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The scholar sighs.
"Do none of you know that the whole profession of scholarship is based around finding out information. Honestly, this is just another example of why the Pathfinder society is a defunct institution that is best left in the dark ages."
"Excuse me" he asks a local tribesman, before shifting into the local dialect.
"I'm looking for one Raimondo, who may be trying to avoid my companions and I. It is a delicate matter, would you be able to point us in the right direction?"
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"True, true. And history I grant you is written by the victors. That said, one can gather multiple accounts of an event and from the different perspectives try to come to some approximation of an objective account."
Pleased by the discussion he doesn't fail to add "Of course, the historian will then put his own slant on the events, as we all have our own biases, many of which we are unconscious of. As a professional, I have spent much of my life trying to remove bias from myself so my work may be seen as objective. But even I, I suspect, will be found to be less than a neutral observer of events."
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You eventually come across someone who saw Raimondo enter the Wandering Way. It's a high-end private club, not exclusively for gambling but not banning any games either.
Inside, the Bloodcove heat mingles with a sickly-sweet smell, likely pesh. Older patrons mull over drinks at their tables, while heavily armored young toughs occupy the floor around a hearth. It is quiet for but a second as you enter, but through no fault of your own. A red-faced man bellows in anger, sweeping playing cards and several drinks off a table.
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“You bashterd,” he drunkenly shrieks, “You scheating bashterd, Elanzo! I need thoshe animalsh! I have a client whoshe paid fer my caravan!”
His companion wrings the remains of his drink out of his shirt. “No one cares, Scevola. Those were the stakes, and your horses will be chow for my men before we set sail in the morning!”
“You shlipped shomethin in mah drink! You’re taking my horshesh over mah dead body!”
Elanzo simply shrugs at this and snaps his fingers. The large brutes gathered by the hearth stand up and begin moving toward the pair.
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Well, so much for the subtle approach
Speaking clearly, and in a voice that can cut through a lecture hall full of first year students, Khellek starts with a clearing of his throat.
"What my esteemed colleague here is trying to say, is that Mr Scevola there cannot have bet 'his' horses as they are already spoken for, and not his to dispose of. However if it is only flesh for your crew that you are after, then I am sure we can arrange an alternative source for you."
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Elanzo flinches a little as another voice enters the conversation. "As if it's your business," he scoffs lightly. "But if you must know, this old sot decided to place an ever-heightening series of bets. I'm a bit of a cardsharp, so I thought I'd call him on it. Now that he has to pay his due, he's throwing a fit."
"Now, who are you to keep him from paying what he owes? I doubt-" he begins, but Khellek has started explaining. He takes a few moments to process. "Well, now I get it! I suppose I can't begrudge you that fact. The horses are yours."
"That is, if you can cough up their equivalent value, or get Mr. Scevola to. One can't just go around gambling what isn't theirs without consequence, don't you think? I wouldn't bet my nice jewelry and scamper out when I lost."
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"You really aren't local, eh?" Elanzo picks up Raimondo's glass, which still has a bit of liquid slowly dripping out. He quaffs the remainder. "The man has himself a reputation. It's easier to get his way when he's acting like this. Why do you think he started up as soon as you walked in?"
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"When he put the horses on the table, I raised the bet to 300 measures. That led to him whining for some time, until I caved in to merely calling with that much. I didn't believe the horses were quite so good, but I intended to win anyway. I'm now offering you a more realistic deal, believe it or not."
He seems to be speaking the truth. Raimondo is sputtering incoherently in a corner, having backed away from the toughs, who are no longer advancing. Two blades doesn't see any anything amiss on the scattered deck.
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"Excellent, just excellent. A pleasure to see this resolved." Elanzo beckons to his henchman, who file out of the Way. He tosses one coin to the barkeep, nodding at the mess Raimondo caused, then leaves while re-counting his gains.
