This is Lions of Katapesh, a repeatable scenario for Outpost III: Putting on the Ritz!
The event runs from March 30 - May 18, 2020.
Please dot & delete here.
The city of Katapesh sprawls across a valley of blazing-hot sand. It's one of the most wondrous cities in all of Golarion — a place of mystery and chaos, where cash is king and almost anything can be bought or sold.
It's blissfully cool this morning — at least for now. You find yourself standing outside an upscale restaurant whose tables are covered with checkered cloth — but even though it's the breakfast hour when such an establishment would be bustling with customers, the place looks totally empty. You've been sent here by Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul to meet one Yigrig Moneymaker.
As you hesitate outside the empty establishment, you turn and see some fellow Pathfinders nearby — the others who're here to receive their mission briefing.
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"Ah, my fellow agent!" Rene Hoyt takes the mug off his belt and lifts it in salute. "No, no goblins yet. And no clientele, either. Hmm... I do wonder what the local drink is here."
He crosses his arms in mild disappointment before extending his hand out to Karando Tull. "René Hoyt, at your service!" Hoyt is a man who appears to be in his late thirties, with graying hair at the temples and while still fit, he no longer has the body that he had in his youth. His face is easy-going, even though he does have bags and wrinkles under his eyes.
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A tall dwarf stands with his arms-crossed over a dusty suit of scale mail, his face a riot of blankness. An auburn beard spreads out from his face in the fashion of a pyramid, doing little to dispel his mien. He nods upwards imperceptibly at the mug-hefter, lifting his eyebrows a touch as he exhales.
"Chalek. Grimmerhamner."
The high-pitched voice almost squeals out of the dwarf, stopping conversations dead in their tracks due to the incongruity. The dwarf swallows, his auburn beard fading into his auburn-ing complexion. "I'm with you."
He then breaks gaze, continuing to gaze across the scene while casually opening and closing his hands to crack his knuckles.
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A tall man approaches, a finely-crafted shortbow slung over his shoulder. Lowering his hood reveals the shaved head and facial tattoos common among the Shoanti people of the Storval Plateau, as well as some elven heritage somewhere in his past. "Hello. I am Varret Alloissa, of the Shadde-Quah." Looking around, he adds "When I joined the Society, I did not expect to spend quite so much time this far from home."
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"Whereas I have come to appreciate the travel," a tall, extremely thin elf wearing a mask responds to Varret. "It helps me fill gaps in my memory."
He removes the mask, turns his head, and seems to be listening to... something. It gives everyone plenty of time to see that the features, and indeed the mask itself, identify this robe-wearing elf as someone from the far off Mordent Spire.
Suddenly his attention returns, and in a perfectly inflected Taldane he says, "My apologies. I am Zanderel Elerin, practitioner of the arcane arts. Perhaps I should attempt to detect any magical auras before we continue?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, whispering words of power to reveal magic nearby.
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An elegantly dressed elf with blond hair and striking violet eyes joins the conversation. "Yes, my bow here is magical. Zarindlara Aviar. And I have to agree about the travel. I want to see other place, of course, that's why I joined Benarry's faction, but I've scarcely been in Absalom! I have the distinct impression that my awful sister, she's a Venture Captain, you know, has been pulling strings to get me sent away on missions. Oh, Varret, good to see you again! We'll have to train together while we're out here, I want a rematch from that last archery tournament."
A goblin maitre d' gestures you inside. He's wearing a white shirt, black slacks, bowtie, and black suit vest.
He leads you through the restaurant, which is totally empty but for one goblin sitting alone at a table in the back. His back is to the wall. He's just now finishing his breakfast. He finishes chewing, puts his fork and knife on the table, and wipes his mouth with a silk napkin. The maitre d' clears the flatware and rushes off to the kitchen. The goblin takes a sip of espresso.
Please, take a seat. Thank you for meeting me in my time of need. His voice is a husky whisper.
I have a lotta respect for the Society. You’ve been good to my family in the past, and my family has aided your organization in return. But today, I sit before you, in a time of need.... in need of a favor.
You see, my family and I have been workin' on a trade deal between the cities of Solku and Oenopion. It’s a good arrangement, one where Solku gains the materials it needs to defend itself, Oenopion gains a new trading partner… and my family is rewarded for their efforts.
There’s only one issue standing in our way: a bridge must be constructed over the Elemion River. This bridge will connect the two cities. And my family will facilitate the safety and maintenance of this bridge.
It shoulda been a simple job… easy to pull off. But nothin's easy in this life.
The old goblin leans forward. Every night at the work camp, more of my children are pulled from their beds in the night. Presumed dead. Every shipment of aid I send gets attacked. The last one I sent didn't even arrive.
There is a lot of money riding on this deal. Bit this ain't about money no more. This is personal. Someone is harming my family and I can’t sit by and let that happen.
Do you understand? Do you know how important family is?
I have arranged a contract with the Society. To protect my bridge. To protect my family. Your organization will do this for me, and someday my family will do a favor for you.
My latest shipment of supplies is ready to leave. New workers and supplies for my bridge. I want you on it. I want you to see it safely to the bridge site. I want you to stop the attacks on the camp by any means necessary. I want the job complete.
