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It doesn't take Abdara long to find a middle-aged amateur apothecary named Jonathram. The half-elven part-time druid has not aged gracefully, despite his elven heritage. He is completely bald and wears a silver earring in one ear and a snowy white beard.
“A secretive foreign group with their own boat and few morals? Sounds like you're talking about them Pathfinders," he answers Abdara's inquiry angrily. "Make 'em go away? Yeah, I already done that. Some Varisian feller come by wantin’ to buy up all mah vermin repellent, trying to barter off some potions or whatnot. But I sees the Glyph of the Open Road on ‘em, and I ain’t about to touch no Pathfinder stuffs, so I tell him to shove off. Boy that got ‘im real mad. 'Twas funny watchin' him get angry while he were itchin’ up a storm, though! Must have been campin' out in them marshes, where them skeeters live.”
When pressed for which marshes in particular, he looks at you like you’re imbeciles and answers curtly, ”Shore’s lousy with ‘em,” before turning away to other customers.
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The interior of this enormous wooden long house is brightly lit and filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and merriment. The scent of roasting red meats (a welcome change from all the fish) mingles with the smoke of cooking fires and tobacco pipes. Servants carry food and drinks from the open kitchen area to the various wooden benches and tables that fill the hall. Many of the patrons are armed and armored, proudly bearing the insignia of local militia groups on their cloaks and tabards, along with the sword and tree symbol of Nirmathas.
As you enter, all conversation and music stops momentarily as the patrons turn to examine the new and very unusual arrivals. A few nod to Felix and the Armenian Man, several stare in wonder at Beryl and her gun, and a toothless old veteran winks at Abdara as he wriggles his outrageously bushy and mismatched eye-brows.
Settling in at one of the long benches, the citizen soldiers that you chat with are willing to grouch about recent troubles and curse the “Molthuni dogs” to the south, but they respond to questions about the recent thefts with stony silence or by excusing themselves to leave.
Your questions soon attract the attention of a handsome veteran clad in a green cloak bearing the symbol of Nirmathas. He approaches your table carrying a round of drinks for you all, and you spot that he walks with a noticeable limp and is missing his left arm from the elbow down. He sets the tray down, takes a seat amongst you, and introduces himself as Imad Sharras.
”Now is not a good time for strangers to be asking questions in Tamran. There are rumors that spies walk among us and that Pathfinders are among those spies. I find it a little hard to believe, given Pathfinders helped me out in a time of need,” he remarks, gesturing with his hand to his amputated arm.
”The Pathfinder Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus saved my life a few years ago, and I fought alongside Ambrus Valsin when he was a merc here. I’ve never had direct reason to distrust the Society, but things here have gotten strange. If you’re with them, I have an offer for you. If not, I’ll go on my way.”
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Drelluandast glances over at the Despairing Abdara with frantic eyes and a face that grows redder and redder with each second.
“You are embarrassing yourself. But more importantly, you are embarrassing ME!”
Abdara snatches the mug out of the gnome’s hands, so that any splash targets him not her.
She then places her nose very close to the wizard’s “You may be in the top ten of the most powerful people in this room. And if you listen to what I say, inside ten years you will be able to SMOKE EVERYONE PRESENT (except Gnoda maybe) with a single gesture – including four of us!”
“Now how about you ACT LIKE YOU KNOW THAT!”
Abdara stands and smiles sweetly at Imad Sharras. “Sorry about that. Small personnel problem needed addressing.”
Bah! Hmm ... I know!
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As he stares into his beer, the Armenian Man notices that the big bubbles all pop quickly and die, while the foam draws its form and shape from the mass of small ones. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the strength of the many small Nirmathi irregular militias in their fight against the larger Molthune Army.
Or maybe he’s just been staring at the beer for too long. Either way, he and Drelluandast get the sense that Imad does not bear ill will toward Pathfinders. But he is also not telling them everything.
