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Each of the Pathfinder's received a summons from Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng to deal with an issue involving cultists who previously killed a fellow Agent, roughly one year ago. This is for revenge!
You have gathered in the entrance to the Great Hall of Skyreach with your fellow agents awaiting his arrival for the final briefing.
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A dwarf that smells like ... nothing as he is odorless ... stands up. He is unkempt but looks quite healthy! At his side you see a small dinosaur.
”Hey you also waiting for the Venture-Captain? Do not worry. We will avenge our fellow agents! This was a mistake they will regret! Because we are Pathfinders! Sadaf Kargar is my name! It is a pleasure doing business with you all! If you have any interest in natural resources or animal products then I am your expert!!!“ Sadaf says.
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Sadaf is a Dwarf from an Osiriani merchant family that always felt the pull of the wilderness and saurian animals.
He is a stoic negotiator but has an empathic approach. He is very perceptive and understands people's motives which are qualities that are very important as a merchant.
He typically walks around in his lamellar horn armor and during battle usually tries not to attack but use spells and his animal companion ‘Danduun’ instead.
Sadaf's family has deep roots in the Exchange faction of the Pathfinder Society.
Thus, the Kargar brothers Almaas, Jangafzaar, Toral and Sadaf are all members of the Pathfinder Society.
Danduun has been Sadaf's companion since he first undertook the sacred rites to bind himself to the saurian animals of the wilderness.
Danduun is a small, brightly colored dinosaur with a playful nature but he does tend to nip people when annoyed.
"Grrrhhhhhhggggg ... "
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A short distance from the gate a young human male has been practicing sword fighting moves with two different blades. One is an Aldori dueling sword, a slender curved blade about three feet long. His moves suggest he has studied how to make the most of the weapon's strengths, sometimes holding the sword in one hand, sometimes two. The other is an elven curve blade, which is similar to the dueling sword, but longer and heavier, always wielded with both hands.
When others begin to gather, he cleans his blades, places his swords in their scabbards and puts the larger sword on a hook on his backpack so it was ready to draw over his shoulder and the dueling sword on his left hip. At first glance, it seems he is not wearing armor, but a glint of chain mail at the neck of his shirt and below his shirt sleeves reveals a chain shirt under his traveling clothes. The wayfinder on his belt suggest he may well be, like most in this area, a member of the the Pathfinder Society.
He also has a composite bow and a quiver of arrows and a dagger. The swordsman is tall, over six feet, strong but in a wiry way. His dark hair is long and somewhat unruly, extending down to cover his neck. He has a handsome face with high cheekbones and eyes shaped like those from distant Tien. He has a light beard or perhaps he just hasn't bothered to shave for a day. His skin is tan. When he stands close, a faint smell of salt pervades his clothing, as well as honest sweat.
As he approaches the others, he sees various signs of Pathfinder status and so he calls out, "Greetings all! Benson Steel of the Pathfinder Society. Are you here to meet venture-captain Drang?"
His accent is typical of the isle of Cortos and his tone suggests Benson to be a pleasant fellow, as does the cup attached to his belt with an emblem of the human turned god Cayden Cailean.
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”Hey you also waiting for the Venture-Captain? Do not worry. We will avenge our fellow agents! This was a mistake they will regret! Because we are Pathfinders! Sadaf Kargar is my name! It is a pleasure doing business with you all! If you have any interest in natural resources or animal products then I am your expert!!!“ Sadaf says.
Benson shakes Sadaf's hand, saying, Well met, Sadaf! I agree, a chance to avenge slain comrades is a worthy quest. As for natural resources, my favorites are grains, hops, and yeast, properly brewed! He slaps the mug attached to his belt, for emphasis.
When Danduun growls at him, Benson growls back with a playful stance as if he is prepared to wrestle the beast.
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Uaine sidles up to the meeting place, just a bit early. It's hard to get a read on her, as she wears an all-concealing baggy blue robe and steel boots that look better suited to plate armor. Even if one looked under her hood they'd be greeted by a simple bronze mask. Her only visible skin is her hands, which are a mottled green. The color is evocative of, but definitely not, that of a half-orc. She isn't carrying any visible weapons, though a few magic wands and rods are obvious at her belt.
