The invitation you received was covered in neat, but meandering handwriting.
Esteemed Pathfinder,
I have need of experienced agents for a task of some delicacy - well, delicacy and perhaps a bit of, shall we say, "enthusiastic adventuring" if things don't go according to plan. Not that we really ever have things not go according to plan, but sometimes the plan takes a lot longer to work out, and sometimes the plan is less of a process and more of an afterthought. But remember, it's always important to figure out what you're doing!
Now, where was I?...
(Several doodles of various wine bottles and glasses fill this section)
Oh, that's right! You need to know the plan! Well, if I've tickled your fancy, then meet me at the Lark and Thistle cafe in Absalom tomorrow morning. Just tell the waiter you're there to meet an old friend and ask if he has any books you might enjoy while you wait - he'll know what to do.
Kindly Yours,
- VC Drendle Dreng
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Nalaia, not used to being first in the room, walks in, her brass-lined armor clanking as she moves. She tries, unsuccessfully, to put her longspear down on the wall, and as her hands leave it, the runes along it's blade glow red-hot as the spear flies across the room. It sticks into the doorframe with a satisfying THUD. She shakes her large half head of hair, her dark purple skin and red tattoos almost shaking with anger.
"EVERY TIME!" she shouts. "I just want to be able to put something down ONCE. STUPID GHOSTS!"
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Rossby looks around the room with his purple eyes. He picks up Nalaia's longspear and walks it across the room with a slow gait. He starts to hand her the longspear, but then realizes it's bound to happen again, so he rests it on the wall where she had intended to put it. He leans his polearm next to hers.
He sits down with an audible sigh, and calls to the bartender for the daily fish.
"Rossby," he introduces himself.
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"Thanks for not, you know, handing it to me. Ever since I stared at the void -- trust me it started back -- I've been known to attract a few ghosts here and there. Most of the time they just throw stuff around lightly, but I've had a few of 'em ruin some sneaky stealthy stuff too." To point her words, Nalaia jumps at the sound of her spear hitting the floor. "Best to just leave it like that, I guess."
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"I agree. Best to leave before someone gets hurt. In fact, maybe never pick it up again," says a man who has apparently been standing just outside the doorway for a bit now.
He wears a cloak of red trimmed with bands of leather stitched along all sides. He has a small blade, a leather sap and two pistols at his belt, one with a straight barrel, the other flared at the end. The hat atop his head only partially covers his shoulder-length black hair. His face and hands are a deeper shade of crimson than the cloak he wears. His face has the thinnest hint of stubble along the jawline.
"My name is Rami."
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"Hello, mates."
A muscular 20-something female enters the room, taking up a position equidistant from the other Pathfinders. She wears a man’s plaid flannel shirt under gray chest-waders, tucked into high leather boots. After searching faces and failing to recognize anyone, she offers a casual salute.
"I’m Gervase – fighting sailor." The woman leans her polearm beside Rossby’s, ensuring the butt-end touches Nalaia’s fallen longspear.
White teeth and a broad grin appear naturally. “You have my hammer.”
"I've been known to attract a few ghosts here and there."
“You lucky thing.”
Gervase fishes in her backpack for a wineskin. “I only seem to attract trouble.”
She smiles again. “Rossby, what fish would you recommend to accompany a cheeky pale vintage, bought this morning on the docks for a copper after being aged to perfection in a woodshed fully for four weeks?”
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“Yeah, they’re a good shot, huh? Wish I was that consistent.”
Gervase plonks herself cross-legged on the floor, places a longbow across her lap and begins testing the tension on tiny steel pulleys and wire. “I get that you’re frustrated by the inconvenience. But if there’s a yin to that yang, you must have received some cool gifts too.”
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“Rossby, what fish would you recommend to accompany a cheeky pale vintage, bought this morning on the docks for a copper after being aged to perfection in a woodshed fully for four weeks?”
"I can recommend a fish, but I know nothing of wine!
One of the greatest things about human cities is their amazing ability to import things from afar. Some of the cold water fish from Varisia - tuna, salmon - are magnificent. The local fish - mostly trout - are good but bony."
