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Orla crosses in front of the doorway to the mess hall twice before coughing loudly and entering. She gives Inzo a concerned glance as she comes up on him and Bert.
"Boys, we're going to have a long sea voyage to Sothis. Maybe hitting the sauce later in the journey would be more prudent, yeah?" She catches the heavy air of angst coming off of Inzo and immediately sits down, a soothing expression lighting up on her face.
"Oh Inzo, honey, something's troubling you. What is it, love?"
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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.
Just as the boat begins to move there's a yell from the docks then the sound of boots hitting the hull.
The sailors pulling the mooring rope up burst out laughing as they haul on the rope.
"I think you have forgotten something." calls Lord Gabros Orlovsky as he appears over the edge of the ship holding the end of the mooring rope.
Standing on the railing he whips the hat from his head and gives a dramatic bow.
"Hello everyone. Did you miss me?"
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"Oh Inzo, honey, something's troubling you. What is it, love?"
Inzo looks across at Orla, and it's clear that he's looking for a friend "I don't expect you to care much. I mean we've only known each other a few weeks. Just family troubles, ya know.
Drink?"
Inzo refills his wooden bowl, sending an assault of ethanol up Orla's nostrils.
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Bert looks up blearily at Inzo's approach. Though it is early, a pair of empty bottles are keeping him company.
"Mate, you brought more t' drink? ow' I've missed yeh. Had to get some liquid courage in meh to stomach another ride aboard this cursed ship. Sailin' into bleedin' storms an' being wet all the time. An' then when we finally get off it's so hot even meh beard drips with sweat."
Inzo's words however cause him to pause in his drinking. He tugs at his beard, rubs his head, then wipes his eyes as if trying to find the source of some fine wisdom to impart upon the goblin.
"Oh hey Orla," he nods at the halfling before turning back to Inzo.
"Listen mate, I dun remember the specific particulars that got yeh tossed from yer folks in the first place, but think about how tiresome the journey all the way to Absalom was for us, an' we had hopes an' dreams of wealth and glory - as well as fine company - to spur us on."
His words grow stronger as he becomes more convinced by what he's saying.
"Either yeh did somethin' unspeakably evil an' yeh might as well be the whisperin' tyrant himself or else this uncle o' yers really does care about yeh, enough that he came all the way here by his lonesome. Least yeh got a chance to bond: nothin' pulls people together like a bit o' panic-inducing danger. Yeh'll either be better friends by the end o' this or I'll have been driven t' madness by what he thinks is music."
Bert finally grabs the drink - throat parched from so much talking at once - and downs it. "Bleooffffhhehgggg, pah, that's some stuff.
Sailors clap enthusiastically and cheers can be heard by Gabros' entry and Nazgub's accompanying music.
"I'm surrounded by clowns", Captain Vriggdahl mutters under her breath as she watches Gabros on the railing. "Although it seems you don't give a damn, permission to come aboard granted, sir. The rest of you, get to work."
"This is going to be a long trip", she thinks to herself.
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It does turn out to be a long trip, at least for Captain Vriggdahl as she has to cope with everyone's antics and the breaking of discipline among her crew. She is quite relieved when the Wandering Hearth makes port at Sothis and perhaps a little eager to see you all go. "Take care!", she wishes you all as she goes back to berating her crew for getting carried away. Words such as "merciless sea", "death", "responsibility" are carried by the wind.
It's late evening when you make landfall. The docks are busy with people loading and unloading cargo. The heat, while not sweltering is slightly fresher with the coming of dusk.
By the time you arrive to the Sandswept Hall, the Pathfinder lodge in Sothis, it's nighttime. You are taken to your rooms to rest as Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir will see you in the morning.
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"Either yeh did somethin' unspeakably evil an' yeh might as well be the whisperin' tyrant himself or else this uncle o' yers really does care about yeh, enough that he came all the way here by his lonesome. Least yeh got a chance to bond: nothin' pulls people together like a bit o' panic-inducing danger. Yeh'll either be better friends by the end o' this or I'll have been driven t' madness by what he thinks is music."
"You can be sure it wasn't evil! To be fair, I'm not squeaky clean. I did take a few slugs from the barrel. Tasty they are, at least to goblin lips. I got framed though, and because I was seen with slugs and going where they were stored, it was all over for me.
I just hope Nazgub believes me."
