Where are they sending you this time...
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The heavy brass door to the lounge swings open, with just enough force to obviously draw the attention of everyone in the room. A tall, young, and handsome young man lingers in the door way a moment (for effect) before striding into the room. He is a physical specimen of a human, standing almost 20 hands high. A white cloak, trimmed in blue hangs behind him- but he wears no armor or vestments beyond the blue silk robes underneath. Displayed prominently on the left breast of the cloak is the Hand of Irori. Two kamas, attached by a simple silver chain, hang from his belt.
His curly, golden hair, draws your attention- as does his vibrant and friendly smile.
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Suddenly, you hear a knocking at the door and after a few moments the door opens to reveal a frog like creature not more than 3 feet tall sitting on a bird.
The Grippli looks quite strange as the right half of his face is completely burnt and this part of his face looks like black coal!
On top of the Grippli’s head you see the bones of a tiny animal which has been fixed like a crown or crude helmet to his head.
The medium sized bird is a Roc and its beak is hooked like an eagle’s and designed for slashing and tearing. The bird’s feathers appear black currently but seem to change colours.
Aaftaab stays silent but bows slightly.
Parvaaz looks up to the grippli sitting on his back and screeches!
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Glancing quickly about the room, Ischell identifies the location of the greeting and strides over to the half-elf. He silently bows, acknowledging the Master of Masters. Upon rising, plops down into the chair next to the man, and all manner of presentation and pretense seem to vanish as his posture collapses into something that can only be described as "overly relaxed."
"No thanks man, can't drink the stuff. But, I could really go for a White Irrisenian right now... Do you think the barman has Varislúa? Say, I am not sure I caught your name man. Sir Ischell de Ivocus, at your service- but most just call me Ischell. Sir is my father."
In that moment, a large screech draws his attention from across the room. "Whoa... who do you think that dude is?"
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{b]"Well you're missing out but I'm quite happy to deal with this bottle myself. Castinus is the name. Castinus Fulvio. Late of the Pathfinder Lodge in Tien Xia, now back closer to home and looking for trouble."[/b] Castinus reclines in his chair, sitting brandy and watching the rest of the room.
"Ho there grippli. Car for a drink?"
You have all had variously strained journeys as pathfinders are not always welcome in Cheliax and you have tried to keep your presence low key. You were finally able to relax when you entered the grounds of Greensteeples.
So far, you have only seen a few halfling pages and the tall tiefling in a beautiful red leather jacket who looked you over as you arrived.
A young halfling looks in on you, "The Count will be with you shortly. Is there anything you would like while you wait?"
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The grippli doesn’t dismount from his Roc.
After mustering him you notice that he looks like he just left his tribe of primitive barbarians and even smells of strange herbs ... but when he starts speaking you notice no accent and a fluid pronunciation.
”I am Aaftaab. May we battle evil and be bold and without fear. This bird is ‘Parvaaz!“
He turns to the servant.
”Nothing for us!“
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A stocky Ulfen woman in furs and chainmail with a formidable looking battle axe strapped to her back walks over to the assembled Pathfinders.
"Hello. My name is Kayta." she introduces herself in heavily accented Common. "This is group for Pathfinders yes?"
She grabs a halfling page by the shoulder "You have Vjarik? I will have drink now please."
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"Ho ho, anything?" A man in garish patchwork robes claps his hands delightedly, startling the raven on his shoulder. "Why yes, I would like to study in the library while we wait. The neverending search for true arcane understanding is a worthwhile endeavor indeed." He pauses for a moment, frowning. "You do have a library, yes?"
From his perch, the raven catches the other Pathfinders' eyes with a resigned look in his own.
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Aaftaab's demeanor changes when he sees the new arrivals! He looks at Reginald with a smile which looks strange with his half burnt face.
"Reginald! Mighty Wizard! Again looking for a library?" the Grippli asks while dismounting his Roc companion.
"Casovir, there's no need to whisper," Reginald says loudly. "You know why we're here - we're trying to find the records of the Sarini family's victims and diabolic rituals they conducted before they left for an extended vacation at the mayor's request. No, they didn't go on vacation at the mayor's request, silly - we're here because she asked us to investigate. I'm pretty sure I explained all this in the library." He turns to Aaftaab. "I did explain all this in the library, didn't I?"
