Gameplay here.
|
"It seems we may be early" says a kobold entering the room. His scales have a silver sheen to them and wears studded leather armor. He carries a staff and has a dagger at his belt and a hand crossbow hanging from a sling over his back. A wooden symbol or piece of art portraying a silver Dragon looking into a pool of water hangs from his neck.
"Well met. I am called Eltis."
Venture-Captain Hestia Themis (LN female human
aristocrat) put out a call to Pathfinder agents to solve
the recent troubles threatening Cassomir’s resurgence.
Pathfinders meet Hestia at the modest Pathfinder lodge in
Cassomir, but as soon as the Pathfinders arrive, she instructs
them to follow her into the streets. Her speaking voice
is commanding and fills the space around her. She keeps
her dark black hair pinned back and wears fashionably
functional clothing.
Hestia guides the Pathfinders through the bustling streets of
her hometown, the Taldan port city of Cassomir. She
makes several stops during the tour, taking her time
to explain niche local history, and proudly boasts over
the city’s current economic upswing. She showcases the
efficient ship production line, with each new building
and busy construction site. Hestia happily introduces
the PCs to the sights Cassomir until the group reaches
the southeast district, a muddy slum known as Admiral’s
Fen. She sighs deeply before speaking to the Pathfinders.
Welcome to Admiral’s Fen. I know it doesn’t seem like much,
but not too long ago this was the best part of the city. I spent
my childhood running up and down these streets, but it has
been years since the streets of Admiral’s Fen were clear of mud.
Some bad years and poor city planning strangled the life out
of this place. Each year, more and more of the neighborhood
sinks into Blackwood Swamp. Even my childhood home has
been swallowed up by the hungry bog.
But something here is amiss, more dangerous than the
common petty crime and vandalism. The rest of the city
is enjoying a remarkable turnaround, but mysteriously,
Admiral’s Fen is growing only more dangerous. Recently,
a wave of violent attacks and murders have plagued the
neighborhood, far more than could be considered normal. I
have my suspicions, but no definite proof.
The citizens of Admiral’s Fen deserve better. If these
attacks can be stopped, perhaps the district can finally make
a real comeback. It also wouldn’t hurt to strengthen the
relationship between the Pathfinder Society and the new
Taldan regime by quelling the derelict district’s woes. I want
you to find out who or what is behind these attacks and put
a stop to them. I’ve arranged for your lodgings at The Sinking
Ship, one of the few remaining inns still operating in Admiral’s
Fen. Blend in, get to know the people, and ask around.
Someone knows something, we just have to find them.
She turns towards Brondulf Good question, honestly several years ago, I subdued a dangerous cult devoted to Groetus, God of the End Times, with the aid of great Pathfinder agents. I thought the cult had been destroyed, but now I don't know.”
You can see her pondering for a few seconds remembering it all. If you want to know the whole story, I'll have to tell you some other time, it is a long story and brings up some memories
|
Rout, says a rough-looking goblin, pointing to himself, as the group of Pathfinders assemble. He's dressed in armor that looks functional but wasn't assembled with any mind toward fashion. A long spear is strapped to his back.
He doesn't look out of place in Admiral's fen and tries to recall if he knows anything about that place.
You are able to gather the following info
Society:
Eltis learns: It isn’t only the gangs in Admiral’s Fen that
make the area so dangerous. Monsters from Blackwood
Swamp occasionally cross the city's sodden border in
search of easy prey.
You all learn: The influx of new residents into Cassomir has
created a tension among the established residents. The
most downtrodden receive no financial benefit from the
Taldor’s revitalization.
Religion
You all learn: Many of Cassomir’s residents continue to worship
Aroden, decades after the god’s disappearance. They hope
their continued prayers will reach the absent god.
|
Rout, says a rough-looking goblin, pointing to himself, as the group of Pathfinders assemble. He's dressed in armor that looks functional but wasn't assembled with any mind toward fashion. A long spear is strapped to his back.
He doesn't look out of place in Admiral's fen and tries to recall if he knows anything about that place.
The somber, middle-aged man before you has a promenent streak of white in his otherwise jet black hair. He is wearing black studded leather armor under a grey cloak and has a rapier at his side. He jerks in surprise at Rout's abrupt introduction.
"Oh yes, I suppose I should introduce myself as well. At least then you'll have a name for my tombstone...assuming there is enough left of me to bury that is. My name is Milo Moritori. I'm terribly sorry that you lot got the short end of the stick and ended up with me on this mission. Hopefully my curse will only doom one or two of you."
|
|
Rout stares at Milo for a moment after the curse is mentioned and then laughs as if the investigator had just told a good joke.[/ooc]
Eltis nods at the newcomers. "I was told the society was interesting and expansive. Are curses common here?"
Milo stares at Rout in disbelief for a moment Then turns to Eltis.
"Fortunately they seem to be rare. My family however has been cursed for generations. We were among the first colonizers of Sargava nearly 600 years ago. The native peoples were treated rather brutally I'm afraid and a native shaman brought a curse upon my family as punishment. I had hoped that my participation in Sargava's revolution and efforts to aid the oppressed Mwangi people there would help to break the curse but alas, the only result was my four-year imprisonment by the Chelaxian government."
|
|
Finally catching up to the Pathfinders, Teneal curses under his breathe. Damnable inn, just common courtesy to knock at the appointed time! What an embarrassment on my first assignment.
