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While you run about your business, or perhaps pleasure, in and around the Grand Lodge in Absalom, a mysterious courier delivers you a missive, curtly bows and leaves. Upon opening, you read an even more mysterious summons...
Greetings, Pathfinder, your services are required...
You are hereby summoned to meet with me tonight at the Grog Pit. We will meet in the back room there 'ere midnight, at a table attended by a female server. Show her this invitation and she will seat you and see to your beverage needs...
There will be a deck of cards at the center of the table; you will play cards until my arrival...
Until then,
Osprey
As seasoned Pathfinders, you know the Grog Pit as one of Absalom's more notorious dives, a tavern of questionable reputation.
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Otha sits on a rug in a large walled garden, a large hamper beside her. Two children sit attentively beside her as she lays out a dizzying selection of forks, knives, spoons and other silverware.
She snatches up a glittering utensil, "Now, Belwen, what type of fork have we here?"
The girl bites her lip, "A... an oyster fork?"
Before Mivvy can reply, a serveant crosses the lawn, "Ms Hetherington, a message for you."
"For me? How remarkable." She takes the message and, after a brief glance, dismisses the serveant.
Then she tucks the message inside her shirt, "Now, back to forks."
The girl and boy have both stood up, wide eyes fixed on the spot on Mivvy's blouse where an impression of the note can be seen.
The boy almost whispers, "Ms. Hetherington, ma'am, is that from your Pathfinder gang."
Mivvy shakes her head, "Oh, no, no. Sorry to disappoint you, Ranulph, just an errand for my aunt. Now," her voice takes on a firmer tone, "spoons."
"Um, I thought we were learning about forks?"{/b]
[b]"Oh, yes, sorry. Forks."
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That evening, Mivvy strolls into the Grog Pit with her own bottle of wine and a glass. As the barman notices she flips him a coin and heads to the back table.
Ignoring the cards until her allies come, Mivvy puts both feet on the table, pours herself a glass of red and sits back to watch the crowd.
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Hamish wakes in the morning to a knock on the door. An early enough riser he is surprised by a courier working earlier. Figuring it is somewhat important... or dangerous, he calls out, "One moment, getting dressed!"
He quickly stretches out and slips his breastplate over his shoulders, snapping it into place quickly and grabs his robe, throwing it on as well. Fitting his spiked gauntlet onto his hand, he holds it behind his back as he opens the door a crack, "yes?"
Seeing a mere courier outside, he takes the offered note and tosses a copper his way, "Thanks."
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Reading through the note a few times he sighs, thinking to himself. Never get much warning, do we. I guess I'll have to cancel my spot in our gig tonight, at least there are a few studio drummers that could fill in.
With the door re-locked, he goes about his normal morning, shaving and cleaning his body for the day. His clothes were already cleaned the night before and the scent of sandalwood still lightly wafts off them. He quickly heads out to his local watering hole for breakfast and to let his band know of the change to their lineup.
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Later that day as dusk falls over the city the helf heads to the grog pit, fully armed and armored as this isn't a place to show weakness. He shows his invite to get into the back room and orders a mid-shelf bottle of whiskey with one glass. Expecting a long night of cards before their patron deigns to show, he figures sipping the hard stuff slow is the best way to avoid inebriation.
A simple cantrip later, the glass that arrives is cleaned thoroughly and he breaks the wax seal on the whisky, pouring himself a fingers worth of golden liquid. The same useful spell chills the liquid, condensation forming on the glass as he takes a tiny sip.
Looking over the lip of the beverage he takes in the sight of the human before him, "Hamish here, you are?"
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Rising to her feet, Mivvy makes an elaborate bow, including a flourish of her wide-brimmed hat, "Myvanwie, Jadrine, Keostella Hetherington, at your service." She grins, "But my friends," and with that she taps the shining wayfinder hanging at her hip, "call me Mivvy."
Mivvy sits, "A pleasure to meet you, Hamish." She pushes the wine bottle across the table, "If you'd prefer something less heady."
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The little frog-man carefully reads the note he is given. He's unhappy about the meeting place, but knows the Lady understands his presence in such a place if it's part of his Society work. When it's time, he does as directed, although he clearly has no idea of the rules of any card games.
