GM Deneve's #Q1-01 The Sandstone Secret (Inactive)

Game Master Tonatiuh Ramírez

After your last mission you were given a few days off to relax at the Grand Lodge...

We will begin on March 17 2020

Nazgub stands on a street corner near the Grand Lodge, the Gnomophone balanced on his hip, playing Stump the Bard for the crowd. Anyone can put in a silver and name a song, and if he doesn't know it, they get two silver back.

Today has been...

Music Lore: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

...pretty good for him, although with the sun going down the crowds are getting a little rougher on the street.

A situation reinforced when three dock workers refuse to let him keep their silver when he plays their song, instead threatening him and mocking his unusual instrument, smacking off his hat and grinding it in the mud.

Cowering before the aggressive longshanks, Nazgub can only hold out his hand for them to snatch their silver back and swagger off down the road, laughing among themselves.

Dejectedly, and muttering to himself, the old goblin shuffles the weight of the Gnomophone and bends down to pick up his hat, intending to travel back to his lodgings.

Knowing that Inzo is going to be sent further north, and with Bert again no less, he's bustling about the streets of Absalom. His chore list includes:

Sharpen Shuriken
Find some warmer clothing
Buy some of the dragon hooch he had down in the shackles.

Luckily all three were performed without too much hassle, and returning to the grand lodge is a smiling, toothy, Inzo.

Upon seeing a busker nearby the grand lodge, he thinks to himself Why do all these goblins feel they've gotta come down to the big city and play tunes. It's like we think that goblins are the only ones with songs.

Ah well, better support in kind.

Reaching into the pocket his squeakily newleather jacket, his nobbly fingers return with coins.

"You might find a better crowd in the coins. Anyhow, have a few on the lodge" He'll toss silver pieces minted with the year of the open road symbol on them. Probably because the grand lodge has one of those tourist coin presses.

Nazgub catches the coins in his hat as they flash through the air, then stacks them carefully on the edge of the Gnomophone along with three of his own.

"Name a song then, young fang, you're due a turn at the game."

"Do ya know the one about Desna racing the sun?" an auburn-haired halfling calls out from the door to the Grand Lodge. She turns her head to Inzo as he whips his head around at her voice. "Milord," she says with a cheeky smile, sauntering forward, her egg-shell green silken robes flowing about her.

"My gran always used to sing it to us when we were on laundry duty. Whaddaya say, Song Man, do you know it?"

Nazgub smiles at being able to look someone in the eye easily as he talks to them.

"Desna brings songs to my dreams, she is the holder of the harmonies I chase, yes, I know all the Desna songs, I learned them first."

He starts a soft beat on the drum with his tail and starts making...

Performance: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Oh um, I don't really do songs much anymore. Not really mainstream from what I've seen. It's clear that he's uncomfortable, but wanting to impress another frostfur, he sings a short verse

"You be born, party's today
Fireworks, slugs, the goblin way
Rockets fly up, things go boom
If you're lucky you shake the room"

He scratches his head after that recounting of Frostfur bachelor songs.

...truly hauntingly beautiful tones come forth from the steel instrument, overlaid with an elegant harmony you've never heard from a goblin throat before.

It is clear he sings with passion and from the heart, and that Desna holds a dear place in his thoughts, from the reverence he treats the song with.

As the tones die away he slips one of his coins and one of the Open Road silver coins into his pouch.

"Another, perhaps?"

...Seeing Orla makes Inzo doubly embarrassed.

"Has Ambrus said we can go yet? Waiting a week has felt like a year. How can you lot deal with how hot it is down here!" Sweat drips down from Inzo's brow, much more used to arctic climates. Hearing that Numeria is somewhere north, he is imagining ice and snow.

He is also currently wearing his cold weather clothes he just purchased.

Nazgub's reverie slips as the other goblin sings, then he smiles as he continues, and laughs deeply from gut when he finishes.

"Haha, it has been a while since I heard that. I think though perhaps you do not know the point of this game, you are supposed to name a song and *I* will try to sing it."

Inzo looks back at the goblin, realising that he didn't even have to sing in front of Orla.

"Okay, well how about one from the mountains. One from the Frostfurs!"

Nazgub smiles indulgently, noting that the young frostfur in front of him still has not quite picked it up.

"Certainly, what would you like to hear? The Werewolf's Entrails? Doom Moon Gloom? Tasty Forest Fey? I know Shining Hoard, Deep Tunnel but it's in dragon so it would take a while to sing"

Inzo perks up at hearing the songs of his people. It's been over five years out in the wild mixing with all races, but rhyming couplets and songs about food are a deep instinct. "I am hungry. Sing me Tasty Forest Fey."

