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Oh joy.
A tiefling, clad in silvery chainmail and carrying an ornately-embellished rapier on his hip, surveys the cathedral. Frown lines are well-worn into his face, and a long tail whips back and forth like that of an angry cat.
And I specifically asked not to be on an assignment with these people again. Was I unclear in my request? Unlikely. Perhaps this came up all of a sudden and there was a shortage of available talent at the Lodge. A pity. I don't suppose there's any books here... He starts picking through the empty pews.
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Walking into the room is a scarred half-orc carrying a glaive. His plate mail bears elaborate symbols to the Goddess Shelyn. His eyes survey the room, and his mood slightly deflates at the sight of Torku. Ah...the proverbial 'thorn' that pricks. Sometimes The Eternal Rose makes it very difficult to be her gardener. With a forced smile on his face, the paladin greets the battle host. "Well, it seems we are going to be sent out into the field. Together. Again. That is great. Great news indeed. Oh look, alcohol." Korum crosses the room and pour himself a 'few fingers' of brandy.
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Turning toward the tiefling, "I fail to see any lies. We are being sent out. We will be together. Again. And though you are a miserable wretch, you are not incompetent enough to get me killed, so that is great news." He hoists his tumbler up in salute. "Now, if I had said that I was happy about that, or you, or you were a trusted friend. Those would be lies." He empties the contents into his throat. "See, you are incompetent, but not enough to get me killed. Great news!" Dumbass! Korum begins to fill his tumbler again. "Care for a glass, or are you going to sulk some more...like a toddler?"
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Fortunately, Torku spies a few books lying open on a side table. Among them are an encyclopedia of diseases, a Sylvan dictionary, and an oddly-shaped volume in a language the tiefling has never seen before. A few feet away is another text, seemingly cast aside. From an open page, it looks like a fairy tale involving a card game played against a devil.
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The main hall of the lodge suddenly fills with a booming voice from the doorway. "Doom! Doom and Damnation! Let the skeleton moon turn its gaze to us and be done with it!" Thus, Makras Vekker announces himself, a surly and dishevelled dwarf, as he strides in. He squints as he looks at Torku and Korum. Scratching his filthy beard, he mumbles. "Remember them. Jungle dreams? Tablet death."
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Dana walks with slow steps and is not the most gracile or beautiful woman from Tian Xia.
When she meets the group she waves her hand.
"Greetings to you all." says the corpulant woman with a self conscious smile.
Her right eye has been cut in the past which has led to a scar that is clearly visible on her right eye section.
She has a Wayang bleaching exactly around the scar.
Her asymmetrically cut black hair with pink highlights looks strange and out of place. She is wearing a full plate armor that clearly encumbers her heavily and with which she walks slowly.
Her armor has gadgets and colored leather straps which are more fashion items than functional adventure gear. A small buckler is attached to her left arm. She also carries a backpack.
Resting on top of her chest, an amulet showing the holy symbol of Chaldira Zuzaristan is visible.
She does not really have a natural presence and unfortunately might come across as aloof or arrogant.
Facing you all she bows but more out of tradition than courtesy you believe.
“Dana Katsu is my name.“
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There is a familiar sound of a pair of expensive boots on the floor coming up the hall before a familiar face—to most of you, anyway—appears in the doorway, dressed in very fashionable armor. She surveys the room slowly and deliberately, then smiles.
”I have not been with such favorable company since my adventure in Irrisen,” she quips. ”Korum, how excellent to see you. I pray Shelyn is well?”
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Before reunions go any further or devolve into a (verbal?) brawl, the door to the church opens. In steps the hawk-nosed Venture-Captain Brackett. "My apologies, Pathfinders! I didn't mean to keep you waiting, I thought there would be time to return a book I had borrowed.
"Now, the Society has been granted a unique opportunity, and I hope you are up to the task. Last week I received a missive from the nymph queen Syntira of Darkmoon Wood to the north. It seems a deadly plague has fallen on the fey of the Wood and they are desperate to find its source and a cure. Hence the volumes I was studying...wait, where did they go?" Brackett looks confusedly for the books Torku spirited away. "Anyway, while we would not normally waste our time and resources on this sort of endeavor, the particular situation presents us several potential boons we cannot pass up.