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Wandering through the early morning shadows of Absolom, he grins. 'Only the degenerate are out and about this time of day.' Slipping past a pair of half-orcs as they violently solve a disagreement, he nods. 'Not my problem today. Carry on.'
Rounding a corner, he nearly runs into a courier. "HEY! Watchit now!" The started man giving him a once over, shoves a letter into Umbrato's hand and runs off.
'I really should work on keeping my eyes on my surroundings and not getting lost in my own thoughts.'
Scanning the missive, he frowns. 'Directive of the Decemvirate eh? Best go pickup a few more scrolls...'
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After a long day of visiting his favorite shops, the hooded man makes his way to the Grog Pit. A quick showing of his invitation and a single word uttered "Ale" he finds himself near a table with a few others.
Taking each one in slowly, he tucks his pair of swords back as he slides into a chair. Ensuring his back is to a wall, he pulls a small crossbow from his sleeve and tucks it into his pack, next to a large scroll case.
"I assume we are all hear for the same reason, yes? Names Umbrato Shawart. While a simple crafter myself, there are those that find my skill with parchment to be quite useful."
The man absentmindedly folds a napkin as he speaks, slowly creasing it this way and that. Setting the item in the middle of the table, an origami bat waves its wings at Hamish. "It's a pleasure to join you. May 'She of Ebon wings' ensure our victory."
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It would be a very brave fox that sniffs the afternoon breeze at the front entrance of the:
Absalom Hunting Lodge (est 4520 AR)
Unless that specimen was a member of a parliament of concerned citizens, lobbying for an end to hunting of Kortos Island’s native animals. The ease with which its bushy tail weaves between the legs, claws and tentacles of the animal host blocking the Lodge entrance suggests just that. With all doubt removed by the placard magically affixed to its furry back reading:
Foxy’s brush and sign disappear behind the skirts of a short half-elven woman, stunning in an azure gown, currently fashionable in the Court of Prince Stavian III. Flanked by bears and deer, coneys playing at her feet and crowned by a swirling bullfinch halo, the wilderness warrior could be playing Princess Aurora in a Crystalhue pantomime, or the Northern goddess Mielikki, in the Bard’s latest Fantasy.
That is, until she opens her mouth to address the cowering messenger, clad in the Grand Lodge’s livery who has dared to approach her picket line!
“Tell Captain Muttonchops him stay make whoopee with Paracountess this end-week. Not whoopee up Cairnlands, leave much critter-baby orphans.”
She snatches the letter from the lad and scowls at him while she reads. “Hmm … Mummy need go home and putty on warpaint.”
A piercing ♫ WHISTLE ♫ dismisses her court, as the druidess shows her teeth.
"Aeliah hear Osprey embodimint of 'Nature, red in tooth and claw.'"
🐸
Aeliah waits patiently for a couple of half-orc toughs to enter the Grog Pit, before stealing over the threshold on their coat-tails.
From the shadows, her keen elven eyes scan the seated patrons for a wayfinder matching the one at her hip. Sporting long dreads and face paint patterned with alien whorls, the nature priestess wears animal skins over a dark silken bodysuit. A darkwood buckler adorns her wrist, a dagger pokes from one of her low boots and a Taldan signet ring hangs from a leather thong at her throat.
House Raine has holdings centered on the rural village of Breezy Creek.
“Aeliah.” The druid grunts as she takes a seat at your table.
“She of Ebon wings … Me never heard Ketephys call that before, Tricksy Man.”
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Mivvy grabs the attention of their server, "Be a dear and fetch two more wine glasses. Clean. For my companions, thank you so much."
Then turns to the others, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Aeliah of House Raine and Umbrato Shawart and... I am sorry, I don't think I caught your name?" She turns an inquiring eye upon the grippli.
"You may call me Mivvy," Mivvy catches Aeliah's eye, "That's Mivvy Hetherington, if you're interested in these sort of things."
Finally, her gaze lands back on the deck of cards, "I've never been much for cards, I much prefer stories." She shuffles the cards, lays down the deck and turns over the top card.
"The ace of hearts! Well, Aeliah clearly wears her heart on her sleeve and aces come first so, Aeliah, would you be so kind as to tell us a first: your first love,your first pathfinder mission, your first home...? whatever takes your fancy!"
