinvolk leans back away from the table as more and more of the team settle in. He notes Callah’s attempt to give him some space, and almost smiles as he returns the handshake.
In spite of it not being the time for a Discovery check quite yet, I’m going to give you a freebie for your insightfulness. You sense that the lingering trauma is something that anyone with basic Healing training should be versed in. A Heal check can be used to Influence him.
At the dhampir’s question about threats, he says simply and quietly, ”It’s the Mwangi. Everything can kill you. And it will….” He seems to withdraw somewhat and focuses more inwardly for a minute, even to the point that he ignores Forrest’s request for his story.
When he returns to the present, he addresses the huge man touching himself through his loose fitting clothes. ”You’re right, being careful and quiet might keep the Mzali from noticing us. Not having a fire certainly couldn’t hurt. As for provisions, I think the Venture Captain made all the arrangements with the boat crew.”
”But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll meet you at the dock tomorrow afternoon.” He stands without warning, and exits the tavern.
The team of Pathfinders has the night and the next day to finalize preparations before boarding the riverboat for the journey inland.
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After their charge (and then Faust) departs Callah stares down into her drink, her frown mirroring Forrest's.
"Now I'm starting to see what VC Bellaugh was talking about," she finally remarks. "It seems like the same sort of trauma that you sometimes see among soldiers and mercenaries, people that have seen too much and lost too much."
"But the silver lining is that I think it's something that anyone with a bit of knowledge or insight about the healing arts can help with. I'm not a trained healer myself but it's something to keep in mind on our trip."
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Forrest watches the man leave with a frown.
“Not worth wasting another thought on, Forrest Glavo.”
Aeliah nudges the halfling’s shoulder with her own. “Men project their own faults onto others. Mother Moon knows why.”
“It is the pale man’s problem. We have enough of our own.”
"It seems like the same sort of trauma that you sometimes see among soldiers and mercenaries …”
“Wise insight, Callah Spirit-speaker. Stuinvolk must learn to trust us. Realize we are good listeners; not judgemental and want to help him.”
The druid smiles at Callah, Forrest and Mishka. “Aeliah is confident we have right people here to ease his journey.”
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During your riverboat trip, Stuinvolk experiences regular mood swings, alternating between ‘good’ days where his old enthusiasm for exploration is dominant, to days when he seems embittered and withdrawn, silently staring off into the distance. Not much that you say or do during this time seems to be having any effect on his moods. After a few days’ travel upriver, your boat arrives at a makeshift dock on the east bank of the Lake of Vanished Armies. Captain Allnutt points out a route marker about half a mile in the distance—a post mounted with a beaten brass sun. “That marks the edge of Mzali territory,” she says, and states that this is as far as her boat goes. She and Stuinvolk suggest that the team should make their way north overland to skirt the Mzali borders as fast as possible.
After you finish unloading your gear and arrange a time to meet her here for the return trip, the boat weighs anchor and departs. Stuinvolk’s suggested course of action is to follow the lake and river northeast for 50 miles or so, headed away from Mzali itself. He recalls a ford of the Upper Korir river that should move you further away from Mzali territory—possibly still within the Mzali’s claimed territory, but he would feel more comfortable with another river between the party and Mzali. Once on the other side, he thinks it should be safe to start using his “curse compass” more regularly to locate the nuno’s lands. Even still he recommends doing this in a meandering fashion, if necessary, to continue skirting Mzali lands.
However, soon after setting out away from the dock in the early afternoon, Stuinvolk grows even more distant and gruff than normal. As the sun sets and you make camp, he paces the camp’s perimeter tense, on edge, and short tempered to any who speak to him.
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The setting sun proves no issue to Callah as her eyes adjust naturally to the dark, as they always did for her people. She scans the horizon for a moment and then looks to her companions.
"If we think we can handle it, camping without a fire like Mishka suggested is probably a good idea. It might mean the nightlife is more likely to wander up on us but it's sounded like that'd be better than drawing the attention of the Mzali. And for what it's worth, my sight isn't shrouded by the darkness of night - at least not to a certain point. So I don't mind taking watch around the witching hour."
