Introduce yourselves as needed. Game will start Monday June 15.
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Well at least this time Sir “I-only-negotiate-with-zombies” is busy somewhere else. Torku turns the last page in a book about fey creatures and puts it back into his satchel. His red skin and vestigial horns clearly mark him as a tiefling, as does the tail that curls around him like a cat’s. A rapier, still sharp even if the metal is dulled with age, hangs from his belt.
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A very tall, green-skinned woman enters the meeting place. She wears a hodgepodge of rural garb and camouflage gear, as well as some simple armor over it all. All manner of tools and weapons line her belt and are evident in a bulging pack. Chief among them is a massive bow engraved with glowing antler and feather patterns. The latter match some plumage at her hairline, which is hard to discern as added or natural.
"Melea," she introduces herself curtly, inclining her head to Torku. There doesn't seem to be any of the expected aasimar-tiefling rivalry at play - just the way she greets unfamiliar folk. A leopard gambols in her wake, and she scratches it with much more warmth. "And this is Galilah."
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A filthy dwarf arrives. He has greenish pustules all over his face, and looks like he's suffering from (or just getting over) some sort of disease! He coughs sputum into his hands and runs it through his unkempt hair. Looking around with bleary-eyes, he gives a nod of recognition at Torku, an expressionless glance at Melea, and a respectful nod at the leopard. He sighs, takes a heavy seat, and closes his eyes. Just before starting to snore, he says "Hopefully I'll die in my sleep. But if I don't, wake me when something exciting happens."
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A tall man of Taldan stock enters. He looks at the gathered agents and a smile tries to crack his stern look. He heads over to Torku and extends his hand.
Nice to work with you again. I thought the gods reclaimed that one... he nods his head towards the sleeping dwarf. At least he's recovered from that disease...I think... he moves over to the new person in the room.
Doran..nice to meet you..
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There is the familiar sound of heeled boots on the floor that announces Vulpina’s presence before she arrives.
”I am beginning to think that the Society has been cutting corners on assignment distribution lately,” she quips. ”Great to see you all. Has Korum arrived yet, or is he bringing peace offerings to the undead?”
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"Probably receiving penance by scrubbing a latrine or something similar," Torku answers with purposeful absentmindedness. "He's a Shelynite, correct? Maybe he has to model for the church artists or write a new song for the choir." Dunno which would be worse, really.
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”Perhaps he has to be an altar boy for a few weeks,” suggests Vulpina. The image of Korum wearing one of those all-white robes with the long bell-ended candlestick plays in her head.
”So long as he need not perform in the choir. I would hate for our next mission to be saving Absalom from his atonement.”
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Melea shakes any proferred hands with a small smile. Her eyes move over the strange dwarf (for whom she is grateful didn't go for a handshake), to the others and their bickering. I suppose I need context on the Shelynite he's possibly mocking before I pass judgement.
"It seems as if you've been on assignment together." The aasimar doesn't like having to restate what was just said, but can't think of another inroad on the spot. "Perhaps I was sent to fill in the void of this Korum's absence? Old Deadeye's flock has little time for art, but our end goals have no reason not to coincide with fair Shelyn's."
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A dwarf smelling of herbs enters the room. He is as unkempt as Makras but looks quite healthy! At his side you see a small dinosaur.
”Sadaf Kargar! It is a pleasure doing business in this town! If any of you Pathfinders have any interest in natural resources or animal products then I am your expert! You can all be glad that I was on a business trip to here - otherwise it would have been hard to get me!!“ Sadaf says.
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Sadaf is a young Dwarf from an Osiriani merchant family that always felt the pull of the wilderness and saurian animals.
He is a stoic negotiator but has an empathic approach. He is very perceptive and understands people's motives which are qualities that are very important as a merchant.
He typically walks around in his lamellar horn armor and during battle usually tries not to attack but use spells and his animal companion ‘Danduun’ instead.
Sadaf's family has deep roots in the Exchange faction of the Pathfinder Society.
Thus, the Kargar brothers Almaas, Jangafzaar, Toral and Sadaf are all members of the Pathfinder Society.
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"I hope this is not one of these undercover missions! I am not good at that! And Danduun is really worse!" he says looking at his small dinosaur.
Danduun shows his teeth and follows Sadaf.
“Grrrrr.... “ you hear from the little dinosaur.
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Lady Vulpina offers a gloved hand to... most.
Recalling Makras's most recent venture, she pretends not to have noticed him.
"Kargar? That's a familiar name. Do you have a brother that also works with the Society?" muses Vulpina. "Although I will admit I have a difficult time telling the age of dwarves; he could be your father, for all I know!"