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"I mean, some of my spells seem a bit more effective than most, so I guess I've got that going for me! Oh, and I can walk on moonlight sometimes! Not entirely sure it was worth the trouble of ghosts, but I have been told by a wizard or two that I'm lucky my Color Spray is particularly effective. Some even say I'm lucky I can cast that spell given where my powers came from. But, if we're being honest, some days I wish I didn't have this..."
Nalaia is interrupted by a waiter delivering fish. She flags him down and runs off to get a plate herself. She carefully sits down with a new plate, making sure to keep her hand on the plate so it doesn't fly away. Though the fish seems to flop around, evading her fork as she eats, she seems completely complacent with the situation. At least the ghosts are starting to get predictable with how they move my food around.
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“I can recommend a fish, but I know nothing of wine!”
“Well, ser. You are one up on me.”
Gervase takes a sip of her cheap vino and makes a vinegary face. “Clearly, I know nothing of either.”
“Server! I would sample your grilled trout. Do vegetables accompany it?”
The ranger confides to Rossby. “I am not afraid of bones, ser. Indeed, I am only afeared of two things!”
“Fear itself and … carnies.”
"I can walk on moonlight sometimes!"
“Wow, Nalaia! Are you pulling a young sailor’s leg? Walking on moonlight ... I have crossed an ocean (there and back) and never heard of such a thing.”
Gervase’s eyes widen like an owl’s. “I would tolerate the antics of poltergeists for a goodly length of time and call that an even trade.”
“Why if you threw in the ability to bind your enemies with rainbows, I would consider myself ahead.”
The fish seems to flop around, evading her fork as she eats.
“Cayden’s Bar Tab! Do they never get bored of their games?”
As the Pathfinders finish their fish and set their forks aside, the wait staff smoothly move in to collect their utensils and clear the table. As they leave through the hanging curtain, the last halts suddenly and turns around. "I do hope you'll be staying for desert," he announces before striding to the end of the table and taking a seat. He pulls off a fake beard and wipes his face on a pristine white napkin, revealing a familiar face behind the light makeup. "Ah, that's better!"
The wait staff return with small plates and even smaller forks, setting them down with practiced grace before leaving the room once more. The Pathfinders dig in - discussing the forthcoming mission over a light desert of chocolates and fruit is a welcome change of routine from Venture Captain Drandle Dreng’s usual midnight requests.
“As you well know," the venture captain says through a mouthful of sweet wine, "the Society has a need for discreet ways of moving goods into and out of Absalom. Over the last year we’ve developed some reliable routes through the sewers and caverns underneath the city and this has worked well for us until recently.
“Over the last few months, a tribe of kobolds calling themselves the Sewer Dragons started disrupting our supply with traps and ambushes. We know of several tribes of kobolds beneath Absalom, and generally, they are only a nuisance, but these have proved particularly troubling. They have blocked a few vital deliveries of late and some Pathfinders have disappeared. The Decemvirate is starting to get concerned." He pauses to wipe a speck of chocolate from the corner of his mouth before continuing.
“I need you to track down these Sewer Dragons and resolve this problem. I would prefer you make an effort to negotiate a truce of some sort with these pests. While I have little respect for the reptilian creatures who plague our sewers, I suspect if we exterminate them, some other threat will ll in the void they leave behind.”
Dreng pauses a moment to finish eating a candied peach, then continues. “You could wander around the sewers for days and not find one of these Sewer Dragons. Fortunately, I have found a resource for you. A few years ago they hired a Taldan scholar by the name of Emral Xarcious to tutor the tribal leader’s children. I suspect Xarcious can lead you to the Dragons.
“The Decemvirate has a shipment of antiquities coming next week and I expect this situation to be resolved by then. It’s up to you to ensure the shipment goes o with no hitches. There is no time to fool around - you need to get moving.” The venture captain snags a strawberry from the table next to Nalaia's plate and raises an eyebrow as he waits for questions from his guests.
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"They've given themselves a name, that likely means they've organized and a leader has risen among them. We'd best track down that leader."
"I can't say I've met this particular tribe, but I suspect what motivates them is no different than what motivates others, wealth, territory, food, water; survival to sum it all up."
