you receive a summons...
I hope this letter finds you well. The Pathfinder Society has been offered an intriguing opportunity by
the ruling parliament of northwestern Ustalav, so I am requesting your help for a mission. Please meet me
in Caliphas at my headquarters in the Vodavani Lodge and present this letter to me upon arrival. I am
compelled to warn you that the refugee situation in Caliphas is somewhat dire, but rest assured that other
members of our Society are working to ameliorate the situation as best as they can!
Thank you for your assistance,
Venture-Captain Evni Zongnoss
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“Fellow Pathfinders!” A half-elf, clearly past middle age if his grey beard is any indication, stands from where he was waiting. “Thought I might be in the wrong place, it’s been many years since I’ve been in Caliphas. My name’s Stroime…it’s just Stroime.”
Stroime is dressed likes a forest hunter, with a green hooded cloak and studded leather armor. A shortbow, etched with the butterfly symbol of Desna, is slung across the shoulder.
Stroime chats amiably, blithely filling the silence if his new companions are less talkative. Topics range from the banal (“Strange weather we’ve been having”), to the more serious (“Wish our mission was helping these refugees”), to the irreverent (“…they call that Iome-night”), to the deeply personal (“It’s been difficult of course, but I respect her decision. She’s doing great though, couldn’t be more proud”). The stream of consciousness paints the portrait of lonely woodsman, called some years ago to the service of Desna by prophetic dreams and later drawn to the Pathfinder Society as a natural place for wanderers. Somewhere in there is an estranged daughter and a love of bad jokes, probably unrelated.
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A young, fashionably late, halfling woman approaches with a smirk across her face as she looks over the rest of her team members. She has an expectant looks in her eyes which turns to mild annoyance followed by disappointment. Her face is an open book as you can practically read her mind based on her expressions.
I appreciate everyone's restraint. I can certainly sign your autographs once our task at had is complete. Her confidence in unwavering. For those of you who do live under a rock, allow me to enlighten you. Your experience has just been enhanced by the great Madalena! You know, traveling performer, juggler, acrobat, all around great person, hero of the people. Yes, THAT Madalena!.
She bows with a flourish.
She claims to be a Rogue, and yet wears very bright, primary colors. Seems awfully hard to sneak around in. As polite conversation begins prior to the debriefing she regularly cracks jokes and has a sarcastic response to most things you say to her.
Okay, let's get this show on the road. And when do we eat?
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"Greetings"
A tall half-elf woman stands awkwardly among those around her.
Red and white frizzy hair slightly reveals a bony, frowning face. Bright green eyes, a sword left a mark stretching from just under her right eye running across the nose and ending on her right nostril.
"You can call me Kovac"
She salutes those introducing themselves, a quick wave with her hand, wrapped in leather.
Tar Baphon, aka The Whispering Tyrant, a centuries old liche has broken out of confinement and raised an undead army. Those who die in battle are immediately added to his ranks as he seems to possess a god-like ability to command an unlimited number of undead. The nation of Lastwall has been destroyed, and is now known as the Gravelands. The nation of Ustalav is south of this, with Caliphas, it's capitol, situated at it's southern tip.
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Kovac looks back and forth at those talking and puts down her heavy bag on the ground next to an empty table. When she pulls out a chair it makes more noise than she intended. She sits and carefully removes her arm wraps, folds them and puts them inside of her worn bag.
"Yeah.. Well... what else does anyone know of this Whispering Tyrant?" She said this weakly, hoping someone heard, but not confident enough to interrupt the serious conversation happening at the time.
"70 years old and still cumbersome to ask a simple question.." she muttered to herself.
The letter's warning that things are "...somewhat dire..." does little to prepare you for the dismal state of affairs. The streets are clogged with refugees simply standing, sitting, or lying about. Occasionally you see people with obvious battle wounds, but most injuries are broken bones, sprained ankles and the widespread malaise of starvation.
As you slowly weave your way towards the Lodge, the magnitude of aid required is mind boggling. However, you notice a particular situation that seems to call out for your immediate attention...
A man lies isolated at the center of a ring of people. Their faces show only helplessness as the man screams and writhes in agony. His shirt is torn open and three festering gashes in his abdomen appear to be the result of some monstrous claw.