Following her dressing down of Drelluandast, Abdara sits back down with a smile. Imad orders a house white wine (the only white wine available here) for the literal drama queen and makes small talk about the weather. As she sips her drink, she remembers something Janira told her at the Pig’s Paunch not long ago. ”Pathfinders take leaps of faith.” It didn’t make much sense then either, and the fact that Janira said “leaps” in the plural puzzled Abdara even then, but it very much seems relevant now.
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“Ambrus Valsin is a dıck. But Marcos Farabellus is an honorable man.”
Abdara puts down her wineglass after inspecting it for cleanliness. “Have you heard of the Shadow Lodge, Imad?”
“Exiled Pathfinders who disagree with the tyrannical control exerted by the Decemvirate, seeking power for the rank-and-file agent instead. Sounds a little like the battle between Molthune and Nirmathis wouldn’t you say?”
She smiles thinly. “Shadow Lodge rebels are sent to … educate their brethren on the mistakes they are making to benefit the Ten, with a view to ensuring they NEVER make those same mistakes again.”
“Let’s say we are Shadow Lodge operatives – Pathfinders, but not really. In Tamran to do some housekeeping for the good of the part of the Society that matters most. Capable and willing to do a service for our Nirmathi comrades.”
“Now tell me more about this offer.”
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”I don’t know anything about your lodges or your internal organizational politics,” Imad says and pauses to take a long, thoughtful drink. ”But yeah, taking care of your comrades in arms, that I understand.”
“That being said, though, here’s my offer. I know something of these bandits you seek, and I will tell you, but first one of you must drink this,” he says, producing a small blue bottle from his pocket. If asked about its contents, Imad states only that drinking it will “ensure his trust.” He does not allow you to examine the bottle or its contents. He looks pointedly at your two gnomes and cautions them that if anyone begins casting spells to identify it, he will simply walk away, and you’ll lose this chance to get his intel.
”It’s a leap of faith,” he says cryptically and seriously. ”And it’s non-negotiable. Even for such a pretty and persuasive lady as yourself.”
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Imad hands the small bottle to the Armenian Man who downs it without hesitation. He immediately begins questioning the half-orc aggressively asking “How long have you been working for Molthune? Who is your Molthuni contact? Do any of your allies have ties to Molthune?” The big man answers truthfully that the team of Pathfinders has no affiliation with Moltune whatsoever. Satisfied that you are indeed not Mothuni spies, he apologizes for needing to subject such a brave warrior to a dose of elixer of truth. ”However, in this never-ending war we’re in with Molthune, and with all the Pathfinder troubles going on here, I had to be sure.”
“Two weeks ago, while my men and I were patrolling along the edge of the Fangwood south of the city, we spotted a group of bandits attacking a smuggler in the woods. We gave chase, and tracked them as they fled west, but lost the trail when they hit the river. I don’t think they simply forded or swam; I’d bet good money your bandits have a ship capable of sailing up the Marideth River.”
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“You’re a brave fellow, Armenian Man.”
Abdara continues with a knowing air. “Of course, I was about to advise you the blue bottle was likely to just be a truth serum, but you didn’t hesitate. Good show!”
Outside the festhaus, the noble is quick to agree with Gnoda. “Your logic is solid, Master Gnoda. Clairvoyance isn’t enough to find the rebels’ hidden camp.”
“I am half-expecting to hear Guaril Karela has gotten himself into some bother though.”
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The marketplace does not rely solely on Guaril Karela’s smuggling to function, and it remains a major center of activity in the town. In spite of the blockade, it's busy and bustling with activity with much local produce, forest products, weapons and supplies, and even a wet-market of small livestock. The people here are just as suspicious of Pathfinders as anywhere else in town, and it takes a bit of time to find someone willing to talk to you about missing goods.
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“Yes, I’m sure your fresh chicken is of the highest quality, but have you considered going upmarket and selling them with the heads and feet removed?”
Abdara attempts to smile through her grimace as she strolls the market. “Sorry, my good fellow. I don’t have any use for a genuine Numerian Void Rifle made of wood. You should try my associate Beryl.”
