GM Chadius [PbP Gameday] PFS2 1-02: The Mosquito Witch (Inactive)

Game Master chadius

The din of ringing steel and the simmering heat of the forge makes Smine’s Weaponworks easy to find, beyond even its sterling reputation and its well painted sign. An open sliding door leads into a work area filled with apprentices, each toiling to fuel the ceaseless demands for weapons to feed the city’s famed Arena of Aroden. One of the workers, a grim-faced halfling woman barely taller than her own anvil, flashes a smile and points to a narrow staircase at the back of the smithy. Climbing the stairs provides a small respite from the din and the heat, with hanging bowls of cloves and aromatic bark making a heroic, if futile, effort to cover the smell of coal and sweat.

Feel free to dot and introduce yourself.

Finn is a tall and slender man, his tanned skin shows that he has come from somewhere with plenty of sun. Dressed in a simple tunic, the man takes a moment to look around and acknowledge his surroundings, before silently nodding a thank you to the halfling woman, and making his way to the back of the smithy.

He has a small falcon on his shoulder, who makes an irritated caw at the loud sounds of the Weaponworks they have just stumbled into.

"Ka-kaaaww!" the bird ruffles his feathers with his large beak.

Jayma looks up at the painted sign above the open door. "Smine’s Weaponworks," she reads to herself. "It appears that we've come to the right place, Twyl" she says out loud, apparently to the dozing ermine draped across her shoulders. She looks through the door and wonders why they've been called here by the Society. "My my, but this does seem a rather odd place for a Pathfinder meeting," she continues, but the sleepy ermine shows no interest in her musings.

She shrugs and steps through the door. The din of metal on metal increases suddenly; Twyl starts out of his doze and looks about in agitation at all the noise and activity. Jayma turns to her ermine familiar and strokes his head to calm the creature. She coos, "It alright Twyl, everything's fine," and he relaxes visibly.

She catches the halfling woman's smile and looks over at the stairs where she's pointing. Jayma fires back her own smile and waves a hand in acknowledgment before carefully working her way to the back of the smithy. Halfway up the stairs, she pauses and examines herself head to toe. It seems she'd not been careful enough going through the smithy and had picked up a few smudges along the way. She swoops her hand across her body, and says, "Dirt depart directly." As if by magic, her clothing is once again pristine. "Ah, much better," she says to Twyl with evident satisfaction. "It wouldn't do to make a bad first impression now, would it." She continues up the stairs and enters the room.

Those already in the room turn to see a small female gnome dressed in an impressive set of cutting-edge clothing of the latest fashion. The eyes are first drawn to her pixie-cut bright orange hair framing a beautiful, but strangely otherworldly face. They soon move to take in the multi-colored hooded coat covering a peplum bustier that barely conceals her ample charms. Her leather breeches and boots in coordinating colors complete the outfit. At her belt are two sheathed matching daggers and several pouches.

See Jayma in all her splendor

Now moving unceasingly from one shoulder to another, occasionally diving into her coat or backpack only to quickly emerge elsewhere, is a white ermine with oddly intelligent eyes.

Seeing that she has their attention, she beams out a radiant smile and introduces herself. "My name is Jayma, and this..." she puts out her right hand into which the ermine leaps, standing up on its hind legs to look out at the others, "... is my friend Twyl," A pair of small wings unfold from the ermine's back and it takes to the air momentarily before landing on Jayma's shoulders once again.

Twyl was enjoying a nice post-meal snooze when he was rudely jolted awake by the loud clanging of hammers on anvils. Oh no, this he did not like; no, not at all. Looking nervously about, he sees the exit and wonders if he should make a break for it. His mistress's soothing words calm him down. Just in case though, he keeps his eye on the exit the whole time they're making their way through the smithy.

Once they arrived in the room at the top of the stairs, another surprise awaited, though he didn't see it at first. His mistress introduces them in her usual manner, but no sooner does he return to his roost on her shoulders, that he spots the falcon. He freezes; panic threatens to overwhelm him; that beak! Only Jayma's lack of concern and stroking hand stops him from fleeing in terror.

