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You find yourselves in the common room of the Meticulous Truffle Inn, the only such rest stop in the town of Petitioner's Port, in Southwestern Druma. You each have your own reason for being here, but nevertheless you've all recognized fellow Pathfinders when you see them, and have congregated at one of the large communal tables near the bar.
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Capricio sits in a chair in the common room, strumming his lute. He has a thick mustache and deep set blue eyes. His leather armor and cloak are the color of the night sky, and adorned with stars and moons. His lavender, wooden lute is decorated with butterflies.
Realizing he is among other Pathfinders, Capricio smiles warmly and introduces himself.
”The stars have aligned. As Desna wills.”
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Zalmora sits opposite to Capricio, having spotted the travelling man earlier and gravitated to him with her own wandering soul. Similarly armored, an unstrung bow rests on her lap. She brushes a lock of unkempt hair from her face and sets herself to applying a beeswax to the bow.
At Kleebo's exuberant entrance a once-sleeping dog jumps up and barks at the kobold. "Hush, Baxter! It's okay boy," Zalmora says, quickly calming her companion. The ranger pulls a nearby chair over and, with an apologetic look, gestures for the kobold to join them. "I know a Sewer Dragon when I see one. We're Pathfinders, so please join us. My name is Zalmora. And don't worry about him. He doesn't bite."
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Kralgang Doomseer is a Hobgoblin from Oprak but he has been many things in former lives. Even for a Hobgoblin his pale ash-blue skin is unusual and unnerving, as though somehow frozen and lingering between the realms of life and death. As a Duskwalker, he has reincarnated many times but always in the service of the Lady of Graves. She grants him the wisdom of knowing who may be marked for death and who she wishes to spare, and he acts at her behest. It is not for him to take the throne of judgement as that is for Pharasma alone.
His debt to the Pathfinder Society must be paid before he knows true freedom to choose his own fate again, but he has found meaning in containing the truly unnatural evils of this world. There is no rush, as time has little meaning for one who can not truly die.
Why is he here? Why is he any one place over any other?
Sadly these thoughts are his alone as he is not particularly friendly or talkative.
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Zalmora tenses at the sight of the hobgoblin, and Baxter growls. Ironfang legion? Here? It can't be.
Calming her dog, she takes a direct approach with the newly arrived Pathfinder. "Tell me you're not part of the Ironfang Legion and you get a seat. Otherwise you have some explaining to do."
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An elegantly dressed elven woman joins the group. She has a very full skirt, her glasses have a dark tint, and her curly blond hair is arranged in an elegant updo.
"Charmed to meet all of you. I'm Osinniel Grace; my family owns the Grace Gallery in Oppara. I'm sure you've heard of it. I came here on an acquisition trip, but I'm afraid I was outbid. These Druman collectors have so much cash on hand that it's hard to get anything! Still, better to come back with nothing than to pay too much."
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"It is not uncommon for beasts to be troubled by my presence. My interest is in the legions of dead who arrive at the feet of the Lady of Bones. I ease the passage for those who are destined to meet her. I serve no mortal empire though I have a debt to the Pathfinder Society and will fulfill it with honour."
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Mollified by Kralgang's explanation, she drops the subject. It helps that Baxter continues to stare intently at the hobgoblin.
She turns her attention to the newcomer, introducing herself. "What will you do now then? It's not a short trip to get to Oppara, though I suppose you could take a ship if you head down to Almas. But that's still maybe ten days on the road."
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As you’re talking, the door to the inn opens and an officious-looking half-elf woman strides in, rolled parchment under one arm and a hammer in one hand. She strides to nearby notice board, unfurls the parchment, and nails the top two corners into place. Stepping back, she holds up one hand, thumb extended, to judge the posters alignment. Frowning, she pries loose one of the nails, adjusts the poster’s angle slightly, then nails it back into place. Stepping back to judge once again, she quickly nods her head and proceeds to nail down the bottom two corners before swiftly departing.
Adventurers Needed!
My farm has been the victim of a terrible threat. Some kind of awfulness is murdering my precious alpaca herd. I need help immediately and am willing to pay a reward of 20 gold to the adventurers who put a stop to these murders. Come visit my farm, due north of Petitioner’s Port, for more information.
-Wilhuff Harjhack
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A local walks by carrying a fresh stein from the bar, and pauses to read the note. "Aw, poor ol' man Harjhack! He sure do love them 'pacas o' his!" They take a sip of their beer and turn to you. "Y'all headin' out to save them 'pacas? That's great, that's great! Ain't too far 'way, mebbe a hour or two up north o' here, and jus' the purtiest country to walk through! Anywho, besta luck!" They take another drink, and wander off back to their table.
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Asking around, Zalmora hears that the farm is easily found by following the main road north out of town, about two hours from here, turning right when you pass the ‘biggest, ugliest oak tree you ever done seen’.