She arrives at the tail end of the conversation and joins in, despite not looking like the type. "Revenge against the killers of our own? Exactly why I entered the Society. I expect cultists to be a pet peeve of mine as well, albeit less so, though I have yet to see any in person." Her voice is slightly raspy, but cheerful.
"Oh, but I should introduce myself. Uaine, daughter of Valrar, the former Venture-Captain. It is good to be working with experienced agents." She pronounces her name as 'When-Yay,' and this 'Valrar' isn't any VC you've heard of. No doubt a minor one or a fake.
If Danduun gets too curious, she leans perilously close and shifts her mask slightly. As the companion of a seasoned Pathfinder, the dinosaur probably doesn't spook, more likely is confused at worst. But that's the typical reaction she gets from normal animals.
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Uaine decides company is nice enough and returns the gesture with a nod and the removal of her hood. Face is still hidden by the mask, even if her head is hairless, in the same shade of green.
"Understandable. I take it you've had the misfortune of going up against such awfulness? I haven't, not yet, but plenty of education on fiends only leaves me grateful for that."
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"Understandable. I take it you've had the misfortune of going up against such awfulness? I haven't, not yet, but plenty of education on fiends only leaves me grateful for that."
"Not myself, no, but my father went on slave liberation missions in Cheliax and told many tales of the cults of the Prince of Darkness, may his tail be tied in good sailor's knots!"
Benson thinks about asking, "Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid, or something like that?", but decides it would be rude.
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"As good a reason as any for it. And just one of mine, I'll admit," Uaine says with a chuckle. It wasn't so funny, but she can't easily indicate her good humor with a slight smile while the mask is on.
Uaine is wearing a token on her necklace that looks like a holy symbol, albeit not one of the common ones. It's the likeness of a small sword with so many tiny, precise pockmarks on the thing that it looks more like the blade is composed of tiny shapes.
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It has been nearly 5 days since late evening messengers pulled you awake from your tasks and ordered you to appear before Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng by midnight. After a short time, the group is ushered inside a small room where the Venture Captain Dreng, ever presenting the appearance of the doddering, decrepit old man, is dressed only in tattered night clothes complete with a faded yellow sleeping cap is shifting around an assortment of danishes and dried meats. Some are stacked twelve high while others are haphazardly arranged in the Glyph of The Open Road.
"Aha, welcome welcome. There are an assortment of assorted and arranged snacks but try not to topple any of my hard work, it has taken me nearly an hour...I hope you weren't waiting too long. Is that all of you? Three and a half doesn't seem right by my count...far too many pastries for that." he prattles on while tossing a few towards the group without turning to face them. The youthful excitement in Dreng’s voice belied his elderly appearance. He doesn't provide enough time for questions or even to catch a breath before continuing.
“We’ve found them! Those pitiful bastards who murdered Pathfinder Bodriggan Wuthers in Oppara those many months ago—you know, the Zyphus-worshipping fools who tried to turn Oppara into a zombie-filled nightmare? After all this time, we finally tracked their remnants to a burned-out temple in the vagabond camp across the river from the capital. You will set out for there at once—there is a ship waiting—and meet a man named Sebastus Hustavan outside the burned-out temple. Once a man of great importance, he seems to have fallen on hard times— fallen so far as to join those Zyphus fiends. But he’s redeemed himself by telling us their location! Find Hustavan—it can’t be hard, there’s only one burned-out temple to Sarenrae in the vagabond camp—learn all you can about the cult’s hideout, and then cleanse it of their presence. Cultists across Golarion must know they may not use the Society to fulfill their horrid glories—so too will they know that the Society will not stand by and watch its members murdered!”
Dreng cleared his throat then, his posture losing the sudden youthful fire and passion, his shoulders hunching once more, his face pinched and tired.
“Of course, while you are there,” he rasped, “do your duty as Pathfinders and seek anything they may have that the Society would need in the vaults.”