When the falcon makes no aggressive moves, Twyl calms down again. Ah, it looks like the bird belongs to that tall man he's perched on. He was probably the man's friend, like Twyl was his mistress's. I wonder if it'll be friends with me?

See Twyl in all his glory

Felika discreetly slips into the smithy's workshop, an easy task considering the amount of noise. Her skin quickly takes on a red glow from the heat. "How does anyone manage to spend a day working in this heat?" She grasps her light blond braids and ties them up into a haphazard bun. She nods gratefully to the woman pointing to stairs leading away from the forge before heading up, wiping the nape of her neck as she does.

"Why does the Pathfinder Society call us here, rather than to a lodge?" she asks as she enters the room, before even looking at anyone. She then extends her hand in greeting. "Hi! I'm Felika. Nice to meet you."

When her eyes land on Twyl, she perks up and speaks excitedly. "What a precious little creature! I've never seen one that wasn't in the wilderness before. It looks like it really trusts you. Are you a witch, by any chance? Is this your familiar?"

Jayma turns to see a tall woman enter the room and introduce herself. She smiles warmly in return and clasps Felika's large extended hand with her own dainty one. "Felika my dear, what a pretty name you have. My name is Jayma, and you have no idea what a pleasure it is to see you here." She gives Felika's hand a slight squeeze and pulls her in a little as if to speak privately. In a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, Jayma says, "I am usually the only member of the fairer sex on these excursions, so it will make for a nice change of pace to have you joining us."

When her eyes land on Twyl, she perks up and speaks excitedly. "What a precious little creature! I've never seen one that wasn't in the wilderness before. It looks like it really trusts you. Are you a witch, by any chance? Is this your familiar?"

Jayma's smile wavers for a second but manages to stay in place with a little extra effort. "Did she just ask if I'm a witch?," she thinks to herself in slight bewilderment. "Did I pick up some horrible disfiguring disease on the way through the smithy? Did I just sprout a wart on my nose?" She glances at Twyl for a second, borrowing his senses to examine herself. "Thank goodness for that," she thinks in relief, noticing nothing out of place.

Jayma turns back to Felika and fully takes in her appearance for the first time. Noticing the fair complexion and the blond braids, her smile warms up again. "Ah, Felika. From your name and looks, I take it you're from the far north. Ulfen? Irrisen perhaps? I hear that there are a lot of witches up there." Turning to Twyl again, she rubs his head as she continues, "His name is Twyl. He is indeed my familiar, but I am not a witch. I am not in the service of anyone but myself... and occasionally, the Society, if they require my assistance." Turning back to Felika, she adds with more intensity in her voice, "No indeed, not a witch. I am a sorcerer; my magic isn't channeled from some unknown patron but comes from the very blood that runs through my veins; that was passed to me by my ancestors." She pauses a second to let it sink in. Then, relaxing visibly, she pats Felika's hand, "It is a simple mistake to make. Don't let it bother you."

She steps back from Felika, and indicating the chairs, says, "Let's be more comfortable while we wait for our dear leader to arrive. Perhaps you and the tall gentleman with the falcon can tell me a little about yourselves to while away the time."

Finn isn't surprised when the two colorful and social women enter the room. Him and his bird make eye contact, "Yep, we're definitely in the right place. This has a Pathfinder Society mission written all over it."

"Why does the Pathfinder Society call us here, rather than to a lodge?" she asks as she enters the room, before even looking at anyone. She then extends her hand in greeting. "Hi! I'm Felika. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Finn. And this is my partner, Flute." which is followed by a small whistle from his bird companion on his shoulder, before answering the monks first question, "And this place is perfect if one wishes to keep private, and away from prying eyes."

She steps back from Felika, and indicating the chairs, says, "Let's be more comfortable while we wait for our dear leader to arrive. Perhaps you and the tall gentleman with the falcon can tell me a little about yourselves to while away the time."

Choosing to remain standing, "Originally, I am from Katheer, or at least that is where I was sold as a slave on the Quadiran market to a dirty Taldan noble from Demgazi. It's a story I would much rather avoid getting into." You now notice the numerous scars on the mans body, which he doesn't cover up. He notions to Flute, "Oh, and do not worry for your familiar, Flute is fed regularly."

