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The fall rains have come early this year, and a chill wind blows off the waters of Absalom’s harbor, bringing with it the smell of a storm somewhere far off at sea. Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng hurries down the street in a most unusual outfit for the aging Venture-Captain: some sort of blue military uniform complete with a green sash displaying a pair of ornate medals and a black umbrella.
“Ah, there you all are,” he half-mutters to himself. “Is everyone here?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turns on his heels and heads off at a brisk pace, occasionally turning around to make sure everyone is keeping up.
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"...and that's why you stick to goodberries for your healing in Rahadoum!" The tall elf with the green-dyed hair bows with a flourish, whipping the hat off his head in a smooth motion at the beginning of a bow that ends with the hat back on his head at the end. The crowd responds with laughter and applause, and the coins fill the box at his feet with a sustained jingle.
He notices the Venture-Captain hustling down the dock, and gathers up the coin as quick as he can. Drandle Dreng was absent-minded at best, and Ahmande's place on this mission could disappear as quick as the doddy old man man could hustle; Ahmande bowed quickly once more to the gathered crowd and beat a quick pace to catch up with the Venture-Captain. "What is that you're wearing? No, wait, don't tell me..."
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Hot on Ahmandé's heels is a female dwarf with an expression dour enough to curdle milk. As quickly as her stubby legs are pumping to keep up with the much-taller men, she doesn't seem the least bit out of breath. She stays on VC Dreng's tail with the determination of a bloodhound, bound and determined not to lose her quarry.
"What is that you're wearing? No, wait, don't tell me..."
Her quip is uttered in a tone that implies an attempt at not being a grouch, but isn't really successful. "No. Really, don't. It'll be funnier if he has to guess."
Dreng glances back with his normal bemused look.
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"Yes, yes, very nicely dressed. Perhaps we can get out of this chill, though and have a drink by a warm fire?"
Geoclunicus is a frail looking elf with skin of a wrinkled, golden sheen, wearing a hooded cloak to hide his appearance. He speaks in a sing-song voice, using his hands emphatically when he speaks, and has a huge unnatural grin on his face with yellowed, crooked teeth.
Dreng smirks, "Fraid of the cold a bit? You should join me on one of my usual stakeouts. Fear not though, this mission will start in the warmth."
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A short and stout suit of full plate clanks along behind the group, plowing through the mud puddles like a wagon pulled by a pair of slow and steady oxen. His face is concealed, but judging by the salt and pepper beard flowing out of the helm's visor, you'd guess an aged Dwarf follows the group.
A large wooden shield remains strapped to his back, the well known hammer an forge freshly painted across it, surely Torag would be proud. More Dwarven weapons of war hang from his belt: a fine war axe made of dull grey metal, and a cold iron warhammer keeps it company. "Fine weather fer a duck Dreng, but we all know I ain't no duck. Best you not be leadin' us on one of them slippery deathtraps in the harbor!" He bobs his head in the direction of the sailboats moored along the waterfront.
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Once she hears Ironshanks' voice, she turns and give him a nod of recognition. Huh. There are a couple of known characters and a few new ones. Time will tell how reliable they are.
"Jak-jak here seems anxious to get on with it."
Yangrit eyes the monkey as if she's trying to decide whether or not to admit that she thinks it's adorable. Her eyes soften briefly, but she doesn't work up the nerve. "Aye, but the Venture Captain here has a reputation to keep. So we tag along until he's good and ready, or tough luck for us." It seems as though she's trying to be light-hearted, but the effort lands a bit too close to "griping about things in a passive aggressive way" territory.
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"Do we need formal attire?" "Are we attending a party or something." Farlen, a tall red headed human, dressed in bright yellow, red, and orange stripped tunic with black trousers. He has a brown travel cloak wrapped around him. He has a large travel packpack slung over a shoulder. A crossbow and several daggers visible.
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"Dwarves just don't feel right not wearing full plate. Unless yer Yangrit there. She keeps them claws off 'er with a look n smile!" You hear the faint echo of a chuckle from under his helmet.
"'Sides, I can swim so long as the water ain't rough. VC's get a kick outta sendin' new guys on trips over the seas all the damn time. Maybe this one will be local.. AND DRY!"
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Rounding the corner of a building, another dwarf lumbers into view. While his eyes seem a tad close together, and food sticks out out of his braided beard, his smile shines radiantly through the rain.
"Oye der. Speacha fer ya'self cuzz. Me no needs big metal ta hide me girf." he calls out with a grin.
A large wooden shield adorns one arm, while the other hangs free. His silvery breastplate, though a bit tarnished, appears well maintained otherwise. A heavy crossbow hangs across his back. Most notably though...a large blue hand can be seen on the side of his face.
