You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission that you hope will be of utmost importance.
Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
You were asked to all come together in one of the meeting rooms of the Grand Lodge and have been waiting for a couple of minutes already but Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng has not arrived, yet.
|
First to arrive, this Ekujae from deep within the Mwangi expanse still feels fresh and out-of-sorts here in Absalom, and especially the massive Grand Lodge. She still wears the natural greens, tans, and browns that she's worn her whole life.
While she waits for Dreng and the other Pathfinders, she paces the room, testing the cushioned seats with her hands before gingerly and awkwardly taking a seat. Aware of and feeling out-of-place, she jumps to her feet as soon as another Pathfinder arrives, not wanting to be seen lounging in such decadent comfort.
|
An Elf with straight blond hair, tan complexion, and amber eyes appears in the doorway and surveys the room pausing a little longer on each individual therein as if committing more information to memory. Afterwards, he enters the room and step immediately to the right and walks along that side of the room to a place to observe the room. He is wearing leather armor with a shortbow, rapier, and places a backpack at his feet.
|
Gali pauses in the doorway long enough to survey the room and get a read on the adventurers already there.
Gali almost glides over to join the others, walking lightly and more gracefully than he knows, due to his sylph ancestry. He carries a backpack, a crossbow, and a quarterstaff he uses as a walking stick. On his arm is perched his familiar: a hawk. A spellbook, ornately decorated with mystical symbols, is slung on a strap over his shoulder.
|
After surreptitiously paying a piper a few copper pieces to play a staccato of an entrance, a massive man, nearly six and half feet tall with greasy black hair and a bushy beard enters. He's wearing a masterwork chain shirt and barely any shorts.
"Now, all y'all are lucky, 'cause this here Pathfinders have decided that y'all have bee graced to fight alongside the meanest roughest professional wrestler in all of Druma, Wesley Hoggins, the Mad Cow of Macridi!"
Suddenly a little female gnome with pink hair opens the door to your meeting room and asks “Are you the team waiting for Drandle? He won’t be able to meet you here but left an address for you to meet him. Here you go!“
She hands one of you a piece of paper with the address and runs out as fast as she had arrived.
The little female gnome with the pink hair puts her head into the room again and says "Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you that Drandle wants you to introduce yourself properly to each other. He said that this mission can involve a lot of ale and he wants you to know each other at least a little before you see each other completely drunk! But where are the others? Go and get them to hurry up!" she says with a sly smile and closes the door.
You decide to go to the address and any Pathfinders that are late will receive the address from the lovely young gnome.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?”
Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.”
As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled Venture-Captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
" If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell the bartender you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.
"As for the parcel, well, before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine.
"Now if you have any other questions, spit them out! I feel like we've been in this rain for weeks already!"
Moyen is aware that The Wounded Wisp was a bar once frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed. Inside the Wisp, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another. In fact, many volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles came together under the Wisp’s roof. Famous Pathfinders like Eando Kline and the Seeker Osprey often stopped by for a drink while they relaxed in Absalom between assignments. Though not officially affiliated with the Society, the bar maintains good relations with Pathfinders, offering discounts and prompt service. The owners have always kept themselves and the Wisp afloat through the generosity of Society agents who spend coin at the establishment.
As for its surrounding locale, since it's situated in the Foreign Quarter of Absalom, and quite close to the Grand Lodge, there are frankly all sorts of strange goings on nearby...
The Wounded Wisp isn't far from the Grand Lodge itself, and making your way there is fairly simple.
From the outside the Wounded Wisp has little to distinguish itself from every other dive bar in Absalom, stained and barred windows, discolored wood, a little light bleeding out into the street. The only reason you're even certain this is the place is a thick wooden sign hanging above the bar's entrance with a lantern burning amidst a brass ring - The Wisp itself.
Inside, the smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink.
An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room with a stained-glass cabinet behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
There are a handful of different groups already relaxing around the bar, and eyes are upon you as you enter. There's a moment of curiosity, that quickly fades into warm nods. On reflection, around here a group as eclectic as your looks identifies you as Pathfinders almost as much as a Wayfinder would...
"Nonalwe!" a high piercing voice cuts through the murmur of conversation effortlessly, a... familiar voice. Janira Gavix pokes her head through the crush of novice pathfinders surrounding her, then climbs up onto the nearby table to be more easily seen. "How've you been! I've got a whole new crop of Prospectives ready to go out on their Confirmation right here! Got any words of wisdom for 'em?"
Gali, you notice that one of the men is older and pale-skinned, happily ensconced in an aged, ominous looking tome while he sips from a Very Large flagon of ale. The younger, though not young, man against the far wall is another matter. His dark eyes move from person to person, clearly sizing them all up much the same as you are. He bears a wayfinder that marks him as a fellow Pathfinder, as well as a holy symbol that you're sure you recognize from somewhere...