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So, after a hurried early morning rush to gather supplies in Absalom, several days in the blustery Inner Sea, and another spent weaving through the bureaucracy of the Taldan customs rituals, you find yourself walking through a chilly, early morning rain storm and approaching what the vagabond locals say is the location of the burned-out temple to Sarenrae.
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The last... Member? Of the group arrives late.
A strange thick purple mass of ooze comes along, slurping and sloching its way into the meeting. It seems to let some bubbles float along its surface in what some might call a smiling face.
"Blorp!"
It goes straight for the snacks, reaching up with a tentacle to grab a bunch and pull them into its body.
... At the Taldan Customs Entry...
Several guards stand around in confusion that a strange ooze creature has a barrel full of adventuring gear it is attempting to declare.
"Do.. Do we take it's forms?"
"I'm not touching it! YOU touch it!"
"I wasn't paid to deal with this!"
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Uaine watches the new arrival in confusion, racking her brain for information on this strange extraplanar creature. Of course, she has its nature wrong, and can't get a read on it at all. She watches with interest. "Hello. Do you have a means of communication? A way to understand us?"
She also grabs and stows away several pieces of meat without eating any for the moment. "Sounds straightforward enough. One question, though; what got this Hustavan fellow to sell out his friends?"
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"Bbbbbbppppppt!" The ooze snags a piece of canvas paper from the table, and then from its barrel the ooze pulls out and a box containing colored sticks made of wax.
It draws a happy, smiling face, with a few rainbows. There is also a wayfinder in the picture and a bunch of stick people hugging a circle.
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Dreng looks at Gab! with curiosity and tosses a danish at him to see what happens before turning to answer the question.
“Hustavanwas once a consul of the empire and carried the title Magistros. He was present in the House of the Immortal Son when the Society saved Oppara from the cultists. He’s fallen on hard times since—hard enough that he joined the cultists out of desperation. His recent messages to our lodge in Oppara indicate that something in the cult has changed and he wants out, so he’s given us their location in exchange for us keeping him safe and
ringing him back to Absalom, where he will likely spend his days scrubbing floors in Skyreach.”
Uaine also knows that Zyphus is an evil god who represents accidental death and his cultists often create tragedies to gain his favor, hearing him share any information causes Dreng to also add his own.
“Zyphus is a minor god, the deity of accidents, tragedy, and graveyards. His faithful call him the Grim Harvestman, or sometimes Father Grim. He delights in stealing souls bound for Pharasma’s Graveyard—specifically, he steals souls that die in tragic accidents, so his faithful try to make those happen as often as possible. Now, any other questions? Mayhaps from the quiet ones?” he finishes.
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Benson has always been taught to be open-minded and accepting of others who may be different in race or class. When GAB! enters, however, he stands with his fencing hand on his blade and steps away from the food table. When Dreng does not look alarmed at the presence of the ooze, Benson glances at the others before shrugging and turning his focus back to the briefing.
"A friend of mine, a fine wizard name Toorin, was present at the Opara event. Bad scene by his account. Zombies attacking actors and audience alike! It will be an honor to avenge the society. Allow me to offer to carry everyone aboard the Steel Falcon, my ship."
If people accept the offer, his main activity prior to departure is to gather suitable foods for the passengers, finding out if anyone has any special foods they need or any foods they don't eat. He'll spend the time with the crayons getting a list of food GAB! would like.
Once everyone is on board and underway to Taldan, Benson, who is an able sailor, invites everyone to the great cabin where a table of food is laid out--nothing fancy, just fairly fresh bread, apples, oranges, and some water and wine. If anyone asked for special foods, a quantity of that is available if not too exotic.
"Since we will be working together, and more than likely fighting together, I think each of us should explain any special skills he or she brings to this endeavor. For example, I am a simple soldier, fighting with swords and when the enemy is far away, a bow. I don't cast magic or have any other special skills, although I have learned some tricks for picking locks and disassembling traps. In my dealings with pirates, I've picked up some of their tricks and can occasionally sneak in a deeper cut when I can flank an enemy or otherwise catch one focused on something besides my blades. Sometimes, just before a battle, I'll flourish my blades demonstrating my fencing arts. This often gives the enemy of weak heart something to be afraid of and causes them to be a bit less effective in battle."