"Me Durvak o da Stoutheart's. Gots a written ter cum 'ere."
Scanning the group, he offers a hand Ahmande. "Ya muss be da VC. Whatcha needs o ma dis day?"
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"Taldan... Navy?" Kolris offers with uncertainty. "You sure get around, Dreng. What are those medals?"
Dreng waves Ahmandé off, "Nothing that matters to you all now, just some old trinkets. This outfit is to impress our patron. She won't expect you all to be dressed for anything but the mission, so your current gear is fine."
"Fine weather fer a duck Dreng, but we all know I ain't no duck. Best you not be leadin' us on one of them slippery deathtraps in the harbor!"
The VC chuckles, "Oh don't worry, the slippery death trap I send you to investigate won't be a boat."
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He continues on, explaining quite a bit more about the mission.
“You’re probably wondering where I’m dragging you, eh? Seven years ago I sent young agents much like yourselves on a preliminary exploration of the necropolis below the Drownyard in the Precipice Quarter. The Drownyard is the name that was given to the old Tri-Towers School, once home to some of Absalom’s wealthiest progeny. It was destroyed in the great earthquake of 4698 ar, and we thought that all of the children, teachers, and staff had perished.”
“But let me back up a bit. Eight years ago, the Society discovered an ancient necropolis under the Drownyard. It dates back to the third century AR, and if you know anything about Absalom’s history, you’ll know that we know almost nothing about those early years. It took me almost an entire year of negotiating with the parents of the children who died in the Tri-Towers Yard to convince them to grant us access to the site, and when we did, what did we find? A lot of spooky stuff: undead, haunts, and some nasty bugs. But we also found something completely unexpected: a survivor. A little slip of a girl named Junia Dacilane somehow survived in a death-like state for 10 years. The only thing that kept her alive was a ring of sustenance that she had found among the crypts. Junia’s mother, Lady Miranda Dacilane, was of course beside herself when we pulled her living daughter from the ruins and she vowed to not only give the Society full access to the property, but personally underwrite our archaeological efforts there. Soon thereafter I set up an archaeological dig at the Drownyard, and we’ve been pulling out fascinating fragments from Absalom’s early history ever since. Every year I visit Lady Dacilane to renew our contract to maintain the dig, but this year it seems that she wants us to jump through an additional hoop. She wants us, or rather you, to escort her daughter back to the Drownyard. It seems that Junia’s become a bit obsessed with her alma mater, and since the Precipice Quarter is no place for pampered young noblewomen, she needs an escort. Think you can manage that?”
Without giving the Pathfinders a chance to interrupt him, he quickly adds, “Oh, and don’t forget to call the Drownyard the Tri-Towers Yard while we’re at Dacilane Manor. No one who lost children in the earthquake likes to be reminded of that tragedy… even the ones who got their child back.”
Ahmandé is aware The Precipice Quarter was once a wealthy neighborhood called Beldrin’s Bluff, until an earthquake in 4698 AR broke several blocks of the district into the sea and killed hundreds.
Farlen recalls that as well, in addition to the following information.
After the earthquake, the people of Beldrin’s Bluff moved away. Many people in Absalom believe the district is cursed, and restless undead and vermin roam the streets at night. The most prominent locations in Beldrin’s Bluff were the Tri-Tower’s Yard, an academy for the children of Absalom’s wealthy and powerful, and the Arboretum Arcanis, which displayed rare plants from all over the Inner Sea.
The Tri-Towers Yard is haunted. The spirits of the children who perished in the earthquake are unable to reach their final rest. For nearly a decade, a man named Deris Marlinchen, the father of one of the young victims, wandered the yard, speaking to spirits no one else could see. Since his departure seven years ago, the haunts at the old school have grown increasingly malevolent.
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After about ten more minutes of walking, the pathfinders arrive at a large residence.
Dacilane Manor is an imposing four-story townhouse of heavy masonry with a parapet roof that is festooned with numerous leering, demonic gargoyles. After knocking on the door, a middle-aged halfling woman in a large apron answers it. “Please come in. My lady will join you momentarily in the drawing room.”
The interior of Dacilane Manor is just as imposing as the outside. A wide foyer with a grand staircase leads to the second floor, while open double-doors lead into the drawing room. Heavy black draperies cover all the windows, shrouding the manor in shadows. All of the furniture in the common areas is oversized, expensive, and gothic, made of dark-stained mahogany wood.
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"Dwarves just don't feel right not wearing full plate. Unless yer Yangrit there. She keeps them claws off 'er with a look n smile!"
