We begin our story on the western edge of Finadar Forest in the northwest of Iobaria, answering the summons of Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury.
Character Introductions
When introducing yourselves in your opening post, choose one or more questions below to answer.
Q) How did you arrive into Iobaria? Where are you coming from? Describe your journey here.
Q) In the Downtime that occurred before this adventure, what did you do? How does it tie into joining this mission?
Q) What kinds of Masks - in any sense of the word - does your character Wear? How many? Choose one and describe why they wear this Mask!
Q) Are you an Archeologist? How do you feel about being underground at a Dig Site? What kind of Archeological Skills do you possess? Do you have a Story?
Q) Thinking about your own people, how might they divide their historical Ages? What sorts of artifacts or culture might they leave behind for future generations to discover?
If you haven't already, please complete Check In (Phase One) in Discussion.
Without further ado, let us now unbury the
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Symeon holds onto his hat as he rides along the bumpy back end of the cart he'd hitched a ride on. It'd been a long journey of getting rides coaches and whatnot to string together transportation from Absalom. This had to be the worst leg of the journey, given how terribly maintained this tiny country road, though path might be more fitting, is. He double checks that he hasn't mangled the paperwork for travel recompense that his sister would have killed him if he'd failed to hand in. Ever since most of the Society died in Gallowspire she'd been swamped in the Grand Lodge handling the overflow of paperwork, no matter how efficient she tried to be there was jo way she could do the jod of seven secretaries. At least she wasn't going on missions anymore... Oops there was a miscalculation on line 15, she'd ream his hide for that. Their parents raised them better than that.
It'd been a while since he'd put on that hat, the youngest sibling. Some people referred to wearing a mask with certain people, but Symeom always thought that was poppycock. Masks were meant to hide yourself and your feelings, whereas a good hat identified one's self and position without having to obscure themselves. He'd worn a few different hats up until now: 30 or so years ago his earliest as the youngest child, twenty years ago as a student, 10 years ago as resident under the world famous Dr. Samuel D. Gross, 5 years ago as a surgeon and junior professor...
That was the hat he'd most hated to lose. Maybe the paper lambasting the prized symbol of his contemporaries, 'the surgeon's frock' as a pus, blood, and gore covered vector for patient to patient infections and a major contributor to the risk of spesis was, well, less than tactful, but I had never been meant to see the light of day, he just mixed it up with the much more convincing paper on the benefits of using clean smocks for each surgery... Whelp by the time he'd tried to fix his mistake the rant had singed his reputation and meant he'd be lucky to find another teaching position in Tian-Xia. Now his main hat was that of a Pathfinder Agent. Admittedly one that was a trained surgeon and still collecting evidence to publish in a paper large enough that the entire medical society back in Absalom would have to admit he might be onto something here.
He pauses and pulls off his literal hat and clears off some of the dust the cart had covered it with. Giving a mental sigh, he plops it back on, recalling the missive he'd gotten calling him on this mission. He'd definitely not been chosen for his understanding of archeology, why look to the past when innovation is ahead was a motto of his after all, but probably to make sure there was someone there who could provide the necessary medical care to the others. He'd packed his tools, his amputation saw, his bloodletting kit, bandages, and the alcohol he'd been using in his most recent study. Everything was packed away, covered and clean. Now all that was left was to finally arrive, and get off this bumpy wagon...
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Her hand instinctively shielding her too-empty coin purse, Nal slips through the shadows of the shiftier parts of Absalom, training her ears on any conversations that might hint at locations of planned thefts. It's slim pickings tonight, but she finally hears something about robbing a bakery tomorrow night. The next morning, she pops into the bakery to tell them about what she heard and offer her services for security purposes. Skeptical, they pay her a pittance for the information, but insist that they can manage their own security. Frustrated, she bites her tongue and leaves the establishment, heading straight for the Lodge to check for job listings. Ugh! It's too hard to earn an honest living! Whatever the next mission is, I'm going! No matter where it takes me! And maybe I'll even get there on time this time. Thank gods the Society pays better than this!
Lucky her: There's one! Oh, wait--level of expertise...Yes! She snaps it up and signs up quick as a flash. It's only as she is leaving the lodge to pack her bags and arrange for travel that she notes the location. Iobaria? Where's that? She turns back around to go find the maps in the Lodge so she can figure out where the heck she's going. Well...that's surprising. Oookaaay.
Joining a merchant caravan for the bargain price of "You guard us and we give you food and a place to sleep", Nal manages to get halfway there in reasonable time before their route splits from hers. After that, thank goodness, the Society has provided a bit of coin to compensate for her travel expenses. It is only here that it occurs to her that it would've been smart to see if anyone else in Absalom had signed up as well. They could've traveled together. Oh, well. Too late now. There's entirely too much time to think while travelling alone, and Nal begins to despise it. Her past plays itself out repeatedly in her mind, dredging up insecurities that she prefers to pretend aren't there. The most prominent one: if the Society learns about her past, will they kick her out? She joined so she could start fresh, make a new life *above* the law this time, but how long will it be before word of her past mistakes catch up to her? It hasn't escaped her notice that her coloration is rare: deep gray skin with black hair and eyes, and her preference for dressing all in black make her look like a living shadow. The only place she doesn't stick out like a sore thumb is in the darkness, like the underground caverns where she grew up (and to which she can never return).
Now *that* is something about this job that she's looking forward to. She latches onto this forced segue, hoping to drag herself out of the morass of unpleasant musings. Focus on the future. This job: exploring ruins underground. It ought to feel like home. I wonder what color the rock is there? What similarities will there be, so far across the world? Will there be traps to disarm? Monsters to avoid (or fight)? I can do all that. And maybe, maybe... I'll learn some magic while we're there? That sets her off on a much more agreeable mental track. She spends the last several hours of her long, long trip daydreaming of being a master of magic and subterfuge, weaving the two together in perfect synergy to achieve the most daring feats and becoming one of the most famous Pathfinders in recent history.
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Mandoo had been trying to make a name for himself in the arena of Tymon as a gladiator, but he just wasn't very good at it. Though he tended to do fine in one-on-one contests, he did poorly when competing as part of a team. The training he had received since childhood from his hermit monk master Ajit in the desolate foothills of the Kodar Mountains was quite different from what they taught at the Gladiatorial College, putting him at somewhat of a disadvantage.
Occasionally he would try his hand as part of a mercenary squad, but as with the gladiatorial teams, his tendency to act spontaneously and without thinking through the possible consequences to those around him, made him unpopular with his squadmates, all of whom had trained to act in concert. He wasn't often asked to re-enlist.
That had pretty much left him working odd jobs as a bodyguard, watchman, bouncer and other similar jobs where his intimidating looks, size and muscled build was usually enough to make sure things never devolved into violence. It was a rather monotonous existence, but he didn't mind. It's not like there was anything else driving him.
Ever since the death of his master he'd found himself a little lost, with no sense of direction. A Pathfinder he ran into not long after he came down from the mountains convinced him to go to the Grand Lodge in Absalom and train to be a Pathfinder himself; having nothing better to do at the time, he agreed. Maybe the Pathfinders could give him the direction he needed.