Nazgub beats his drum vigorously with his tail, creating dull thumps that reverberate in the ribcages of those watching, a beat that it would be easy to march to.

He starts hammering hard on the bells of his dulcimer and it becomes clear this is a martial song, but it stills startles several passers-by when he suddenly opens his mouth and starts shouting in goblin.

"Tasty forest Fey! Always fly Away! Chase them home, crack their bones, let the gore spray! Bite the Sprite, gulp the Grig, dodge the Jinkin curse! Remind the little flitters they could always have it worse!"

Slightly out of breath he finishes the song, and then collects two more of the silver coins that were in danger of vibrating off his instrument and falling on the ground.

"This time I must insist that you think of the song you would like me to sing yourself," he says, raising an eyebrow at Inzo.

Having spent the last few days running errands and catching up with his niece since their downtime has lined up for once Gabros is happy to run into some of his companions as he is returning to the lodge.
He leans on the wall a little way off and observes this odd goblin sing.

A tear appears at Orla's eye at the haunting Desnan song. She dabs at her eye with the back of her hand and takes a deep sighing breath.

"You are truly blessed by the Moon and Stars herself. What is your name, you sweet minstrel?" Orla smiles, drawing forth three silver pieces and placing them on top of his strange instrument.

She then draws forth a harmonica from the folds of her robes. "Now," she says with a grin, "please let me join in with you on the next song!"

Performance Check: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

Orla promptly drops her harmonica in a muddy puddle.

"Oh paprikash!" she curses, then breaks into a fit of giggles.

"This time I must insist that you think of the song you would like me to sing yourself," he says, raising an eyebrow at Inzo.

Roused by the acceptance of goblin culture in Absalom, Inzo will push for song from his country of origin, before setting out in the adult world. "Sing an 'omage to Irrisen. Sing Witch is Watching"

The old goblin's face visibly pales, but he rallies.

"W-w-witch is Watching?"

He composes himself.

"You know that she fell seven years ago, and she's not listening, if she could even hear us at all out among the longshanks?"

Nazgub fiddles with the knobs on the lute on the Gnomophone, apparently as a displacement activity as much as it needing to be adjusted, before looking back at Inzo's face and searching his eyes. He shrugs.

"The pledge means nothing now. But the audience commands, and so I obey. I assume we will sing it together?"

Inzo nods in the affirmative, and Nazgub returns to dithering.

"The original has no tune, but as an exercise I've come up with something...you should be able to pick it up."

He starts playing the lute section of the Gnomophone, once again accompanied with the drumbeat supplied by his tail. He makes eye contact with Inzo and bounces his head in time with the words he is singing, once again in goblin.

From goblin hearths to snowcaps far, Witch is Watching we.

Inzo's voice joins Nazgub, hesitantly at first but gaining confidence.

When sneaking free, biting longshanks knee, Witch is Watching me.
Ice is white, your bones alike, Witch is Watching ye.
A goblin throng, singing songs, Witch is Watching we.
Must pledge my soul, or hide in hole, Witch is Watching me.
What our Queen asks, become our tasks, Witch is Watching we.

The established cadence of the song shifts and the tempo changes.

In black of night you'll see her face, her bidding done or be replaced, Witch is Watching you.

Both goblins pause in their singing, and take a deep breath. The next line comes out in a rush, and each sings their own thing. It's clear that if a large group of goblins did this at once the noise would be cacophonous but personal to each goblin. Here, there's only two voices and both can be heard.

Nazgub: Nazgub of Clan Bitesmoon, Sire Grauler, Grandsire Icewound, pledges service as a Songkeeper to the Queen of Ice and Darkness.
Inzo: Inzo of Clan Bitesmoon, Sire Longlegs, Grandsire Grauler, pledges service as a Nightstabber to the Queen of Ice and Darkness.

Nazgub's eyes fly wide and he sits down suddenly, with the music experiencing a trainwreck halt punctuated with a reverberating crash from the cymbals. The silver coins bounce and roll across the ground, settling noisily in the sudden silence. From somewhere awkwardly under the Gnomophone comes a small voice.

"Nephew?!"

I have removed 3sp from my character sheet. They are yours, Nazgub.

Orla smiles and listens eagerly to the song, attempting to even clap along with the Goblin language that she obviously doesn't understand.