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"Aaftaab! Of course I'm looking for the library - remember how useful it was last time?" Reginald grins at the grippli. "Though I think you left your bird outside last time - I'd certainly remember being stuck between a roc and a hard place!" He laughs uproariously at his own joke, slapping his knee with one hand.
The page laughs politely, "Yes, of course. The Jeggare library is extensive. If you'll give me one moment."
He steps outside and returns a minute later with a female halfling in similar garb, who gestures to a door to the South, "Right this way, if you please, Master Gerbin. It is only a few minutes walk but it will be quicker if we take the garden path."
The first page think for a moment before responding to the request from 'Kayta', "Vjarik... vjarik... oh, yes! I believe I recall seeing some in the cutlery cleaning supplies."
Then he turns to Ischell, "Yes, sir, a White Issirien, the Duke's friend The Dandy often takes a White Issirien as well."
Smoothly, he produces a fine cut-glass tumbler and presents it to Castinus, "I see sir has discovered the whereabouts of Master Virholt's missing brandy. I would recommend that you allow me to return the bottle and find you an appropriate replacement. The Count would be most disappointed if anyone were to come to blows over such a... misunderstanding."
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"Aaftaab! Of course I'm looking for the library - remember how useful it was last time?" Reginald grins at the grippli. "Though I think you left your bird outside last time - I'd certainly remember being stuck between a roc and a hard place!" He laughs uproariously at his own joke, slapping his knee with one hand.
"It will not happen again. Maybe after this adventure we can sit down and talk about the rest of the group from our early days as Pathfinders." Aaftaab says while petting Parvaaz.
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A wild-looking old man enters. His robe, beard, and unkempt hair all flutter in a constant breeze that seems to circle just in the space around him. He quickly stuffs a small poppet into some hidden part of his robe and nods at the other Pathfinders.
"One... two... three... four... five." He seems to be counting off the Pathfinders in the room. "Yup, in the right place. It's always six, isn't it?"
He gets the attention of the page before he runs off. "Hot tea, or just a water, if you will. Nothing more will do for these old bones."
The pathfinders are soon bought a variety of drinks (black tea, the Jeggare house blend, first chosen by the VC's grandfather from estates the family invested in, in Danamsa, is served to Robyyn).
In one chairs there lounges a muscular tiefling. He is reading a novel but looks up as you arrive. His legs rest on an ancient-looking urn. The page addresses him, "Good morning, Count Virholt," she gestures to you, "Come to explore the library."
The Count smiles at you, "Well, you're in the right place." He makes as if about to return to his book, then pauses and looks sideways at you, "I don't suppose you've seen a bottle of brandy knocking about? It seems to have left my pack..." He goes on to describe, quite clearly, the bottle that Castinus was drinking from earlier, "Ring any bells?"
After a short while, a finely-dressed half-elf enters the room with a large Ustalavic wolfhound trailing closely behind, a jian hangs at his hip.
"You'll excuse me for keeping you waiting, gentlemen and..." He pauses a second, hand brushing against the pommel of his blade, "Ah, yes, and lady. Sorry, I had forgotten how striking a group of pathfinders often looks."
He then gestures toward the garden exit, "Follow me then, and I will lay things out for you with such clarity as is posiible."
You pass through beautiful, precisely-tended gardens. As you pass gardeners at work, Count Jeggare tips his hat and addresses each by name. The halflings respond with nods, smiles and small comments which mean little to you all.
As he walks, the VC talks, "I have been away rather a lot over the last few years and have somewhat neglected my role as a Venture Captain. It is subtle and sometimes tedious work. I have instead been rather more active in the field of late." He pauses and addresses a gardener, "Very good day, Cromaughty. How's Marenta now?" before continuing, "I have, however, been cultivating a relationship with an informant on Hellmouth Gulf. An antiquarian acquaintance presented me with an interesting Azlanti artefact," The Count produces a slender, golden comb in the shape of a manta ray, "And I pursued the source. I wasn't really keen on Abrogail's agents writing this particular find out of history so I befriended Sara Vanderholt, the young woman who had sold the artefact, and I have been helping her to identify and collect anything else of interest. It really is a promising find for anyone interested in Azlant."