His training went well. Unsurprisingly, he excelled at the physical aspects of his training in the School of Swords under Master Farabellus, but he did less well at the more scholarly aspects of warfare lore. Having finished his training, he was sent north to Tymon to see if venture-captain Smine could make use of him. When Mandoo arrived, it had been a rather busy time for Captain Smine, so the monk had pretty much been left to his own devices in the streets of Tymon.
One day, Smine called Mandoo in out of the blue, and told him that there was some big Pathfinder to-do happening in Iobaria. They had asked him to send any spare agents he had, and apparently Mandoo was it. Smine tells him to get over there and report to Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury for assignment. Mandoo had shrugged in response; he'd had nothing better to do anyway, so why not.
The journey from Tymon to Iobaria was relatively uneventful. He worked himself across the River Kingdoms hitching rides when he could; walking when he couldn't; he was rarely hassled. The long endless days of walking did not bother him. His strong Yurktiri body kept him putting one foot in front of another through whatever weather the gods threw at him. He got lucky and signed on as muscle to help protect a merchant caravan travelling through Brevoy and across the Icerime Peaks. Once in Iobaria, he parted ways with the caravan and finished the trip to the Pathfinder encampment on foot.
Mandoo wears no mask. He does not feel the need to hide his true nature; he does not feel the need to deceive others. Perhaps he wasn't even capable of doing so anymore, assuming he ever had.
With Mandoo, what you see is what you get, and what you see is a large human with tan-darkened skin and close-cropped black hair framing a pair of steely blue eyes set in a somewhat ravaged countenance. A closer inspection, strongly discouraged by an apparently permanent scowl, shows a tall, lean muscled man in slightly ill-fitting clothes; almost every part of his exposed body covered in an even crisscrossing of thousands of fine faded scar lines. The only exception being a small oval area of unblemished skin around each eye. Across this evenly scarred background, the occasional newer and larger scar can be picked out.
He seems to be of Kellid stock from the far north, but something is amiss. Perhaps it is the collection of unusual weapons hanging from different parts of his body that strikes the odd note. For he is clearly a member of that rare group known as the warrior monks, not something one generally associates with the Kellid.
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Redd thoroughly enjoyed the journey from Absalom across the Inner Sea, aboard the sleek caravel and then by various riverboats, barges, and trade caravans across the mainland as she traveled northward through the Shining Kingdoms. During one part of the long journey to Iobaria she traveled alone. Walking along an old wagon trail, she softly hummed one of Chaldira's hymns while taking in the wonderful scenery of the unspoiled land. Night was approaching and she knew she needed to find a place to camp. By the luck of Chaldira, she soon found an old and seldom-used wayfarers' rest stop along the roadside, its clearing overgrown with weeds and a blackened campfire ring at its center. She sat on an old log near the ring to rest her feet and unload her pack. It was a quiet evening with birds chirping and a soft breeze lightly shaking the leaves. Deer grazed lazily not too far away. She gathered a bit of deadfall nearby and lit a small fire in the ring before the chill of night arrived.
Laying her bedroll on the ground near the warmth of the fire, she was suddenly startled by a sound not too far behind her. Spinning around and drawing her rapier in a swift stroke, she saw a rope ladder drop down from out of thin air about ten feet up. Then, from the hole where the ladder dangled, a dark-skinned man with tousled black hair and a waxed mustache poked his head out of what could only be the floor of an invisible structure floating in mid air.
"Ah! A traveler! Don't be alarmed, my friend.” He said with a big smile in a strange accent that Redd could only guess was possibly Katapeshi.
As he climbed down the ladder, Redd was astounded by his extravagantly colorful robes trimmed with tiny bells.
He took a few steps toward Redd, then bowed with a flourish, making the tiny bells jingle softly.
”Greetings! I am Zahmed, merchant of magic and traveler of the multiverse. And who is this lovely ruby-haired and rosy-cheeked little lady that stands before me?" He said quite amiably.
Umm, hello. My name is Redd. Redd Appleblossom. She said shyly as she stuck out her hand.
Zahmed gently took her hand and gave a ceremonious bow.
"Haha! A fitting name! Yes. Red as an apple! With emerald eyes as green as apple leaves in summer!
Well, it's getting cold, my friend. Please, join me for hot tea, a hearty meal, and some friendly conversation. There's plenty of space in there and you need not worry about staying outside in the cold." He said, as he pointed into the air above the rope ladder.
Okay. Thank you.
She said and followed Zahmed up the rope ladder where he pulled it up behind them as they entered.
Looking around, Redd was awestruck by the luxuriously appointed space. Although just the size of a small cabin, the walls were a tan stucco. Beautiful tapestries adorned the walls. Handwoven carpets, plush pillows, and brightly colored blankets decorated the interior. A low table and chairs made of exotic hardwoods occupied the center of the space. Brass oil lamps burned with soft magical flames. Statuettes, scrolls, wands and other wondrous magical items were laid haphazardly about.
"Welcome, Redd, my friend! Please, make yourself at home."
He said as he took a seat opposite her. A pot of aromatic hot tea floated magically to the table and poured itself into cups arranged around a feast fit for nobles.
"As you can see, I travel the planes to sell my wares!" he said, gesturing at the many magical items strewn about.
"So tell me, Miss Appleblossom... what brings you so far away from civilization? Where are you headed?”
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With full bellies, they chatted late into the night, and finally retired for a good night's sleep.
Upon awakening, Redd found that she was still in the opulent extra-dimentional living space.
"So, it wasn't a dream?”
She blinked her eyes several times.
"Ah, good morning to you, my friend!
Truffle omelettes are ready, if you would like breakfast. I have fresh coffee with cinnamon, too!" Zahmed called out.
"You mentioned last night that you were on your way to Iobaria, yes? That is still a good ten day journey away, even by horseback. Well, lucky for you, I'm headed in that direction. There's a portal in the Icerime Peaks that will take me to my next destination. It is much more enjoyable to travel with company. I would never be able to forgive myself to have left a good friend to travel alone. So, It would be my pleasure to take you to the western edge of the Finadar Forest, where you said you needed to meet with your colleagues."
Redd smiled and nodded.
That would be wonderful. Thank you.
"Splendid! Well, if you are ready, let us be on our way."
Redd gathered her belongings and made her way down the ladder as she followed Zahmed. With a snap of his fingers, the rope ladder curled up into the invisible hole, and in a flash, there was just a soft shimmering effect in the air where the extra-dimentional structure once was. Hefting a small rolled carpet from his shoulder and holding one end, he unfurled it with a quick snap of his arms. Floating in the air at about waist height, its tassles rippled in a magical breeze.
Redd's jaw dropped in amazement.
A magic carpet!?! No way!
Zahmed nodded with a wink and a smile as he climbed on. He gently took Redd's hand to help lift her aboard.
"Hang on, my friend! It should only take us a couple hours!"
Wooosh!
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It always made Elsha anxious to leave his complete alchemist's lab behind, traveling with only his lesser-stocked travel tools. He'd spent the last week mixing elixirs, mutagens, and bombs for the Society, as they like to hand out bonus, basic equipment to agents departing on missions. Now it was his turn again.