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Luxuriating in a warm bath, a tielfing reclines in a copper tub. Best investment I have made. Well, one of them. Steam gently rises from the soapy water. In his tail is a crystalline flute filled with a deep, rich wine. In his hand is a missive from Osprey. "Don't they know I just returned from Dustpawn? I have been soaking for hours and still have not washed away all of that filthy hamlet." He takes a slow sip, enjoying the the last moments of his 'recuperation'. No rest for the wicked!
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Sauntering into the tavern, the tiefling has dressed for the evening. At his belt are a series of daggers. Wearing the latest in Chelaxian fashion, the man pauses a moment to brush some lint off his lapel before heading to the back table. He smiles toward the gathered souls, white teeth nearly aglow. "Hearts? I see my ingress has brought me at a most fortuitous time. Good evening. I hope you have not been kept waiting too long. Though, as none of you are blustering on and on about some difficulty created by third parties, I am certain that I have arrived before our host."
He offers a brief nod. "Still, apologies for my tardiness. It is most unbecoming and hardly professional. I am Izlin Greymantle. I can see from some of your selections that there are a few refined palates among you. Is the wine of merit, or should we send for a more pleasing vintage?" Izlin sits and looks expectantly at Aeliah, "Please, forgive my callous interruption. I am certain everyone is waiting with bated breath to hear about your ...first."
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“Go limp into cold bath, Sulphur-breath. Grugach courtship rituals not so relatable to one familiar with Taldan ‘balls’ and ‘gymkhanas.’”
The druidess gives Izlin a curious glance. “By way, what happened to you hair? It look like sewer-rat nest, two imps copulate in.”
🐭
“Similarly, Aeliah first Pathfinder mission very boring. Her assigned Scrolls initially. Took Confirmation in damn library!”
“Creighton Shaine said her need to work on ‘cultural adjustment.’”
“But Aeliah think that Terror Bird guano. Him want to study her and learn about tribal homeland.”
“But seeing Lady Mivvy ask nicely, Aeliah pared tell new companions of her first home …”
👽
“To Grugach Elders she is Itthon, but humans call her ‘Amedio.’”
“A wealth of natural resources and human-made treasures is hers, yet Itthon also home to isolated peoples, ferocious monsters, poisonous plants, virulent diseases, and the dangerous ruins of at least four fallen cultures.”
"No roads cross her endless tracts, and few natives welcome outsiders. It is an unremarkable, civilized, highly lawful region separated from the barbaric world by mountain and sea."
Aeliah looks pointedly at Izlin. "An unforgiving land that repays error and conceit with anonymous, horrific death."
“Itthon a tropical rainforest of astounding richness and resilience. Air is always humid and hot, day and night. Metal armor extremely uncomfortable to wear; heavy padding worn beneath such armor can induce heatstroke and dehydration. Iron weapons, and tools catch severe rusting in few days unless carefully oiled and cared for.”
“Trees closely spaced, their upper branches forming a continuous canopy of brilliant (humans say 'eye burning') green 100-130 feet from the ground. Woody vines, Elders call lianas and creeping plants decorated with enormous flowers of rainbow colors twist around trunks or swing from high limbs.”
“The air everywhere is thick with odors and scents, from the black soil to the musk of hidden mammals to the perfumes of rare blossoms. Common trees include the balsa, banyan, baobab, deklo, mahogany, mangrove, palm, rubber tree and teak. Ground growth in open glades includes briars, tall grass, wild maize and wheat (once cultivated by earlier human civilization).”
"It easier to ask what tropical creatures not found here."
"Unlike similar Mwangi country," Aeliah nods to Thaddeus. "There no elephants, rhinoceroses, bears, giraffes, lions, tigers, or hippos. Absence of elephants puzzling to foreigners, as carved ivory figures sometimes found in treasure hoards or kept by tribal chieftains and shamans of all races.”
“Grugach worship Ehlenestra, Lady of the Hunt. Brown-skinned humans venerate curious pantheon based on natural phenomena and events. Though some favor demigod of the Green, not dissimilar to Gozreh.”
“Fairer-skinned humans revere idols of men and beasts personifying strength, fire or death. Though particularly wicked tribes turn to demon princes including Dagon, Ilsidahur and Demogorgon.”
“Grugach mainly dress in simple breechclout for both sexes, body paint symbolizing clan or spirit animal, and precious jewellery of macaw or eagle feather-and-bone necklaces, dino-bone piercings and braided hair – depending on station, victories in battle or hunting, religion and spiritual status, numbers of spouses, and more.”