The recollection of a blonde-headed dwarf who was a half-decent shot with a bow and venerated that horribly placid Erastil, ending a pirate or two from the mast of a ship in the River Kingdoms, plays in her head.
Were we not meant to go on our next assignment together before he was relocated?
For a city founded upon bloody combat traditions, Tymon is surprisingly docile. Weapons are invariably peace-bonded, there is a lack of muscle-flexing machismo in the streets—even public disputes are scarcer than in comparably large settlements. Rule of law here is strong, perhaps, or else violent urges are simply sated vicariously through the famed Arena of Aroden.
Whatever the cause, little impedes the swift journey to Smine’s Weaponworks, locally famous as a place of business but secretly also a Pathfinder lodge. The sound of ringing steel and the withering heat of the forge through an open sliding door identify the stone structure as readily as its well-painted but soot-stained sign. Several apprentices work blades in various stages of completion, and at the largest work area toils a smiling dwarf: famed weaponsmith and venture-captain Holgarin Smine. He glances up under singed eyebrows, never missing a beat as he says, “Ah. It’s you. A moment.” After putting some final touches on a spearhead, quenching it in water, and nodding approvingly after a brief appraisal, he unties his apron and opens the door into the adjoining building.
Within a few minutes, Smine has set out refreshments such as bread and cheese in a much cooler kitchen. “Forgive me for not asking about your journey. Love the details, but those can wait. Someone’s picking a fight—with us,” he divulges in broken sentences reminiscent of the staccato clanging of the adjacent forge. “You might know we’re committed to supporting Mendev. Important business, that. Worldwound expanding, wardstones failing. Not good for anyone. So when we send supplies north and they’re stolen, it gets our attention. And that’s been happening. Months now. Boat after boat heading up the Sellen, attacked, looted—always a few days out of Tymon. Now, River Kingdoms shipping isn’t always chancy; brigands on the water are nothing new. Not like this, though. And it isn’t all shipping. Just ours. Someone is targeting us."
“It’s my job to get to the bottom of this, and I have a notion how. Ran into some paladin at the Lodge who mentioned that you lot were just what I needed. So here’s what’s going to happen. We’re not just going to find these pirates; we’re going to flush ’em out. They want to hit Pathfinders? Pathfinders can hit, too. They’ll think they’ve got another soft supply boat, but the cargo will be you. Ready to fight.” He grins before concluding, “You’re bait. But you’re bait that bites back.”
Once you have asked your questions, Smine offers you the use of his guest rooms and offers suggestions where to purchase supplies.
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”An idiotic town where a muscle-bound idiot rules until someone kills them.” Torku, as usual, does not bother to cover his opinions with pleasantries. ”And apparently it’s infectious, since the Lodge apparently never thought to place a scrying focus in the cargo and letting that be stolen instead of putting agents at risk.”
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Melea has heard similar stories of Tymon. She is less vocal about her dislike of the system, but there's obviously some there. She goes for a question less relevant to the moment to get her thoughts away from the subject quicker. "Are all the fights here to the death? If not, I would assume the Champion determines the fate of the defeated. But sometimes they are in the arena themselves."
"More importantly, we will do our best to retrieve the cargo. They'll see the mistake of attacking us and hurting a venture that is for the good of all."
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Lady Vulpina looks... irritated? Or perhaps she has just recalled a bad memory. Regardless, she answers Melea's question:
"In my experience, an enemy will not surrender even if he has a thin excuse to fight and you have deprived him of his weapons," she says. "If we are met with deadly hostility, there is little reason not to respond in kind."
She clears her throat; "Usually I will disarm at least one, however, to make the option of resolving things less lethally clear to the opposing side."
She shrugs; "Thus far they have all run into my blade just the same."
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Sadaf suddenly laughs!
"You want us to drink hard, and look like we’re hung-over? I am a dwarf! My metabolism endures anything! Well, but I can come along. Others like Doran have to spread the cover story, though!”
He thinks for a moment.
"I do not like killing so we'll definitely try to bring them back here alive and we'll definitely try to take them all down!"
"Torku! You know a lot, and I think you are right! Let us hope nobody challenges us during our bar visit! Ha ha ... " he starts laughing because of his own joke which of course was not funny.