Yangrit's lips thin in a downward turn, her brows dive toward the bridge of her nose, and her eyes narrow. This is the "smile" to which Ironshanks is referring. (Did it just get _colder_ out here? Brr!)
"It took me almost an entire year of negotiating with the parents of the children who died in the Tri-Towers Yard to convince them to grant us access to the site..."
"Yes. I was on that mission. It was..." She suppresses a shudder. "...definitely steeped with an undead presence. I would recommend leaving your nice clothes at home. Entering required fully submerging through a pool of black water. That stench lingered through two baths and copious amounts of soap. Speaking of which, Mr. Dreng: Has a drier entrance been created or found during the excavations?" The image of Ironshanks clanking through the time-ravaged halls, black water leaking through the cracks in his armor as he goes. He is not going to like that.
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Ironshanks offers up a firm handshake to Durvak, Yangrit, and the others as they introduce themselves. "Glad ta hear some of ye know a thing 'er two of history and the like. Hopefully that don't mean yer soft book worms... these 'missions' never are easy on my shield's paint job."
Ironshanks can see his breath as Yangrit smiles Bet that one there always has the coldest feet, no matter how many blankets! He shudders at the thought.
The old Dwarf continues his march, following behind the strange old Dreng with narry a complaint and narry an uptick in pace. He's always moved at his own pace, and if people don't like it they can buy him a set of those fancy magic boots all Dwarves end up having to buy when in his line of work.
He clanks his way inside the massive stone home, pausing to admire the worksmanship and choice of materials.
He takes a seat in an oversized chair, quickly swallowed up in plush, overstuffed cushions. He struggles a bit but manages to keep himself free of entanglement. "Fer Cripes sake, ain't no one thought of stiffer springs in this place?"
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Farlen relates the relevant knowledge he recalled to the group. "... hope that helps us better prepare for our task. Haunts are not something a sword is much good against." "Wards, holy water, and holy moley (channeling) are needed for them."
Farlen takes his lead from Dreng. If he stands, Farlen stands. If he sits Farlen sits. He will be content to watch and learn.
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As Dreng continues to the briefing, Durvak glances his way with a raised eye. 'Who dis en? Shuden 'e let da VC tal....oooooh'
"Durvak no know much fer book lernens. Eye-row-ree given flash o tings 'ere and dere is all. Much tanks fer book learnens know-ledge." he offers to those more educated. His eyes lighting up as Farlen explains what's needed for haunts and he simply nods. "Me Masta o Mastas gives Durvak summa dat moley ya speakin of. Durvak 'elp."
Continuing into the building, he frowns. "Смею сказать, на мой вкус немного душновато. Великий Ирори говорит нам, что мы должны укреплять свой ум. Боюсь, что такое размещение заставит мой разум увядать, а тело истереться."
"I dare say, it's a bit stuffy for my tastes. The great Irori tells us we must strengthen our mind. I fear such accommodations would cause my mind to wilt and my body to fray."
His frown deepens as the chair eats his dwarven companion. Durvak finds a bare place on the floor to sit cross-legged. Patiently, he awaits the matron of the establishment.
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Geoclunicus looks around, a bit in awe with just a touch of greed in his eyes. Clearly, he doesn't come from money.
Muttering softly, he says to the monkey "Best keep your fingers to yourself, Jak-jak. I smell money too, but I suspect this baby-sitting gig will pay well, so we can hold out for the clean payout."
The louder, back to the group, "So haunted, eh? Should be fun."
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"Durvak no know much fer book lernens. Eye-row-ree given flash o tings 'ere and dere is all. Much tanks fer book learnens know-ledge." ... "Смею сказать, на мой вкус немного душновато. Великий Ирори говорит нам, что мы должны укреплять свой ум. Боюсь, что такое размещение заставит мой разум увядать, а тело истереться."
At first, Yangrit keeps her expression steady as she listens to Durvak speak, working out his meaning as he goes along. However, when he speaks in Dwarven at the mansion, her eyes bug out and her jaw almost drops for a moment before she composes herself. Nodding stiltedly, she has no verbal reply.
Lady Dacilane enters a few moments after the Pathfinders and Dreng have gathered in the sitting room. She is a tall, stern-looking, yet attractive Chelaxian woman with sharp features, a fair complexion, and black hair accented with gray and white. She is dressed in a well-made, floor-length black gown streaked through with crimson. A plain-looking silver pentagram necklace is her only jewelry.
Dreng immediately jumps up to greet her, bowing and kissing her hand in a formal fashion. He then quickly introduces each Pathfinder before launching into a prepared speech about the importance of Lady Dacilane’s ongoing support of the Society’s activities and the many important artifacts they have been able to recover from the Tri-Towers Yard necropolis. Lady Dacilane listens politely, making a few pro-forma inquiries into several details about the management of the site before getting to the heart of the negotiation and addressing the group directly.
