I shall sing songs of your deeds.
— Traditional Varisian adage
Magnimar, the City of Monuments owes much of its economic good fortune to its thriving port, the Dockway. Though the salt-stung citizens of the Dockway are notorious for rascality, a few coins put in the right hands ensure that losses to theft are negligible.
Unfortunately, a recent spate of violent robberies has seen the theft of priceless relics, art objects, and culturally significant items from across the Inner Sea. Worse still, clues found at the crime scenes suggest that the party responsible for the recent crime wave may be a member of the Pathfinder Society.
The most recent robbery – just last night – has Heidmarch Manor in an uproar as Venture-Captain Sheila Heidmarch currently has all resident agents turning the mansion and its grounds over, searching for …
“Something Pathfindery –– is what I've been told.”
The Heidmarchs’ majordomo confides an experienced generalist Pathfinder, “Called Bo Goh Twang if you can believe that!” must have done something “Pretty crook,” to have raised the ire of his mistress to this level.
Having just arrived in the city and therefore considered above reproach, you have been ‘quarantined’ in the Sitting Room, awaiting orders on how the venture-captain plans to harness your talents during the current crisis.
Fortunately, the Manor’s chief servant has thought fit to serve Tandakshire Tea, or for those with a more salty disposition, mulled wine and devils-on-horseback while you wait for Lady Heidmarch to arrive.
As you reunite with old friends, or stare awkwardly across the study at strangers, it seems like the perfect time to introduce yourself …
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Andor stands in the room and looks around.
He looks like a human in his twenties with auburn hear and green eyes. His features seem Chelaxian but also have something else mixed in.
He is very thin and looks quite weak but agile.
He wears light mithral armor, has a rapier at his hip that is attached to his wrist with a very fine chain and wears loose clothing.
Under his clothing sometimes the holy symbol of Chaldira is visible.
"Hello everybody, I am Andor." he says with a stern look on his face.
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A woman in red attire with gold trim stands at the window, looking out, with a cup of tea in one hand and the saucer in the other. A short, lightly-curved blade rests in its sheath at the small of her back, and a holstered pistol sits on each hip; both seem to have an intricate engraving on the barrels, but it's hard to make out with them put away.
She looks out over the city. Marvelous, she thinks. The architecture, as always, is stunning.
But I bore quickly, as ever.
She turns back to her fellow Pathfinders with a smile. "You may refer to me as the Lady Vulpina," she states, crossing the room and sipping from her teacup without breaking stride. "Pleased to meet you, Andor."
Setting her teacup on an end table, she taps her chin with a gloved hand. "I have had angels on horseback, but devils... hm. Have you tried them, Andor? I hesitate..."
Her fingers hover over a toothpick as she deliberates.
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Leaning against the wall of the sitting room is an old man wrapped in winter cloaks. One hand rests on a scabbarded katana. He appears to be asleep.
As Lady Vulpina addresses Andor, the old man's eyes flick open and he sways forwards, propping himself up with the scabbard.
"Uh... Sleeping Sword! That's my style!" he says, before leaning against the scabbard and, improbably, falling asleep again.
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She turns back to her fellow Pathfinders with a smile. "You may refer to me as the Lady Vulpina," she states, crossing the room and sipping from her teacup without breaking stride. "Pleased to meet you, Andor."
Setting her teacup on an end table, she taps her chin with a gloved hand. "I have had angels on horseback, but devils... hm. Have you tried them, Andor? I hesitate..."
Her fingers hover over a toothpick as she deliberates.
Andor shakes his head. "To be honest I don't eat much ... so no!"
He turns to Sleeping Sword with a nod.
"I don't really get what you mean with the sleeping sword but I'm open for any style." he says with a sly smile.
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Vulpina's lips turn this way and that as she ponders, then shrugs, plucking one of them up and investigating it closely before popping it in her mouth, gently placing the toothpick onto her saucer.
"That is quite good, actually," she does declare, "reminiscent of the best of tavern fare, assembled with the grace of an artisan."
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Kneeling off to the side, as far from everyone else as she can justify without being literally as far as possible from them, are a tall, muscular Kellid woman and a wolverine. The woman is alternately giving the wolverine bits of dried meat from her pocket and vigorous belly rubs. Her furry partner reacts to all this attention much like a happy dog would, though it is much more pungent. Once the introductions have begun, she waits for a sizeable gap in the conversation to add hers in a rough voice: "I'm Kala. This is Stinky. He'll eat anything, but watch what you feed him, especially if we're not out in the open. He tends to live up to his name." One might notice that she's more comfortable talking about her animal companion than about herself.
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A tiny figure in deep green robes with pink trim looks up. She flips the hood to reveal herself as a scruffy, grey-haired ratfolk. On hand rests on a heavy spellbook she is constantly perusing, the other spins a pistol on an adjacent seat. A golden-furred rat chases the whirling barrel and squeaks incessantly.