On the other hand, getting out into the world was the chance to try out his concoctions in the field. Take good data. You can't kindly ask hostiles to take another bomb and compare it to the last, for posterity.
Being away from his home lab, he could get used to. The thing that was really bothering Elsha on this caravan was the Northerness of the destination. Right out of the gate! His first three missions up in the snowy cold! The Land of the Linnorm Kings. This poor Garundi man from the South, trudging along sadly in the Balgirdtrek on a snow sled. All the while those miserable locals were trying to trip up his team of Pathfinders. They respected them in the end though, after that business with the bear...
This last thought made him smile a bit as he braced for the deepening cold. Anybody else sitting near him though is likely getting irritated at his constant foot-tapping, leg-shaking, and teeth chattering. Folks tend to not be so kind about those things as they are about his slight stutter, or even about his being from such a far away place as Nex.
The tall, dark-skinned man pulls his coat tighter and huddles under it, counting the hours until they arrive. This was one mask: keeping to himself so as to not reveal his mannerisms. There was always that first moment on speaking, that he wasn't sure how someone would take to his speech. Would he be able to execute his mental rituals in time for things to flow along... reasonably? Or would he fall behind and get flustered? It happened much less than when he was young.
However, one can never keep to themselves forever when the mission team finally musters. At this point the deep introvert turns to the mask of light humor, and helping his teammates with varied alchemical enhancements. Whether by light mood or usefulness it became easy to avoid extended, personal conversations with teammates.
For this mission though, it appears they would be going into the dark to study things. Elsha was no archeologist, per se, but he does have a driving curiosity about things. Maybe that will work out? He just hopes it's warmer in these caves than the cold, open air above.
Elsha leans over in his seat, closer to the caravan wall so as to trap more heat...
Blasted North!
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Olnik pulls his cloak tight around him as he makes his way across land toward the appointed meeting place. Though boats may be an option, a dwarf keeps his feet on the ground when possible.
The journey has, as always, been eventful, and he has been able to perform with his solid dwarven drum at cities along the route ... most recently in the rediscovered city of Skywatch. The folk there were kind and pleased to hear his music, and the mysteries were enticing ... but duty calls.
As he walks, the large drum hangs at his side, held firm by one hand. The other hand holds his clan dagger, which he uses almost without conscious thought to beat on the drum with its hilt. His chain shirt clanks as he walks, Olnik timing his steps so that the sound is in rhythm with his beats and almost sounds like he's playing a second instrument. The vibrations from the drum resonate almost visibly around him, the occasional swirl of green hinting at the occult powers ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. But his face, set within the thickly braided red hair and beard, is placid as he walks.
He has two companions with him, if you do not count the drum.
The dwarf next to him is younger, with a thin and short beard of brown hair, wearing simple leather armor. Olnik's nephew, Bjorn Shadowstone, has a face that is anything but placid, but he has long since given up complaining about the trek three kingdoms ago. Besides, while Olnik was performing in Skywatch, Bjorn had been able to liberate some minor valuables in the marketplace without being caught, so the trip has not been entirely uneventful. For these skills, Olnik was able to get him a slight stipend from the Pathfinder Society to accompany him on missions, adding his expertise where appropriate.
The other companion, though much more unusual, seems more at home. The creature that waddles next to Olnik looks at first glance like a bouncing deer skull, antlers broken and jagged. Upon closer inspection, though, small legs of dark brown can be seen walking along, as can arms and a thick mushroom cap resting atop the skull.
As the party catches sight of the Finadar Forest, Olnik turns toward the leshy. "Well, been just a few months, but I'm sure you're happy to see home again, even if only for a bit." As he says this, Olnik thinks about how long it has been since he himself has been home to the Five Kings Mountains. Perhaps it would be a good place to visit when this mission is completed ... but his orders indicate he might be needed in this region for some time. And as he looks upon the Finadar Forest, he feels the power of the spirits and his ancestors around him and suspects that it might be some time before he sees his homeland again.
One by one by caravan, carpet, or in the company of friends, the PCs descend into the valley, the view from the top casting over a Tent City, hundreds of tiny figures moving back and forth or congregating in a few places here or there like ants crawling around a colony. Dozens of pole-supported canvas structures and the half-built frames of several future buildings encircle a newly constructed longhouse. The encampment looks down even further upon a dense forest of blood-red pine trees - Iobaria’s iconic bruorsivi - dotted with the occasional wisp of smoke here and there. At the forest’s edge, huge cut stones nearly overgrown with vegetation and covered in creeping moss hint at ancient ruins reclaimed by nature.
Even in the chill of the early morning, the camp swarms with activity. More tents are being set up, and the smell of breakfast emanates from a large cook tent. Agents greet each other and swap stories in the mess tent, and rumors fly through the crisp morning air. There are some notable figures amongst what is a Base Camp otherwise teeming with fresh-faced recruits - and at the moment, the contact described in each of your missives, Jorsal of Lauterbury, is not yet anywhere to be seen (and re-checking your missives again, you realize that you are perhaps two hours early). Amongst them:
A sweet-smiled mature female Ekujae elf near the the main mess tent seems to be giving a pep talk of sorts to several recruits who listen eagerly, nodding and smiling in response to whatever was just told to them.
You hear the deep baritone laugh of a mature male dwarf bedecked in luxurious robes and furs sharing a moment with two other recruits whose heads seemed unconsciously bowed one or two degrees before his impressive figure.
You see a mature female halfling woman coordinating the erecting of two tents across the way, two teams to her left and right working together to raise poles, hammer spikes, and unfurl long textiles, presumably assembling the very shelters they will be resting their heads in tonight.
Finally, yet more recruits are sharing a morning meal - hot broth with bread and boiled eggs - in a circle around a small fire, seeming to enjoy casual conversations, and pointing towards the forest, the moss-covered ruins, towards the the other "leaders" in the camp, as well as back up the direction you came from.
...
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Olnik nods to those he recognizes, then takes a seat near the campfire. "Good day. Quite the turnout this far out. Haven't seen some of this crowd since a big shindig in Absalom, back when I was initiated into the Pathfinder Society." He nods over toward the Ekujae woman, "The elf is the leader of the Envoy's Alliance ... and that halfling over there, that's Janira Gavix, she's ... well, you've met her more than likely, since she's front and center with new initiates."
During any lulls in the conversation, he begins playing the drum to entertain everyone and pass the time until Jorsal shows up.
Sitting around playing your drum, you overhear recruits talking about how two of "The Ten" are expected to make a visitation today.
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After several days trudging north, living off rations and whatever game he could catch, Mandoo crests a hill soon after sunrise, and looks down to see the Pathfinder encampment spread out below him in the valley. Barely slowing at the sight, he mumbles "finally," to himself under his breath and trudges down the ridge into the camp.
He asks a couple of people about where he might find Jorsal of Lauterbury ("Where Jorsal?) but it becomes apparent to Mandoo that he's not around, but expected soon. He looks about him and spots an older female halfling trying to coordinate the erection of a couple of tents. He'd prefer to sleep in a tent tonight, so he goes over to give them a hand.