Smine winks at Vulpina. "Yer not here by accident. Had to have at least one Ace in the hole." He raises his voice a bit to address everyone. "Just to be clear, the goal is to look incompetent. You have to be seen as an easy mark so we can draw them out." His eyes fall on the dwarves, "It's more than just being drunk and hungover. I mean, this is a dock town. All the sailors are used to workin' a boat in that condition. You gotta find other ways to sell it. I know you ain't actors, but let's face it, other than Vulpina, how much do you guys really know 'bout working a river skiff?" Smine does not wait to see the blank faces before continuing. "Exactly. Use that."
He shoo's the team away, "Now go on. I gotta got get some more things ready. You might try your luck at the Flooded Sands. It's a pretty popular boat pilot’s bar. Not too rough, but just rough enough."
After spending the rest of the day picking up your personal supplies, dusk gently rolls into the dockside town. The Flooded Sands is a true Tymon bar with wall frescoes depicting nautical arena tourneys. Bar regulars can easily point out ships crewed by legendary gladiators battling each other or imported sea monsters.
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Sadaf really has no clue about ships.
He has no idea what to do so he just starts a conversation with Vulpina.
"Listen lady Vulpina lady, I am a merchant. I have no clue how a boat is steered or whatever happens after my wares are on the ship. I just want to know how much the transportation cost will contribute to my overall spending. And of course I use estimates to come of with the revenue potential of the wares to calculate my expeted margin but that really has nothing to do with how ... " and it is clear that he is lacking words.
He takes out his ledgers and shows something to Vulpina in a booklet ".. ehhh ... how this boat looks like. I mean it would actually be great if the boat would not even need people on it and just drive. That would lower labor cost!" he says with a wink as if he said something smart.
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Doran heads to the flooded Sands and bellies up to the bar. He orders a round for the bar. He hoists up his mug and boasts.
Here's to my new job on the waters, lads. Pickings must be pretty slim , to tell you the truth. Good thing I know which stars point which way...only thing that got me hired, I think.
That way's North...what else do you have to know?
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Makras listened to the bit about drinking and tuned out the rest of the Smine's briefing. But after a few tankards of ale get in him, he looks around the Flooded Sands and picks up on the nautical theme. With a horrifying belch, he gets up on the bar and starts spouting mostly gibberish but with a few insults thrown in as well. "Sailors might as well be called drowners, on account of that's what you do best! Being swallowed by the dark depths is a fate foretold for all existence, and the last thing you'll see before going under is the Skeleton Moon gazing down on you. Don't bother with knots and rudders--fate will take you where it will!"
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Melea was raised a long way from any substantial body of water, save the occasional river. When the team is talking nautical tactics (likely in a public place), she chips in with advice. It could apply quite well to, say, traveling over long stretches of plain or forest, but isn't at all useful here.
The aasimar also reluctantly partakes in the drinking. More accurately, she orders one the bar's lighter drinks, downs a small portion of it over a long time, and excuses herself. She tries to make it look to the sailors as if she's about to be sick from even such a weak libation.
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Torku sits on his barstool and refuses to touch his ale while also refusing to let a single nautical word go by without "correcting" it to a longer, more academic term.
"Sadaf, it's not a boat, it's a square-rigged clipper."
"It's an attached primary control surface, Markas - not a rudder."
"I think you mean celestial navigation methodology, Doran."
If his companions didn't know better, they might even think he was enjoying this.
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Vulpina grins at VC Smine's glowing testimonial, and nods graciously. "I will be the worst sailor with the loosest lips," she grins.
If there's no objection, she'll grab a pair of sleeves of many garments and don a sailor's garb before they head to the bar: simple, loose clothing, tied tight in the few places it matters. She undoes some of the more intricate parts of her hair, and settles for a (very) messy ponytail.
"Well, you see, dear friends, not a lick of that matters! You see, we-- and your precious cargo, of course-- are going river sailing, not the ocean or any silly such thing. All you need to do on a river skiff is make sure you don't get turned around, and that is as simple as... well, as simple as it sounds!"
"Y'see the... the thing about that is, you gotta taste... you gotta taste the wood, so you know it ain't got... ain't got termites..." she says, after a few dusty glasses of drink.
"So y'see, there a was, ther'was, onna... onna square-rigged clippamajiggy, an'... an' I was like, where's all these birates come fr'm? An' they were like 'ooo arrgh shiver me timbers' an' y'know I din't... I din't wanna die so I jes'... jes' gavvvvvvvvvv'm the gold, y'know? Cuss'mers unnerstannnd if you jus'.... jus' f'nesse'm'a'lil..."
By this point, she's hanging halfway off the table and clinging to Sadaf's sleeve.