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"I'm not well-versed with kobolds, but I know enough that we should be ready for traps. Is there a trapsmith amongst us?"
"They hired a Taldan scholar by the name of Emral Xarcious to tutor the tribal leader’s children."
Gervase remembers her own school-days, and the less popular teachers she endured. "Were the Sewer Dragons satisfied with Master Xarcious' performance, Venture-Captain Dreng?"
"Not all Taldan scholars are as tolerant and diplomatic as your good self."
The ranger pushes an untouched plate of sticky date pud towards the table's center and leans back in her chair to think on Rami's words. "I suspect something is horning in on the Sewer Dragons power base, which has caused them to change their behavior."
"I can't believe kobolds have successfully abducted multiple Pathfinders. They're not going to risk retaliation from a powerful soft-scale tribe like the Society unless they already face a significant threat. Perhaps the Sewer Dragons are being framed?"
"I suppose this activity could also be a cry for help. Regardless, I agree our first move should be diplomatic."
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Rossby looks at Dreng rather harshly.
"These are sentient creatures who have social hierarchies, cultures, and free will. It is unconscionable that we wouldn't go in as diplomats first and warriors second."
Rossby turns to his fellow adventurers, his tone taking on that more of a pleading missionary than anything.
"My fellow Pathfinders, this is how I died. It was people from the Pathfinder Society who stormed my peoples' homes and murdered us all. We were not considered people, we were just ... things. We will show our foes the respect and honor afforded to all living things, and in doing so, show the Pathfinder Society a more-" he glares at Dreng purposefully "-civilized way to behave."
"Where can we find Emral Xarcious? Is he likely to help us, or will we have to convince him?"
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"I can help with floor based traps. My moonlight bridge will handily cross right over 'em. And, the poor fools are likely too weak to do anything against my colorful magic, so I applaud you in picking a good set of agents for the task, unlike a few other venture--"
Nalaia is interrupted as he fork drops from her hand. It falls straight for 6 inches before it's redirected dangerously close to the venture captain's head. In an attempt to keep Dreng safe, she foolishly lets go of her plate in an attempt to catch the fork. This causes the plate to fly one direction, and the fish to fly upwards. She doesn't grab the fork, and the remainder of her fish ends up clumsily hanging from her forehead as it slaps her face with a thwack.
"I'm....sorry about that. Rami, uhh, you get the traps we can't just....walk over...right...." she croaks before turning to the Venture Captain. "Uhh, kobolds are those weird little dragon things, right? Hence the name?"
"Where can we find Emral Xarcious? Is he likely to help us, or will we have to convince him?"
“Xarcious had many vices," Dreng answers, calmly plucking Nalaia's fork from his beard and passing it back to the tiefling. "And I think he did a fair amount of gambling. I have heard he’s gotten into some problems down in the Puddles, but beyond that I’m not sure. If you have trouble finding him, you might look for a gentleman named Greeves. I understand Xarcious owes Greeves a substantial amount of money, and Greeves is likely to know where to find him as a result.”
"Uhh, kobolds are those weird little dragon things, right? Hence the name?"
The venture captain shrugs. “Who knows why kobolds call themselves what they do? This particular tribe likely claims some draconic heritage upon which they have built the mythos of their own superiority. Some of our agents who’ve encountered the tribe recently claim they’ve seen an actual dragon fighting with the Sewer Dragons, while other agents have found scorch marks on the walls down there.”
Dreng stands, wineglass in hand. “As for reaching an agreement, we can fence goods for them and get them supplies at reasonable prices. We can also get goods into the city for them. If the rumors I hear about alchemical substances and traps are true, perhaps we can purchase items they produce for our own use in the field." The venture captain takes a sip and looks sternly at the Pathfinders. "Under no circumstances do the Decemvirate approve any sort of tribute or ransom, however, so if that’s all the kobolds want, you’ll need to use your most convincing tactics to get them to change their minds.”
"Now then, the wait staff are quite ready to go home. I look forward to hearing of your success before that shipment comes in. Ta-tah!" And with a whirl of his apron, Drandle Dreng departs.
In the morning, the Pathfinders have time to conduct any research they might wish or ask around about these Sewer Dragons - as well as their only leads to finding them.
