The sweet scent of pipe smoke vies for dominance with the salty morning breeze blowing through the wide harbor window in Venture-Captain Finze Bellaugh’s small office. Bidding everyone to sit on one of two large brown couches, he pats his belly and settles in to the chair behind his desk. “Welcome, Pathfinders, and thank you for coming on such short notice. I have some fine work for you. As you may be aware, the Sargava Chalice is set to begin tomorrow morning, and you have been chosen to represent the Pathfinder Society in the competition.
“For those of you unfamiliar with our customs here in Eleder, the Sargava Chalice is an annual overland foot race held just outside of Eleder. The course, which changes every year, crosses some of the wildest territory in Sargava, from the Laughing Jungle to the Bandu Hills and everything in between. To further complicate matters, there is a survival element to the race. Participants are allowed to bring only a set of nonmagical clothing with them—no
weapons, no tools, no magic items. If you are to win the race, you’ll need to find ways to feed yourselves in the wilderness and craft makeshift weapons to defend yourselves from wild animals.
“I assure you, we’re not putting you through all this trouble for our own amusement! You see, the race is named after the prize, a finely wrought golden chalice that was discovered during Eleder’s construction. Ordinarily, the winners simply get their names engraved on this chalice, but we’ve made a special arrangement with the Sargavan government to take possession of the chalice for a year should we win the race. Our studies indicate that this chalice dates to the time of the ancient cyclops empire of Ghol-Gan and that it serves as a key to unlocking ruins long sealed by magic.
“For this reason, it is imperative that the Pathfinder Society wins the Sargava Chalice this year. You have some time before the opening ceremony tonight—you may wish to familiarize yourselves with the terrain of Sargava’s interior. My library next door contains a great many books on the subject; you are free to peruse it as you wish. Aside from that, you are free to perform any errands you have around town, though again I must remind you; you will not be allowed to bring anything with you when you start the race. I would caution you against trying to cheat in this matter. The officials are cracking down rather hard this year, and I wouldn’t want to smear the Society’s reputation or jeopardize our chances at retrieving the cup as our prize.”
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Bahram looks slightly taken aback. He has fought minotaur and werewolf, but ranging through the jungle without any of his things seems a bit more dangerous. "Wait, what? With none of our things? What about magic? Is casting spells somehow prohibited as well?". Bahram's hand goes to his scarf, of all things.
"Correct, you will be allowed to bring nothing with you, save the clothes you wear. Even these will be clothes provided to you by the race organizers, rather than your own." Turning to Bahram, Bellaugh continues. "Magic is allowed, though without a component pouch, your options will be limited."
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A taller man strides into the room with a large pack on his shoulders, he's dressed in a vibrantly colored vest that almost looks fey in design, as well as a set of armor pieces made of what looks like interlocking triangles of metal with a design of a broken hourglass spilling sand woven into the breast plate. He lugs around a giant pack bulging with things all over it, a sledge strapped to one side and a burning torch on the other. At his hip is an empty sheathe covered in arcane symbols as well as what seems like an ornate clock hand hanging from a sting. On the other hip is a clock that on closer inspection proves to be a compass as well as a book in a special made holder.
He takes a seat at the table setting down his bag and watching the group with interest, before turning his attention to the venture captain. His face pales as he listens to the explanation of the race and what needs to happen. "I'll have to leave my things behind? But they're all I have, and I wouldn't trust them with anyone else! If I truly have to then I guess I could leave them here, perhaps? But my vest... My compass!" He tosses open the flap on his bag and pulls out a stick with a spike on the end, "My PICKLE EXTRACTOR! I can't just leave these things!"
"I'm afraid so. Even the, uh, pickle extractor."
"You're going to have to rely on your wits for this one, not just brute force. The race will take you into some very wild parts of Sargava. You’re sure to encounter some terrifying and savage beasts, perhaps even dinosaurs or vermin of extraordinary size. Aside from the fauna, you may also have to deal with your competitors. While infighting isn’t technically permitted, once you’re out of sight of the judges, all bets are off. I’ll have none of that from you, of course! Defend yourselves if need be, but there will be no Pathfinder bushwhacking on my watch.”
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Sitting in the windowsill, the dark-skinned elf in a loose-fitting robe stitched with spiderweb patters turns to look at the Venture-Captain with clear incredulity--an expression that only grows more pronounced as Bellaugh continues his spiel.
"I have not served long in the Society, but I was warned that some of you were pranksters," she tells him, waiting for the human to confess to the joke. When he doesn't do so, her thin brows furrow in irritation.