"Greetings. I am Loam Yin," she says simply upon her turn for introductions. She looks a bit more animated talking to Lady Vulpina. "It hasn't been long. I see we've both sought to keep busy."
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Sitting close to Kala is a scarred half-orc. His full plate armor seems relatively unmarred and his glaive, leaning nearby, appears crafted by a master blacksmith. The keen-eyed notice a medallion of a multi-hued songbird under his tabard. He pets Stinky that shows some comfort with the animal. He nods at the gathered team. "Well met. Name's Korum. Kala's right, I'd be careful standing behind this fur ball."
“Ah, you’re all here.”
A tall, 30-something brunette of regal bearing stalks into the room. She wears a low-cut brocade dress that dips to her ankles and carries a darkwood staff topped with a stylized kingfisher in one hand, and a huge rolled map in the other.
She doesn’t look best pleased.
“If we haven’t met, my name is Sheila Heidmarch. My husband and I are the venture-captains of this lodge.”
She remains standing behind a broad writing table. “There was a violent robbery last night in the Dockway prefect at an exotic flower shop called the Dryad’s Trousseau. The latest of many that have plagued the Dockway in recent months.”
“The Watch have informed me they have an eyewitness with ‘irrefutable proof’ of the Society’s involvement in the incident. I would like you to investigate the crime scene, talk to this witness and get to the bottom of who is behind the effort to frame the Society.”
“Once you’ve found the guilty party, you can have them quietly done away with …”
She catches Korum’s eye. “Or brought to me in chains if you prefer, but I must have proof that you have found the right party.”
Lady Heidmarch smooths her long dress beneath herself as she sits at the desk. “I’d prefer you get down there right away, but if you have any questions I’ll try to answer them.”
“The Aspis Consortium is the obvious answer. They have been present in Magnimar much longer than we have.”
VC Heidmarch nods her approval at Andor’s note-taking. “But I’m always suspicious of the obvious answer. I'd suggest you keep an open mind.”
“I don’t want us handing our enemies any evidence of impropriety. I’d prefer you handle the investigation by the book.”
Heidmarch gives Loam Yin a stern look. “Maybe try talking to the watchman first. If you hit a snag, your natural charm might persuade them we’re doing this with altruistic intentions.”
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"Uh, wuzzat? You would frame an enemy, simply because it is convenient?"
The old man pauses in his tea drinking and regards Lady Vulpina from under heavy eyelids.
"The Way of the Sleeping Sword teaches us that cunning, without valour, is the mother of crime."
"Uh, what is the standard of proof in Magnimar? Testimony? Compulsion under magic?" Sleeping Sword asks the VC.
“I’m not looking for an easy out, Lady Vulpina. I plan on having the Society stay in Magnimar for a very long time.”
She nods along with Sleeping Sword’s lecturette. “No matter how ugly the truth is, I want the culprit/s isolated and then dealt with -- permanently.”
"Uh, what is the standard of proof in Magnimar? Testimony? Compulsion under magic?"
“Memories can be unreliable and witnesses often change their stories under the pressure of Magnimar’s justice system, Brother Agent.”
Lady Heidmarch taps the top of the table with a fingernail. “No, I’m interested in objective, tangible, forensic evidence. I would hope agents of your experience will know it when you see it.”
She then pulls open a bureau drawer, takes out a pair of envelopes and slides them across reluctantly to Lady V and Loam Yin.
You notice the sealing wax your faction heads have applied isn’t in their regular color. “Unfortunately I have received nothing from Ollysta Zadrian, Tahonikepsu or VC Valsin.”
“Perhaps the courier was waylaid?”
The venture-captain shrugs and smiles. “At least you’ll be free to focus on the mission’s primary goal.”
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Yikes. Kala is tongue tied and her mind is drawing a blank. Great. Another mission where I'm in over my head. At least I'll be useful at the end when we get them. Whoever they are... So I'm the muscle. That works. I can do that. Hey, maybe we need to do some tracking. She coughs a little and begins to speak hesitantly: "If-if we visit the scene of the crime, Stinky can try to pick up a scent and track it. He's usually pretty good at that." She never meets anyone's eyes as she speaks, just glancing around the room for a bit until the end, when she pours all her focus on Stinky, scratching him behind the ears as if that was the most important thing in the world to be doing.
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I've heard stories about this V-C. Hard to believe she's this cut-throat. Sounds like a true politician. Gonna have to keep a close eye on her. Got to watch Kala's back, 'n Stinky too. If Heidmarch turns on us 'n hangs us out in the wind, the poor kid might not now what hit her.
Ignoring the near request for summary execution, Korum asks, "I suppose you have someone looking in to whether or not the stolen items have some other value other than financial. Ritual, religious, magical or some other commonality?