His strength and height helps them make quick work of putting up the tents.
He notices Nal nearby and recognizes her as one of his wyrm-hunting colleagues from a few months ago. He waves to get her attention and says, "Nal! Remember me? We kill wyrm together."
He then smells breakfast, and his stomach gurgles in response. He says to Nal, "Mandoo hungry. Get breakfast. Nal come?" He then goes over to the kitchen and grabs a bowl of broth, a loaf of bread, and a couple of eggs from the nice ladies dishing it out. Taking his breakfast with him, he sits down around the fire with the others, and after a curt nod of greeting proceeds to wolf down his breakfast while listening to the dwarf drumming out a remarkably catchy tune.
While helping with the tent, Mandoo makes a buddy, impressed at his easy prowess, and gravitated for sharing a similar command of the Taldane tongue "Camp on Land of Cyclops. Long ago, they say." then counting on their fingers in their native tongue "10,000 years Past!"
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Packing up his warm bedroll and pup tent, Symeon gives a stretch and looks up to the sky just in time to see a flying carpet zoom by. Ah, must be nice to travel in such style... He gathers up his things and meets the farmer whose cart he was sharing by their mutual campfire, providing some traveling bread and small amount of cheese to go with the left over rabbit they hunted last night. A good if small first breakfast, but they were only an hour or so from the camp, as far as the farmer was aware.
He hauls his pack into the back of the vehicle and decides to walk the last stretch of the trip with the sun-darkened man, chatting in a pidgin of Taldan, Goblin, and what little Kellid the halfling knew. Sounds like the harvest trip to the nearby city went well for the farmer, buying a few claves, chicks and young pigs to raise next year as well as a barrel or two of apples in exchange for the grains he grew over the summer... or at least that's what Symeon thought, it could easily have been the other way around or even something entirely different given the language barrier.
With the sounds of the loud burgling camp in the distance, Symeon gives the farmer's splinted leg one last look, decides he'll be okay if he stays off it, and then bids the man fair well. He pats down his long dark tweed jacket and tries to get most of the dust from his travels out of it before readjusting his tie and covering the last bit of the journey on foot.
He traipses into the camp and gives a look about. His eyes light up when he recognizes Gorm, and makes a beeline for the dwarf, hailing him with a proper kragoddan dwarven greeting. He chatters away in dwarven, "Good to see someone I know here! Was afraid I wasn't going to recognize anyone on my first mission. Quite an intersting bunch here, no? There's the drum virtuoso dawrf by the campfire, oop and that is one talk monosylabic man setting up tents over there... Are pathfinders always like this? Maybe I won't stand out so much as a red head as I thought... Anyways, Is there a medical tent set up yet? Should I go see about requisitioning one?"
A good chat later, the halfling head to the medical tent and sticks his head inside, seeing what he can do to help set up.
His less necessary supplies squirreled away and the tent set up for basic surgical procedures, Symeon emerges later to find second breakfast he smelt cooking by the fire earlier and settles in to enjoy the drum solo.
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Soaring a thousand feet up in the sky, Zahmed points downward at a large gathering of people in a city of tents nestled in a small valley.
"There! That must be where you need to go, my friend!"
He shouts over the whooshing of the wind as he begins to make his decent with the carpet. Redd tightens her cloak around her for more warmth. (luckily the wizard had cast endure on the two before they set aloft on the carpet!).
Yes. I believe so, Mister Zahmed.
”Wonderful, Miss Redd! I will set us down a good distance away so as not to attract attention.”
After landing a good distance from the dig site, Redd becomes teary-eyed as her and Zahmed bid their farewells.
I had such a wonderful time, Zahmed. Thank you so very much. I do hope we meet again.
She smiles sadly as a tear rolls down her cheek.
"Do not worry, my bright little apple."
He says compassionately as he cups her chin in his hand.
"I travel the multi-verse! We will surely meet again! Until then, fare thee well, Miss Appleblossom. Oh, I almost forgot. This... is for you."
He reaches into his magical sack and pulls out a beautiful bright red traditional Katapeshi jacket trimmed with tiny silver bells that ring almost silently.
He winks with a smile and waves as he soars away on the magic carpet.
Redd sadly turns and begins to walk towards the valley to meet her new colleagues. She takes off her old well-worn vest, stuffs it in her pack, and puts on the beautiful new jacket. It fits her perfectly. A big grin crosses her face and she begins to skip joyously towards her destination as she suddenly realizes...
I got to ride on a flying carpet!
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Making her way through the throngs of people in the city of tents, her first order of business is finding her new adventuring companions.
Redd spots a large tent operating as a mess hall. Glancing at her missive, she realizes she has a couple of hours to spare. The scant amount of servers seem overworked as they hustle from table to table filled with hungry workers as they try to deliver meals and clear tables at the same time. Redd happily offers her services to help serve food. The servers are grateful for the extra help and quickly put Redd to work. Busily rushing trays to various workers and fluent in elvish, gnomish, and the common tongue, she finds it enjoyable to learn of various cultures throughout her travels and tries to strike up small conversations here and there with the patrons comprising of varying ethnicities.
As mealtime slows and the servers are able to handle the work themselves, they thank Redd with a meal (second breakfast!) along with a few extra treats for her journey ahead. They also give her directions to the Pathfinders' mustering area.
As she approaches, she notices a couple of familiar faces but doesn't recognize any of the newly recruited Pathfinders.
Hiya, everyone! I'm Redd. Redd Appleblossom. It is a pleasure to meet you all and I hope we have a prosperous journey together and become great friends.
After greeting her colleagues, she looks up at her faction leader.
Greetings, Miss Fola Barun. I am honored to have been chosen for this mission. She curtsies and suddenly sees another familiar face.
Janira! Redd squeals with glee as she runs up and gives a big halfling hug to her old friend.
I have the special engraved wayfinder lid I earned from my initiation. And look! I got a wayfinder for it after my last mission.
She says proudly as she pulls the shiny wayfinder out from the pocket of her fancy new jacket.
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Suddenly a black shadow appears beside the two halfling women. "Ah! I got one of those covers from her too. Good craftsmanship. Still saving up for that wayfinder, though. Nal Bagura. Pleased to meet you. Hello Janira. Good to see you again." She shakes hands with the ladies and chats with them a bit before excusing herself to go greet some other friendly faces.
She had arrived by foot late last night, but decided not to alarm anyone by entering the camp in the dead of night. Instead, she'd camped about a mile down the road and hoofed it in once the sun came up. Upon learning that it'd be hours before Jorsal of Lauterbury's appointed meeting time, she offered to help set up the tents. On her first mission, the sailors had taught her a bunch of knots, and she puts those taut line hitches, bowlines, and two half-hitches to good use for a while.
While fumbling with the knots (The rabbit goes around the tree--wait. Is it this way? Or...?), she spots a recent colleague. "Mandoo. How's it hanging? You know, that 'dragon' was...stupid. Most creatures have a stronger instinct for survival than that one. Made our job easier, huh?"