A group of healthier individuals have gathered sticks, broken bits of lumber and whatever other scraps they could find. They are attempting to make lean-to's for sheltering those worse off.
A noblewoman is shouting at the crowd "...get your filth away from here before you bring a plague down upon us all." She begins shoving people.
These refugees are from Lastwall. They perk up slightly seeing Sten's armor. Restoring a shred of hope that there are people preparing to fight the Tyrant still.
after awhile you see a group of six sturdy looking folks moving through the crowd from the opposite direction. Two are draped in an eclectic assortment of waterskins and canteens, while the others have paired up over a couple crates. As you move closer you see each is wearing light leather armor painted with a large green Sigil of the Open Road. Seeing you, a young woman sets down her end of a crate, while the other hands out the trail rations within. "You look like some of the Pathfinders we're expecting. Evni thought you might be out here trying to help. We just got some fresh supplies from Absolom to distribute. I assure you these people will not be ignored. But the captain has important missions for everyone. You should check in at the lodge." She takes a canteen from one of her companions to offer a drink to a some children.
When you finally head inside Vodavani Lodge the sound of dozens of voices all trying to shout over one another is almost deafening. 'Organized chaos' is the only way to describe things. Sterile hallways open upon cramped rooms, where every available desk, table, or even some walls are covered in maps. Military leaders receive reports from scouts, and dispatch fresh agents to new sites. Religious figures lead rituals seeking divine answers to questions great and small. Dispatchers call out names, organizing teams of Pathfinders for search and rescue into the Gravelands. A priest wanders the halls, vending his daily yield of Holy Water. You are directed to a large office at the rear of 'the Asylum' where Venture-Captain Evni Zongnoss and Grand Archive faction leader Gorm Greathammer oversee this madness.
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The handsome dwarven prince waves from where he stands
next to a heavy oak table. “Welcome,” he calls out, projecting
over the sounds of the crowd. Beside him, a harried gnome
clad in a blue robe decorated with golden crescent moons
looks up from where she’s charting a precise path on a
parchment map.
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“Ah, you made it. Thank you for coming. As you can see,
we have our hands full here,” Evni greets. “I believe you
all should have received a letter from me containing your
assigned destination?”
The gnome points to a flag on the map, marking a spot in
the northwest region of Ustalav. “The Pathfinder Society has
been given a special commission by the Palatinate parliament
of northwestern Ustalav. There’s an old fortification in the
foothills between Courtaud and Tamrivena by the name
of Zagorstra Keep, built by the Oborov family and then
abandoned when the line died out. The Society is to secure
the keep so that the government can occupy it and use it as a
guard post for the region. In exchange, the Society can claim
any items of historical significance we find inside.”
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“They’ve even provided us with an official eviction notice
for any unwanted tenants that might be there, should it come
to that!” Gorm says, pushing forward a bundle of papers
stamped with a wax seal. “Though I doubt anyone residing
there will be so easily reasoned with. Otherwise, why would
the government be asking us?”
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“The keep is the source of many local superstitions. We
think it is likely to be occupied by dangerous creatures, so
we’ve invited a number of priests to our lodge to provide
holy water and other equipment. I think you would be wise
to stock up on such supplies before you get underway,” Evni
adds. “Apologies for the lack of better advice, but we didn’t
get a chance to investigate the site as thoroughly as we’d
have liked. You’ll be the first Pathfinders on the ground at
the keep.”
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“It’s a risk, but if it pays off, it’ll be worth it,” Gorm says.
“I believe this keep may be the final resting place of a lost
library I’ve been researching. If we find it, we’ll solve one of
the great academic mysteries of the ages—not to mention the
books themselves. The majority of the collection is over three
thousand years old, which makes it quite the scholarly trove
if any of it survived.”
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"Time is in short supply around here, but we can spare a moment if you have any questions." says Evni in summary.
You (Recall|GatherInfo) that...
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Oborov noble family, who demanded bizarre features to
confound potential invaders, such as trapped fake doors
and staircases to nowhere. Legends linger that the family
had the architect murdered after the work was completed.
The manor has been wracked with
thunderstorms and pouring rain for years now. Anyone
who seeks to venture into the forest near the keep should
be prepared to deal with both lightning and water.
”What can you tell us about the creature or creatures we might find there?