“As I am sure Master Dreng has already informed you, I have a particular request of the Pathfinder Society this year. My daughter Junia has recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday, but she maintains a certain obsession with the traumatic events that befell her at the Tri-Towers Yard so many years ago. I have stopped her from sneaking out of the manor and visiting that place several times, and I feel that her past is keeping her from fully embracing her future. I would ask that you accompany her to the gods-forsaken Precipice Quarter and let her see her fill of the decay and misery. Perhaps those sights will cure her of her unnatural obsessions.”
She turns to Yangrit, "Yangrit Foehammer, I never forget a face. And your face is one of those that rescued my fortunate Junia so many years ago. You have my utmost thanks and well wishes that this mission go well for you."
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Farlen stands as soon as Dreng stands and moves to greet the lady noble. He listens and when prompted introduces himself.
He listens to the assignment, thinks it over. He listens to Geoclunicus's question. "Yes, the want to return and seek closure is natural. We will protect her, but do we have any restricted areas that you do not want your daughter to go to?" "This is difficult ... so I will just says it. "Who has final say over if an area is too dangerous to risk further revisiting?" "Can we veto requests to continue into danger as fits the situation?"
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"Thank you for honoring us with the protection of your daughter. The Pathfinder Society of course tasks this with the utmost importance. Can you tell us a little bit more about Junia? How old is she? What kind of training--if any--has she had? It will help us to be able to know her preparedness for something like this. If we should encounter trouble--blessings of the Starstone, I hope not!--can she handle a blade?"
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"Yangrit Foehammer, I never forget a face. And your face is one of those that rescued my fortunate Junia so many years ago. You have my utmost thanks and well wishes that this mission go well for you."
With a solemn, respectful inclination of her head, Yangrit replies: "At your service, Lady Dacilane." So, we're like a dog walking service. "Take the precious puppy to her favorite doggy park..."
Following up on Ahmandé's line of questioning, she querries: "What can you tell us of Ms. Junia's personality? How generally compliant or defiant is she? Does she frighten easily, or is she reckless?" Will she "heel" properly, or will she try to yank the leash out of our hands? --Okay. I have to stop it with the dog imagery before I accidentally let it slip out of my mouth. Yangrit's brows furrow slightly deeper as she remonstrates herself.
She turns to Geo and Farlen, answering both their questions.
"Take her wherever she wishes within reason in the Precipice Quarter. It is a dangerous place even during daylight hours, so use your best judgment. Let her stay as long as she wishes, but bring her back before nightfall tomorrow."
Then answers Ahmandé's question, "Junia did not age mentally or physically while sleeping in the crypt. It is a mystery that has never been explained. Even though we should be celebrating her twenty-eight birth year, she appears and acts like a child of eighteen."
With a smile she replies to the definitely favored Yangrit, "She has no special training, other than her normal schooling and her obvious affinity for trying to escape to return to that damned place. Last time she almost made it, so we agreed to allow her to do this."
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The suit of full plate remains locked in a battle of wills with the overstuffed chair, maintaining the status quo. Finally he flips up his visor and nods in greeting to the woman as she's introduced. "I'd offer a handshake if I could get outta this death trap."
Keep a little one outta harms way, sounds like my entire Pathfinder career.. watchin' after neophytes. The old Dwarf lets out a huff and remains still, and listening.
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With a small sigh, she repeats her statement, "Let her stay as long as she wishes, but bring her back before nightfall tomorrow."
Looking with a bit of concern, "I do hope you are prepared, if not there are plenty of things that can be bought on the way. But let me not tarry, Junia Dear, come down please!"
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Lady Dacilane’s daughter comes bounding down the stairs and into the sitting room a few moments after he mother calls her. She has her mother’s height, black hair, and fine facial features, but that’s where the similarities end. Unlike her mother’s carefully coiffed hair, Junia’s is short and practical, and she carries herself with a confident and unladylike swagger. She is dressed in grey breeches, knee-high leather boots, a white cotton shirt, and an azure blue riding coat with tails with a golden eagle pin on the lapel. Beneath her coat, it is clear that she is wearing a mithral chain shirt.
Ahmandé and Geoclunicus very quickly recognize that Junia is attempting to look like a member of the Andoran Eagle Knights.
Upon arriving in the drawing room, Junia clicks her heels in a military manner and greets her mother with a mischievous grin. Lady Dacilane immediately turns bright red with embarrassment, reprimanding her daughter for appearing in such a “ridiculous outfit in front of our guests”, and then throws up her hands and storms out of the room without another word.