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Elsha steps over the crest of the hill, fresh off his caravan, and takes in the dense collection of tents and workers.
Lot of bodies… and campfires! Heat!
The trudges down the hill, and pushes through crowds towards what smells like the tent serving a late breakfast. As always, he keeps his head down and simply gets in line for warm food. The warmth almost matters more than the sustenance at this point.
He spies a red-headed halfling serving food along with a helping of chatiness. He turns away quickly and grabs the nearest bowl of broth, heading outside to find a fire to enjoy it in front of. There are some others around it, but he pays them no mind at first, deeply indulging his “de-frosting” process.
After a while he notices a dwarf , pointing out the various important figureheads from the society. Being more at ease, Elsha listens more intently and looks at the faces he points out, nodding in appreciation before introducing himself. Elsha, pleased to m-m-meet you. As you can tell, I’m not quite from around here. He chuckles lightly at his obvious observation.
As the deep-laugh of a finely dressed dwarf becomes more prevalent, Elsha points him out to Olnik. That fellow heads up the Grand Archive. Gorm Greathammer. A great leader who gets his hands dirty with the Society instead of basking in his lineage (3rd in line to a throne). T-t-those recruits are wise to show him some deference. I… don’t know him personally but I know who he is and respect him.
Just then he notices that another red-headed halfling, a male approaches Gorm. Curious. Anyone who knows Gorm is probably worth having a chat with.
Elsha notices another human around the fire , who seems to be similarly warming up with a hot bowl but not speaking much. He simply smiles warmly at him and offers Little c-c-cold up here, isn’t it? Are you any more used to it?
The morning is fairly pleasant when Elsha spots the overly social halfling woman from the mess tent approaching their campfire. It’s still too much energy for him this early. He simply smiles and nods at her greetings and lets the ensuing interactions pass over him.
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Mandoo:While helping with the tent, Mandoo makes a buddy, impressed at his easy prowess, and gravitated for sharing a similar command of the Taldane tongue "Camp on Land of Cyclops. Long ago, they say." then counting on their fingers in their native tongue "10,000 years Past!"
...she spots a recent colleague. "Mandoo. How's it hanging? You know, that 'dragon' was...stupid. Most creatures have a stronger instinct for survival than that one. Made our job easier, huh?"
Mandoo, happy at seeing a familiar face and having been recognized in return, tries for what he thinks is a smile; the results are just a slightly different type of scowl. He answers, "Yes. We lucky. Wyrm too confident. Wyrm die quickly."
After the others introduce themselves and their expectant eyes fall on Mandoo, he pauses. Seeing them staring at him, he stops chewing, pulls what's left of the loaf from his mouth, and after swallowing audibly, says, "I am Mandoo," before returning to his meal with gusto.
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Nal gives a dry chuckle. "Nice speech." Her black eyes twinkle mirthfully as she takes a hearty bite of boiled egg, nodding at the newcomer, a human man with skin that stands out in this group about as much as hers. Swallowing, she introduces herself in her flinty voice. "Hey. Nal Bagura. How's it going?"
Redd serves you food!
The conversation is awkward, but somebody sitting near points at your alchemist tools and says "Not much of a talker aye? Still I won't wanna mess with ya!" and elbowing their buddy adds "Better not stammer like that when the Decemvirate comes around! Look I'm just trying to help ya out" and chuffs an egg into their mouth, then throws you a blanket "You're making me cold just looking at ya!" one more elbow to their buddy...
While you and Mandoo help with the tents, you hear someone say to him "Camp on Land of Cyclops. Long ago, they say." then counting on their fingers in their native tongue "10,000 years Past!"
Someone else asks you "Are you the part of the team they are sending in?" a tingle of awe in their eyes at your tenting skills.
"Ah, Symeon Isafira, indeed, your services are needed, but perhaps not what you expect!" Gorm invited you into the conversation, explaining in a way that conveys the gravity of what you are about to witness "Many Pathfinders of greater station have yet to receive a visit from The Ten! I don't imagine our mission here is of even greater importance than it may initially seem!" he instructs the two with him to help you set up a tent, and to render it such that they are able to run it theirselves in your absence, and that you practice your skill at delegation.
After that is finished, you look off to see Jorsal of Lauterbury finally arrive!
...
Redd, Fola, and Janira share an exchange, walking over to where everyone is eating breakfast. The Pathfinders nod and say "We are glad to have you on this mission as well. Please extend my invitation to your friends here to join the Envoy's Alliance" then noticing the drumming dwarf, Fola says "Greetings Olnik Shadowstone" recognizing her pupil.
And within the next hour, Jorsal of Lauterbury finally arrives, and immediately everyone shuffles and begins to stand at atttention before he waves his hand down to signal "at ease" and walks into a large tent with a center table, and as soon as everyone gathers, shares the following with you all:
“Welcome to Iobaria!” Venture-Captain Jorsal smiles and spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the expansive view before him. The sun glints off the snow-capped mountains to the west, though it does little to warm the air around you. Below the camp, the occasional clearing or stone structure dots the endless foliage of Finadar Forest, a huge expanse of blood-red bruorsivi pines. "Used to the chill yet? Iobaria takes some getting used to. Between the dry air and the winds off the peaks, you’d best wear your warmer clothes.” He waves you over to his worktables, where a series of maps and documents sit weighted down with books, a wayfinder, and several large rocks.
“We live in exciting times. As you may know, the Society has recently been exploring the wilds of Iobaria. There are so many mysteries here! The ancient cyclops empire of Koloran has left ruins that have weathered the ages. The early Iobarian kings maintained their power through dragon-riding knights, and dragons still lurk in the forests and hills all around. Plagues, wars, ancient magic.... Iobaria has seen it all. As you may know, we’ve had some dealings in Iobaria recently, but the time has come to mount a major exploration. To do that, we need a good base of operations in the area, something more permanent than a couple of rooms in an inn in Mishkar.”
The venture-captain slides a large map across the table, rearranging the rocks and books to prevent it from flying away in the breeze. “Down there, deep in Finadar Forest, is the city of Min-Khadaim, an ancient complex of ruins that dates from the cyclops empire of Koloran, abandoned since the Age of Darkness thousands of years ago. Not only is it an amazing archaeological find, but it also is superbly located to serve as a base for further operations in Iobaria. Cyclopean architecture is built to last, so we’ll undoubtedly find something here to serve our needs. Once we explore and clear the ruins, we can then establish the Society’s first Pathfinder Lodge in Iobaria!” Jorsal turns to you again and grows serious. “This is an important operation for the Society’s future, and we have the support of the Decemvirate themselves! In fact....”
Jorsal suddenly seems to focus on something behind everyone, and he trails off. Two figures walk into the tent, both wearing helms that completely cover their faces. One is short and stocky, wearing a sapphire-studded helmet that covers their upper face. The other is a taller figure whose face is completely hidden by a flowing sheet of water that disappears into mist just past their neck.