As she concludes, Aeliah makes an open gesture to her companions and asks a server for more fresh water. “Me know Aeliah make Itthon sound like paradise.”
“While the soulless stone and metal of this dead city now place me dwell, Itthon always be Aeliah’s first home.”
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Blinking a few times to digest the information, Umbrato shake his head. "Ketephys?"
"Blasphemy me...no. The true god Kel..." Trailing off, he smiles. "Almost got me there. As we should all know, a multitude of gods lend aid to those they deem worthy. Let us not turn this into a debate of whose got the bigger deus if you will."
Turning to Izlin, he cocks his head to one side. "This is a first for me. I've fought against your kind...but never alongside."
Taking a swig of ale, he reaches out and flips over a...seven of diamonds. With but a shrug, he folds the card tightly to resemble a shot glass and slides it towards the bard. "Mind given me a taste? If we're gonna be sitting her all night, wouldn't mind a bit of the strong stuff."
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Hamish quirks an eye and then pours a dram into the card-glass, somewhat surprised it doesn't leak everywhere. He raises his own tumbler towards all, "To our health. And if that doesn't work, to our just judgement in the after."
This group might be interesting if we don't kill each other first. Lotta strong personalities.
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“By way, what happened to you hair? It look like sewer-rat nest, two imps copulate in.”
Izlin's hand covers his heart. "Madam, you wound me. To assault my coiffure so, it cuts me to the quick. Rest assured, the stylist may have been imp-ish, but she was certainly mortal. I can only imagine what damage the humidity of your homelands would eagerly inflict upon my luscious mane." The wry smile he allows shows a lack of serious offense.
Aeliah looks pointedly at Izlin. "An unforgiving land that repays error and conceit with anonymous, horrific death."
Ah elves, so quick to judge others they trip over their own arrogance. Is she truly unaware how she plays into her own stereotype?
"I've fought against your kind...but never alongside."
Speaking of stereotypes... He turns to address the trickster, "My kind you say? And what 'kind' is that. Innocent? Misunderstood? Or simply rakishly handsome?"
"To our health. And if that doesn't work, to our just judgement in the after."
The magus raises a wineglass, "To the first, sir. I believe we would all rather stay well afar of the Boneyard for a good many years."
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“I can only imagine what damage the humidity of your homelands would eagerly inflict upon my luscious mane.”
Perhaps there are no mirrors in the Pit?
Aeliah *shrugs* “You certainly give her every chance to succeed, Rake Man.”
She turns to the bard. “Aeliah drink to companions’ health gladly, Hamish. With sky juice – clear and proven.”
“Let us not turn this into a debate of whose got the bigger deus if you will.”
“Fair ‘nuff. Aeliah take cup of cleansing nectar with you, Tricksy Man?”
He knows he’d lose …
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Mivvy nods her head to Izlin, "I have heard Crowe speak of your flying knives in the lodge. I look forward to seeing them in action."
She clinks her glass with Tad, Hamish and anyone else who is willing, "Explore, report, co-operate..." She takes a long swig from her cup, "celebrate in style."
"Now, another card, I fancy." Mivvy puts down her glass and flips the next card, "The king of hearts. The cards are looking good tonight."
She smiles at Hamish, "You seem to have a good heart. Tell us about an encounter with a king, or some other noble, if you'd be so kind?" She winks, "I'm hoping for a scandal. I can just see you hiding beneath a beautiful princess' bed."
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Suddenly, just as Hamish starts to tell his tale in answer to Mivvy's query, the backroom door shuts and the game’s mysterious host appears—the enigmatic Osprey, an agent of the Pathfinder Society with unclear objectives likely known only to the Decemvirate. Two strangers accompany the lean-featured Chelaxian—a tall man wearing dark robes and a black mask that conceals his face, and a grizzled, prune-skinned gnome, with a slight facial palsy. With his typically cordial but informal manner, Osprey requests everyone be seated, and offers all a mug of Absalom’s worst grog.
“My fellow Pathfinders, I appreciate you making yourselves available on such short notice. I trust the accommodations here are sour enough to keep others from our business. As usual, I prefer to get right to the point.”