He eventually adds, "And for the record, I look forward to working with both of you."

Grimm walks into the smithy and lays down his axe.
"It needs some sharpening. And I was tasked to apply here. My name is Grimm."
Grimm is a young dwarf with the broad shoulders and callused hands of a trained warrior. His clever eyes are always looking left and right for any interesting signs. He is heavily armored and armed.

The halfling blacksmith takes Grimm's axe and begins sharpening. "Now this... this is a good axe. Nice haft. A secure grip on this one." She inspects the head. "How much did you pay for this, eh? What's yer biggest catch with this? I bet you've buried this in plenty of beasts." She flashes Grimm a wicked smile.

An elven male walks up to Jamya, Finn and Felika. His long black hair tied in a bun. "Apologies, but Smine is almost finished with his work. It will be a moment. Can I get you anything to drink? Water is the most common thing here." Some sweat drips off his forehead near his eyes. He doesn't even blink.

An elven male walks up to Jamya, Finn and Felika. His long black hair tied in a bun. "Apologies, but Smine is almost finished with his work. It will be a moment. Can I get you anything to drink? Water is the most common thing here." Some sweat drips off his forehead near his eyes. He doesn't even blink.

Jayma steps back a little to make sure she's out of range of the sweat drops, and looking up at the elf, replies, "Well, thank you for the kind offer, but I am perfectly fine without a beverage at present."

An elven male walks up to Jamya, Finn and Felika. His long black hair tied in a bun. "Apologies, but Smine is almost finished with his work. It will be a moment. Can I get you anything to drink? Water is the most common thing here." Some sweat drips off his forehead near his eyes. He doesn't even blink.

"Thank you. I will take a cup of water, for my bird."

"Ah, Felika. From your name and looks, I take it you're from the far north. Ulfen? Irrisen perhaps? I hear that there are a lot of witches up there."

Felika hesitates ever so slightly before replying to Jayma. "Hum... yes, northern, indeed. I'm sorry if I offended you. Witches aren't all bad, and I had never seen people with familiars other than witches, so I may have jumped to conclusions. I fear I have not met many mages or... sorcerers, you said? I guess I need to travel more, which I'll do plenty now that I'm a Pathfinder," she adds, perking up.

Upon being invited to do so, Felika sits down by Jayma. "I'm glad you got out of that situation, Finn. As for me, there really isn't much to say. I love learning more about magic, but I barely understand it. Most of my training has been in martial arts, learning to defend myself with few resources."

An elven male walks up to Jamya, Finn and Felika. His long black hair tied in a bun. "Apologies, but Smine is almost finished with his work. It will be a moment. Can I get you anything to drink? Water is the most common thing here."

"Thanks, water will be good.

Felika is indeed Irriseni, but she has been taught not to speak of her origins, as it could make her a target, so she is somewhat hesitant.

"Originally, I am from Katheer, or at least that is where I was sold as a slave on the Quadiran market to a dirty Taldan noble from Demgazi. It's a story I would much rather avoid getting into." You now notice the numerous scars on the mans body, which he doesn't cover up. He notions to Flute, "Oh, and do not worry for your familiar, Flute is fed regularly."

Jayma's smile slips and her face darkens at Finn's recounting of his past. "Poor man," she thinks, as she remembers all too vividly being taken as a young girl to the grimy slave markets of Egorian by her parents and being appalled by what she witnessed there. It was seeing those horrors that made her realize the price that others paid for her pampered existence. She knew then that she would never truly be part of the world into which she had been born.

Jayma rubs the head of her sleepy familiar, and says, "It appears that Twyl has recovered from his initial reaction to Flute's sudden presence. I am not worried in the least. In fact, I suspect that Flute may soon wish that he could get rid of Twyl so easily."

"...As for me, there really isn't much to say. I love learning more about magic, but I barely understand it. Most of my training has been in martial arts, learning to defend myself with few resources."

Jayma responds with a short pleasant laugh, "The beauty of magic is that one does not need to understand it to use it. I myself have only just begun to delve into the details, but I've been casting spells since I was a young child." Indicating her own diminuative figure, she adds with a little light chuckle, "Good thing too. As you can see, I am a perfect example of beauty without strength; without my magic I would probably have joined my ancestors long ago."