As she begins to help unpack and set up camp - fire or no fire - she watches Stuinvolk out of the corner of her eye as he paces the camp's perimeter.
Not good. He'll need his rest while we're out here.
Still working, she begins to sing - not too loudly, just enough so that everyone can hear her.
~ಇಲ್ಲಿ ಕೊನೆಗೊಳ್ಳುವ ಹಾಳಾಗಲಿ
ಅವನಿಗೆ ಜೇನುತುಪ್ಪವನ್ನು ನೋಡೋಣ
ಒಮ್ಮೆ ಒಂದು ವಧೆ ಇತ್ತು
ಅವನು ಸಿಂಹದ ಪಂಜರದಲ್ಲಿ ಪ್ರವೇಶಿಸಲಿ
ಮತ್ತು ಲಿಲಾಕ್ಗಳ ಕ್ಷೇತ್ರವನ್ನು ಕಂಡುಹಿಡಿಯಿರಿ
ಇದು ಹೀಲಿಂಗ್ ಆಗಿರಲಿ
ಮತ್ತು ಇಲ್ಲದಿದ್ದರೆ, ಅದು ಇರಲಿ~
~Let ruin end here
Let him find honey
Where there was once a slaughter
Let him enter the lion’s cage
And find a field of lilacs
Let this be the healing
And if not, let it be~
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"No objection here, I prefer the darkness. There is a safety to it. I'll take anything but last watch," Faust says. It's never hurt me, but watching the sun claw it's way past the horizon is never an enjoyable sight. "Also, for those of you prone to wandering around at night, Dumont will be joining me for my watch. Wouldn't want you to lose your bowels too when you bump into him for your late night piss."
After unpacking his things, he takes a seat on a nearby rock formation that offers him some kind of a vantage point to watch Stuinvolk. Like a lion in a cage... If he breaks free, that'd be an interesting complication. Our mission is to heal his mind, but what happens if he becomes the cause of our harm? Hmmm... Just in case, Faust pulls his scimitar out and begins to sharpen it.
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Pleased that no one's insisted on lighting a fire, Krieger gnaws on some cold rations and washes the food down with water from his skin.
Without his nobleman's attire, hair unbound in a wild tangle, and scars exposed, the Foreigner bears little resemblance to the refined and erudite Mishka.
As he oils his arms and armor, he watches Stuinvolk, observing the man's fieldcraft in the wilds, emulating his experienced practices to avoid detection from the Mzali and other potential threats.
Stuinvolk begins to settle down once you make it clear that you have no need of a campfire for the night. His tense pacing stops and his shoulders relax just a hair while he listens to the lilting susurrus of the Aquan song. When she finishes, he approaches Callah, kneeling down near where she is setting up her bedroll. But not as close as one would normally expect.
”Your singing was quite… nice. Not too loud either. Thanks.”
He pauses, perhaps struggling to decide whether to broach another topic, or how to best do so.
”Being out here, so close to the Mzali is causing me some… stress. As I’m sure you can understand.” He again almost smiles as he makes this confession to the blue skinned woman.
His voice takes on a more confident and stronger tone. ”But I’ve learned that this,” he says waving a hand at his deformity, ”doesn’t make me weak, and I’m not going to be ashamed when… issues… arise.”
Stuinvolk’s eyes suddenly dart towards the Foreigner as the movement of him oiling his armor catches his attention. He stands abruptly and walks away from Callah without another word.
”Good call on not starting the fire,” he says to the Foreigner. ”Do you think your team can move quietly during the day to avoid the Mzali?”
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"Sound advice, Stuinvolk. We will make every effort to move with as much stealth as possible."
The Foreigner looks around the sparse camp with a meticulous eye. "We'll also take care to leave little trace of our presence."
"If no one objects, I'll take the first watch at dusk into twilight. My human eyes are a weakness, and I'd rather not rely on artificial light, unless it's absolutely necessary."