You arrive now in a small walled garden, made by the confluence of two other more substantial walled gardens. Wisteria climbs on wall but the most striking plants are several very evenly spaced trumpet-headed flowers, each a single slender stem. Most are withered but a few stand proud, "I use these little wonders to communicate discretely with whoever plants their sister flower somewhere else on Golarion. They must be tended however and when they wither, as this bloom has done," the count runs a hand gently across one drooping flower, "It oftens means no good has come to the gardener at the other end and they are no longer able to care for the flower as they should."
He pauses for a second as Reginald is led out from a side door, "Pathfinders, I cannot travel to the region without risking bringing undue attention to the Azlanti archaeology of the area. Your mission then is to travel to Blackcove, find Sara Venderholt and ensure her safety. As you will be in the region, it seems sensible that you also take the opportunity to bring back any first-hand experience of the location and its Azlanti artefacts as possible."
He leads you into one of the larger walled gardens, a large table is surrounded by eight chairs, one of which contains a tall, muscular tiefling who addresses the Count with a nod, "Boss."
"Radovan."
You are on a tiered patio behind double doors. They are ajar but long, heavy curtains conceal the contents of the room. The view from the table runs far into the distance, over acres of picturesque farmland.
The VC takes a seat and gestures to the rest of you to be seated. Those who left their drinks behind in the parlour find that they have been transferred to the garden table and are waiting for the them here.
"I assume you have questions?"
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Earlier
"Oh this bottle is the Count's? Oh dear, then you should definitely take it. Let me just top my glass up first - excellent, thank you."
He pauses and takes a moment to take in the eclectic group around him - the frog and its bird, the geriatric sylph, the muscular ulfen, the wizard (?) and the fop. His curiosity piqued, he muses, "It's been a while since I started afresh. I'll miss the old crew - but Tian was getting stale. What dangers await here in Cheliax, I wonder?"
Later, In the Count's garden
Castinus muses the Count's words during the tour of the garden to the patio. Surrepticiously, when the Count's back is turned, he drops the crystal glass and it's incriminating brandy contents into a rosebush.
"Count Virholt, this woman you mention - Sarah Venderholt? what can you tell us of how she came by the artifact? Is there a chance she has met with peril returning to where this was recovered? Or might it be that other artifact seekers may have posed a threat to her? What did she say in her communications with you?" He paces, thoughtful, trying to recall if he has heard of Blackcove before... "And what can you tell us of the area? I confess I know little of Cheliax."
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Rocks glass in hand, Ischell has once again put on the air of composure- standing at his full height and adjusting his demeanor, if only slightly.
"Sounds straight forward enough to me, man. Get to the village, find the special lady friend, and boogie out. Bonus points for the extra loot."
He tries to follow the rest of the conversation, mostly between the half-elf and the count, but quickly loses interest and instead focuses on the creamy beverage in his hand- nodding at seemingly appropriate moments in the conversation.
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"Azlanti architecture?" Reginald rubs his chin thoughtfully with one hand while the other holds a leather-bound tome from the count's library. He pauses to take a sip from a teacup held by his suddenly-long, bushy eyebrows, then flips open the tome and begins to read. "Do you think this might have been a city that was spared the worst of the Starstone-ian cataclysm only to fall victim to the subsequent rise in global temperature and was subsequently flooded? Oh, we'll need to prepare for drowned zombies and large fish and overly-aggressive coral reefs..."
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Aaftaab is not amused about leaving Parvaaz alone but the garden is not appropriate.
During the briefing he understands little.
”We will help those in need and uncover what we can. May we be guided by actions that make us worthy of my lady’s luck!“ he says nonetheless.
”Do you have a drawing of what you want to find?“
Count Jeggare tips his hat and addresses each by name.
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...we'll need to prepare for drowned zombies ..."[/b]
Something in Reginald's words piques Robyyn's interest. Oh, I'm prepared for drowned zombies, that's for sure...
"I'm sorry if I failed to understand. Is this 'Sara' the tender of the other flower, or is it the informant who introduced you to her? And what other Azlanti artifacts have you spoken of with this 'Sara'?"