She pauses and leans forward slightly for a closer look at the tall strong-looking northern girl before her. Jayma decided that she liked what she saw in Felika. "I sometimes wonder what a more physical existence like yours would be like, but I would never willingly give up the feeling of pure exhilaration that runs through my body when I tap into the raw power of my magical ancestors."

God, how I've missed this.

The elf nods and heads to the back. You all hear the sounds of metal, steam and maybe some pained grunts before he emerges with two mugs of water. He plops them down in front of Finn and Felika. "Watch your tongues, it's hot. You'll get used to it."

Jayma responds with a short pleasant laugh, "The beauty of magic is that one does not need to understand it to use it. I myself have only just begun to delve into the details, but I've been casting spells since I was a young child." Indicating her own diminuative figure, she adds with a little light chuckle, "Good thing too. As you can see, I am a perfect example of beauty without strength; without my magic I would probably have joined my ancestors long ago."

Felika can't help but giggle a little seeing the gnome's attitude, but she blushes and leans back a little when Jayma observes her more closely. "A lot of people get by just fine with neither magic nor martial training. It sure must be nice though. So magic can just be passed down through generations?"

She flashes the elf a grateful smile and grabs the mug, but puts it down on a table before her. She waits until the elf has left once again. "We hardly need a hot drink right now, don't you think? I do wish I had some magic to cool it down. Time will have to do the trick. Sadly, I don't have much natural ability for magic, so the closest I can get to it is to study and observe others. All I can do for myself is sense magic around me and focus various types of energy through my fists as I fight. In fact, if either of you has more knowledge and experience than me in recognizing creatures and magic phenomenons, I'd appreciate if you could share it as we go. I'm eager to learn, and I also healed a shadow by mistake on my last mission. I didn't know it was undead." As she says this, she looks down with a nervous laugh, fidgeting with her hair.

"... So magic can just be passed down through generations?"

Jayma lets out a light tinkly laugh, "Well, yes, in a way. It's a bit of a hit and miss thing really; more miss than hit, to be honest. I'm still trying to figure out how it works." She then becomes more introspective as the memories come to her. "My maternal grandmother was gifted in this way, though she kept it hidden from everyone due to the shame it would have brought to the family. She finally shared her secret with me when it became obvious that I also had the gift. If it wasn't for her help early on, I probably wouldn't have survived childhood. I miss her dearly."

"We hardly need a hot drink right now, don't you think? I do wish I had some magic to cool it down."

Jayma hops to her feet, "Oh, dearie me! Where are my manners?" she says a little embarrassed. With a passing of the hand over the mugs, and a "heat hightail hastily,", the water cools quickly and the mugs turn slightly frosty. "I can't guarantee the taste, but the temperature should no longer be an issue."

"...In fact, if either of you has more knowledge and experience than me in recognizing creatures and magic phenomenons, I'd appreciate if you could share it as we go. I'm eager to learn, and I also healed a shadow by mistake on my last mission. I didn't know it was undead." As she says this, she looks down with a nervous laugh, fidgeting with her hair.

Jayma emits a short squeal of laughter at Felika's story, "How amusing! I suspect that your companions did not let you forget that little mistake too quickly." She giggles to herself imagining Felika's discomfiture. Jayma had made made such mistakes herself and would likely make many more before the world was done with her. Patting Felika on the knee, she says, "Well, it's not like I'm an expert or anything, but I did spend quite a lot of time reading in my grandfather's extensive library as I grew up, and I'll be happy to share whatever knowledge I have with you on this mission."

At his mistress's short squeal, Twyl starts from his doze. Blinking a little in confusion he looks around. It appears that his mistress was in unusually good spirits tonight. He was happy for her, and for himself; things tended to go a lot more smoothly for everyone when his mistress was in an agreeable mood. He puts his head down again and returns to his nap.

"Yeah, yeah, I think I can figure out 'go up the stairs' I don't need a nanny making sure I don't get lost," a coarse voice sounds from below a few moments before another gnome enters the room.