“But tell me, it doesn’t appear that the threat of attack from the wet bandits has hindered local trade?”
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Gnoda wanders the market, on the lookout for smugglers and scruffy-looking nerf-herders.
"Mmmmmm, these crossbows are of fine quality, but they are no match for the power of the cosmic life force" Gnoda shakes his head when offered such weapons.
"You must have enough willing buyers here though. Brisk, business seems to be."
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What's a nerf herder anyway?
"I don't know, Gnoda."
Abdara hefts a masterwork light crossbow made from Avistani Pear wood, and dry-fires it skyward before handing it back to its chatty seller with a grin. "I remember your markgnomeship in the Kortos foothills."
"You may have missed your true calling."
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The weapons dealer is more than happy to show you her “genuine Numerian void rifle.” On closer inspection, it turns out to be a beautifully crafted, wooden, rifle-shaped wand-holder with a wand of acid arrow mounted in it.
However, as you admire the handiwork, she soon suggests talking to Gilligam who is a purveyor of “contraband substances of all kinds.” He’s a tall, obese human with a scraggly red chin-beard who sells pipes and other paraphenalia as a front for his more illicit wares. When you inquire about where he gets his supplies, Gilligam feigns cowardice, saying:
“I knew this was going to come back to bite me! You’re here to break my legs or something, right?” he whines while glancing at Felix and the Armenian Man. ”Well you don’t have to—I’ll tell you everything! Just don’t hurt me! I used to buy from Guaril Karela; now I buy from whoever is stealing from Karela. Hey, what’s it matter to me? When I meet them, it’s always on the north end of town, so I figure they must have a hideout up north somewhere. Please, that’s all I know!”
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"Void rifle? Yes, let's go look." she agrees with Drelluandast.
Abdara stands well back with her arms crossed while the wooden rifle in being inspected.
“Drelluandast, you might want to hold that thing the other way around before you shoot yourself full of splinters.”
The noble purses her lips. "I can't get a good read on this ... gentleman. But if I had to speculate, I'd say he's telling the truth."
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"Liar," Beryl suddenly croaks, giving Gilligam a hard, unblinking stare. "You should tell the truth..."
She lets the thought trail off, hoping the implication alone is enough to get the man to talk - which it apparently is.
"Hmm...steal the wares and sell for much less and gain the loyalty - or silence - of Karela's former customers. Clever," Beryl nods, satisfied. To Gilligam's little outburst, she shrugs. "Suppose you'll find out soon enough."
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The last of the places that VC Tolal recommended is the Gar’s Last Meal. It’s a reasonably priced and relatively comfortable inn located not far from the docks. The common room is pleasantly appointed with the inn’s only downside being that it smells of even more fish. The taproom at the Gar’s Last Meal is a fairly popular local hangout possibly because of the dueling lute act of Lily and Lilah, beautiful and talented twin human sisters. In between sets on stage, the women are willing to answer the questions of their newest fans.
Lily tells you, “I heard the thefts were fake. One of those Pathfinders was in here a few weeks back asking around about the Shining Crusade, wanting to know if anyone had a picture or a drawing of what the soldiers back then looked like. I asked her about the thefts, and she said it was all a lie to let the smugglers drive up the prices.”
Lilah adds, “Yeah, I remember that elf. She gave me the willies, her and her boyfriend both. Glad I haven’t seen them around town lately.”
They glance at each other, wrinkle their cute little button noses, and simultaneously say, ”And they stunk!” Laughing, Lily (or is it Lilah?) goes on to explain that the elves had a distasteful and strong herbal scent about them, but she’s unable to provide more detail.
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“Not really. But isn’t it more important why they stink of herbs?”
Abdara turns Beryl’s questions over in her mind before backtracking a little. “If there is a specific odoriferous herbal species native to one of the bogs outside of town, I suppose we could use that knowledge to track them down.”
The noble gives the ‘slinger a nod. “Well done, Beryl.”
♪
about the dueling lute act of Lily and Lilah, beautiful and talented twin human sisters.
Oh, really?