The walk is beautiful, taking you through lush, rolling green hills broken by the occasional babbling brook or small copse of trees. Turning right at what is, indeed, an ugly tree, you soon arrive at a sturdy fence marking the edge of what is presumably Harjhack’s farm. The fence, while well made, is clearly designed to keep livestock in rather than keep you out, and you can easily hop over, under, or between the wooden cross-beams.
Strolling in a little ways, you spot a herd of long-necked, furry animals strolling along a hillside. Suddenly, just as you’re about to look away, a glorious sight appears: the most beautiful alpaca you have ever seen crests the hill, his shining fur gleaming in the afternoon sun!
”Beautiful, ain’t ‘e?” a voice calls, breaking your reverie. Turning around, you see an old man in overalls and a straw hat, using his pitchfork as a walking stick. ”That thar ‘s Majesty. He’s m’ pride ‘n joy. You folks here t’answer m’ call fer help?”
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Zalmora squints, but otherwise can't help but agree. "That he is. An incredible beast. Does he have a name?"
"Whussat? Why, I jus' toldja, his name is Majesty!"
"That is a fine alpaca! He must be worth a small fortune."
"You betcha he is! That there's a real gen-u-wine baccalia, he is! Bought him from back east, now he's daddy to most'a the herd!"
"We are here to assist."
"Oh good, thankee kindly! So nice to see the younger generation helpin' out an ol' farmer in need! Come right this way an' I'll show you to th' crime scene, as it were."
The farmer leads you across to the northern end of the field, where you see the body of an alpaca laying on the grass a few yards from the fence. "Here's poor ol' Rockford, jus' as I found him. I ain't touched nothin', so ah wouldn't interfere with yer investigation. Y'all got any questions fer me? Otherwise, I'll just be over in yonder barn while you have yerselves a look around."
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"I'm 'fraid not, ma'am. When I came out t'check on the herd in the mornin', I found ol' Rockford here, seemin'ta died of fright! The first one that died a couple weeks ago, poor Shadow, was all tangled up in the wire of the fence over yonder, an I didn't think too much 'bout it, thought he just got all tangled up. The last three, though, seem like something scared 'em so bad they jus' up an' died!"
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Capricio kneels down beside Rockford.
"Desna's mentor, Curchanus, held the domain of beasts before it was stolen away by the demon Lamashtu, killing Curchanus in the act."
He looks at the alpaca for a moment before gently touching the body to check for wounds.
"It is said that humans lost their bond with animals after that, but I don't believe it. We have too many examples that say otherwise."
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Capricio gently examines the body, only to make a surprising discovery: the cause of death is not freight, as the farmer suspected, but near-total exsanguination! Examining the neck more closely, he finds a pair of small puncture wounds beneath some fur. He also notices six small golden studs piercing one of rockford's ears, and a few more piercings without studs besides.
Zalmora, meanwhile, searches the area for traps. Her results are surprising as well: small footprints are visible next to the corpse, but the don't seem to lead anywhere. However, she spots similar footprints beginning several yards beyond the fence, leading back into the nearby woods. Kralgang, meanwhile, spots several small golden studs in the grass near the body, matching the ones in Rockford's ear.
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Satisfied with what he's learned, Capricio lowers his eyes and carefully returns Rockford's body the way he found it.
"Exsanguinated!" he announces, standing and brushing off his clothes. "I found small puncture wounds on the neck. And, Wilhuff, do you mark your alpacas in any way? I couldn't help but notice several gold studs in Rockford's ears, although some seemed to be missing."
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"Wilhuff, do you mark your alpacas in any way? I couldn't help but notice several gold studs in Rockford's ears, although some seemed to be missing."
"Well, ya see, ol' Rockford there was somethin' of a stud hisself. I placed th' studs on his ear to show how many offspring he'd sired over th' years." Glancing at the studs in Kralgang's hands he says "Them look like th' ones missin' from ol'e Rockford's ear, sure 'nough. If whoever did this didn' take them studs--which ain't cheap mind you; real gold them is!--then they mus' not ha' been after money I guess."
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Following the tracks into the woods, you find yourself in a narrow vale as the ground on either side slowly rises up into an escarpment of dirt. Eventually, this becomes something of a shallow ravine, the dirt walls on either side 10 feet high. A tree has toppled over from the top of the wall, slanting down into the ravine, and might pose an easier path up for anyone that wishes to try to balance up it.
For each action you spend climbing, make a check and take the following result:
For each action you spend balancing, make a check and take the following result:
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Kralgang examines the tree and wonders if there is a way to hack off some branches and strategically place them in gaps in the wall to make it an easier climb.
Barring that, he will carefully scramble up the tree, using his Kukri to grab branches and stabilize himself where possible.
And is stuck in place, failing to advance.