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Forrest watches Stuinvolk pace with growing tension. The closer we get to this tribe, the more rough this is going to be. I just can't seem to get a read on this guy. The halfling nods to Faust. "Happy to take last watch. I'm use to waking up early." He heads to bed without shining his rapier, as is normally his custom, noting the Pathfinder's discomfort. Before bed, he looks to Aeliah. "The savannah? This is your native environment?"
The next day, Forrest sneaks along with the group. Moving silently through the trees, he ensures to keep a healthy distance between him and Stuinvolk.
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"Move quietly? I don't mind to try but 'try' and 'succeed' are two different things entirely," Callah remarks, giving her armor a slight jangle for emphasis.
She quietly muses on the rest of what Stuinvolk had to say before he closed off again and can't help but feel a bit of respect and admiration.
Some wouldn't even be willing to show their faces publicly with deformities like that. He's stronger than he thinks he is.
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In the morning, all is well with the world as you hike across the savannah doing your best to avoid detection by the Mzali—some doing much better than other, larger, more ponderous members of the party. As the sun begins to heat up the air, and the buzz of the Mwangi insects grows, you all begin to feel the effects of the heat, Callah most intensely.
As you move through the tall grasses and around small watering holes, you have the chance to approach Stuinvolk. He is mostly quiet, trying his utmost to focus on the game trails and landmarks, but he listens and makes noises of acknowledgement at your remarks.
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“Aeliah cares not which watch I take.”
Before settling in to meditate or stand watch, the druid approaches Stuinvolk attempting to put the human at ease.
“What you call the nuno’s mark is called ‘goiter’ by my tribe’s healers.”
Aeliah squats, looking the man in the eyes. “It is far from uncommon and does not detract from the sexual desirability of a tribesperson in any way.”
She bares her teeth in a wolfish smile. “Indeed, urban humans’ obsession with symmetry in their notion of beauty baffles this woman of nature. Stay strong, Bowman Stuinvolk.”
Before bed, he looks to Aeliah. "The savannah? This is your native environment?"
“Nay, Forrest Glavo.”
Aeliah tosses her bedroll down untidily beside the halfling, removes a leather thong holding back her hair, shaking it out before lowering herself to her swag.
The druidess clasps a wicker fetish to her breast like a teddy bear. “My tribe dwells in tropical rainforest –– what human urbanites call ‘jungle.’”
“Savanna is more like open plain, interspersed with trees and shrubs, yes? I have yet to experience the Mwangi variety and look forward to doing her tomorrow.”
Aeliah checks her weapons are within reach before bowing her head to meditate. “Meycho and Falling Star watch over you, Forrest Glavo called Forrest.”
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As the sun begins to heat up the air, and the buzz of the Mwangi insects grows, you all begin to feel the effects of the heat, Callah most intensely.
Bah! Aeliah knew I should have foraged for a wand of endure elements, but did NOT!
I will consult with Callah regarding an appropriate punishment.
“Callah Spirit-speaker, Aeliah would speak with you.”
The druidess ✨casts endure elements on herself as she approaches the undine. “You stated the day before yesterday you had an elemental protection wand in your possession, yes? Aeliah is ashamed she did not gather a similar wand to share the load.”
“I can prepare the spell each day to remove some burden from you. But that does not help you this day, assuming you choose to protect all of our companions.”
“For this failure, Aeliah asks you to demand appropriate reparation from me. If you feel you cannot, may I suggest ‘The Foreigner’ or Faust Alhazred might have some ideas.”
Aeliah bows her head before the shaman. “There is more.”
“I seek your counsel with respect to the Stuinvolk. Last night, my attempt at eliciting empathetic accord with him failed.”
“Was my approach too subtle, Goodwoman Callah? Should I be more bold?”
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As the morning sun climbs higher in the sky and the heat begins to grow truly oppressive, Callah pulls out the wand she'd bought after her last outing in Sargava.