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Rami starts putting the word out for the Sewer Dragons and Xarcious in the morning. When the group meets up later he tells them what he has learned.
"I found out the name of the tribe's chief. It is Kibizax. They say he has a dragon ally and is a sorcerer. Lightning appears to be a favored weapon of theirs."
"As for Xarcious we should talk to the moneylender Creeley Greeves. It appears that no one has seen Xarcious in a month and all signs point to him leaving in a hurry."
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Gervase spends her morning searching the Docks and Coins districts for a citizen of Jalmeray who may be sympathetic to cause of the Impossible Kingdom’s opposition leader, Zamir.
"A thousand pardons, ser. Yes, the Thakur certainly is the rightful ruler who should enjoy the loyalty of all his subjects."
Sheesh. I'm getting nowhere!
Once the group reunites, the ranger nods in agreement with Rami. "Good to know my friend."
"Let's see if the shylock Greeves shows any interest in setting us on Xarcious' trail."
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"Okay, so What Rami and Rossby found is accurate, and apparently the leader dude is an OOoooold boy. Supposedly he's planning to turn the tribe over to one of his two children, the elder daughter Yiddlepode and younger son Yippitok. Kobold names are weird."
"Greeves. Yes. We should be able to find him in a former watch station in the puddles. It's low tide now, right? Should probably go quick. If not for the tide then because a few days ago one of Greeves's purchases seemed to go a bit unfavorable with a slave trader. Greeves wasn't happy with the outcome of his attempt for a skilled slave. Not sure HOW, but he wasn't happy."
Despite the generally dry weather in Absalom of late, the streets in the Puddles are filled ankle-deep with muck, and the local mosquito population seems to have doubled. The Puddles District is miserable even on the best days. In spite of years of neglect, the old watch station Creeley Greeves is rumored to have adopted as his place of business has fared quite well. The grime-covered granite walls are still solid and the rusty bars on the windows are still thick enough to hold for years to come. An old, nearly illegible sign reads “Watch Station Four”. A quick walk-around of the building reveals a waterlogged wooden door on one side and a set of double doors on the opposite side. Both sets of doors are closed.
As Gervase heads around back, the other Pathfinders assemble at what looks to have been the front door. Nalaia knocks, and from the other side of the door she hears voices and dull screeches like chairs scraping across a hard floor. "Who's there?" a muffled voice asks gruffly. "Whaddaya want?"
"Eh?" the voice asks in surprise. "A certain individual? Can't ya be more specific than that?" A hork and a spit interrupt the speaker for a moment before he continues, "Besides. I don't know you."
"Alright, alright, just a moment," the voice calls from the other side.
After a few seconds, the door screeches horribly against the ground as it opens outward, revealing a squinty-eyed man on the other side. "Alright, door's open," he growls. "Now, who you lookin' for?"
The man doesn't push back as Rossby forces his way into the building, but a snap of his fingers brings his two companions to their feet to surround the Pathfinders. "Xarcious, eh?" he replies to the warrior, pausing to spit on the stone floor. "I might know where to find that lying cheating penniless bastard, but talking to him won't do you no good. We've," he cracks his knuckles, "persuaded him to pay what he owes, and I'm afraid he's still quite lacking in funds. But you make it worth my while..." He leaves the idea hanging in the air.
The man spits again. "Twenty five pieces of platinum," he answers. "Take it or get out of my office." Even on the other side of the closed door, Gervase can hear the greed in his voice.
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Gervase steps back 5' and jams the spiked end of her polearm in the gap beside the door handle and attempts to lever the door open.
"Did someone call for a random act of violence? Delivered to your door?"
"Greeves, just give up the info. It'll save you a trip to the healers, which will work out cheaper in the long run."
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The man spits again. "Twenty five pieces of platinum," he answers. "Take it or get out of my office."
"If we leave, you lose. We either find him without you, in which case we get paid and you don't; or we don't find him and nobody gets paid. You don't get paid either way.
I don't like you. But you have something we want, and we're willing to make a reasonable trade. We can introduce you to the so-called Sewer King of Absalom, whose subjects may enjoy your loaded dice as much as Xarcious does."