They speak!:
“Yes, Jorsal, the Decemvirate understands the importance of this season of exploration in the wilds of Iobaria,” states the shorter of the two in a scratchy voice that sounds older than the speaker looks. “You may call me Sapphire, and you may call them Shrike.” The speaker strides quickly to the table and indicates the large map, which shows a large area of forest subdivided into regular squares. “Based on a preliminary survey, the ruins of Min-Khadaim have been divided into sections. Each team will explore and clear their assigned section—Jorsal will provide the details.” They turn to you. “You may be relatively new recruits, but we, the Decemvirate, need you to understand the importance of this operation. There are mysteries here in Iobaria that go far beyond plagues and dragons. The cyclopes of Koloran fled here when their homeland of Ghol-Gan fell under the sway of evil forces. Those brave and determined souls that made the trip were determined to escape the mistakes of their kindred, yet their descendants still fell into decadent decay as well, long before Earthfall ended their empire. The question of what laid them low at the height of their power is one of Golarion’s greatest unsolved mysteries.”
The taller of the two suddenly points at , and the entire camp looks at him:
Shrike's tone is condescending, bordering on cruel, or stern in the very least, as they single out the poor alchemist without even asking his name.
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Symeon gives a grateful bow to Gorm as he assigns two others to help him set up and run a tent. Symeon has the two show him around the camp and help he get, set up and then clean the tent, hoping to get it presentable for possible surgeries. While they prep the place he quizzes the two on their medical knowledge, and makes sure they are up to date on the best methods for making sure a patient is not losing too much body heat and how to help those that have already.
Finding the two have a great depth of knowledge and even know a few folk remedies that might bear investigating into himself, Symeon decides the tent is in good hands. With a comment to come find him if the place should ever be over run or need a surgery of some fashion, Symeon promises to be back for the evening shift. The halfling then grabs a bowl of food from the mess tent, surprised to see another red haired halfling there as well. Before he can do more than raise a hand, Jorsal calls his meeting and the people in the tent rush about.
Bowl of porridge, with a dab of some jam and a boiled egg balanced on top in one hand, Symeon sets up a pad of paper on his legs. He then pulls out a large black and white feather, the steam of which is covered in gold, and a pot of ink, setting up to take notes while listening to the briefing. He gives the shivering dark-skinned man next to him a slightly nervous smile, and then focuses on the Venture-Captain's words, pen and spoon at the ready.
The halfling cranes his neck to see the two representatives of the ten, and very shortly gives a small word of thanks that he isn't as tall as the man next to him. He'd hate getting put on the spot like that. But thinking back what did he know about modern cyclops society... Oh maybe he could try providing some written prompts to the man?
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Elsha is happy when Jorsal finally arrives and business proceeds. As they pack into the tent to listen to his briefing, the alchemist finds comfort hiding amongst the crowd. Until...!!
For a good several moments, Elsha looks shocked, like a deer in dancing lights when called upon. These are the moments where he hates being singled out.
M-Modern cyclops culture? Let's see...
I'm uh, not sure I'm the best to ask. Ask me something about Nex! Or Geb even... the Oenopion ooze tenders are interesting.
He trails off after realizing he's started to babble. He zips up tightly, waiting to see who they call on next.
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Thievery works here @ 13!
While you and Mandoo help with the tents, you hear someone say to him "Camp on Land of Cyclops. Long ago, they say." then counting on their fingers in their native tongue "10,000 years Past!"Someone else asks you "Are you the part of the team they are sending in?" a tingle of awe in their eyes at your tenting skills.
10,000 years! Dang. It occurs to Nal that it would've probably been wise to spend some time researching this place and whatnot before heading out here, but she barely arrived on time as it was. Would've been nice to have something to read during the trip, though. Sigh.
She's pulled from her reverie by a person's question. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm on the team. Looks like Mandoo, here, is too. Oh, hey, if you tie the knot like this..." She demonstrates slowly and with exaggerated care. "...it'll hold tightly when pulled, but can still be adjusted. See?"
The taller of the two suddenly points at 1d6 ⇒ 1 Elsha, and the entire camp looks at him:
“What do you know about modern cyclops culture?” Shrike's tone is condescending, bordering on cruel, or stern in the very least, as they single out the poor alchemist without even asking his name.
It's a good thing Nal has no whites to her eyes, because with as wide as her eyes are now, they'd be visible from a mile away. Yikes! Rude! And arrogant. I hate being put on the spot like that... Looks like he does too. I'll check in with him after. Make sure he feels okay. --Wait. Ooze tenders?! That's weird and I must know more. She gives Elsha an appraising glance from across the table. If he looks her way, she'll drop him a wink and half a grin of encouragement.
Shrike watches the poor man try his darnedest, retorts "Yes. Mo-Dern cyclops culture. If I wanted to know about Nex or Geb I would have asked about Nex or Geb!" turning to Sapphire "Do you See?".
Sapphire says to Elsha reassuringly "You did your best" then steps to Shrike - who is looking around the crowd almost pointing a finger again - but fails to prevent:
as once again (while Elsha lets out a sigh of relief?) the entire crowd turns now to stare at the poor Teacher Investigator (Medic) Surgeon Instructor!
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Symeon gives Elsha a grimace of sympathy as it becomes clear that Shrike was not impressed. He offers up his boiled egg, "Don't mind, I doubt most people here know about modern cyclopean society."
He freezes mid egg pass, and turns to face the taller figure. "Hrmm depends on what type of artifacts or records we find."
"For records written on either vellum or an form of paper, they would have to be left as is and a copy made from them as actually touching them would likely lead to the records crumbling away completely. Stone and anything harder or more durable would likely need to be packed into something softer until it can be translated by an expert.... As for artifacts, that is sadly not an area I have any expertise in.... Also did you still want information on modern cyclops?"
Symeon's answer - especially when he adds the additional advice to "Avoid the use of Explosives and other Combustibles around 10,000 year old texts..." , seems to temporarily appease the masked Decemvirate. Just long enough for Sapphire to let down their guard. When suddenly Shrike strikes once more!
as once more, the entire camp (while both Elsha and Symeon lets out a sigh of relief?) turns their eyes unto the pale rogue!
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Shrike's tone is condescending, bordering on cruel, or stern in the very least, as they single out the poor alchemist without even asking his name.
Mandoo looks on at this spectacle and is extremely happy not to be on the receiving end of whatever these two masked figures were dishing out. "I didn't think there would be a quiz so quickly." Then, looking at Elsha, he thinks, "poor guy," and shrugs inwardly. "Better him than me though," and continues watching to see how everything plays out.
Sapphire says to Elsha reassuringly "You did your best" then steps to Shrike - who is looking around the crowd almost pointing a finger again - but fails to prevent:
"Phew! Dodged another bullet. I don't think I like the look of where this is going though."
as once more, the entire camp (while both Elsha and Symeon lets out a sigh of relief?) turns their eyes unto the pale rogue![/i]
"Nal now? So, it's only a matter of time before they pick on me then." Mandoo surreptitiously looks left and right to see if there is any cover he can find to blend into, but suspects that any motion on his part will merely attract the attention he's so desperately trying to avoid. He sighs and prepares himself for the inevitable.