When you get to the work camp, you'll meet Zig. Sweet kid… takes after his old man. He's in charge. He lights a cigar and leans back, gazing into each of your eyes in turn.
Nothing is more important than family. Nothing. I’m asking you to take care of mine. Do you understand?
Ygrig shrugs. Many people want to hurt me and my family. Just as many people want to hurt your Society. It's the cost of doing business.
I've been told that some sort of large animal has been attacking the camp during the night, and something else has been aggressive toward anyone that tries to leave or enter the site, no matter what time of day. Bandits? Animals? Accounts are conflicting, but whatever they are, they’re dangerous.
The mention of animals jogs your memories.
Chalek, Karando, and Zarindlara remember that the bridge's area is home to great beasts such as lions, panthers, dire wolves, and more. Such creatures might be responsible for the attacks on the camp.
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Chalek grunts and cracks his knuckles as he nods at the elder goblin's words.
He then steps up to René and leans in to the cleric, his curiously-high voice a sotto voce whisper.
"Hm. I've never known animals to be so aggressive as to come into a settlement like that. What sort of defenses are at the camp?"
I'm sure my boy Zig is doing all he can. They have wood and bulding supplies. I hope they at least built a fence. But they are not fighters, at least not like you.
Karando searches his memory of the the wilds of Katapesh. "Many dangerous predators stalk that area, but nothing we shouldn't be able to handle." He givs Yigrig a smile.
Ygrig nods. Thank you. I expect no less from the Society. He nods at Chalek as well.
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A cat runs up and sits in Ygrig's lap. The old goblin leans back, stroking its fur. He pauses and thinks carefully about René's question.
Years ago, I came to this country with nothing. Not even freedom. You can tell he's becoming angry just thinking about this phase of his life. I managed to liberate myself after my master suffered a very unfortunate accident. Afterwards, I taught myself to read and write — and to make good business investments.
And before slavery was outlawed in most places, I focused on one kind of investment: slaves. Goblin slaves.
I bought them from your Society. Your old venture captain, Phlegos Dulm, sold them to me on the side. But what he didn't know was that I freed them.
And those who chose to stay could earn an honest living like a good goblin, and become a part of my family. Many of them had opportunities to be placed in the highest households in Katapesh: politician's homes, merchant's guilds… your Pathfinder lodge. There, they earned honest livings as the cooks and dishwashers and servants. Sometimes, they'd do a little favor for their family, here and there. Small things. If they overheard something, they might let their family know about it.
I also have family up North. And South. You might say I have family everywhere. It's a big family.
He leans forward. I am telling you this so we understand each other, as business associates.
The whole camp is my family. All of those goblins. No matter where you are, or how far from Katapesh you are, you aren't very far from my family. So having our gratitude is nice, for you and for your Society, who I admire and congratulate on their ongoing success. Capisce?
Of course. Order anything you'd like. It is my gift to you.
The goblin maitre d' appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and takes down your orders.
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The dwarf shakes his head curtly at the offer from the maitre'd. He then clears his throat.
"Climbing gear."
The voice sings out, completely unsuited to the stout and muscular form. Much in the same way that a hill giant cannon-balling into a lake is, it is not subtle. Chalek coughs, the back of his hand scrubbing across his bearded face. He looks around.
"We might need climbing gear."
It's just as curious the second time as the first.
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"Is there something wrong with your voice, Chalek? I have met dwarves in my one hundred and forty two years, but yours is definitely unique. Is it a magical curse? I admit that I did not detect that. I likely can craft a tincture that will ease any pains it might give you."
The elf appears to genuinely want to help.
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Hoyt nods, his face losing its cheerfulness and turning serious after heating Ygrig's explanation. "That almost sounded menacing, if I didn't know we were in good, civilized company." His smile quickly returns after that statement.
"Ah, drinks. I'll have some rum. You wouldn't happen to have some Southern Squall now, would you?"
Climbing gear? The goblin spreads his hands, gesturing to the restaurant space at large. My fine establishment serves food and drink. I will provide for you what I can, but my family is not in that line of business…
He smiles at René. I'm glad we have come to a mutual understanding.
The waiter rushes off to prepare a Southern Squall but Ygrig casually puts up his hand; the server pauses immediately. I think my associates will take their drinks to go.
You leave the restaurant; Chalek is outside waiting. Together, you make your way to the staging grounds.
Pack animals bray and teamsters shout — you see a caravan of four huge wagons full of supplies, and around two dozen goblins. They all seem a bit nervous — understandable, given the circumstances.
The caravan's foreperson is a goblin named Muckmuck. He's pale, skinny, and constantly runs his hand through his greasy black hair. He gives you an ingratiating smile before turning away to manage the loading of supplies. You notice that unlike other caravans here, the wagons are pulled by camels. (Those among you with Goblin Lore or Society trained can explain that this is because goblins loathe horses.)
You depart Katapesh, spending hours in the delta before entering the wide and seemingly endless shrubland; the Barrier Wall mountains shimmer ahead, a pale blue mirage wavering on the Western horizon. This is inhospitable land — you drink what water you have, grateful to be a part of a well-equipped caravan.