Despite having the same ancestry, he could not be more Jayma's opposite. Male where she is female, features coarse and feral where hers are fine and refined, muscular where she is soft, his clothes well worn and none to clean where hers are new and clean.

While a quiver with javelins hangs from his back, he doesn't appear to be carrying any melee weapons, other than the metal gauntlet he wears on one hand. Both that hand and the other are covered in cloth wrappings inlaid with arcane symbols. It seems they were once entirely pristine white but they are stained a rust colored now, the tint becoming more common and darker the closer to his fingers.

"Is this the Pathfinder party?" he asks looking around at the gathered group, his eyes coming to Jayma last.

"Well, Hello. I can already tell I'm going to enjoy this mission more than my last."

Felika picks the mug back up and takes a sip. "Thank you, Jayma, that is perfect."

At this moment, another gnomeenters the room. Felika turns to him with a smile. "It seems you are in the right place. Welcome! What was wrong with your previous mission? "

"Too many guys who needed punching that I couldn't punch and not enough lovely ladies," the gnome answers with a grin.

Finn rolls his eyes, something that hopefully people do not notice, then turns to ask Zabu, "You look a little pale, my friend. Would you lie a seat?" He notions over to where Jayma is seated, hoping the refreshments would come sometime soon.

"Well, Hello. I can already tell I'm going to enjoy this mission more than my last."

At Zabu's entrance, Jayma looks over at the new arrival and sizes him up instantly. She sighs inwardly. "Why, by The Many, does there always have to be one in every group?" she asks herself rhetorically. She notices Finn's eye roll before he can catch himself, and with a lightly raised eyebrow, throws the ranger a look of tired assent.

"Too many guys who needed punching that I couldn't punch and not enough lovely ladies," the gnome answers with a grin.

Rolling her own eyes this time, she leans towards Felika and in a lowered voice, says, "Don't mind him, dear. He's just another big talker in a small body, bless his heart; you'll get used to ignoring them after a while."

Then, turning to the gnome, "And, whose company is it that we have the pleasure of sharing, if I may ask," she says in a rather colder tone.

Twyl shivers slightly as the temperature in the room seems to dip a few degrees. The entrance of the rough looking gnome had woken him up and he could tell immediately that his mistress was not taking kindly to the new arrival. He really hoped things wouldn't get too ugly. Just in case though, he quickly scanned the room for a suitably reinforced hiding place.

Zabu's grin fades at Jayma's reaction. He scoffs in turn and changes direction from where he was heading toward the seat next to her. Instead, he finds a spot to lean against, arms crossed over his chest.

"Name's Zabu Creed. Some folks call me 'Daggertooth' but you're going to have to wait to see why," he says, far more surly than he was when he entered the room.

Jayma is a little disappointed by Zabu's reaction to her rebuff. On previous such occasions, she'd usually received a lot more blustering before everyone came to an 'understanding'. Maybe she'd misjudged the fellow. "Oh well, time will tell." Still, it was best to clear up any misunderstandings early on; that way they wouldn't interfere with the mission.

"Name's Zabu Creed. Some folks call me 'Daggertooth' but you're going to have to wait to see why," he says, far more surly than he was when he entered the room.

Jayma softens her tone a little, replying, "Well, Mr Creed, I look forward to witnessing the reason for your interesting sobriquet," adding to herself, "as long as I'm not on the receiving end, that is."

Looking about at her companions, she muses to no one in particular, "I wonder if we're all here yet?" If things continue as they have, this was going to be a rather martial group... "well, except for yours truly." She hopes this isn't a reflection of the dangers they are likely to face.

"So, water for you, or...?" The elf emerges from the back, covered in a thin layer of soot. He faces Zabu.

"Never touch the stuff," Zabu replies. "Unless there's nothing else available."

"I'll take whatever you've got with alcohol in it."

He looks around at the group, sizing them, and their abilities up. By appearance, anyway.

"Four of us here. I saw a dwarf downstairs that wasn't working a forge, so he's probably with us and just got distracted. Five's plenty, but I bet 6 invitations went out, so probably one more."