“There doesn’t seem to be any connection, apart from the fact they’ve all been stolen from individuals or organizations that are rich and powerful.”
VC Heidmarch gives the impression she’s done talking. “Of the kind with the influence to lobby Mayor Grobaras to get the Society banned from Magnimar.”
She unrolls the map she brought into the Sitting Room, which turns out to be a plan of the entire city.
“I thought this might help you find your way to the Crime Scene. I’ve marked a few locations you may have heard of to help you get your bearings.”
Her finger traces a path between Heidmarch Manor and the Dryad’s Trousseau. “The most efficient route runs past the Old Fang Inn. The streets and architecture in that vicinity are typical of the Dockway.”
“Please don’t let me detain you any longer.”
“Oi, Pathfinders. Glad you came so quick.”
It’s a cold dawn in the Dockway, but the salt-sprayed streets already teem with activity. A young city watchman stands in the alley beside an ornately decorated storefront, the window frame adorned with baroque carvings of wild vines and flowers.
The young man continues, “Here’s the latest place robbed, last night by a group dressed like you lot. The shopkeep is laid up in the flat upstairs — his landlady’s taking care of him. She thinks it was Pathfinders too, but I talked her into speaking with you.”
The watchman gestures openly with his hands. “Look, I know you Pathfinders are all right. Cap’n Heidmarch’s done good in this city, so I’m happy to help you start sortin’ out what’s behind these crimes.”
“But public opinion is goin’ south. Like all the way to the Mwangi south, an’ right quick too. The sooner you figure out who the guilty parties are, the better.”
He begins departing to the far end of the alley, just as a scowling elderly woman opens the door and moves over the threshold to join you.
“Good luck.”
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"Uh, there's something that all of you need to know if you are travelling with me. My birth was cursed. Accordingly, positive energy is deadly to me and negative energy is invigorating. Do not attempt to use magic or clerical powers upon me that would heal an ordinary mortal - they may prove fatal! Instead, I carry numerous negative energy items that will serve to revive me should I fall."
Sleeping Sword shows the pathfinder a wand, a scroll, and a potion. The potion is clearly labelled in both Common and Tien: Sleeping Sword only! DO NOT DRINK!
"Fear not for my soul, for I follow the Empress of Heaven. May she light our way."
"Uh, Loam, is it? I noticed your spellbook earlier." Sleeping Sword hands the ratfolk another wand. "This bears a spell of mage armour. If you would use the wand on me when we expect combat I would be most grateful." The old man bows low.
Sleeping Sword leans against the wall of the shop, one hand on his scabbard under his heavy cloaks.
The Way of the Sleeping Sword teaches us not to put our foot in our mouth when soft words are needed. Let us see how these youngsters fare.
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Andor is slightly confused about Sleeping Swords explanation but accepts the fact that he probably should take care of his own healing.
At the store Andor nods at the guard.
"Thanks a lot for the opportunity to find out what is going on here."
He knocks at the door hoping that the landlady will be open.
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Loam takes Sleeping Sword's wand without question. "Fear not, the Prince of the Moon's agent will guide you now to forestall the Empress needing to direct your soul."
The ratfolk is noticeably less warm to the guard, but still seems appreciative of having more allies. "Dressed like us, you say? So, all dressed differently, or in our particular guises?" She shakes her head. "Never mind. We will ask the witness. My thanks."
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Vulpina takes the gentle chastisement like a water over a duck's feathers: it does not register at all.
She walks toward the front of the group, eager to put the best face forward-- and she believes (perhaps rightly) that that belongs to her.
"I wonder what it is that has everyone so certain," she says, partially to the watchman but mostly to no one in particular. When the door opens and the lady steps out, she turns to greet her.
"Pleased to meet you, although I do of course wish it was under better circumstances," says Vulpina with a slight bow-- which she hopes, given her fancy attire, will go further than usual*.
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At the sight of Lady Vulpina bowing to the angry-looking woman, Kala almost rolls her eyes. It is only the knowledge that this is the Society's last ditch effort to save their reputation that keeps her from doing so. Instead, she swallows her pride and bows as well, though not with nearly as much polish as Lady Vulpina.
Ugh! That was awful. I gotta get better at this people stuff. I suck!
“My name’s Soap. My friends call me Abrogail.”
The elderly lady glowers at you. “But it’s Mrs Soap to you young Pathfinder scallywags.”
“Not so tough now, are you? Now that the law’s here. Standing ‘bout as far away from an old lady as you can. Cowards the lot o’ you!”
“‘Cept for this young lady.” Mrs Soap takes a step closer to inspect Lady Vulpina at close range.
“Someone taught you proper manners from a young age. But it was somewhere foreign, weren’t it?”