You get a feel for the workers — many of them are here doing a job, or looking to improve their lot in life. They don't really have a "family" sort of feel. And they seem more and more apprehensive as you get deeper and deeper into the wilderness.
Muckmuck soon sidles up to your group. He chuckles knowingly to himself, in the fatalistic tone that only old laborers can truly master. You longshanks think you can protect us? You can’t save Muckmuck. You can't save any of us. Face the facts. We’re all going to die. Try sitting in the back and talk to the workers. You'll see how scared they are. Doesn’t matter what we do. We’re all going to die.
Tell you the truth, I didn't want to go. Yigrig reads too many books. He’s lost his mind. Family can survive without him. We should all think about leaving before he gets us killed. No help our minstrel lost his hand in that teethbrushing accident. That's why you don't brush your teeth like longshanks! Too much blood. Can’t play his lute anymore.
Tell you what. You want to help? You be the minstrels. Make fancy music; tell jokes; dance; tumble. Make goblins feel less likely to run away. Convince them we’re not all going to die. At least we can be happy for a day.
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Group intimidation of these pathetic souls is not what is called for - distraction is. The tool needed for the job...
Chalek's grim expression hasn't altered much since leaving Katapesh behind. He hasn't uttered another word. He remains stoic and taciturn, but at the nightly campfire, after the evening meal, he begins practicing long-jumping. Once he has the interest of a few of the goblins, he lays a finger on the side of his nose and points at the campfire.
Chalek backs up a good 10-15 feet from the flames, then races forward, his feet leaving the ground as he propels his dwarven form over the fire.
The dwarf lands heavily, but on his feet on the other side of the fire. Chalek quickly checks his backside to make sure nothing is on fire, then bows to the cheering goblins.
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Chalek easily clears the fire! The goblins, seeing such a stout dwarf so easily clear the fire, begin trying their own long-jumps…
A few of them barely clear the fire, but one goblin earns the nickname "Firehead."
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Hoyt kneels down near the campfire, extends his hands and begins to tell a series of really bad goblin jokes that would make most audiences groan. Among some of the select morsels told:
"So, I found a wizard the other day who specializes in potions and summoning genies... I asked him for a djinn and tonic!", he says winking. He rubs his hands and goes for another.
"Did you here about the goblin that got his left arm and left leg cut off?" He raises an eyebrow, seeing if he has their attention. "Well now he's all right!"
"I've also got some about elves and dwarves, too, you know!", he says good naturedly to the rest of the party. "They're like troll hide armor. They grow on you!"
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When Rene's jokes run their course, Zanderel sits by the fire and begins to tell a tall tale. It is one that has only loose connections to fact, as his memory is still patchy. "There once was a band of goblins in a place called Thistletop, who lived in peace and harmony-"
Blood. Screams. He weaves a spell that sends bolts of force into the body of a goblin...
He shakes his head, continuing. "A band of longshanks came, hungry and hurt. Their leader, Chief Ripnugget, was a tricksy sort-"
A goblin, mounted on a lizard, shouts obscenities and orders his people to battle. A warrior in scalemail rushes the chief, weapon slicing off the chief's hand...
"So he fed the longshanks, but only if they would wrestle their champion pig! Confident, they entered the sty. But this pig was not small, and the clever chief had fed the boar for years! It-"
Fire in the distance. A fort burns, columns of smoke leaving nothing to the imagination. And yet, an ancient Thassilonian still waited...
The fragmented images of Zanderel's past continue to haunt him as he tells a humorous tale of how a goblin chief pranked a band of adventurers for a whole fortnite.
Karando hoists the goblins high into the air — they laugh and tumble away after long moments high up in the moonlight — these are the bouncy kinds of goblins.
Varret and Zarindlara put on a daring show atop the pack animals — they do so well, in fact, that only a few goblins throw things at them (and none of it is on fire). Truly, an accomplishment.
René tells jokes to the goblin children, who soon learn to torment one another with "dad jokes."
The tale of Ripnugget both entertains and instructs at the fireside — the goblins are oblivious to and far-away looks Zanderel might have had in the telling. Morale seems to be lifted!
The goblins boo Varret mercilessly, but at least they enjoy doing it.
Muckmuck smiles. Good work so far. You all done making my people happy now?
Karando handidly beats the goblins at barrel-lifting. They are quite entertained at this longshank's prowess. You make good teamster! Maybe help us unlead at camp too!
You rest the night and wake the next morning to a very boosted group (you may, perhaps, even regret your extraordinary success since today the goblins so happy they constantly "sing" and roughhouse).
When you're hours away from the bridge site you stop to water the camels and eat lunch at a small oasis. Suddenly, the idyllic calm seems… too calm. Too quiet.
Chalek turns and sees four wolves approaching stealthily approaching from behind a nearby outcropping of limestone. Their jaws seem to glow with fire — these are no simple wolves!
As you were eating lunch, your weapons are not drawn.
Wagon attack! Round 1: Bold May Act!
Chalek
Doggo 3
Doggo 4
Zanderel
Karando
Doggo 1
Doggo 2
Varret
Zarindlara