"Am I understanding you correctly that we are being called upon to participate in a multi-day race bereft of any supplies save what we craft ourselves? Or, for that matter, any clothing save whatever rags the race's organizers have scraped together? And the Society has seen fit to give us less than a day's notice?" Her tone is cool but polite, though only just.
Bellaugh leans back in his seat and speaks in an even tone.
"You understand correctly. It is no small thing you are being asked, but if the Society did not think you capable, we would not be having this conversation. As I said, your participation in this event is not simply to amuse the spectators. It is our best opportunity to take legitimate, if temporary, possession of the Chalice, which may grant us access to ruins of great historical significance. The temporary loss of your equipment is a major obstacle, to be sure, but I am just as sure that you have triumphed over worse."
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As the assembled Pathfinders are gestured to sit the door bangs open and an odd figure rushes in.
"Sorry I'm late! There was a mix up and I had to get the next boat! Apparently someone pulled out... But that means I get to come!"
The rapid, staccato voice reflects the figures obvious excitement. But the creature before you, vibrating like a child waiting in line for the circus, is... a little... different.
Standing just under 4 feet tall the ratfolk's fur is pure white, except for the fur on the third arm that sprouts from the back of his right shoulder blade. This limb seems almost monstrous. The fur is course and a dirty grey colour. The muscles are much more defined than those of the rat's natural limbs and while all the paws have claws the one on the third limb seem more like the sort of thing Pathfinders have seen lunging out of the dark at them than those of even a ratlike humanoid.
Both limbs on his right side come up and the ratfolk gives an enthusiastic wave to everyone in the room.
"Hi! My name is G L 13 but you can call me Gillie!"
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When the Venture Captain has finished answering Eòshli Gillie pauses to see if anyone has questions then asks a few of his own... In quick succession and without a pause for answer between them.
"When was the Chalice found? How can a chalice be used a key? Or is the key in the Chalice? Oh! Is it a password and the password is written on the chalice? Chalice... Chalice... that's a funny word. Its a sort of cup is it it? How many other people are racing? Are they from other places too? Oh! OH! Do OUR names get put on the chalice or is it just getting looked at?"
Gillie pauses for a moment.
"That's all my questions for now."
Bellaugh is taken aback by the barrage of questions, but he seizes on Gillie's question about other competitors, in order to win back some control of the conversation. "Yes, since it is a race, there will be competition. It's hard to say who yet. At tonight’s opening ceremony, teams officially announce their participation. Usually, about a half-dozen teams show up. The Trail Hounds are likely running again this year, though since they were all but wiped out last year, they’re the Trail Hounds in name only. I’ve also heard that a band of Song’o halflings are planning on joining the race."
"The Trail Hounds, in case you're wondering, are the team that won last year’s race. Only one of them survived, a man named Philt. He’ll
be at the opening ceremony. Rumor has it he won only by butchering the rest of the contestants, but the race officials weren’t able to prove anything, so his name went on the cup."
"The Song'o, by contrast, are a tribe of reclusive halflings that live in the Laughing Jungle. They tend to be very skittish around outsiders."
"When you're ready, feel free to use my library for any research you need to do, and be sure to take care of any necessary preparations around town before the ceremony. You'll be taken directly from there to the starting line."
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Getting over the shock of their arrangement, Bahram clears his throat. "This should prove to be very interesting. Halflings with home-field advantage, though also with very short legs, and a murderous victor. I think that I will make smoke use of your library beforehand. Thank you very much."
At the thought of the library, Bahram once again feels confident that he can gain the Pathfinders am edge.
Your time spent in the library turns up little fruitful, but when you hit the streets you're able to turn up a few topics of conversation among the locals. First is that the government of Sargava relies on events like the Sargava Chalice both to distract its populace from political discontent and to pay for the Shackles mercenaries the country relies on to defend itself. Most of the government’s profits come from legalized gambling.
The second, which is more directly relevant to the party, is that cheating has gotten out of hand in recent years, so the race’s organizers are cracking down this year. Minor offenses might result in a penalized start, while major offenses can result in getting disqualified from the race altogether.
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Gillie goes out an buys a scroll of Skim to add to his formula book. He then prepares an extract of it and after a quick drink, dives into his studies in the library with gusto.
He climbs up the bookshelves with ease to grab tomes from higher shelves and collects several piles as he goes. He flicks through the books with unnatural speed, often holding a book in all three hands, turning pages with his tail.