Inzo looks downward at his drink, and sighs audibly.
"I never wanted to let them down. My own mother cast me out."
After a break, he looks up, either bravened by the alchohol, or inspired by the words of his allies.
But at least I found people like you, and maybe uncle will be the same"
Getting up, the frostfur goblin makes his way to the deck. Nazgub is probably badgering/emboldening sailors, but Inzo doesn't mind.
In between a stumble and a jog, Inzo wraps around Nazgub in an embrace "It's good to see you uncle. I didn't take the slugs, but I did eat some. It's... It's good to see you again."
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Uncle accepts the awkward hug from his nephew.
"My boy! I really think you've gotten this a bit mixed up, but no bother. I'm here because your mother asked me to keep an eye on you. I've been out among the longshanks forever, I left because the clan were considering eating me... you have nothing to worry about around who may or may not have eaten a prize-winning slug athlete as far as I'm concerned. You've grown up into a fine example of the frostfur form since I saw you last."
Later, in the mess, Orla and Uncle sit across a table from each other, the hanging lantern gently swinging with the motion of the boat and the waves. With obvious care and skill Uncle removes the shell of the harmonica and exposes the valves inside. Humming a little ditty, he uses Prestidigitation to clean the loose dirt, fluff, grass, pollen and pocket lint that have accumulated in it over its lifetime. That done, he peers carefully down each valve and pauses to squint more closely down one.
"Your B is flat," he says, and starts to hum a different tune.
Orla starts to respond, but then Uncle extracts a squashed bee from one of the valves with the Mage Hand spell he is casting and places it on the table. He continues his focused activity and carefully refits the shell on the harmonica, absent-mindedly stuffing the bee in his mouth halfway through the process. Wiggling it slightly to check all is right and tight he nods to himself, and places it on the table in front of Orla.
"Good as new!" he proclaims, beaming.
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"My boy! I really think you've gotten this a bit mixed up, but no bother. I'm here because your mother asked me to keep an eye on you. I've been out among the longshanks forever, I left because the clan were considering eating me... you have nothing to worry about around who may or may not have eaten a prize-winning slug athlete as far as I'm concerned. You've grown up into a fine example of the frostfur form since I saw you last."
Inzo's eyes widen at hearing from his mother. "She does care about me! YIPPEE. It's great to have you along for the trip uncle."
With this, Inzo's dilemma is resolved, and is ready for the hot sands of Osirion!
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"He doesn't mean....actual slugs, does he?"
"I most certainly do Orla! The mighty archback slugs are commonplace in slug races, and redring slugs make for great travel snacks."
The following morning, you are taken to the shaded gardens outside the Sandswept Hall. The date palms provide a welcome respite from the sweltering sun. Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir, a thin, handsome man with a rakish smile and thin mustache, reaches up to one of the date palms overhead, pulling down a bunch of ripe fruit to share with the table. “They’re good for much more than shade, my friends. But I did not call you here to enjoy my garden. A few months ago, I finally received confirmation that we would be able to execute one of the last excavation permits issued by the Osiriani government. The site is a desert location where the dunes have shifted, revealing the beginnings of a staircase leading down beneath the sands. I was told that you had experience in matters archeological since the discovery of the alchemical lab in Thuvia, correct?"
“Unlike Aspenthar, the Osiriani government is protective of its cultural history, and with recent changes in their stance on allowing foreign archaeologists to work inside their borders, I wasn’t sure this permit would even stand. The bureaucracy was rather slow this time around, but it turns out we were approved before they stopped issuing permits. I’ve already secured your provisions, including camels, tents, food, water, tools to perform the excavation, and a map to the site. As you know, it may take many weeks to clear the site of debris. The desert can be unforgiving, so don’t hesitate to return here to rest as needed."
“The government has already sent guards to oversee the site and protect against any potential thieves. Remember —keeping up a good reputation in Osirion is vital to the Society’s continued presence here. Don’t antagonize the guards. Explore, Report, Cooperate.”
He pushes the plate of dates towards you as Garundi men and women bring you tea and water in mugs.
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Emboldened by his allies, Inzo wants to set a good impression by engaging with Norden Balentiir.
"You won't have to worry about us. I've overseen multiple worksites, and it's pretty easy to keep the workers under control. Even easier when it's Orla, she can't even say Desna's bloody wings without blushing!"