"It's funny just how valuable a little piece of enchanted wood can be, isn't it?" she muses as she uses it to protect herself from the elements. "I haven't used it at all until just now so it has plenty of power left, if any of you need protection from the heat. Or if you have your own then I'm happy to use it for you."
She's just stowing her wand back in her pack when Aeliah approaches her near the rear of the group. To say that she's surprised at Aeliah's request for punishment is an understatement as her eyebrows quickly appear in danger of drifting off of her face entirely.
"Ah...well, this is the first time that I've ever had someone ask for punishment," Callah admits. "I won't lie, it's not something I feel comfortable about. For me, the embarrassment of knowing and others knowing that I forgot to do something is punishment enough, usually. But this seems important to you. Is this a custom of your people?"
"About your other question..." Callah glances around to make sure that Stuinvolk isn't within earshot and then murmurs, "I don't know, it was a good thought and thankfully he doesn't seem like he's ashamed of his uh, goiter. Maybe he was just confused that you brought up desirability?"
Callah glances around again.
"I've known plenty of people who'll take comfort from anyone willing to give it, but it could be something that's not really on his mind. Everyone is different," she shrugs as she does her best to step carefully through the grass and shrubs.
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“But this seems important to you. Is this a custom of your people?”
“The survival of a community depends on individuals performing their duties satisfactorily, Callah Spirit-speaker.”
Aeliah does not try to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Are the lawless and negligent not punished in your society? How does your civilization survive?”
“For me, the embarrassment of knowing and others knowing that I forgot to do something is punishment enough, usually.”
With narrowed eyes, the half-elf nods her head slowly as if deciding whether she is being made game of.
“So for people touched by the Aqueous Plane, shame is sufficient to keep you in line?”
Her brow furrows and her lips purse. “There is no temporary exile from the community or ritual scarification to remind the miscreant of their crime?”
The druidess reaches out her right hand, placing it firmly on Callah’s left shoulder. “Aeliah will pray this night for you and your people, Callah Spirit-speaker.”
“Maybe he was just confused that you brought up desirability?”
“How so? Even in the feeblest urban communities, males – even old ones – constantly consider the attributes they possess for attracting mates.”
Aeliah stares Callah in the eyes. “This is the natural order of things. It occurs wherever there are people – just like death!”
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"There is no temporary exile from the community or ritual scarification to remind the miscreant of their crime?"
"I think...I think I've given the wrong impression of my home," Callah responds slowly. "While I do have a community of my own, that community is just a tiny part of a much larger one. Outsea is a land of farms and swamps but also rivers and canals. Land-dwellers live there but so do water-dwellers...many different ones, actually. The entire city is ruled by a Council, with one member each of the aquatic races that dwell there."
"So at large, my people and I follow the laws of Outsea, which are very similar to the laws you'd find in most human lands. On a more individual level...yes, if someone from my community committed a great enough crime, there would be punishment for it. The punishment would depend on the crime."
She pauses for a moment, her expression thoughtful.
"For your people, survival from day to day isn't guaranteed, is it? I can see why forgetting even a small thing then would be a great crime against your fellows, for you all rely on each other. But my home is comfortable and many of us don't want for food or shelter..."
Callah suddenly looks up at Aeliah, meeting her gaze. "Aeliah, I'm sorry. Now I see the matter from your eyes instead of my own. I stand by my earlier words, but...rather than a punishment, would a debt be sufficient? Not in coin but in aid. If I should forget something important and put myself in harm's way because of it, rescue me from my forgetfulness - if you're able - and then let the matter be settled."
"How so? Even in the feeblest urban communities, males – even old ones – constantly consider the attributes they possess for attracting mates."
"Oh, I'm not denying that, not at all," Callah agrees. "My meaning was more that perhaps being desirable wasn't something that happened to be on his mind at that specific moment in time."
She shrugs. "They could have been lying to me but I've been told by male relatives and friends that they do sometimes think about other matters, from time to time."