Perception (Sense Motive), Keen Senses (?): 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 7 + 2 = 20

She does understand the emotional discomfort experienced by the two goblins as they sing, and her claps slow and stop as she cocks her head at the song as it speeds up to its tumultuous finale.

When the song abruptly ends, Orla looks wide-eyed between the two.

"What. Just. Happened, y'all?" the halfling asks hesitantly.

Nazgub retrieves the scattered coins and the harmonica, and levers himself to his feet, a practiced move despite the weight of the Gnomophone.

Exchanging rapid fire goblin language with Inzo, he glances apologetically with a "one moment" face at Orla as he does so. Once he is again standing on his feet, he holds out the harmonica to her.

"If you like, I will strip and clean that for you later. We, uh, I, uh. I don't know how much you know about Irrisen."

He adopts a somewhat professorial tone as he slips into talking about his favourite thing, Music Lore.

"The Frostfur goblins have a song unique to the Irrisen region. The area has historically been governed by a Witch-blood Matriarch Queen, although no longer, and her will is enforced on all the creatures in her domain. To appease her, and signal our, uh, their allegiance, and warn their children, and scare their enemies, they had a song called 'Witch is Watching'. At the end of the song there is an agreement, a pledge of service, so the Witch knows who is singing when she hears it the lineage of the goblin is sung. It turns out this splendid example of the goblin form is none other than my nephew; his mother is my sister. And, actually, I'm supposed to have been looking for him for her."

He smiles toothily at Inzo.

"And now I've found him, I'm not letting him out of my sight. Frostfur is Frostfur."

He realises belatedly he never answered your question.

"And I am Nazgub, Uncle of Inzo."

Gabros chuckles slightly.
Just like me, though Inzo is not as accomplished as Petra. Though that is good, Nazgub can adventure with him. I don't dare go to the places Petra does, she went to Gallowspire for gods's sake
"Well sung you two. What good fortunes! A happy result of a noble undertaking.

Inzo's eyes go wide, textbook grin turning into a slack jaw. In an instant he whirls round and starts running. "I haven't gone back to the tribe I promise! I didn't steal the barrel of slugs! I'm innocent!"

Why is he here... No one has chased me in ten years. Oh why now! Just when my life was starting fresh.

Thinking he's under some kind of goblin arrest, Inzo sprints inside of the grand lodge.

Uncle Nazgub peers thoughtfully at Inzo's departing back.

"I mean... I say I won't let him out of my sight, but obviously, that's just a turn of phrase. On a related note, does anyone know how many exits that building has? Or if he has any of those slugs left?"

Running into the grand lodge, Inzo desperately engages in anyone who looks like they work in an office.

"Are any of you barristers! I need legal advice, pronto!"

As pathfinder agents look at him with quizzical faces, he scurries off further into the lodge.

I can't wait to find out that Nazgub is an agent and also on the same mission as Inzo.

The receptionists behind the desks lean over to look at Inzo scurry off. They gossip quickly as he vanishes deeper down the hall. "A barrister? Since when does a goblin need...?"

Nazgub wanders hesitantly into the Lodge, pausing in the doorway to glance around the lobby. He approaches the receptionists.

"Pardon me, did my nephew come through here? Frostfur goblin, decidedly overdressed for the weather, about this tall?"

He places his hand on his own head, transferring some mud from his soiled hat, notices, and wipes it distractedly on his vest.

"Could you direct me to the closest supply of slugs in the building? Or, failing that, did you see which way he went?"

Like they say. When it rains, it pours.

We have hit a bit of a snag, guys. Paizo on the website has the quest listed as a tier 1-4 game, but the PDF says and is built for tier 3-6.

So while Paizo confirms which one is it and if the tier 3-6 is a mistake, we will have to switch quests again. Sorry.

One of the receptionists eyes Nazgub distastefully, takes a deep breath and addresses the goblin while the others go back to their clerical duties, relieved of not having to deal with two crazy Frostfurs.

"Goblins", they mutter under their breath.

"Aren't you the new agent from the boon—, er, from the north? You're supposed to have reported to the Wandering Hearth over at the docks an hour ago. You did get the briefing, right?"

"Probably ate it", someone snickers.

"No, that information had not found its way to me, thank you for passing it on. And in that case..."

He steps back slightly from the front desk and inhales deeply, before bellowing at the top of his lungs, his voice lent force by literally decades of musical training.

"INZO SLAGATHAR BITESMOON. YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I'M GOING BACK TO IRRISEN AND FETCHING YOUR MOTHER."

Performance: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

The camera pans over the Inzo, frozen in a stretched stance as if mid-sprint. Sweat drips down his brow.