The Oracle hurries into the back of the grouping and gazes about. Once he's noticed, he makes a small bow and flourish with his hand. "Greetings Pathfinders and I apologize for my tardiness. Not all courtesies are equally granted here in Taldan it seems. Especially to one as poor apparently as I. My name is Teneal Isifts and I'm an Oracle of the Fires of the Skies and Depths of the Earth. I'll lend you my knowledge and my gifts to this investigation."
|
"Welcome, tiefling," grumbles Brondulf. "You didn't miss much. Shitty neighborhood getting worse by the day. The local Glory Hound Venture Captain here thinks something is amiss. Murders, etc. Wants us to find out what it is."
He shifts his belt with one hand and smacks his halberd shaft on the ground. "Thank the gods it isn't a standard Fame Whore Society wank fest. 'Go dig old shit up.' 'Become famous arkee-ologists that everybody wants to hear speak at the next story time.' Pfft. If I had a pinch for every one 'a those, I'd be Grand High Prince Bron the First, by now."
He spits on the ground. "But the fame whorin' keeps me in guard duty. And in coin. So... guess the 'I'm So Important Society' serves some purpose. Heh."
|
|
Eltis cocks his head at Brondulf and then looks at the rest of the party.
"Our astute freind here may have some valid points. Drink does make tongues wag and just how humanocentric is this place..." He looks around to see if there is more than the usual amount of humans in the area and how they might be looking at the group.
Hestia now begins walking at a brisk pace. Your meals are paid for for the next four days. We are going to the Sinking Ship inn.
You are in the District of Admiral's Fen
Admiral’s Fen is in dire shape. To create the district,
whole swaths of Blackwood Swamp were drained and
cleared, and new buildings and roads were immediately
constructed in the booming metropolis. But when the
money slowed, the efforts to keep the swamp at bay
were neglected. Buildings without strong foundations
collapsed years ago. The streets have completely sunken
into the mire, and everyone who could afford to leave the
neighborhood has already done so.
Hestia’s choice of inn, the Sinking Ship, was once a mustsee attraction in Cassomir. Originally constructed as
an homage to Cassomir’s shipbuilding tradition by an
eccentric architect from Wispil, the building has traded
hands several times. The once-grand interior is now
thoroughly marred by years of muddy boots and lack
of care. The rooms are sparse, but the drinks are strong,
and the owner serves hot fish stew to guests every night.
The inn is one of the few remaining establishments in the
neighborhood where residents can congregate.
It is just after noon when the PCs enter The Sinking
Ship, and a crowd has gathered for the lunch rush. Tamara
Reed (N female human innkeeper), the proprietor of the
establishment, darts among the residents, taking orders
and commanding her staff. She notices the PCs when they
enter, telling them to sit wherever they would like. The
furniture was once high quality, but is now streaked with
dried mud and shabbily mended where broken. After the
PCs have been waiting for about ten minutes, Tamara gets
to their table and lists the specials for the day.
There are two options on the menu at the Sinking Ship.
The most popular entrée is the fish stew; for a single
copper piece, diners receive a thin tomato-based dish
filled with the cheapest fish Tamara could procure from
the market. The special today is the cavedano al forno, a
flaky baked fish served on a bed of noodles for 1 silver.
So what will you order?
Rout hands over a single copper piece.
Very well, specials it is. And a Regular for you Rout? Enjoy. Be back in five minutes.
|
|
Quickly gesturing with his hands, Teneal uses Prestidigitation to clear the seat of mud and repair it. Dusting his hands, he sits down. "Ahh yes, much better. Can't go falling unto the floor and look all improper right?" Pulling his coin out with the others, Teneal surveys the room and awaits dinner. "My my, this is quite the jovial place is it not! Such lively ragabonds"
"I must say Bron, I enjoyed your earlier commentary on the state of Society affairs. You seem to have gotten right to the heart of the matter in your way!"
I'm back, careful hot. says the waitress. She smiles at you and leaves to go to the kitchen.
Tamara ordered the special too. Yes, this is the best meal there is.
Tamara knows some things about the recent attacks.
|
|
"Eh, Lady Owner," says Bron, struggling to find a more polite version of "wench" "yo, woman!" or "c'mere, girlie." "What can ya tell us about the attacks around here, lately? We don' wanna get jumped, while were here." He takes a giant scoop of fish and noodles, <SLURP> sucking the last ends of the noodles into his mouth.
"Goo' noo'lz. Luv'm," he says with his mouth full.
Tamara believes the Pathfinders are here to help the district.
She directs them to the King’s Closet, a recently burned clothing shop, noting how rare fires are in such a damp place. She also mentions that a street preacher, Dalimus, has been unnerving people with his predictions of doom. Pathfinders are automatically aware of the King’s Closet and
Falling Moon areas for the subsequent investigation.
|
|
I'm back, careful hot. says the waitress.
Milo takes a big bite of fish and immediately opens his mouth and waves his hands in front of his mouth. Eventually his food cools enough that he is able to chew properly.
"Alas the curse has struck me down once more. My tongue shall pain me for at least a day. We should investigate this clothing shop immediately, then question the street preacher."
Tamara believes the Pathfinders are here to help the district.
She directs them to the King’s Closet, a recently burned clothing shop, noting how rare fires are in such a damp place. She also mentions that a street preacher, Dalimus, has been unnerving people with his predictions of doom. Pathfinders are automatically aware of the King’s Closet and
Falling Moon areas for the subsequent investigation.
I got ninjaed, so I reposted the what is said, plus the updated version.