"Syntira has long attempted to improve relations between her fey subjects and the human inhabitants of nearby Falcon’s Hollow. Sadly, the Lumber Consortium agents who run the town are not open to a diplomatic solution, and tensions remain high. The Society stands to learn much from the fey, both about their magical nature and the elusive First World, and we could certainly benefit from a powerful ally in Darkmoon Vale. Do whatever you can to get the bottom of this plague and find a solution. We must show Syntira that the Pathfinder Society deserves her trust."
The Venture-Captain pulls out and unrolls a map of the area in question, jabbing a finger at Darkmoon Wood and Falcon's Hollow. "We believe the strange disease may originate from a cursed relic known as Isandrea’s Basin rumored hidden deep within Darkmoon Wood. If this theory proves accurate, I want you to obtain the basin and bring it to me for study. I imagine an external force harnessed the artifact’s power and guards it heavily — so be prepared.
"Now, one Lumber Consortium logging camp in particular-" another poke at the map, "-was involved in several conflicts with the forest’s resident fey over the last year, and both Syntira and I believe that starting your investigation at this cutyard will prove most productive. Once you have located and identified the disease, seek Syntira herself and aid her in any way possible. Stock up on provisions here in Almas before heading up-river, as you may find Falcon’s Hollow too small and provincial for many of your needs. Don’t dally too long, however, because the disease is quickly spreading, and we want to stop it before it gets out of hand."
Brackett spreads his hands as he looks up from the map, smiling thinly. "I realize it's a tall order, but I wouldn't have sent for you if I didn't think you capable. Any questions?"
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Dana looks at the Venture Captain and writes down what was said.
”I am quite forgetful so please excuse potential disturbances in the future! Somehow some of you also seem quite familiar but I do not know why!“ she says and starts curling her pink lock.
She looks at the map.
”Then let us go to the cutyard you believe is important!“ she says looking at her booklet.
Suddenly she starts repeating silently. ” ... locate and identify the disease, seek out Syntira and help ... “
She then pauses to think.
”What do we know about Isandrea’s Basin? And the Lumber Consortium? And the Fey and her Syntira? Hmmm ... usually I don’t ask questions at all. What is going on??“
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A large Taldan man, already know to most of the group comes in, a bit out of breath from hurrying.
Apologies for my tardiness...was off doing some training to expand my skillset...my summons got got delayed. he says as he drops his pack and moves to the group. Upon seeing a new addition, he extends a gnarled, meaty hand.
Doran, delighted to meet you...
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"Isandrea's Basin was believed to have been created by a corrupt dryad to harm any humanoids who stumbled into her glade, which used to be in Darkmoon Wood," Brackett replies. "Water placed in the basin infects drinkers with an awful wasting disease. Rumor has it the effect is somehow worse for fellow fey. So you'll understand why I didn't call for any gnomes on this mission."
The Venture-Captain shakes his head in annoyance when the Lumber Consortium is brought up. "What's to know? They're greedy and shortsighted, uncaring for other people their 'timesavers' affect adversely. The fact that their primary export around here is darkwood was enough of a problem for the fey. But they've had several prior conflicts with just the inhabitants of this forest. I wouldn't rule out the possibility one of their higher-ups had a hand in this.
"And Syntira? I don't know much of her, but she sounds like a good and fair queen by all accounts. I hope to gain more knowledge in that area with your success, as only that way can we start building a working relationship."
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"Ah, a good question. According to Syntira’s description, the infected are covered in small white pustules and quickly weaken and wither to their deaths." Brackett's smile hasn't wavered despite his words. "We have only heard reports of infected fey in the area, but we are almost certain that isn't because the disease only affects them. Use caution and distance around everyone you meet."
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Barring any further questions, Brackett sends you on your way. "Best to get this done quickly. The longer we take, the more fey waste away with this foul blight, and Syntira's favor slips further from our grasp."
A thankfully uneventful day and a half later (save some likely interesting conversations), you find yourselves at the yard's approximate location.