The landlady waggles a finger. “I saw your reaction when that dozy fool spoke in foreign. You could understand him!”
“Anyways, wish I could say it was a pleasure. But it ain’t. Poor Mr Chert has quite a bit of bark off after his close encounter with your mates, and he’s relying on me to nurse him back to health.”
“Me! At my age! So if there’s no other questions, I’m off inside to attend ‘im at ‘is bedside.”
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"Uh, madam, if your Mr Chert is in need of clerical attention, this 'dozy fool' is a humble priest of Lady Sun, the Empress of Heaven. By Her Light I may be able to heal Mr Chert. Unless you don't want a 'foreigner's' help, of course. I would not wish to impose."
Sleeping Sword remains leaning against the shop wall, waiting for a reply. But one hand goes inside his winter cloaks and removes a wooden disk carved to resemble a sword held in front of the sun's disk. The old man lets the holy symbol down, and it rests upon his chest, secured around his neck with a leather cord.
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The Lady gives an understanding, polite nod. "We are of course happy to help you with any injuries," she offers. "However, we do actually have a number of questions. You see, this sort of behavior was not ordered by the Pathfinder Society-- we are explorers and researchers, not common thugs. As such, we are hoping to get a greater understanding of what happened-- so that we can find the true culprit, you see. I can assure you, if they are a member of our ranks, they will be dealt with most harshly."
Her nostrils flare at the final statement, hoping to show that she is taking this very seriously.
Her own face is clearly "foreign," but there is little she can do about that, and she would prefer to stay in her (somewhat) good graces by playing along... for now.
Somewhat mollified by your answers, Mrs Soap nods her head at Sleeping Sword’s offer – while she scowls.
“Only Lady Sun I know is Sarenrae. But if my late ‘usband was ‘ere ‘e could tell you – I’ll try anything once.”
“However, we do actually have a number of questions.”
“So get on with asking ‘em! I ain’t got all day.”
“You see, this sort of behavior was not ordered by the Pathfinder Society-- we are explorers and researchers, not common thugs.”
“Oh yeah? So how come one of ‘em dropped one of those flashy compass thingies while Mr Chert was being dragged into the street?”
From an apron pocket, Mrs Soap produces what appears to be a broken wayfinder. She steps forward to meet Loam Yin, thrusting it into the spell-slinger’s paws.
“Got a clever answer to that, ‘ave ya?”
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Loam keeps herself from saying something regrettable, instead taking a moment to look over the wayfinder. "It's possible the offender was a member, but acting of their own volition. On the other hand, they could be trying to implicate the Society. With your cooperation, we intend to narrow the possibilities." She tilts her head slightly at Mrs. Soap. "These keepsakes are nearly always magical. Is this one is among their number, or a clever fake? Let us see..."
The item *glows* with a faint evocation aura.
On closer inspection, Loam Yin identifies the Glyph of the Open Road on the inside lid and finds a Tien engraving on the base.
ボウ・ゴーズ・トゥワン
Mrs Soap crosses her arms. “So how’s your ‘we were framed’ theory holding up?”
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While still holding position near Kala, the paladin advises, "That can be easily checking into. It's also possible the agent lost it, or has...passed on. In such a case, looting has been known to happen." Korum hands his weapon off to hunter.
He then moves closer. " Mrs. Soap, I understand this is a trying time for you. The thought of outsiders coming in and terrorizing your friends, stealing from them, placing their livelihood in jeopardy, must bring such a feeling of violation." He continues walking up. Gesturing to the team, "We find ourselves in a similar place. Some honorless band is running around Magnimar, THE City of Monuments, tarnishing our reputation." Korum looks at matriarch's eyes, "And its working. Perhaps as little as a week ago, if we had met as strangers, you would have afforded us the opportunity to prove our character. To earn each others trust from a place of common neutrality." He shakes his head with a sense of regret. "But, it ain't like that now. There is a specter of fear and distrust between us. And not just you, all citizens of Magnimar are calling into question their relationship with The Pathfinder Society. There is no way for a warrior to fight that kind of injustice. No blade sharp enough to cut it in twain."
"So, we're here now. Here to find out what's really happening. If it is one of our own, we will not bury that fact. Whomever it is responsible, I swear to you, they will face justice."
The half orc places his hand out in an earnest offer of friendship. "My name's Korum of the Silver-Eyed Wolf. My blade and soul are sworn to Shelyn, Goddess of Beauty. Your city is a wonder, and I will not tolerate further despoiling by anyone's hand."
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Kala accepts Korum's weapon on cue, confused at first, but soon realizing his intent. Wow. He's good with words. Dang. ... I'll just stay back here then. Don't wanna ruin it. Instead of joining the group, which she half feels she should and half feels she's unworthy, Kala crouches to give Stinky a nibble of dried meat and a good scratch behind the ears. "There's a good boy!"