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Seeing her colleagues get suddenly put on the spot -and quite harshly- Redd prepares herself knowing she'll be called on soon. She stands firm with her eyes closed. She digs deep into her memory for the knowledge that she learned in class and basic training. Her last few months were spent in training at the temple of Chaldira, however.
"Maybe I'll get an easy question regarding one's faith. Oh, please, please, please have a good answer, Redd."
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Symeon's answer - especially when he adds the additional advice to "Avoid the use of Explosives and other Combustibles around 10,000 year old texts..." , seems to temporarily appease the masked Decemvirate. Just long enough for Sapphire to let down their guard. When suddenly Shrike strikes once more!
1d6
as once more, the entire camp (while both Elsha and Symeon lets out a sigh of relief?) turns their eyes unto the pale rogue!
Jerk.*
Deadpan, Nal replies almost immediately. "It wasn't offered during my training. Read some library books about it, though." She stares back at Shrike with sullen rebelliousness.
If Shrike's face wasn't covered by a Magic Waterfall Helmet, you'd imagine they'd be fuming at Nal's incredulousness! Instead, a tensening of body language communicates as much, but just before surely responding with an condescending lecture, Sapphire manages to gain control of the situation "That's okay dear, not all recruits have the opportunity to take that class" to Nal, then to Shrike "Let's let these recruits prove their capability by volunteering what they do know - what do you say?"
Sapphire's cool tone seems to melt Shrike's excitement, who steps back to allow it, but not before offering "It wasn't so loose when we started" then attempts turning that into advice "Do not allow yourself to grow soft - Evil rests Not!" and with that decisively withdraws.
Sapphire steps forward and with an opposite tone, asks for volunteered information: "Before we break into Archeological Teams, does anyone have any clarifying questions?" nodding to Jorsal who also steps forward to answer with what he knows about specific mission details.
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Olnik clears his throat before speaking. "We have the location of Min-Khadaim and are exploring the ruins. Do we have any guidance on any particular hazards to look for from those who discovered the ruins? Last time I was here, we ran into some ... unique leshy creatures." He nods his head toward his leshy ally, whose skull body bounces up and down enthusiastically. "Any sign of Abyssal energy in the ruins or anything?"
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f Shrike's face wasn't covered by a Magic Waterfall Helmet, you'd imagine they'd be fuming at Nal's incredulousness! Instead, a tensening of body language communicates as much, but just before surely responding with an condescending lecture, Sapphire manages to gain control of the situation
Heheh. That's right, you pompous windbag. You're proof that life is like a septic bog: the really big chunks tend to float to the top. Nal barely manages to prevent a sneer from sliding across her face as Shrike is called down. It wouldn't do to have her potential advancement in the Society stymied by that one's petty vengeance.
"Before we break into Archeological Teams, does anyone have any clarifying questions?"
How big are the dragons? Nal really wants to ask that question out loud, (if only to share an amusing chuckle with Mandoo about their last mission,) but her forte is shifting unnoticed through the background, not in drawing attention to herself. She's already earned the ire of a spiteful member of the Decemvirate. It would be folly to attract more attention now.
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Mandoo is quite impressed by Nal's stones, um... nerve in facing down Shrike. It's not that he wasn't brave himself, far from it, but his bravery was more of the battlefield variety, not the talky and interpersonal variety; he really sucked at that and avoided it at almost any cost. He preferred keeping to himself and keeping to the background until action was needed.
He wondered if there were any of those dragons left to deal with around here. He'd had a 'little' luck with dragons lately and would rather take on a whole nest of them than have to face up to someone like Shrike.
Olnik clears his throat before speaking. "We have the location of Min-Khadaim and are exploring the ruins. Do we have any guidance on any particular hazards to look for from those who discovered the ruins? Last time I was here, we ran into some ... unique leshy creatures." He nods his head toward his leshy ally, whose skull body bounces up and down enthusiastically. "Any sign of Abyssal energy in the ruins or anything?"
Sapphire nods to Jorsal, who steps to answer, shrugs “If we knew, we wouldn’t need to send you!" Looking towards Shrike as he speaks, deferent, before leveling with you "But there are three likely sources of trouble. First, the cyclopes could have surviving defenses in their city: traps, constructs, magical defenses. More likely, we’ll find other creatures that have moved into the ruins in more modern times. And of course, there are the standard hazards of exploring ruins: loose rocks, tunnels with bad air, green slime... the usual.”
He and Sapphire continues to look around ready to answer inqueries...
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Glad the accusatory pointing and questioning is gone, Symeon relaxes again into taking notes and finally getting the last of his porridge.
When Sapphire asks again for any questions, Symeon pipes up, hand and spoon cleaned of porridge raised. "Are there any medical problems we are likely to encounter? Is there anything we should look into preparing for? Are there any items in particular we are looking for as well?"
When Sapphire asks again for any questions, Symeon pipes up, hand and spoon cleaned of porridge raised. "Are there any medical problems we are likely to encounter? Is there anything we should look into preparing for? Are there any items in particular we are looking for as well?"
Sapphire again defers to Jorsal "Besides the cold, no. If you need to secure winter clothing or any additional provisions, you can speak with Aram bin-Kaleel down the way" indeed there is another man who functions as the quartermaster of this camp - when Jorsal points you can see him plainly off in the distance and he waves and says something inaudible but what looks vaguely like an affirmative. It is here that Sapphire adds "Undamaged Artifacts of any kind - with a Priority towards Undamaged Literature, Carefully Handled, and Protected from Incendiary or otherwise Combustive elements" and as Sapphire talks, with each mention of "Undamaged" and "Carefully" and "Incendiary" and "Combustive", Shrike nod their head for emphasis...
...
...
You spontaneously remember the following details about "Modern Cyclops Culture":
The cyclops empire of Koloran covered this area of Iobaria until about 10,000 years ago. The ancient cyclopes’ civilization - The Koloran Empire - was an incredibly advanced civilization, but their modern descendants are known for violent behavior and a voracious appetite for flesh, falling into decline when their leaders turned away from the traditional ways to embrace dark and mysterious powers from beyond Golarion.
You spontaneously remember the following details about "Modern Cyclops Culture":
The cyclops empire of Koloran covered this area of Iobaria until about 10,000 years ago. The ancient cyclopes’ civilization - The Koloran Empire - was an incredibly advanced civilization, but their modern descendants are known for violent behavior and a voracious appetite for flesh.
...
The Venture Captain and Decemvirate members seem to scan their recruits for one last "round" of questions or opportunity to share out archeological expertise, posturing as if to move along shortly!
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Redd's eyes pop open and she makes a sigh of relief after hearing the VIPs ask if anyone has questions instead of being abruptly singled out. Redd slowly raises her hand to mention that she has learned a thing or two about the cyclopes. When called upon, she seems a bit nervous.
I would like to mention that in my youth, I traveled for some time with a historian that would tell me grand stories of history and adventure. Sometimes I wouldn't believe the stories since they seemed so outlandish. Oh, forgive me for carrying on. Anyway, I remember him telling me that "The cyclops empire of Koloran covered this area of Iobaria until about 10,000 years ago. The ancient cyclopes’ civilization - The Koloran Empire - was an incredibly advanced civilization, but their modern descendants are known for violent behavior and a voracious appetite for flesh. I even remember hearing that they practiced cannibalism."