The light in Darkmoon Wood is dim under the thick forest canopy, and an eerie mist blankets the damp forest floor. A humble cutyard fills this man-made clearing. Thick darkwood stumps cover the ground and the scent of sawdust lingers in the air. Two rows of tents line a central path strewn with abandoned axes, saws, chains, and coils of rope. Over the unnatural silence of the forest, sounds of terrified screaming and ripping canvas carry from the far side of the camp.
As you draw closer, the problem becomes clear: lumberjacks are running every which way, chased by a pair of massive wolves! Some find places to hide, or, having backed themselves into a corner, simply cower. The canines have thin lines of red, orange, and yellow crisscrossing their bodies, like the seams of a grotesque stuffed animal. They either haven't noticed you or are more occupied with weaker, more immediate prey.
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Giant wolves. Wonder how smart they are. Given some of the 'companions' I've seen around the lodge, some at least understand a few words. This is going to feel like the dumbest thing I've done in a while, but here goes nothing...
Korum wastes little time stepping forward. He calls out to the wolves. "Look. I know you can hear me, I'm just not sure if you understand me. Are you fey touched? In either case, why don't come on over here? We're Pathfinders. Now, you might be thinking that I don't look too appetizing" Korum points his thumb over his shoulder in the rough direction of Torku, "but that red guy back there tastes like grilled chicken with a sweet cherry glaze." He nods with a smile, "I know. Sounds good, right. C'mon over here and give it a try."
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"Now, you might be thinking that I don't look too appetizing" Korum points his thumb over his shoulder in the rough direction of Torku, "but that red guy back there tastes like grilled chicken with a sweet cherry glaze."
"Rather than asking the obvious question of how you would be so certain of that," Torku comments dryly as he taps his blade against his arm, "I'll just add that that's better than smelling like you, Sir Overripe Durian."
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"Negotiate. With the wolves?!" The nearest lumberjack can barely bring himself to sound disbelieving, so much of his energy is focused on escape. He runs toward you, continuing between labored breaths. "We didn't do anything, they just showed up ripping at us! Two of us were killed, just that I saw, and we haven't raised a hand against these fiends, we're just trying to run!"
True to the man's word, the canines don't seem to care about your diplomatic overtures. One stays on his target, who was trying to lose the wolf between two tents...
...tearing an arm clean off! The man screams and falls in a shower of blood. "Maybe they're negotiating! Kill half of us and they'll be right happy with the compromise!" The worker talking to you has fallen in his haste, but his shoutings are no less incredulous.
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Dana blasts the wolf with long-distance force magic. It rears at the impact, but barely manages to keeps its feet. Both creatures turn towards the attackers to get rid of them before their meal gets away.
With both facing your way, they look...awful. Most of their flesh is rotting, barely held onto the carcass of a body. This isn't a known symptom of the disease, they look more dead than anything.
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Vulpina raises her eyebrows at Korum. There is a correct time for negotiation and there is a correct time to unload every musket you can find in the direction of the threat.
This is, in her opinion, decidedly more in the latter category.
Moving into action, she draws her weapons—a short blade and a pistol—and draws closer, her pistol barking as she reaches a good firing point.
[ooc]If attacked, Vulpina will Gunslinger’s Dodge or Dodging Panache, as appropriate.[/dice]
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Vulpina shoots a wolf with practiced ease. The bullet tears right through, and out pours...flowers? They are of the same hues that line their outsides, and fall like stuffing.
Dana isn't certain about that development, but can tell they no longer have or need internal organs. These dire wolves have been hollowed out and turned into awful zombies!
The pair advance at a wolf's pace, one making it as far as its attacker. But both have to stop and pull themselves back together, when moving as close to fast as they did weakens their decaying flesh.
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Every single attack hits home - undeath has weakened the foes' skin and their speed even more so. Still, their quadrupedal nature keeps them from being knocked down by magic. Torku's strike causes one to deflate explosively. The flowers inside burst everywhere as the wolf topples, covering those unlucky enough to be standing close.
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”I am certain it was simply a mistake,” chuckles Vulpina. ”After all, they do not look like the undead, and if they are not undead, they are simply enormous wolves tearing people limb from limb—hardly the sort of thing for a holy warrior to fret over!”
As she speaks, she attempts to disembowel the remaining wolf.