Applying a forefinger and thumb, Inzo strokes his wide chin, thinking.
"Any more robo-dangers or hellknights in our future ya think Norden? I must admit, this is only my second time to the sandy cities. Lovely and all, just a bit hot. ...Maybe I should take this jacket off. I originally thought we were going north to Numeria, but then I was told I didn't have enough jobs under my belt. Can't imagine what horrors are being faced up there."
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"Aw shucks, Inzo, that's mighty kind of you to think that I'd be able to handle a workplace. I've only had experience in running a house-staff, and I did that poorly." She winks enigmatically at that comment.
She turns to the venture-captain. "What do we know of this site, Venture-Captain Balentiir? Anything?"
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"An underground structure? Buried beneath the desert sands, you say?
I hope it's structurally sound, I wouldn't want to be in there if it collapsed. Oh, thank you," says Uncle, the last addressed to the Garundi man who has bent down to offer him refreshment.
He takes a tea, reaches out for a small handful of dates from the offered plate, and then dunks one in his cup - pausing with it halfway to his face.
"Actually, I would appreciate a chance to review the tool manifest before we go out. Wouldn't want to find ourselves short something we need out in the desert." The date finishes its trip to his mouth and he chews thoughtfully, then shrugs and dunks another. "I recently came into enough coin to afford some proper tools, I could use a set of Smithing equipment if there's someone in town who can sell me them."
"Potential thieves, claim-jumpers, mmmm, has anyone else sought a permit? Any local talent who might have thought they were due first crack at it before we arrived?" (Chomp)(dip)
"And if the stance on outside investigation only recently changed, was there a driving force in the Government behind the change? Anyone who could object at our involvement?"
Uncle swallows the last date and sits back in his chair, sipping his tea and observing his fellows to see what they consider important to ask about.
"Ah, yes. The Numeria situation is delicate. Although you have experience, the Society preferred to send more experienced veterans to deal with that situation." He claps his hands together and one of the servitors serves him a cup of dark, rich coffee. "Coffee, anyone? Now Inzo regarding your question. I have been briefed about your mission in Aspenthar and no, there are no hellknights or golems involved. At least so far. Your part as members of the Society is to be at the ready for come what may.
He takes a sip of his coffee, the rich smell wafting through the air. He sets his cup down and addresses Orla.
"Miss Pfeffenpfoffer, I can't tell you much about the site, as I only got a brief report. All I can tell you is that the shifting winds revealed the top portion of a staircase. What lies beyond is a complete mystery. We do have some theories, of course. The isolation of the place makes us think that the persons who constructed it wanted secrecy. For what purposes, we believe it might be for research. Bandits would not bother constructing anything of a magnitude requiring chiseled stone."
Venture-Captain Balentiir steeples his hands and leans close to "Uncle" Nazgub.
"You will have the manifest before you leave. We believe it to be structurally sound, but then again, that is one of the reasons we're sending you there. To excavate the site. Unknown sites might be tombs which would interest unscrupulous collectors. I would not know if anyone else would have requested a permit, but it's not unheard of. Universities, and societies such as ourselves would be the most common ones."
Balentiir frowns for a moment and his face darkness, sadness evident in his eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to know, but perhaps six years back there were several disasters that struck Osirion that originated from opened tombs. The worst of them were the Sky Pyramids of Hakotep I. You may have noticed the Pyramid of Sounding Gales here in Sothis. It crashed down from the heavens and obliterated a good portion of the Marblecourt district. The death toll was nearly in the thousands.The area is now permanently quarantined."
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Orla looks shaken at the report of the Sky Pyramid.
"I hadn't heard of that, no..." she trails off, wondering what she was doing six years ago, and even if she had been liberated from previous employers at that time.
"We won't let you down, Venture-Captain." Orla brings her smile back in order to punctuate her affirmation.
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"A Sky Pyramid crashing down? Oh my. Are there... any songs about it?"
He glances over at movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye, another of the Garundi is approaching Inzo with a steaming cup.
"Nephew, I'm quite certain I speak for everyone traveling with you today when I say that you don't need a third cup of coffee."
At the mention of a song regarding the death of hundreds of people, everyone stops. The servitors stare in disbelief, some of them more than likely losing loved ones in the disaster, their emotions raw in their faces. Norden Belantiir's own mouth twitches, but remains shut as he looks distastefully at the goblin.