Yuck.
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...Anyway, I remember him telling me that "The cyclops empire of Koloran covered this area of Iobaria until about 10,000 years ago. The ancient cyclopes’ civilization..."
As he listens to Redd, he thinks back to what that odd person had told him when he was helping put up the tent. "Ah, so that's what that fellow was trying to tell me earlier. I do wish people would speak more clearly," he thinks without a hint of irony.
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Olnik nods affirmatively to Redd. "The lore I have heard matches this. Their decline came as their leaders embraced dark and mysterious powers from distant realms. I have witnessed the corrupting influence of these powers in the past, so we should be cautious."
He begins looking through his gear, considering which provisions are running short after the journey to this distant place.
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Symeon, not really having any more questions, finishes up his porridge of second breakfast and double checks his notes. After a moment he pops up, extends a hand to the half elf next to him. "Getting asked the first question like that must have been hard. I'm Symeon Isafira, you might have met my sister, Angela, she surprisingly gets to know a lot of people being a secretary at the Grand Lodge. Anyways I hope we're on the same team, maybe with the other red headed halfling as well?"
Symeon turns to try meeting the woman, pauses, blushes a red not too far from his hair color and decides to head to the quartermaster's tent instead. He haggle a bit for some decent beaver furs to stuff in his clothes and maybe make into a proper coat back in Absalom later.
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It's a good thing I already have winter clothing!
When greeted by the halfling, Elsha grimaces a bit in embarrassment.
Y-y-yeah, not my finest, m-moment. But, they recruit us to excel in the field, not academic theatre. Good to mean you Symeon. I'm Elsha. Perhaps we will, that other halfling seems awfully s-sociable!
Shrike nods at Redd, then Olnik. The whole camp looks at them - but in a slightly different way than earlier!
A beat.
And with that, Jorsal starts organizing everyone into teams (placing the six of you together) while the Decemvirate members occupy themselves with looking at maps and discussing, remaining behind. Several of you purchase needed supplies from Aram whose prices are standard market. He asks:
"So, what is your Team tasked with? I'd go but my skills lie with Double-Entry Accounting - easy math for me - what about you?" talking to Mandoo, Nal, Olnik, and Symeon as they shop and haggle (the latter which he is quite skilled at as well!).
...
Bonus Hero Point for our three "volunteers", Elsha, Nal, and Symeon!
...
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"So, what is your Team tasked with? I'd go but my skills lie with Double-Entry Accounting - easy math for me - what about you?" talking to Mandoo, ...
Mandoo looks up at the chatty quartermaster suspiciously, but the man appears to be just making small talk. Mandoo shrugs in response and goes back to looking for some winter clothes that fit his large frame. "Mandoo not told yet. Mandoo more enabler than explorer. Mandoo help clear way for others."
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Olnik says to Aram, "Going into the ruins of Min-Khadaim, to clear the way of the more dangerous threats and hazards, no doubt." He looks over a pair of thick furred gloves, nodding approvingly as he adds them to the rest of his winter clothes outfit.
He glances around. "Looks like we have two bards ... anyone have any spellcasting requests? May want to buy a scroll if we think there's something we might need."
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I should pick up a winter outfit as well since it sounds like we'll be doing a bit of traveling.
Redd wanders the camp and finds an Iobarian woman selling Iobarian arctic outfits.
Oh! They're beautiful. And they look very warm.
She pays four silver pieces and puts on the outfit.
Ohh. It is very warm.
She continues to wander the market area for some last minute purchases.
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Aram - with a mischievous smile - produces an array of scrolls "For purchase!" he adds "Anything you need. Sounds dangerous!" you are unsure here whether he is exaggerating to make the sale, or being appropriately serious - or both!
"Спасибо:" the woman nods her head to Redd, smiling and wrapping her arms around her body with a feigned shiver. She then directs her hands around and helps Redd to don the garment, straightening it up in the front, and looks to her to see if she seems pleased.
Meanwhile, Jorsal approaches Elsha, towing several horses casually by the reains, and has three things to say: "You did well enough before the Decemvirate members - and were recruited for your Chemical Expertise, and that is what matters here" then adds "And speaking of that, I will repeat Shrike's caution here: Be careful with those" indicating the three prepared alchemist fire bombs stowed in a close pocket; finally "And here are the supplies for your team. Please ensure they are distributed to your teammates before embarking" and he adds some words of encouragement here "I look forward to your report!" and with that - carrying several other sacks of supplies and a few more horses presumably to brief several more teams - the Venture Captain hands Elsha the reins to one of the horses and strides off with the rest!
...
One (1) Large Pack Horse (Strength +4) with Tack and Saddlebags; (Bulk 1 but horse treats as L)
Ten (10) Torches; (Bulk L each)
Seven (7) Survey Maps of assigned sections of ruins (Area 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7); (Bulk negligible)
Six (6) Signal Whistles (one per team member); (Bulk negligible)
Six (6) Clubs; (Bulk 1 each)
Two (2) Climbing Kits (Bulk 2 each)
Two (2) Crowbars; (Bulk 1 each)
One (1) pickaxe; (Bulk 1)
One (1) sledgehammer; (Bulk 1)
One (1) spade; (Bulk 1)
plus
Six (6) Emergency Rations (one day)
Elsha @ Avoid Notice
Mandoo @ Avoid Notice
Nal @ ??
Olnik @ Search
Redd @ Scout
Symeon @ ??
...
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In response to Jorsal...
Yes, th-thank you. I intend to show my value in the field, with those skills!
He starts to seem a little more upbeat in this conversation. Elsha receives the equipment in his most serious, business-like manner. He looks down at the indicated alchemist's fires.
Ah, y-yes. I know how to take care with these. I also understand that I'll have to pick my spots carefully when in dark, tight places.
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Elsha catches some of his new teammates as they walk away from the quartermaster, asking So, I have an extensive formula book here. I've already made my p-p-preparations for today, but if you folks have any requests or suggestions from my formula book, I'm listening.
He gives a warm smile as he offers, ever proud of the utility of his concoctions.
As he's holding the reigns to the pack horse he looks at [u]Olnik[/u].
Oh! Jorsal issued us this wonderful pack steed and a p-p-plethora of equipment for our mission! Olnik, I think you'd be best to direct this guy here.... or girl? He briefly glances downward at the horses lower half but quickly gives up on that detail.
He then opens the flap to the saddle bag and starts to name off the equipment so the party knows what is available.
L-l-let's see here. Lots of torches, a good amount of emergency rations. Survey maps of the ruins. A pickaxe, a sledgehammer, and a spade. Two climbing kits. Two crowbars. If anybody thinks they'd be particularly good with any of those tools, speak up now! Finally, we each get a club, and signal whistle, which I think will come in handy to keep us together and out of trouble.
He peers into the saddle bag one last time, with all of that equipment arrayed out in front of the group on the ground, tightly near the horse.
I guess t-that's it!