“Rumors include everything from cursed noble scions to ghosts to
Tar-Baphon himself. I doubt it’s anything friendly, or thelocals wouldn’t hate the place so much, but anything past
that is hard to say.”
“Also, what sort of supplies are you taking about? Foodstuffs, ale, etc., or something else?”
“The Palatinates aren’t as dangerous as
Virlych, so you should be safe enough if you make sureto reach a roadside inn by nightfall. I’d still recommend
preparing to fight undead, just in case. A silver knife and
a garland of garlic doesn’t hurt either—and even if you
don’t meet any vampires, the garlic is great roasted! Don’t
let yourself get waylaid by any of the nobles, either. If one
of their agents starts trying to delay you, show them the
commission from the council and keep moving.”
What sorts of books do you think might be in this lost library you mentioned?
“The exact catalogue is unknown, but being 3,000
years old, the books themselves will be interestingand their contents could be anything. Rumors suggest
the library was stored underneath the keep, which is
why it went missing for so long. The Oborovs seem to
have been paranoid beyond belief. Maybe I should be
thanking them for that. If the books weren’t hidden
someplace secure and dry, they likely would have been
looted or ruined when the keep was abandoned.”
Kovac asks Gorm: "I assume the government went there and things didn't go well. Can you tell us more about that, what happened?"
"Well, the parliament, comprised of so many nobles, isn't known for doing much of anything for themselves. I believe we have been offered this opportunity after the local law enforcement refused to investigate."
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"Is there enough holy water for all of us?" I'd like to carry some . I might not have a way around magic to fight the undead, but more often than not I’ve managed to ace throwing a thing or two in previous battles.
Of course I'd rather use my own hands… get to finish the job quicker." Kovac says this as she finishes wrapping her hands, tightens them between her fingers and knuckles.
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"I've had good luck against undead in the past, but being prepared is always wise."
"Speaking of being prepared: I know all the intel (such that it is) suggests something bad at this keep, but I think we should be prepared for the opposite. Maybe these folks are just misunderstood, and don't realize they are in the wrong here as far as occupancy of that property. I'm not saying we should let our guard down, but I would urge us to keep an open mind."
Stroime runs wrinkled fingers through his grey beard. "Maybe I'm just an old fool, but I think everyone deserves a chance to be heard. That's all I'm saying."
when you are prepared to depart,
Evni will explain that transportation
has been...mostly...pre-arranged:
“I’ve hired a coach
to take you to the keep itself; it’s a few days’ journey.
Unfortunately, there was nothing we could pay the coach
driver to wait for you outside, so you’ll have to walk
down to the nearby town to find transportation for your
return. The coach driver was also very firm that she
would waste no time and take no detours.”
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Throughout the conversation, Madalena has been twirling a knife with her fingers. She throws it up in the air.
You guys can get all cuddly with the things we find in there if you want, but if it's dead and walking toward me, I'm stabbing it in the kidney...err, femur, or whatever I can find to make it stop.
She spins, catching the knife behind her back as it drops back down from the air. Completing her spin she makes a slicing motion.
Undead are just creepy! I'll take any toys you're giving to rid the ick. Holy water, making my sword all silvery, count me in!
I wonder what holy water tastes like? I bet it's DELICIOUS!
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Kovac's eyes follow Madalena knife's movements. Once she's done with her spin, Kovac smiles and claps. "Something tells me this ride won't be boring. Let's hope no undead gets too close to either of us, but I'm with you."
She ties up her backpack, tightens the wraps around her boots. "Ready when you all are."
Once everyone is prepared, you meet with your coach driver and embark on...two days of boring country roads. Surprisingly, no signs of anything dreadful. The only mildly spooky thing is the ominous weather. Pouring rain and constant lightning and thunder put your driver more on edge than she was to begin with. Never-the-less she does skillfully navigate the deplorable roads, until suddenly stopping, seemingly nowhere. She ushers you all out of the coach, then points up a small hill. "Zagorstra Keep is that'a way" and with that makes her hasty departure.
...
Lightning illuminates the rain-slicked walls of the stone keep, casting the fortified facades in striking relief. The roof is slanted at a strange, asymmetrical angle from the walls, making the building disconcerting to look at. The faint and haunting chords of a pipe organ can be heard beneath the downpour, granting an eerie ambiance to the approach.
...