"If there are any, they're not told here", he replies curtly.
The servitors carry on with their assignments.
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Blinking, Uncle realises his faux pas, and remembers again that not everyone's mind works like his.
"I apologise, what I mean is, such momentous events are best preserved by more than just some dry historian's words on parchment. A proper song, in memory of the fallen and the deeds of those who saved others, as well as the lessons to be learned to help prevent such a tragedy occurring again... it can echo through the ages in the hearts and thoughts of those who hear it. As a student of such musically preserved lore, I see it as my duty to keep such songs alive. I surely meant no disrespect."
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"Nephew, I'm quite certain I speak for everyone traveling with you today when I say that you don't need a third cup of coffee."
The camera pans over to Inzo, happy as a bug, sweating bullets.
"An agent told me that if you get too hot, drink hot drinks and then you'll feel cooler after a little while. I haven't drunk enough to feel it yet..."
"Apologies accepted", Balentiir says, but its more a formality than anything else. He stands and places his hand before his heart and leaves you hastily.
Outside the Sandswept Halls stables, you find a train of ten camels awaiting you. The beasts are smelly, foul-tempered and rarely bother you to give you the time of day as you approach. A stable hand walks over to Nazgub, and offers him the manifest.
String 50ft
stakes x50
shovels x10
mason's trowel x10
pickaxe x10
brushes x25
wire mesh 10 ft.
buckets x10
dustpans x10
brass surveying transit x2
"The camels are ready for your departure as soon as you give the word, syb".
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Uncle peruses the list carefully, pausing to wink at Inzo. "Don't worry," he says in goblin, "I've been exposed to longshanks writing enough for it not to affect me."
He switches back to common.
"These supplies seem suitable for an archaeological dig, although that is not really my area of expertise. If we have to reinforce a shaky piece of construction we may need lumber or rope but I suppose we can improvise if that becomes necessary, or request such supplies be brought from here."
He ponders a while, fanning himself with the list in the heat.
"If you're taking sand out of the desert to clear the site, where does the sand go? I suppose we'll see. Is everyone else ready to depart?"
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Hide armour. He's taken off the cold weather clothing he brought when he thought he was going north.
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Uncle peruses the list carefully, pausing to wink at Inzo. "Don't worry," he says in goblin, "I've been exposed to longshanks writing enough for it not to affect me."
Inzo snaps back "Being around longshanks doesn't make you immune. It might be the source of madness. I'll be keeping a close eye on you."
Upon hearing that Nazgub is worried about the heat, Inzo quips "Last time we had water at least! I hope someone can conjure magical ice like Irriseni witches do, that is exactly what we need."
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Gabros sits lazily back in the chair during the brief, his faith in his friends allowing him to relax in the knowledge that they will ask all needed questions.
He savors the coffee and dates, its been a while since he left the life where delicacies and luxuries were common.
Gabros is dressed in leather armour, well made and tailored for him. the garment was clearly designed for the nobility, but nobility somewhere where combat was kept in mind. He will actually look into replacing his stylish and well made clothes for something designed for this hot weather, his time in Aspenthar is not forgotten quickly
It takes you about three days to reach the site. Fortunately, you've been traveling in the late afternoon and morning in order to avoid moving in the extreme heat of the desert. Surprisingly, you encounter all manner of life in the dunes. From lone insects and arachnids skittering along the sand, to even mice scurrying quickly out of sight. The frostfurs are baring well, considering they're not built for this type of weather and in the case of Orla and Gabros, both would be sporting a dark tan.
On the morning of the third day, you arrive to what is unmistakably the ruins. The relief of finally arriving to your destination is met with shock as most of the upper part of the ruin has been excavated. A canvas fence secured around staircase keeps most of the sand away from the opening. On pulling the tarp back you can see the stairs leading down for about ten metres to a torchlit chamber.
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Uncle dithers, trapped between a desire to get into the probably cooler space available downstairs and caution about the unknown and not knowing how the rest of his companions handle risks like this.
He settles for standing back against the canvas fence to catch what shade he can.
"Claim-jumpers! We haven't even GOT here and we've been hornswaggled. What do we do?"
As you head on down, you are met with a large, impressive torchlit chamber, the ceiling at least 10 feet above you. The air is stale and you can just make out some faint hieroglyphs chiseled on the walls. The floor is mostly covered in sand and although several of the columns of this chamber have collapsed, someone has set up several shoddy looking support beams to compensate for it.