Tired of not being the center of attention, while Lily and/or Lilah are getting chatted up by her fellow Pathfinders and the local barflies, Abdara ‘borrows’ one of the ladies’ lutes, and puts on her own impromptu performance.
♫ Don’t wanna be a Molthuni idiot
Don’t wanna be some schnapps swilling dumb mutt
And do I look like some frost-bitten meat-head?
Who never learnt her alphabet from ‘A’ to ‘Zed’
They all live off cabbage and dog meat
And they get run outa here after getting beat
If they try to invade us again they’ll fail
And you know what else is too funny?
Setting up the Pathfinders as bunnies.
No way that they will take the fall. ♫
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Drelluandast sits next to the Armenian Man, kicking his feet in the too-tall seat and sipping another ale while keeping a careful eye on the Despairing Abdara in case she tries to wrestle his drink away from him again. "I mean, even dried herbs can have potent smells. I remember one time Rattholomew got into my mint tea leaves and all the neighborhood cats wouldn't leave him alone for a week afterwards."
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Lilah begins with, ”I dunno, they just seemed,”
”creepy,” Lily finishes as Abdara “borrows” her lute and starts singing. She smiles politely at Abdara's performance before answering Beryl, "They had really bad fashion sense, too, like, their clothes didn't match, and she had"
"the worst haircut!" Lilah laughs. Lily gently recovers her lute, and the girls stand to leave. One of them winks at Felix as she sashays by the big hunk.
As you watch the lovely young musicians take their leave (one of you more intently than the others), some of you notice several people acting suspiciously and watching you. A middle-aged woman with white hair sits alone at a table about 20 feet away, but keeps glancing at the man in the blue tunic standing not far from your table. He in turn is keeping an eye on a younger, petite blonde woman who has just started making her way toward your table and toward Abdara in particular. It’s clear they’re about to pull a con of some kind on you. As the Blonde gets behind Abdara, she pulls out a pouch and a small knife…
Bold May Act
Blonde
Drelluandast
Abdara
Blue Tunic Man
Felix
The Armenian Man
Beryl
Gnoda
Woman
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“Have we met?”
Abdara stares the blonde woman down coolly. “I don’t intend to hurt you, but it’s impolite to creep up on someone without being formally introduced.”
She steps back 5 feet and ✨casts hideous laughter on Blue Tunic.
“Ladies, please advise if you’re willing to attempt a more civil approach and I’ll dismiss the spell.”
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Sensing an imminent threat, and determined to end this peacefully (and possibly hilariously) the trio of casters quickly fire off a barrage of spells.
The Blonde just stares icily at Abdara until suddenly her world goes sparkly. She cries out, drops the knife and pouch and begins trying to wipe and blink the glitter out.
The man in the Blue tunic watches the pouch fall and split open. When it hits the floor, it spills Molthuni coins everywhere. He looks at Abdara with a smirk and says ”You’re not really very funny. You know that, right?” He then attempts to divert the attention of the crowd away from the Blonde, pointing to the gray-haired woman and yelling ”Hey, these Pathfinders just attacked that woman over there for no reason!”
The crowd doesn't seem to be buying it, though.
Meanwhile, said woman struggles feebly against a writhing mass of her own shadow but fails to break away.
Hearing the coins clattering across the stone floor and her co-conspirator's attempt at a diversion, the Blonde drops to her knees and tries to cover the coins with her body while also continuing to try to clear her vision.
Bold May Act
Blonde (blind, prone)
Drelluandast
Abdara
Blue Tunic Man
Felix
The Armenian Man
Beryl
Gnoda
Woman (entangled)
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“So you didn't enjoy the show? I wonder why?”
Abdara points at the Molthuni coins rolling around on the floor. If one has entered her square, she will drop, pick it up and stand up again.
“Your companion hasn’t bothered to sterilize herself before going undercover. This is amateur hour, Old Thing.”
“I suggest you place yourselves under our protection right now. If the crowd finds out you’re Molthuni spies, you won’t make it out of here alive.”