Osprey slams a large sack down on the table, a high-pitched yelp bursting from within the bundle as he does so. He quickly reaches into the sack and drags out a tiny pestilent-looking creature by the throat. He beats its head against the table a few more times, and yells, “Settle down before I get careless and snap your damn neck!” Then he pins it down against the table, where it flounders weakly, a bony clump of glinting scales, hollow-eyes, and leathery wings. With his hands still locked on the creature’s throat, he raises his eyes, looks across the table and says, “So, what do you know about demons?”
The Mysterious Visitors (Click Audio Button for Mood Music)
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“Aeliah know her not want to get so close to one.”
With a disgusted look, the druidess stands and shuffles closer to the cloaked human and his gnome companion.
While clearly unimpressed with the unnatural creature in their midst, you suspect Aeliah’s move is a deliberate tactic aimed at getting a closer look at the newcomers, in order to garner an early clue about their motives.
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Hamish begins his story, "Well, I was there at a Blackross Wedding and..."
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But sadly, the interruption stops him and he simply watches the scene unfold.
Hamish's eyebrows raise at the actions of their host, "Enough to know taunting them isn't something I wish to do. Is that our mission? Capture and torture lesser demons?"
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"Apologies, my companion, but I was in fact referring to tieflings." replies Umbrato after a long moment.
Silently listening to the briefing, he jots down a couple notes.
Instantly recognizing the small beast, Umbrato winces as the agent beats on it. "I must say...I chose to join the Society instead of the Consortium due to a distaste in torture."
"Even a demon has a right to quick justice." he announces, involuntarily glancing towards Izlin. Quickly looking back to Osprey, he adds "I do hope there is something a bit more honorable to our mission?"
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Osprey seems pleased that you seemed to know a little about demons. “Excellent, correct it is a quasit; you know at least a bit...but no matter, you’re capable enough either way. As for his treatment, if he'd cooperate, we wouldn't have to coerce the information out of him at all; as the Taldan lady proclaimed, quasits are such vile creatures. And no, I'm afraid you won't be dealing with lesser demons at all; the ones you will face should be much more...capable.” Then he violently suggests to the tiny demon that it shall soon reveal to all present some very important information. Calming himself, he apologizes for his forgetfulness and formally presents his guests. The decrepit-looking gnome he introduces as Xersus Abergris, an expert demonologist and historian. After handshakes, he nods to his second companion and says to you, “Please, offer your complete attentions to my most esteemed guest.” The cloaked man steps forward and addresses you in an eerily dry monotone.
“I represent the Decemvirate. I’ve come to oversee these proceedings as they are of personal interest to me. Osprey and Xersus shall speak on my behalf, unless I find it necessary to intervene. As far as you are all concerned, you have never seen me. Do I make myself clear?”
The Mysterious Visitors (Click Audio Button for Mood Music)
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Mivvy can't suppress a giggle, "Why of course. What could be clearer than telling us almost nothing and being deliberately mysterious."
"Perhaps if you told us your name, your relationship with the decemvirate and your interests here, then everything would be clear."
She rolls her eyes, "Sorry, I mean that of course we will all do our best to protect your identity. Whoever you are. And we are so glad that you are here."
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“As far as you are all concerned, you have never seen me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear like glass you can see right through?”
Aeliah waves a hand in front of the Cloaked One's eyes. “Mivvy, Aeliah think she hear voices tell us what to do – but NOBODY THERE!’”
She *rolls* her eyes. “Good leadership. Way to go inspire trust.”
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Hamish watches his allies sarcastic replies and quickly pipes up, "All jokes aside, yes, we are competent agents and won't be sharing any details about this mission that we shouldn't. But perhaps you could resolve our concerns by giving us just the tiniest bit of information about what our actual mission is going to be?"
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The cloaked man smiles...one that you assume does not reach his eyes which you cannot discern due to his hood. He turns his head slightly to a fuming Osprey...
Osprey gives a very stern warning. "You...were...asked...a simple...yes or no...question. It would be...unwise...for you to attempt to converse with my friend. The Decemvirate will give you information as they see fit; in the unlikely event he needs to say more, he will, if he so chooses. The gnome and I will give the particulars."
The mysterious stranger gives an the slightest of nods to Osprey who in turn nods to Xersus; the gnome then rises to address you.