There's only one thing I fear more than a bitesmoon finding me. My MOTHER finding me.

Slinking in sight of Nazgub, Inzo works his way back to the main foyer.

"Uhhh... Hey Nazgub. It's been a while since the slug olympics hasn't it? It's ... it's good to see you."

Observing that Nazgub has been discussing with the other members of his group, Inzo infers "So you're coming with us to Osirion?"

”Oh, I insist that he does,” Orla tittters, clearly enjoying herself. ”Master Nazgub, I’m Orla Pfeffenpfoffer and we are in for a doozy of a good time down to Osirion, I do believe.”

"Don't encourage him Orla. Just wait until you have your own anthem. Well, Nazgub if you're coming along, do your songs still have the kooky feeling that makes you want to work harder?"

Soon the attention won't be on me, then everything will be okay.

"I certainly still know how to bring the best out in people, nephew. If we have a sea voyage to look forward to, we'll have lots of time to catch up."

He turns to Orla.

"A pleasure. Although, it has to be said, I forsee more than a small amount of difficulty rhyming your name. Is everyone packed and ready to go? I think I have everything."

He mutters under his breath as he unslings his pack and checks through it.

"Coffer, proffer, off her... that won't do, she doesn't look like a murderess."

"Well, I've got everything, except what we're supposed to be doing in Osirion. Orla did Ambrus give you the job?"

And where is Bert, and Gabros? Inzo is looking around for where his companions have gone.

Dear "Uncle" receives a stern talk to about yelling in the Grand Lodge. You are all asked to wait in a small room of the Grand Lodge where, I imagine, you all start to catch up. Before closing the door, the receptionist says, "The Wandering Hearth leaves in six bells time. Don't be late. I've heard the ship's captain has a temper."

You all recall a meeting you had with Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin just a day before...

"This one should be right up your alley. You've already got some experience doing this sort of thing in Aspenthar and you're the only team available right now. There's a new site we've come upon in Osirion and we need your help in digging it up. Report to the Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir at the Sandswept Halls for more details on the needs of the Osirion investigation."

(Going to wait a bit to see if the others show up. Will reach out to Hammick and Gabros by PM)

Orla laughs merrily at Inzo's question.

"How much of that dragon rum have you found in the past few days? We just met with Ambrus yesterday! We're going on the Wandering Hearth again - Captain Eynilla Vriggdahl, you remember her? They're sending us to Osirion to go explore something sandy!"

Hammick comes marching in.
"More gobbies? Hope ye aim is better than Inzo's over there.

And hands Inzo the plank of wood for him to practice on.

"Remember monster side, not Dwar...teammate side."

After making your introductions, you find your way walking down the busy streets of Absalom. Along the way, you see several agents of the city watch patrolling the district. Inzo has probably heard in his hunt for Southern Squall the rumor that there's a new division being formed, but unfortunately, no further information is forthcoming. Not to mention that most of it comes from the drunken Caileanites at the bars and, well, they do have a reputation for "enhancing" the truth.

As the crowded streets give way to the busy docks, it's not long before the profile of a familiar ship comes into view. A ship that Hammick Seaborn and Bert "Cannonball" Haaland hold dear in their hearts.

"Ahoy, pathfinders!", Captain Eynilla Vriggdahl hails you from the starport railing. She smiles warmly as she grants you permission to come onboard.

”Well met, Captain, and thanks for permission to board!” Orla chirps. ”We’ve got a new crew member in our group. This,” she says, gesturing to the elder goblin, ”is Uncle Nazgub! He’s a bit of a minstrel. I’m sure he knows a good shanty or two!”

”How’s things? Have you been able to make much use of the Absalom shipping avenues I routed for you on our last voyage? We went to the Shackles on our last quest, and you would have thought that we would have had more opportunity to learn nautical things, but darn Desna’s socks if we didn’t just wind up getting into a brawl. Anyhow - nice to be back on a sturdy boat.”

Orla laughs merrily at Inzo's question.

"How much of that dragon rum have you found in the past few days? We just met with Ambrus yesterday! We're going on the Wandering Hearth again - Captain Eynilla Vriggdahl, you remember her? They're sending us to Osirion to go explore something sandy!"

"Well at least someone has the job. Let's go to the Wandering Hearth eh Orla?"

As Inzo starts to move, he pauses and looks for his kin. "Come on uncle, we've got ta get a move on."