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Castinus strokes his chin and watches as he awaits the Count's responses. He is accustomed by now to these Sociwty capers, and is thoroughly resigned to the fact that, whatever questions and answers are expanded upon here, reality on the ground will prove to be both more sinister and violent in unexpected ways...
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”So If something goes wrong- we get into a scrap or two. That’s, like, whatever man. Don’t tell me you dudes haven’t ever been in a scuffle before!”
In contrast to his speech, Ischell’s posture remains tall and alert, Sporting a thin cream mustache that he is either unaware of, or simply does not care about. He sets the empty glass down on a nearby serving tray.
”We must each find our own path. I respect Each of your difference in focus and concern- But for me, the truth will be revealed in the journey- not in some count’s lounge. No offense Sir.”
At least I caught myself before I called him dude...
...we'll need to prepare for drowned zombies ..."[/b]Something in Reginald's words piques Robyyn's interest. Oh, I'm prepared for drowned zombies, that's for sure...
"I'm sorry if I failed to understand. Is this 'Sara' the tender of the other flower, or is it the informant who introduced you to her? And what other Azlanti artifacts have you spoken of with this 'Sara'?"
"Oh, yes, you have it right. Sara tended to the other flower and through it we could communicate. So far Sara has only provided damaged portions of Azlanti artefacts, often heavily worn. She has acquired them from beach-combing and, as a result of our talks, she intended to become more diligent in finding the source of the Azlanti artefacts."
He pauses, takes a sip of his wine, and continues, "I think what realyl struck me was how unremarkable she found the comb to be. As a child she found dozens of objects that might have been equally remarkable but were not made of such precious metals. Sara regarded them as ordinary. What could be more intriguing?"
"As for the informant, he is a weasel of a man who simply seeks to profit from a wealthy nobles foppish interest in gaudy antiquities." He grins in contemplation of the facade he presents to Chelish antiquarians.
Jeggare tips his head to Ischell, "There are many paths to the truth. When I studied at the Dragon Temple, under Master Wu and Master Li, they advised that the truth was everywhere. The trouble is knowing how to look."
In response to Castinus, the Count smiles, "Well, I'm not sure we have time for all of my homeland's fascinating history. I doubt that other treasure-seekers are onto Blackcove, unless I have unknowingly tipped my hand." He shrugs, "I wish I knew more but finding out is, well, it's why you're here."
The Venture Captain shrugs, ”Perhaps, the familiar can often be comforting.”
”In any case, the red carriage will take you. You may stop on the way to pick up supplies.”
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"Ho ho! There is magic that would let us ride the waves as easily as a fish!" Reginald declares. "I, uh, haven't mastered it quite yet though. We could perhaps find some scrolls for purchase."
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Mist looks at her companions and grins.
in the space of a moment her entire appearance shifts from the Ulfen woman to a Chelish man in his late 30s. Wiry frame with hair starting to grey at the temples. Her gear changes as well, the furs of the Ulfen replaced with basic looking studded leather armour and the battle-axe for a shortspear.
"Suprise." Her voice has changed completely and now has a very faint Chelish accent.
The Count smiles, "A very assured transition."
Then he stands, "Well, I have other matters to attend to. Radovan has offered to drive the carriage for you. He has a real knack for it," The tiefling makes a lazy mock-salute, "and he will leave you a days walk from the village. Unless we hear otherwise, the Red Carriage will return to collect you in ten days. Go well, pathfinders." He bows and leaves.
The carriage is beautifully crafted and comfortable. It takes you smoothly over roads with should be bone-rattling and moves at great speed across the countryside. After two days travel, including a stop to provision at a large town, you arrive in the bare but striking wilderness beside Hellmouth Gulf.
Ships and sailors avoid Hellmouth Gulf for good reason. Sharp rocks jut from the waves all along its inhospitable coastline, like the gaping maw of some foul beast. A rough road runs the length of the coast, providing a safer choice for those averse to traveling across the sea.
Swirling winds whip your hair as you leave the carriage and you can smell sea-spray in the air. Radovan points up the road, "Just follow the road that way. And don't mention me or the boss to anyone but our contact." Then he grins a toothy, disturbing tiefling grin, "Enjoy."