He demonstrates by stepping to an open area, drawing his dueling blade so fast, it appears to leap into his hand. He swishes it rapidly through the air in figure eight patterns doing a few acrobatic leaps before ending in an en garde position.
He then encourages others to share. He has a table set with large sheets of paper and a collections of crayons, for GAB!
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"How do these Zyphen cultists engineer accidental deaths?" Uaine grumbles, but has no further questions. She leaves her food preferences with Benson, mentioning a vague leaning toward meat and a willingness to eat anything convenient. She then beckons GAB! to follow the team in checking out the boat. It hasn't caused trouble yet, and as such is interesting, even fun for her to be around.
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The tiefling listens attentively to Benson's speech. Once it's clear he's done, she takes a few moments before taking a turn. "I certainly can hold my own in a scrap. As if they let anyone who can't into the Society! Less so than you, I'd wager, but I'm good enough. For all the use of blades and bows, not many people expect to be punched in the face anymore." Uaine makes an idle fist and laughs. This better look at her hand showcases a strong grip, as well as plenty of calluses and bony growths in odd places.
"My real trade is based in magic. I bring my lord's will onto this plane, as any good priest might. It's fleeting, but very effective. That might be for the better, even; less risk of the side effects commonly associated with such tricks. A perfect tool for my sworn duty of protecting fellow Pathfinders." A few seconds of awkward pause. "I doubt these cultists are so strong, but if they have the gall to summon any, I've got a wealth of information on most fiends."
Uaine isn't sure she wants to, but feels Benson has set a bit of a precedent for demonstrating. Her necklace starts to lift itself slightly and lets loose a violent wave of multicolored energy. Small objects like papers and fruit are knocked around, but find their way to approximately where they sat before. When the wave passes over her assembled allies, it feels oddly refreshing despite looking so aggressive.
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Sadaf listens and nods.
”I am a Green scourge Druid and part of a militant order sworn to restore natural order. We’re less concerned with nurturing the natural world than most druids, instead focusing our efforts on slaying corrupted creatures. I have to say that this cult is more disruptive to the natural order than many aberrations!! I am ready to eradicate them!“ the dwarf says and spits on the floor.
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The ooze shimmies and jiggles in response to Sadaf. One might guess that it favors the call for action. Suddenly, bursting from the top of the ooze is a tentacle, about two feet in length, that suddenly shapes itself as a cleaver. The ooze raises this up and down, as though it were calling to a rallying cry, before Dreng gently pokes the ooze and it retracts the axe tentacle.
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A loud crash sounds outside the meeting room, "Opps sorry didn't see you there, here let me help you up."
Sortly after that, the meeting room door opens again revealing a mustachioed man in a shining breastplate. His complexion almost sparkles with an otherworldly light.
"I apologize for my tardiness sir. I am ready to bring these vile murdering cultists to justice as soon as possible."
Armstrong does not have any additional questions
Once aboard the ship, he partakes of the offered refreshments. After listening to several of his companions speak on their skills areas of expertise he stands and casts off his jacket with a flourish. "I have mastered the artistic techniques passed down from parent to child in the Armstrong family for 15 generations! Whether wielding hammer, fist or blade no scoundrels can stand to my families martial prowess!" He pauses at several points in his speech to flex as he positively glitters even in the light of the ships cabin.
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"Armstrong, it sounds like we have approached the same goal with different traditions of martial arts, but I sense in you a kindred spirit. I look forward to seeing how you fight."
to the group he says, "It seems we have a good range of skills. Let us drink a toast in memory of those we have lost and dedicate ourselves to victory to avenge their deaths!"
Benson lifts his flask with the emblem of Cayden Cailean and downs the wine within in several gulps.
Before the group breaks up, Benson address GAB! "To our shifter brother or sister, if you can take a form that can speak more elequently than crayon drawings, I, at least, would appreciate learning more about you. And I hope you'll grace us with the same honor when it comes time to discuss our strategy. When the need is urgent, we need to hear your advice in plain common."