"Oh, does he now? We could use a bit of entertainment, Miss. I do hope he has some good ol' songs from the north. We all miss home dearly. As for your shipping routes, well here you have us! All the safe and better thanks to you.", she says hands to her hips.

Behind her, the sailors begin to murmur as they pass each other along their tasks.

"Oh, some entertainment might be good."
"Maybe the goblin will shoot those pointy things at the painted dwarven board again. Bet you 10 coppers he'll hit the dwarf side once again"
"Shhh, Captain'll hear you!"

"OF COURSE I CAN HEAR YOU! IF YOU'VE TiME FOR GOSSIPING, YOU'VE TIME TO WORK, YOU WORTHLESS SLUGS!", bellows Captain Vriggdahl.

Uncle comes out of the session in the lodge where he got a telling off clearly grumpy and muttering to himself.

"I'm rude, THEY'RE rude, did you hear what they said about eating orders, I don't know, I'm old but my hearing is just fine thanks."

Two minutes later as the party walks down the street the cloud passes on his mood and he's back to his chipper self.

At the docks he stands back a little, happy to let the people the Captain knows take the lead, but he waves cheerfully at the Captain when Orla introduces him and nods enthusiastically at the mention of Sea Shanties.

In fact he intends to pester every sailor for every shanty they know in case they have one he hasn't heard before and can learn it.

Uncle keeps glancing slightly nervously at the boarding plank, aware of how much maintenance effort would be needed on the gnomophone if he were to take a dip in the sea while wearing it.

After idly sitting on the stern of the Wandering Hearth for a few hours watching Absalom harbour fade into the distance. I know I need to get closer to him again. It's just harder than a double shift at the camp. I wonder what Bert would do.

Standing up, still bemused from the events from the day, but now with purpose, he goes to find Bert.

It's quick to find his old co-worker within the confines of the ship, and Inzo, now brandishing some shackles hooch, sits down next to his friend in the ship's mess.

Pouring a drink into two wooden bowls idly on the table, Inzo queries "Hey uhh, I've never been good at this, but I need help. You've seen my uncle is coming with us for this job. I love my fam, I really do. It's just, I haven't seen any of them since I was exiled from the tribe. I just feel like Uncle Naz is here to bring me back for some extra punishment."

Inzo throws his bowl back, and seeing that Bert hasn't touched his, Inzo picks out the floating oats from Bert's drink and tops it up again.

"I also... I've missed 'em. I'll be honest with yas. The camp was a family, and it's when I found people like you. Those I called my brothers. But nothing feels quite like blood family.

So what would you do Bert, if you were me?"

It's clear this isn't Inzo's first drink, as his dialated pupils grasp for any wisdom in Bert's response.

Steering clear of the grog. Hammick finds a nice place to have a seat.

Turning back to the lot of you, Captain Vriggdahl addresses Orla. "Well now, Miss. It's time to see how those updates to the charts fare." She cups her hands and yells out "WEIGH ANCHOR!"

The ship lurches into action as it's pushed away from the dock and begins its journey away from the Isle in the Center of the World and towards the cradle of civilization.

As "Uncle" begins to find his sea legs, a sailor goes by carrying a crate and says in passing comment, "Hope that wood of your instruments have been treated. It's going to get hot and humid once we hit Sothis."

The ships quartermaster approaches Hammick, gives him a plank and some red paint and a brush. "This one's on me. Think the goblin will be able to hit the plank this time?"

Orla smiles at the familiarity onboard the ship. She spends a good deal of the initial voyage near the ship's wheel, eagerly watching (with no small amount of trepidation) over her routes through the ship graveyard surrounding Absalom.

Uncle is a combination pest and help, and is difficult to make him stop being either.

He stands out of the way, his back to a solid object to help with his balance as he is decidedly not a fan of the way the deck goes up and down. But once he's picked his spot and settled in, there's constantly a tune in the air as he works minor magics to do his best to help the ship along his way.

He uses Mage Hand to lift small things up to the sailors in the rigging if they need them or drop them, Prestidigitation to clean things that need it (starting initially with his hat) and cool the water barrels, and he notices a stuck pulley in the rigging that he'll have a stab at freeing up if someone has a couple of tools.

But he also bothers every sailor with a free moment for the lyrics and tune of sea shanties they know, cheerfully augments the soundscape with Ghost Sound to have more seagull cries and creaking rigging when he thinks it's a bit dull, and has to be stopped lifting rum up to the lookout in the crow's nest.

It must be said he seems disappointed at how little other singing there seems to be going on around him.

While we await for Bert, I'm happy for Orla to weigh in on my scene down below the decks