Nearby, you can see several Garundi guards. One, of them, a female wearing the uniform of an officer of the Sothis City Watch sits under a tarp, humming to herself to stave off boredom while two additional guards nap in the shade.
As you approach, she stops whistling, stands up annoyed and addresses you.
"Are you more Pathfinders?" Osiris! You're over a week late! Why have you come here after all the hard work was done? I never thought the Society would be this unprofessional!
The napping guards rouse themselves.
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"Yes, we are Pathfinders, hello!" Orla says, a bit taken aback. "I am Orla Pfeffenpfoffer, and these are my companions. May the sands sleep as you walk," she says, trying to use a local phrase as a nod to the Osiriani culture.
She remembers something, pulling her wayfinder from her pocket. "Ah, yes. Identification. Pardon me." She flashes the wayfinder in an attempt to indicate her position amongst the Pathfinder Society.
Orla continues with a furrowed brow. "I must say, officer, I'm a right bit confused. We have only just been given this job four days ago by Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir and made our way straight here across the dunes. We weren't expecting anything but hard labour for us for the next few weeks in excavating this place. To find it already rightly dug out - well, it's troubling to me. Who's done this? Who's in there?"
The officer mumbles a bit, giving Orla's wayfinder a good hard look. She shakes her head and speaks, her voice emitting a soft echo along the hall.
Miss, we've been here for almost two weeks now. Do you have your permit?" she says dumbfounded as extends her hand. The other two guards lower their weapons, they also look at each other, utterly confused by the turn of events."This is impossible! Doctor Kline came with all the proper papers from your Venture-Captain, these exact papers, mind you! I saw them myself! He even brought along all the necessary workers to perform the excavation!"
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I assume orla is shocked, when she realises that the parchment that Inzo has been wiping his brow with the last few days is the pass given to us by the VC "You mean this? Here you are. I... I think I'm a bit confused. Orla, I thought that we were the first team to be on site. This agreement was just made with the society."
Inzo is not the most charismatic in these instances, so he's looking up at the taller folk, but not afraid to ask questions in front of the guard.
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The guard officer takes the pass handed in by Hammick. She furrows her brow.
"Is this some kind of joke?", she tells the dwarf. She turns the permit over and shows the group the following scratched onto the sheet of paper, almost as if the person who wrote with great difficulty and perhaps even fear.
-Get more slugs
-Find more of that Southern Squall hooch
-Get Hammick's story
-Return paper to Orla
What was Inzo looking in Hammick's pack, we may never know. What Orla does get from Inzo, is definitely the permit, or what's left of it. Goblin sweat is not only unkind to paper, but has a peculiar stench that needs some getting used to.
The Osiriani officer in charge raises an eyebrow, definitely not amused. Her subordinates, out of sight, try to hide their snickers.
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Orla smiles sweetly.
"The sands, they can do things to the brain, so it is said," the halfling stretches her hands wide in a supplicating gesture. "Nevertheless, we are happy to discuss things further to the point that you can verify what we say as truth. Can I ask - are the workers still here on site? If they're Pathfinders, then they might be able to confirm for you our claims."
The officer shakes her head, "That will be fine, miss. I've heard rumors about your Society eclectic operatives and this", she gestures to the sweat-soaked permit, "while damaged, is still official. Even if its beyond me why two identical permits were issued."
The other two guards tense up and await further orders. One of them uses the haft of his spear to push away a rather large centipede scurrying near the tarp. "The workers left almost a week ago just as Dr. Kline began cataloguing the ruin. That's what he said. We haven't seen him but for two occasions. He set up camp further down, you see." The officer continues, "All that remains is Dr. Kline and ourselves. He went on ahead and asked us to keep the site secured and not to interrupt him. As you may have noticed", she gestures around her, "with the exception of you and the desert vermin, I doubt that might prove to be an issue."
She stays quiet a moment, gathering her thoughts before breaking the silence. "This is all highly irregular, and while we are the Eyes of Sothis, I feel we have been blindsided. I have no choice but to ask you all to accompany us back to Sothis. That includes Dr. Kline. I must ask that you extract your colleague from his investigation. We will prepare our kits and depart in an hour. I believe this can be done amicably, without me having to order you in the Pharaoh's name. Am I correct?"