The threat removed, Raimondo stumbles up and towards you. "Thanksh," he burbles, repeating himself several times. "Dunno what would've happened without youse. Horshesh're ready to go, but me...gimme a bit to sleep this off. Shout when we're leaving, I'll rushle up the crew."
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House Cartahegn needn't be tracked down, as it is Bloodcove's foremost supplier of food, and deals to lesser extents in most everything else. Still, its main trading post is nearly two hours away.
When you arrive, you are once again immediately aware of an issue. But this one seems to have been going on for hours. A mass of citizens and merchants alike choke the streets leading up to the two-story building. You can barely make out the closest people wringing their hands and shouting at a well-dressed young woman at the entrance.
“As I said,” shouts the Cartahegn spokesperson hoarsely from atop a wooden crate, “All Cartahegn resources are needed to deal with this emergency with our sugarpress, and our storefront is closed for the remainder of the day or until management resolves the situation. We apologize for the inconvenience, but for now please return to your homes and places of business.”
Some of the grumbling mob begins to disperse by the time she climbs down. This looks to have happened several times, as more people come by and notice the problem.
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Khellek continues muttering.
"And did I mention expenses. I mean, I give up my time, but have you ever had any of your expenses reimbursed? I don't think so. The society is a huge sponge that sucks the very lifeblood out of its agents."
With a sigh the scholar steps forward to talk with the house representative.
"My good man. What is the nature of your problems? Is it something that a few extra hands would be some assistance in helping with?"
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The woman of barely twenty summers ushers you closer to the building. "My name is Novaria. I surely hope you can be of some help." A few grumble at this preferential treatment, but she waves them off.
"The ant situation in our sugarpress is dire! We're losing thousands of pounds of sugarloaf an hour, and I don't know if we can drive the clicky beasts away," she whispers, sounding more desperate than before. "We've already spent so much on hired swords and put blades in the hands of bookkeepers, and haven't even driven them from the basement. Food prices could triple overnight in the best of circumstances!"
"I had one thought...my housekeeper makes a special lotion bugs can't stand. I have plenty, and maybe they would stay put long enough for us to brick them in if we slathered it around. You wouldn't happen to have brought warriors along with you? If you're here for food, we could arrange quite the discount on some of what's left."
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"I only recently thought of it, you see," Novaria explains. "Everyone else has swords and shields raised against the ants. I'm the one set to keep this crowd from burning us down, and I'll have to run to my tenement to get the lotion...excuse me!"
She tears off to ensure the masses have less time to realize the building is unsupervised.
This leaves everyone time to prepare, and Khellek is able to give a briefing. Despite his ability to spice things up, there isn't much to say. The giant ants are quite strong, capable of picking up and poisoning their prey. Mental magic has no effect, as they are simple, but also unfailingly loyal to queen and colony.
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"Friends. Let us ignore our fears of the darkness and think only of the deeds that will be recorded of us. What can mere ants do to the likes of you!"
The scholar then pats his large crossbow reassuringly. Then, remembering problems from the past, he loads a bolt into the large weapon. "I'm sure Bessie here will keep us safe."
"Once we see the enemy, I will provide you some additional guidance as to the best way to conduct your assaults." he reassures his "students".
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Hearing this situation coming up, Alaric casts greater magic fang and barkskin on himself and Shredder. "Don't be scared, ma'am, I am going to change my form into one more suitable for fighting."
"Can someone use my wand of mage armor on me and Shredder?"
If we have time, he will take off his armor, and wild-shape into a deinonychus.
With all the preparations, Shredder starts getting excited.
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Novaria returns with the a large canister of salve. "Just find whatever holes they've jabbed into our walls and spread some around them, we'll see if works for long enough. Like one of those magic circles, I suppose. Thank you so much!"
After the humidity above, the stark dryness of the basement stands out as unsettling, almost as much so as the acrid smell and constant, methodical clicking emanating from the darkness. The remains of bags and crates lie scattered across the floor amid a sea of grayish dust. Tracks across the floor signify barrels being rolled further into the cellars.
"Rawr!" answers his dino friend!