It doesn't take long for Flute to notice Twyl's distress, being the perceptive falcon that he is. He cast's a short whistle, alarming all those who heard it that a large bird of prey would be approaching, uut in a most non intimidating way possible, hops from Finn's shoulder and waddles over to Twyl.

The falcon raises it's left wing, and then nestles it's own head underneath it, indicating to the small furry creature that it can come seek shelter under Flute, if it so wishes to.

An offering, quite unexpected of from a bird of prey.

OOC- definitely not meant to be derogatory here, just a light joke.

Being taller, than most of the group who are currently present, Finn muses, "Remember to get along kids. This is the Pathfinder Society, there are bound to be some unique and different personalities clashing in this group." Fill tosses a nod at Jayma.

From that statement alone, it is clear the falcon is the more sociable one of the pair.

The ranger then calls after the elf offering drinks, "I'll have what Zabu is having, if that is indeed on offer." As the elf leaves to get the refreshments, he get's Zabu's attention, "You can have mine as well, looks like you could use a drink."

Twyl starts in surprise at the sound of Flute's whistle and eyes the falcon wearily as it waddles over to where his mistress is sitting. What was he trying to tell him with his wing? Maybe it wanted to be friends!

Excited by the possibility, Twyl slides off his perch and scoots down to the floor. He hops over to Flute, stopping short of the bird. Twyl waits a moment in case his mistress calls him back, and then, trilling lightly, slowly stretches his long body towards the falcon. Hello bird.

"Remember to get along kids. This is the Pathfinder Society, there are bound to be some unique and different personalities clashing in this group." Finn tosses a nod at Jayma.

Jayma shoots Finn a "seriously?" look, but suspecting that the tall ranger was pulling their legs, smiles and replies ironically with "whatever you say, dearest papa." Regardless, Finn's words have the effect of lightening her mood, and she looks on with amused interest as Twyl and Flute greet each other.

Rolling her own eyes this time, she leans towards Felika and in a lowered voice, says, "Don't mind him, dear. He's just another big talker in a small body, bless his heart; you'll get used to ignoring them after a while."

Felika shrinks into her seat, not knowing what to say, when she receives an answer to her question. She adresses Jayma a faint smile of assent and opts to listen to the back-and-forth without pitching in. She only really relaxes when Jayma plays along with Finn's joke. Then, thinking again about what was said of the team, she says to herself, "I sure hope this sixth agent didn't get lost somehow."

The elf nods and returns to his station behind a wall. You hear more metal clashing, another shout, and the spray of superheated metal. Then he returns with two more mugs and a small flask.

"You didn't ask for water, but you're getting it anyway." He plops a mug for Finn and Zabu. "This flask here does three things: cleans soot stains from my apron, disinfects cuts, and makes me real loopy after hours. Water it down first, trust me." He sets the flask between the two and hands them a sliced lemon.

Again Zabu proves similar to Jayma but significantly different. He echoes her response to Finn but only the first word and delivers it much more tersely.

He nods thanks to the elf with the flask and eyes it for a while, obviously sizing up the possibility of drinking it all down at once.

Instead, he takes a gulp out of one of the mugs of hot water then replaces that volume with some of the clear liquid from the flask before taking the mug back to his corner to drink.

He shrugs. "If they can't find a rendezvous point in the middle of a city then it's probably better for us if they did get lost."

Jayma's eyes also linger on the elf's flask for a few seconds, but she mentally shakes her head and dismisses the fleeting thought before it forms. "This is not the time for alchemical experimentation. I must keep a clear head for the coming briefing."

From the way Zabu is standing there staring at the flask, Jayma can tell that his thoughts aren't all that different from hers. When he finally succumbs and pours some of the hooch into his mug, she surreptitious keeps him in view; she's interested to see the effect the solvent has on the boorish gnome.

Zabu gulps some warm water before spiking his drink. He takes a swig.

As the liquid hits, it feels cool, almost numbing to his lips. The liquid feels cool to his core and feels like his chest is freezing. Finally the warmth returns and it feels good. Real good. Like you've found a roaring fireplace after a night through the frozen tundra.

Also, the world is much more colorful than it was 5 minutes ago.

The halfling woman hands a sharpened axe back to the dwarf. ”Stop stealin’ the booze. The Venture-Captain is waitin’ for ya!”