“One of the problems with demons is their complete lack of organization. We sages have very little to work from when investigating and cataloging them. Devils of course, keep lengthy records, but with these things,” he pauses to disdainfully poke the quasit, “these things couldn’t tell you the name of their own mother. This makes the job of studying and cataloging them very important. Many years ago, I used to work with a cleric and expert demonologist named Baldimar Trud. Trud was also a revered cleric of Cayden Cailean, and guided all of his research to assist in the fight against these infernal brutes. Still, the church had few available funds for his elaborate studies, and thus he sought out and received funds from other investors, including significant patronage from the Society. Over the course of several years, he built a research laboratory and compiled an extensive archive. Unfortunately, we have seen none of his work since he died before revealing its location. After Cayden’s Hall burned down the last time, I thought his works gone forever. Though a few days ago, I came upon this little fellow going through my personal notes—notes concerning my old friend Baldimar. I don’t believe this is a coincidence and strongly believe this fellow shall soon tell us why he was in my possessions. After that, I’m sure Osprey has a plan for you.”
Osprey smirks. "Since you disagree with my methods, I'll give you a shot at persuading information from this irritating pest..."
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As he listens to your diplomatic entreaties, the quasit's eyes get soft and big, like a puppy dog. "You so nice...I tell you...NOTHING!" The little demon cackles loudly, then sticks his tongue out and gives everyone a raucous Bronx cheer...
Still laughing as he points at you. "Even little demon not scared of ugly humanoids," he smirks, "...me smarter than you..."
From Osprey's seat, the look on his face has an I told you so feel to it...
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Hamish smiles cruelly and leans in, "Well, we had to try. But sadly now I think you have only one option left before we let Mr. Peel here take his shot. Why do they call him Mr. Peel? Well, let's just say that he learned his methods watching trappers skin hides off their catches. So... why don't you cooperate and we can lessen your pending pain."
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Mivvy draws her cold iron blade but then just presses the cold-iron pommel into the creature's eye-socket. She leans in really close, teeth barred, "You vile little piece of effluence. We only gave you a chance because we're so much better than you that we forget how craven and insufferable you are, you disgusting boil on the arse of reality. Either you tell us everything - everything - or you'll get what you truly deserve," She matches its gaze, "And you know just how awful that would be, don't you?"
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Feeling the cold iron of Mivvy’s blade and believing the hostile intent in her eyes, the quasit jumps back and shrieks in fear...leaving a little wet spot in his previous position. Looking meekly at the Taldane lady, he says, "Meesa just kidding...I tell you what I know..."
The quasit reveals that after long years, he recently heard his master’s voice again—Graz’ith Ur Maurgith, a powerful demon to whom he is bound for all eternity. Obligated to serve his master, he’ll actually turn against him and help you as he doesn’t particularly relish the idea of eternal servitude and has enjoyed the freedom of a having a missing master. The voice of Graz’ith came from somewhere within Cayden’s Hall. "Meesa not know exactly from where...that Hall be big!” Finished, the quasit shrugs.
Osprey nods in approval of Mivvy’s tactics...
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Izlin crosses his arm with a haughty look toward Umbrato. "Oh my! How absolutely cruel. Show of hands; who thought the telling would be the one to resort to torture? Personally, I had my money on the loud, thick-headed druid or the very quiet tree frog. He is much too calm. Mark my words, one day that little man will crack like a boys choir hitting puberty!"
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The quasit shrugs. "Meesa just hear Master's voice in Cayden's Hall...no know if others hear...don't know no Baldy Turd or his lab...dat pretty much all meesa knows...'cept Master is big flying demon, not to be messed wif..."
Osprey nods and turns to you. "That's good enough for me. I want you all to travel to Cayden's Hall and investigate; first, find the High Priestess Saphira and ask what she knows. Should you find out anything, send word to me immediately, especially if you find yourselves out of your depth...
"Now gather your gear, make any last minute purchases, and get a good night's sleep. You leave tomorrow morning..."
The mysterious cloaked figure rises, murmuring only, "Excuse me," as he slips out a back exit, and seemingly vanishes.
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The priest nods as the mysterious stranger excuses themself, "At least they are courteous."
Hamish stops by the local potion shop and grabs a couple oils of Bless Weapon (100g). After a good night of sleep, he begins the day with a little light reading, prepares for the day and casts a single spell to ward off death.