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As the group makes to leave the office, Yates asks in a low voice, "Can someone help me sneak in my compass, and pickle extractor? The compass would make finding water and our way much easier, and the pickle extractor is... uhh, let's just say important and I don't want to lose it."
The man then attacks the books with a high level of ferocity, but gets blind sided by Gillie as the ratfolk blazes his way though the books. "Okay, I want whatever you are on, because dang, I've had to work in more than a few mesuems and that is faster than I've seen even the best researchers work!"
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Putting down another book that told him nothing, Bahram frowns as he addresses Yates and Gillie in the library. "Word on the street is that they're really cracking down on cheating this year. Punishments range from a penalized start to disqualification. If you have to bring something, make sure it's absolutely essential to our winning, and make absolutely sure you don't get caught." Not adverse to cheating at all, he also doesn't like the idea of losing because they were caught.
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With a long-suffering sigh, Eoshli hops out of the windowsill and stretches. "Very well, Venture-Captain, we'll win this race and earn the Society the use of this key-chalice. See you in a few days, I expect."
Once the group is out of earshot she snorts and shakes her head. "I don't know about any of you, but I'll not disarm myself when once of the competitors is rumored to have murdered all of his rivals. Do any of you have a magical means of concealing a few choice items?"
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Your time spent in Bellaugh's library, combined with your own knowledge (magically enhanced or otherwise), yields very fruitful results. Each of you are able to learn or determine several things.
First, based on the season and recent trends, the weather will likely be cloudy, drizzly, and relatively cool for the next several days, with the possibility of a storm by the end of the week. Heat exhaustion won’t be a problem, but if it begins to rain heavily there may be flooding in low-lying areas.
Second, the fresh water sources east of Eleder tend to be clean and free of disease. Explorers caught without a waterskin sometimes craft makeshift containers out of bamboo. You also identify several edible plants, insects, and mushrooms.
Finally, the Bandu Hills are largely made up of volcanic rocks and contain abundant deposits of obsidian. Sharp stones are harder to locate in the M’neri Plains, but the Laughing Jungle has plenty of hard woods and vines suitable for making weapons and tools. You also locate diagrams and descriptions of such items produced by the
native Sargavan tribes.
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While out seeking scuttlebutt, Eòshli manages to run into the final member of the team (whose arrival had been severely delayed by an unfortunate misunderstanding between an inexperienced Society courier, several zombies, and laws and customs of the undead kingdom of Geb): One Khāṇa Tsogtsos, a frightful-looking half-orc woman bedecked in strange tattoos and a diverse assortment of tools and weapons, and who comes across rather like some avant-garde artist's composite image of various things the word "monster" might call to mind: A little bit of orc, undead, fiend, dark arts practitioner, executioner, and criminal mastermind all in one. Those who stand near to her for any length of time begin to notice a strange, ethereal susurrus on the wind.
Despite what would seem like any number of obvious impediments to successfully questioning strangers, she manages to help Eòshli pry open a few more mouths, as it were...
...and despite a serious unfamiliarity with the land of Sargava, once informed of the local gambling facilities she takes to them like a fish to water.
"They must be joking if they think we're just going to hand everything over like a bunch of storybook Taldan Paladins," She asserts in a slightly hoarse, sibilant voice. "As if anyone else in a game like this in a place like this *isn't* going to be cheating as well, HAH!"
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"Lets just put what we'll need in here now while the Venture Captain isn't looking because then he can say we didn't cheat without lying."
The extra dimensional space in the Pathfinder's pouch is 2 cubic feet and can take 10lbs.
Gillie gets out his alchemy gear, his amulet of mighty fists and his tailblade. This weights 5 1/2 lbs and takes up about half the space but would be willing to leave the alchemy kit behind if necessary to make space.
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After a bit of pained consideration, Khāṇa tosses in her flint and steel, a set of bone dice, a strange-looking potion , and what appears to be the most fearsome looking garden trowel you have ever seen .
She also presents a length of quality bloodvine rope , and a healer's kit in pristine condition. "What do the rest of you think? Worth it, or too much?"
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"I think magic is great! Definitely spell pouches and stuff!" He cocks his head to the side as he thinks about Khāṇa's suggestions.
"Your funny knife is very cool! But I have this wand that is lighter than the healers kit and we can probably find some vines for rope. I am very good at climbing anyway!"