"Yerrrrr br'ther's a JERK, byyyyy th'wayyyyy... I toll'm t'CALL me an' 'e NEVVVV'r called me......."
The night does not drag on too long, but you feel as if you have made your inability quite plain for all to understand. Less than a half hour into your 'performance', your little band seems to be the butt of many jokes. However, Doran's graciousness serves to make the jibes more of a ribbing than anything more than that.
The next morning, you find yourself back at Smine's.
He shakes his head with a knowing grin, "Sounds like you made quite the spectacle of yourselves." He then turns more serious, "Well, the easy part is over. Yer skiff, Tevryn’s Terrapin, is down at Launch Six. Now, I'm not so daft as to let you try to actually navigate the craft. I've arranged fer an experienced captain ta pilot the skiff. Her name's Demeliah Sorhenson. She knows all about the mission. She's got no love for the pirates on these waters. She was more than happy to offer her services; 'specially after what happened to her husband."
He looks up at the sun cresting over the low treetops, "Figure ya got about an hour ta get yer gear 'n head on down. Best a luck to ya." He pulls Vulpina to the side, "Look lass, I know you can handle yerself. Just do me a favor and be careful. Not careful fer you, careful fer someone with common sense." He offers a wink after the last part and sends her on to join the rest of the team.
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Though killing is likely not far in the future, Melea still looks relieved that the charade is over.
She does inquire about Demeliah's husband to Smine. It could prove useful to know, and she'd rather ask someone who it wouldn't be rude to talk about it with. "Was he a Pathfinder, a dockworker running our supplies? Or perhaps just someone who ran afoul of pirates? I suppose that could be a fate all too common around here."
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He pulls Vulpina to the side, "Look lass, I know you can handle yerself. Just do me a favor and be careful. Not careful fer you, careful fer someone with common sense." He offers a wink after the last part and sends her on to join the rest of the team.]
Lady Vulpina favors him with a sheepish look. ”Now, Captain, you know as well as I that nothing about me will ever be common,” she says. ”But... I suppose I might attempt to let the others shine. Or at least avoid charging in until Makras has done so.”
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In the morning, Makras stumbles out of the tavern with ale stains down the front of his shirt and small shards of glass mysteriously embedded in his forehead. He stumbles onto the skiff without a word and lies down, doing an extremely realistic "impersonation" of a drunken layabout.
A sigh escapes Demeliah's lips at the aasimar's question. Her eyes glaze over slightly, "No, just a skiff runner. But I tell ya, he had a heart of gold. First man that ever treated me with respect 'round here. A good man...a better husband." She refocuses, returning from her reverie. "And then those snakes took him from me." She spits into the river with disgust. "And his fate weren't too common at all 'til they showed up."
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Melea nods in sympathy. "They will answer for their needless bloodshed."
"My companion may be prying," she continues after Vulpina's pronouncement, but the aasimar barely holds back a groan when she realizes the Lady is probably onto something. "We don't know where you were at the time, and we will be seeing the culprits one way or another. Our questions may serve no purpose but upsetting you. Feel no need to answer unless you wish to."
Possible candidates for this theft include those too small to care about issues like Mendev...but the Aspis looking to spite us is distressingly likely.
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”Madam, when you say ‘snakes’... are we speaking generically, or did they wear serpent insignias?”
"Nothing a bit of sensible divination couldn't have determined, but noooooooo" Torku mutters as he boards the boat and stands by himself midway along the starboard railing. "First a plague of pox, now a plague of stupidity."
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”Why ask a simple question when you can get complicated magic involved?” asks Vulpina, a bemused expression on her face. ”If you must know, I was going to use my divination spell to determine where my pointy stick has gone, but it would appear that Torku has found it.”
”What’s more, he is showing remarkable agency—and flexibility, mind—in his apparent attempts to remove it using his head.”
You settle in and Demeliah pilots the barge clear of the dock. The first day of travel proves uneventful as Tevryn’s Terrapin meanders upriver. As the day progresses, you establish a routine for your trip. The evening was cool and starlit, the constellation known as The Caravan appropriately journeys from horizon to horizon. The dawn serves to welcome a warm sun.
The droning of frogs, insects, and birds along the riverbanks creates an atmosphere fit for dozing, even though the sun is barely past noon. Directly ahead, the river twists to the east for a bit before rounding a forested hummock. A splash breaks the monotony of sound as something slides off the marshy banks and into the water.
Refusing to find a false sense of security, everyone identifies the source of the splash as an alligator that has slipped into the water and is swimming around the bend.
"We're gonna be on that bend in the river in a few seconds."
You will find the map had been updated.