Junia introduces herself, "Hello! I'm Junia, but please use the name my friends do, 'J', like the letter." She darts around the room, pressing her hand into each pathfinder hand until she gets to Yangrit. Wrapping the dwarf in a huge hug she has a beaming smile, "Yangrit OH MY GOSH YOU CAME BACK! I'm sooooo thankful you volunteered to do this mission. It'll be great to actually get to talk to you a bit!"
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Yangrit barely manages to avoid stiffening like a board as J throws her arms around her, forcing herself to return the hug, albeit in an awkward manner. She's simply not used to being on the receiving end of affection, and it's a truly strange sensation. Something weird starts happening to her face without her realization: its expression is softening, particularly around the eyes and mouth.
"Hm. Well. There were some very unusual things going on down there, and they have been teasing the back of my mind for quite some time. I cannot blame you for being curious, too. It is good to see you are doing well, J. We were really worried about you for a while back then." Stepping, back, Yangrit appraises the young woman. "You are relatively practically dressed. Good. A skirt would be an encumbrance down there. Are you ready to get those fine clothes filthy?"
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After 'Mom' storms off Ironshanks waves over J for a hand getting out of the chair "Pull me up kid else I'll be stuck here til the cleanin' staff hoists me out." He lets the girl put her back into it, getting an idea of just how much strength and grit she's got.
"You can call me Mr Magee, I'll be keepin' ya upright n alive, along with the rest of us here. We won't have any issues so long as you keep behind me and don't run off alone." He gives her a raised, serious eyebrow to get his point across.
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At the sight of the 'girl' Durvok steps back as if slapped across the face. 'Me 'spect proppa dress. Tis way o tings! Poor lass lookin 'ike a... Tis off-puttin...an I's worked wich 'em devil paffies wich tails!'
Quickly recovering, his moth purses into a grimace. 'By Eye-row-ree's will iffen da miss seeks purity in dis way...so bees it.'
"Aye, ya stick which us paffies an we's gun take ya dere an back." he announces matter-of-fact. "Iffen ya runs off, we's gun hafta leasha ya. So yas maken sure ya stick close."
'Perhaps a bit rough dere...afta all she been down dere an lived...'
"Dat said, anytin ya can give advice wes appreciates."
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"Do we need to stop by the market or a temple to get holy water and maybe oils to make weapons magical?"
Farlen turns to Dreng. "Sir Dreng, do you have any goodies for us to use while protecting and escorting J? Do you have any suggestions on stuff that will be particularly helpful as the society has been using this site for a while?"
Farlen will look for an opportunity to buy 2 vials of holy water (100g).
Dreng fishes into his pocket at the request and pulls out a large iron key, "No special items, but this key will get you into the Tri-Towers Yard. The necropolis below has been recently cleared of undead, but the surface structure has a dangerous haunt so try to stay away from there. We've tried to remove it several times, but it keeps re-manifesting. If you do need to go in there, check out the supply closet, it may help. With that, I have things to do and I'll leave this in your capable hands. Good luck!" The venture captain disappears out of the house and into the city, blending in quickly with the crowds of the day.
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J. picks up a backpack from a stool in the corner and pulls out a kukri, which she sheathes at her hip. She then straps on the backpack and looks expectantly at the group, "Well, shall we go? I’m ready when you are. If I remember anything about the place I'll let you know immediately."
Once out of the house, J. breathes a sigh of relief and visibly relaxes. Taking up a position in the middle of the pack she asks, "How shall we get to the Precipice Quarter? I haven't gotten out of the house much in the past few years and any time I slipped away I was more worried about getting caught than figuring out landmarks."
The group automatically knows there are a couple routes to their destination. Head through the mercantile Coins district and along the edge of the Merchant's Quarter OR slip through the Foreign Quarter and then through the Docks. Either way would allow for shopping.
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"Hmph. Considering where we're going, you'd think they would've given us a day so you spellcasters could prepare." Yangrit grumbles. Of course, she's always ready. "By the way, if anyone need it, I just bought a wand of Cure Light Wounds. Ahmandé, if I remember correctly, you can use it easily. Is that right?"
Ironshanks and Geoclunicus recall that it is a Tuesday and that means today is Market Day. The Coins will be packed with shoppers and merchants. However, even if it will be busy it may still be safer than going through the docks... a bit of a riskier neighborhood.
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While you head through the city, J. starts asking questions to get to know you all.
"So uh... I've really not gotten out much but I loooove stories. How and why did each of you become pathfinders? And do you have any really cool stories from your adventures?"
It's obvious she is quite interested in the society.