Gillie: -Tailblade 1/4lbs
-Amulet 0lbs
-[s]Alchemical stuff 5lbs?[s]
-Wand CLW 0lbs
Bahram: Spell Component pouch 2lbs
Eòshli: Harrow deck/runebones? 0lbs?
- Cloak 1lbs
Khāṇa: -Dice/Potion/Flint and steel 0lbs
-Kunai 2lbs
Thorur: ??
Yates: Compass/Pickle extractor ??lbs
This comes to 5 1/4lbs before Thorur and Yates. What else?
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Gillie: -Tailblade 1/4lbs
-Amulet 0lbs
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-Wand CLW 0lbs
Bahram: Spell Component pouch 2lbs
Eòshli: Harrow deck/runebones? 0lbs?
- Cloak 1lbs
Khāṇa: -Dice/Potion/Flint and steel 0lbs
-Kunai 2lbs
Thorur: -Dagger
-Empty Waterskin
Yates: Compass/Pickle extractor
This comes to 7lbs before Yates.
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Yates gives a smile as he hands over the compass, he then picks up the pickle extractor, pauses as he stares at it for a long time, before ultimately putting it into his pack and sighing, "I hate to leave this behind, but I guess Shyka would have fortold that this shouldn't be with me now... I hope. The Many would have warned me to 'keep it on me always' otherwise right? Instead of 'keep it safe'? I might be risking it if I took it with me and it got discovered."
The man instead pulls out a small collapsible pole and a pair of squishy inserts. "I do think this pole and these inserts would be good to have if there's room."
He stands up and then nods at the rest of the group, "Right, I'm ready let's get this race started then shall we?"
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"Your funny knife is very cool! But I have this wand that is lighter than the healers kit and we can probably find some vines for rope. I am very good at climbing anyway!"
"Fair, but those Quick-reeds don't do much beyond fixing flesh-wounds; this kit can better treat the barbs, toxins, and foul humours that no jungle-swamp worth its resident penny-dreadful virile-hero feral-man would dare be without."
After another moment's looking over her things, Khāṇa produces 3 sticks of charcoal, a set of waxed-cotton earplugs, and a small sack of slick, veiny buckskin (at least, you hope it's buckskin).
"These two can be crammed in with everything else easily; the bag is about half-a-pound, but it's guaranteed waterproof. Could be useful."
After a day spent on various preparations, night arrives and with it the opening ceremony of the Sarvaga Chalice. By tradition, the event is hosted at a local tavern called the Filling Cup. Venture-Captain Bellaugh is already there when you arrive, and he gestures for you to join him at a table in the corner of the bar.
The ceremony begins with Baron Utilinus, the Grand Custodian of Sargava, presenting the titular Sargava Chalice to the crowd. As he does so, he recites a familiar speech to the crowd in a clear, confident voice, pausing for applause as it occurs.
"Be you stout and spirited adventurers? Dare you face your greatest challenge yet? Tomorrow begins the Sargava Chalice, the most dangerous footrace south of the Inner Sea! Who among you will rise to the task? Step forward, brave souls, and speak your names! Tell us why you are worthy to write your name on this cup!"
With this last comment, he hefts the Sargava Chalice in the air, to riotous applause. As he does so, Bellaugh begins speaking to your group, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. "If you wish, you can simply step forward to announce your participation, but, traditionally, teams will take this opportunity to boast of their own abilities or trash-talk other teams. Only one person is allowed to declare for your team, so choose carefully."
Almost immediately, a group across the hall, each dressed in embroidered jackets lined with gold and fur-topped tricorn hats, leaps to their feet. Their leader, a woman with a nasty scar running over one eye from forehead to cheek, yells loudly enough to be heard throughout the entire tavern.
"I am Cornella Yorke, and I speak for the Trail Hounds—Rupert, Archibald, Neville, and Drummond! We are the roughest, toughest, meanest band of rascals you’ll find between here and Bloodcove, and we fear neither beast nor jungle! Our band has trained with Philt himself, winner of last year’s Chalice, and we’re eager to test our mettle. We’ll prove we’ve earned the right to bear the name of champions!" With a grin and a wave of her hat, she sits with her fellows.
Elsewhere, another well-dressed group stands and announces their intentions.
"I speak for the Ashen Leaves—Lucca, Pharom, and Orela. We are the sons and daughters of those who built this proud nation, and we carry on their tradition of excellence to this day. As the noble blood of Sargava flows through our veins, I swear that our esteemed names will soon decorate that cup. The Ashen Leaves stand for victory! Who among you stands with us!"