The two half-orcs give great toothy grins at Koruda's approach. "It's all good to drink, but the ale's cheapest!" booms the broader man; the taller woman, follows up without pausing, "Will you join us for a mug, cousin? We're the Boartusk Twins, I'm Shrade." "And Garl"
Carlin's overtures are far less successful. "One of the primary benefits of being a Pathfinder is that ambitionless dolts unable to find their own adventures can simply inquire at the Grand Lodge, rather than pester every wise looking sage who makes the mistake of sitting in a tavern's corner!"
|
|
Gali doesn't know much about religion, even his own. He shrugs and approaches the bar and motions at the bartender. "I'll take a mug of ale. Make that two."
He takes one mug over to the old man at the table and sets it on the table, pushing it toward the man. "Brother, I can see you're a man of arcane knowledge. I too dabble in these sorts of tomes."
Gali takes his spellbook, which he wears on a sling over his shoulder, and motions to it. "I wonder if you'd be interested in learning a new incantation from me, and to share one in kind with me."
The older man looks up at Gali in owlish surprise, "mmm? Oh - I'm not a wizard. Just a scholar. This," he pats the tome, "is a dissection of the strategies of Karamoss the machine mage. The author theorizes that Karamoss was attempting to reach the Starstone and undergo its test. Don't know why he felt conquest was the only way to reach the temple, after all, aspirants foolish enough can always attempt the Test, but the hypothesis is certainly worth examination nonetheless."
The Kelish self-described sage flicks his eyes over to Nonalwe as she addresses the aspirants. "You should pay heed to your companion. A lot of wizards get too interested in their own ability to solve things like rampaging swarms. Then when they've been dropped, their companions just get devoured. Cooperate, sure. But you have to be self sufficient too."
Janira meanwhile is far less gloom and doom, "See! I told you I was worth listening to!" Her eyes twinkle, showing that she's not too worried about keeping their attention. "Just stay together and you can overcome all kinds of things! Nonalwe's the proof - she and her friends saved my life once!"
"Sure, sure. Our Grandmother's name." "Y'see, the tribe was always making fun of her teeth."
"Gorum knows there wasn't much else to mock" "Heh, too right. But she had these scrawny little human-nubs."
"Finally, she got sick of all the taunts and left the camp. For eight days and eight nights-" "Without food or drink." "-without food or drink she went out into the wastes. Until there she found it. The biggest, meanest, ugliest boar you've ever seen."
"Even uglier than normal" "Yeah, yeah. So this thing though, it has gorgeous tusks. Ivory, but with veins of reddish gold."
"Must've been some kinda spirit, you ask me." "Not that I did. So she raises her axe and charges. And there's not a boar living who wouldn't charge right back."
"Thing is, her axe blade won't cut the damned boar's hide! And then with a twist of its tusks, the handle snaps, and now she's unarmed."
"Well old Grannie could've run, but that'd just make the boar chase harder, right? So instead she squares off and headbutts the damned pig, right between the eyes, and it drops stone dead!"
"And we know all this, 'cause on the ninth day, Grannie heads back to the tribe, with the biggest, meanest tusks you've ever seen gleaming in her mouth."
"If not she'll be very confused to find me tending her bar. Something I can do for you magister?"
"Ah! I was wondering when you lot would get here. I'd be happy to take you down to the cellars to find it, but you'll have to wait a little longer. I've got another bartender coming on shift soon, and once he's here I'll be able to step away. Until then, Drandle's tab is open if you'd like a drink or two. He always feels generous when "
Moyen doesn't notice anyone paying any more attention than they already were...
"Ah the Machine Mage? A relatively typical evil overlord type, distinguished mainly by his armies of ancient Numerian golems, and his decision to make Absalom the target of his wrath. Quite unlike most of the Starstone's aspirants, to be honest."
The scholar shrugs, "Never been off the Isle of Kortos, truth be told. I try my hardest to leave the terrifying parts of explorations to adventurers like you. Mostly I succeed. Sometimes though, like with the Machine Mage, history makes its way here. Have you heard anything about this Sir Reinhart who will be attempting the Test of the Starstone? Everything I've heard suggests he'll just be one more alcove in the Shrine of the Failed, but maybe there's something I've missed?"
The Boartusks are happy to share a drink with Koruda. "So how about you two, got any stories worth spinning?"
"No, no, he's fresh from the Worldwound Crusades. From... Kenabres? I think it was Kenabres..."
"An elf... No, likely not. It's been near a millenium since Iomedae proved her worthiness. But after all, she still speaks to us through her priests and templars, and I see no reason to doubt the many contemporaneous accounts that speak of her undergoing the Trial. Why-"
"Excuse me." Heryn waves from behind the bar, "If Yargos can spare you a moment, Hallen just got here, and I can show you down the cellar. So drink up and let's go!"
***
You descend into the store room, a sturdily crafted stone affair filled with barrels and crates of assorted food stuffs and drink garnishes, beyond which is another room with a long narrow chasm stretching across it. "Oh, watch yourself on the plank; I'm so used to it I forgot to mention it, but the footing's a bit treacherous."