The Pathfinder Lodge above the smithy resembles an adventurer’s boarding house, providing an excellent cover for the comings and goings of the Society’s agents. A door to a kitchen opens, and a soot-smudged dwarf dressed in a leather apron steps out: Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine. The dwarf’s gestures brusquely to a table within the kitchen, his hands wiped passably clean of the ash and grease of his trade. An assortment of bread, cheese, and cider has been set out on the table for refreshments, as is a bizarre doll made of dried wheat stalks.

“Hope the journey went well.” Smine greets. “Dangerous these days. More dangerous further west, so suppose I shouldn’t complain.” His short sentences almost matching the staccato cadence of the forges below. “Won’t waste your time. Ever heard of the Mosquito Witch?”

Smine grins and leans across the table, picking up the grotesque doll. Beady, painted red eyes and a needle-like snout is barely visible through shaggy wheat-stalk hair, and six handless arms are clutched to the doll’s chest. “Local legend. Ugly thing. People claim it lives near a town out here called Shimmerford. Hunters have been trying to catch it for over fifty years. No one has managed to. Villagers sell the failed hunters dolls and souvenirs instead. Fun for all.” He frowns and sets the doll down. “Not now, though. Mosquitoes and bloodseekers started plaguing the villagers. Killing livestock. Swarming people outside. Getting into food. Been happening for a year or so. People are starting to leave the town entirely. They blame the Mosquito Witch. I don’t. Doesn’t matter. It’s a problem either way. You’re going to stop it.”

Flute quickly jumps up onto the table and picks a few pieces of bread and cheese in his beak, before jumping off and offering them to Twyl to share.

Jayma goes to the table and picks up the doll for a closer look. She's not impressed; the workmanship is of low quality. She puts it back down. Looking over at Smine, she asks, "Mosquitoes I know about, but I don't particularly like the sound of these bloodseekers. What type of creature are we dealing with here, Venture-Captain?"

After waiting for his reply, she pours herself a mug of cider and picking up a couple of slices of bread, carefully places some of the cheese between them. Noticing that Flute has already taking care of Twyl's meal, she returns to her chair with sandwich in one hand, and mug in the other.

She's about to take a bite when a thought occurs to her. Pausing a moment, she says, "Venture-Captain, You appear to dismiss the possibility that the Mosquito Witch herself is to blame. Why is that? Does she actually exist, or is she merely a legend kept alive to attract the hunters and their money?"

Twyl is a little disappointed when his new bird friend jumps away, but is doubly happy to see him return with food. With his unusually dextrous hands, Twyl deftly tears the bread and cheese into bite-sized pieces. He then feeds the resulting chunks to Flute, occasionally devouring one himself.

Finn speaks up, "I agree with Jayma. Legend can be a powerful thing, especially in small settlements. Many legends are based on local folklore, and it sounds like this one is getting out of control." He pauses, before asking, "Do you have a contact at Shimmerford, someone we can speak to when we get there for more information? Doesn't sound like we have a lot to go on..."

Finn, watches the bird and the familiar play, out of the corner of his eye.

A goblin comes running into the smithy. He wears a bronze breastplate, and has a greatsword sheathed on his back. Nearly colliding with an apprentice, he pauses to catch his breath, and looks at the halfling with beseeching eyes.

She shakes her head, and points up the stairs.

He nods, and dashes up to the meeting room, bursting through the door.

”Hiyo!”, he cries, looking around at everyone gathered with the Venture Captain. He seems to realize that he’s late, and his expression sags for a moment, before making an effort to brighten up.

”I am Zoosh!”, he adds.

Zabu closes his eyes as the drink does it's magic. He smacks his lips when it's done. "That's the good stuff," he says.

He grins blissfully as they make their way to the briefing. He helps himself to some of the bread and cheese, scarfing it down and almost done before the brief briefing is even done.

"A year? And they're just now calling in professionals? Makes me think maybe they're hiding something," he says around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Bloodsuckers? They look like mosquitos. But big. Real big. Size of the palm of your hand." Smine raises his hairy, callous laden hands. "They can drain watermelons dry in seconds, too, so feel free squish 'em if they bother ya."