Another round of cheers follows them to their seats, and soon a group of Song'o halflings step forward, speaking in heavily accented Common.
"Ebansi, who are Tensa’i, Ramagh, Deffa, Fora, and Berro. We are not honorless pirates nor coddled nobles. We are small but cunning. We are stealthy and swift. We are the bravest and strongest of our tribe. We will win, because we must win. We are Ebansi, and we will no longer be forgotten."
The final team to announce, made up exclusively of Zenj humans, sends their leader to stand defiantly before the assembled crowd.
"We are the Resistance, and we represent the subjugated Mwangi peoples of Sargava. For too long our Chelish oppressors have conducted this charade of a contest as a means of patting themselves on the back and distracting from the hardships they impose upon the rightful people of this glorious land. We will win the Sargava Chalice for our people, but the first step in taking the nation itself from the interlopers!"
Other ethnic Mwangi in the crowd smile broadly and applaud the unexpected entrants, while Baron Utilinus and his Chelish entourage exchange furtive glances and urge other, solitary racers to take the floor and distract the assembled audience from the rabble-rousers. The space between these occasional, mad lone racers gives your team the perfect opening to make an impression.
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Yates gives Khāṇa a side-long glance and then counters with "If we are not going with the 'Pathfinders' then at least go with 'Death's Bridge Partners'. Poker implies we're gambling against death which everyone knows you can't win at for long. Bridge implies we are working with death, which is significantly more scary."
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Eoshli pushes to her feet, surveying the crowd with a sardonic expression. “To be honest, I’m not sure why most of these others showed up, everyone knows how this ends,” she says, languidly gesturing to indicate the Tail Hounds and Ashen Leaves. “I’m sure we need no introduction, but I’ll be damned if you’re not all getting one anyway!” Her voice rises in volume to carry across the crowded hall. “We are the Pathfinders, and we are second to none in daring deeds, dungeons delved, or deaths defied! There is no corner of Golarion we have not trod and no mission we will not undertake! Our names will be the ones to decorate that chalice and everyone here knows it!”
Leaping up onto the table, she points to each of her companions as she calls out their accomplishments.
“Thorur Grundr fought off the hordes of Usaro at Azlant Ridge, routing the charau-ka and their demonic champion!”
“Khana Tsogtsos broke the back of a ring of slavers in Andoran, sending those peddlers of flesh and misery to a well-deserved early grave!”
“Bahram al-Urgug braved the bitterly cold wilderness of faraway Brevoy, battling werewolves in defense of a noble scion and recovering the mythical Horn of Aroden!”
“Yates Ashkount has conquered beasts and tomes alike in the esoteric halls of Taldor, for never doubt that a library can be every bit as dangerous as any cavern!”
“Gillie has sailed the stormy seas of the Land of the Linnorm Kings, claiming treasures fit for a warlord from their watery tombs!”
“And I? I, Eoshli Vyanshe, met a goddess in a lonely oasis deep within Qadira, unraveling riddles and facing down phantoms to win a boon of divine wisdom!”
Sauntering across the table, Eoshli smirks at the competition. “Whatever grand deeds you all claim, the Pathfinders can promise you this: we’ve done it bigger. We’ve done it louder, and we did it with a pocket full of roosters! WE ARE THE PATHFINDERS!”
Eòshli's words are, at first, greeted with a muted silence, until one of Yates's exclamations seems to resonate with the crowd. Immediately, the tavern erupts into assorted whoops and hollers that follow you to your seats. Venture-Captain Bellaugh welcomes you back to the table with a warm smile, and things settle down from there.
Yours is the last team to announce, and after a few more individual entrants, Baron Utilanus climbs to his feat. "Are there any more entrants? No? Very well, I now close the floor. Competitors may bring their entry fees directly to my table."
Venture-Captain Bellaugh rises from his seat, saying "Don't worry Pathfinders, this one is on me." He makes his way over to the Baron, and they exchange a few words as Bellaugh hands over a small sack of coins.
Once the opening ceremonies end, the baron’s men usher everyone competing in the race into the tavern’s private rooms to divest them of their belongings. The guards collect everything you own—weapons, armor, spellbooks, magic items, clothing, jewelry, etc. They place each person’s belongings in a separate wooden chest, which they then shut with a strong-looking lock and store in a secure room in the back of the inn. To replace your confiscated clothing, the guards give each of you a monk’s outfit dyed in Sargava’s colors: red, black, and white.