"Shimmerford thrives off of the tourist attraction of the witch. They say she first appeared fifty years ago, but no one's been able to find her. So they sell masks, dolls, bread. They even hold a festival, once a year. If I were the actual Witch and I saw people making profit out of me? I would have lashed out long ago." He chuckles. "No way is this witch real. Someone's probably taking advantage of the rumor to make a mess."

"There's a boat you can take to Shimmerford that I set up. When you get there, there's a gnome woman by the name of Galia. She's... well, she knows we Pathfinders fix problems. She sent me a letter asking to fix this one, too. Some of her beet dye got on the the pages- she really likes messing up my hair whenever I visit." He sighs.

Now that you've heard a bit, you can make an Occultism roll to recall information about legends of the Mosquito Witch. I'll let you make the roll, but please wrap it in a spoiler. Anyone can make these checks, untrained.

Felika pays close attention to Zabu as he drinks, briefly worrying if he will collapse from whatever this strong brew is, but when he seems just fine and satisfied, she raises an eyebrow and decides not to comment.

She leans in when Holgarin starts speaking of their mission, paying close attention to the information he is sharing, but she visibly sinks back into her seat when he claims the witch is probably not real. And here I thought I'd manage to learn a little more about witches. Well, duty calls. Despite her change of posture, she stays very attentive, nodding as the others ask questions about the bloodseekers, the witch and an eventual contact.

"Should we deliver some kind of message to Galia as well, mister Smine?" Felika asks. "As for the mosquito witch, I've heard a little about this story. I was quite curious about it, in fact. So far, what I know is the legend dates back to almost sixty years, when some people, mostly teenagers, claimed to have seen her in the forest on Witchtop Hill. Maybe they made it up, but I think we should try to speak to the elders in Shimmerford and ask what they remember. We should also take a look at that hill. Real witch or not, there might be something there."

Grimm introduces himself and bows to the VC.
Grimm looks dumpfold at the situation and shrugs.
"I have no clue about magic and mosquitos are not my favorite animals." Stroking his long beard he adds.
"Any way to prevent those bloodsuckers to pest you?"

Zoosh wracks his brain, trying to think of anything about this witch.

It is with some amusement that Jayma watches Zabu's features go through several contortions as the diluted stain remover has its way with his insides. She hoped the tough looking gnome would get through it unscathed, and he did not disappoint.

In an odd way, Jayma is pleasantly surprised by appearance of Zoosh and Grimm. "Well, well. How nice," she thinks to herself. "It appears that I'll not be at a loss for protectors on this mission. Why, I may even avoid the neck crick I usually get from constantly having to look up at my companions." She unconsciously rubs the base of her neck with her free hand.

She then stands, carefully puts down her sandwich, and turning to the new arrivals, says, "Greetings, Zoosh and Grimm, we were beginning to worry about you two." Then, indicating herself, she adds, "I am Jayma and..." indicating each of the people in the room in turn, "... the tall ones are Finn and Felika, and the short ones are Zabu, Twyl and Flute. And this gentleman is Venture-Captain Smine, the owner of this fine establishment." After she finishes with the introductions, Jayma picks up her sandwich and sits back down in her chair.

Chewing daintily on her sandwich, she tries to remember what she'd read about the Mosquito Witch.

Felika is a little quicker off the mark though, and Jayma is left to nod along as the northern girl recounts her own recollections of the Mosquito Witch. Their knowledge of the witch was remarkably similar; maybe she and Felika had read the same chronicle at the lodge or something.

Jayma ponders the situation further. "I wonder why anyone would be trying to stir up trouble in Shimmerford. Is there anything of importance in the village, Venture-Captain? Any reason why someone would want to scare everyone away from the place?"

Finn simply nods to Grimm and Zoosh who walk in, thanking Jayma with a smile for the introduction. "Sh*t, did i just smile? What is wrong with you man!"

He quickly takes some ale that is offered as refreshments at the lavish table, and recalls Flute to his shoulder and regains his stoic position by the door.

"Galia it is." Trying to remember that name for when they need it.

No more questions from me! :)