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"In that case, I hope you'll shift to your original form and let us know what your capable of in battle. I've never fought side-by-side with an ooze before, so any suggestions on tactics that will be mutually beneficial will be appreciated. It would also be good to know a bit about your biography, how you came to adopt such an unusual form. While we're at sea, I doubt we'll be in any fights, so we have some time."
Benson pauses, then adds, "Only if you're comfortable doing so, of course."
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The ooze, normally a dark purple and black, seems to be turning a hue of red. Is it... blushing?
The ooze then begins its transformation process. Muscle and bone seem to take form and calcify from the mass of ooze, and shape begins to determine itself. The ooze transform into a half orc with no distinct features.
Every time the half orc GAB! speaks its name, it shouts. "Me GAB!. You want speak? Can speak. Little to say. No like using this form unless needed. Best used around people not understand and fear GAB!. Understand strategy well. GAB! smart, but no good talker. No used to tongue."
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As if ready for the question, he tosses another danish at a chair pushed into the corner of the room. As the pastry lands on the seat...the whole thing collapses into a pile of splinters and jagged planks.
"Faulty craftsmanship, a lack of caution when cooking...by the way does anyone have allergies?" he says looking over the array of snacks with a smile. He laughs and shakes his head, "It is hard to call those accidents but their god may not care. Don't trust anything when chasing them down. Their penchant for traps should be noted."
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"Good good! Another has come along, that should be sufficient and if any stragglers show up I will send them after you. Thank you for taking them on your vessel! More funds for pastries." Dreng says as the last member enters.
The weather is blessed and calm on your journey, arriving quickly. Once landing in a Westport Oppara, the group is able to trek towards the ruined Sarenite temple that the Zyphus cultist call home.
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Rain patters down in sheets over the scorched skeleton of a once majestic temple. Walls of thick, blackened masonry stand tall and abandoned, with gaping wounds revealing where stained glass windows once caught the morning sun. The roof has collapsed and most of its remnants are long gone. Only large, immovable remnants of the crumbling masonry remain in the rubble piles scattered throughout the ruin.
You quickly spot the former consul of Oppara, Magistros Sebastus Hustavan, currently being menaced by a pack of wild dogs. Hustavan is well over 6 feet tall, shockingly thin, and quite old. His head is balding and fringed by frizzled gray hair. His chin and cheeks are covered in several weeks’ worth of beard growth, the gray hairs standing out against his pale, leathery skin. He wears long white robes, muddy, torn, and ragged, and wears what looks to be a blue sash tied around his waist as a belt. The dogs are mangy, dirty things that wander the fringes of the vagabond camp in search of food or easy prey. He’s wielding a long piece of wet, rotting wood and is just barely keeping the dogs at bay. When they smell your group enter the fringes of the temple, they turn and begin snarling.
However, the Pathfinders were expecting trouble and reacted quickly to the new threat.
"Hello! A little help or a lot of help! PLEASE!" Hustavan calls out.
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Bold
Alaxander
GAB!
Sadaf
Danduun
Uaine
Benson
Hustavan
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Active Conditions:
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Benson has a soft spot for dogs, out of respect for Cayden Cailean's celestial cayhound, Thunder, but these mutts bear little resemblance to the majestic companion to the Accidental God. Benson advances, nimbly stepping over a few obstacles of rubble, drawing his dueling sword as he goes. Gripping the blade with both hands, he swings at the nearest dog. Not wanting to kill the beast for trying to survive, he turns the blade sideways to smack the animal in the ribs.
"Scarper off, cur!" he bellows.
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The group advances on the attacking hounds as Hustavan quickly cowers down and sobs as the battle starts. Benson wastes no time quickly knocking out the hound with the blue collar.
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The green dog quickly snaps at Alaxander's left ankle.
Jagged teeth draw blood as they snap down on the limb but Alaxander is able to shake it off and remain standing.
The red furred hound begins to back up as its packmate drops but lashes out at the imposing dinosaur.
However, the scaly hide is too tough for the dog's canines to pierce.
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Bold
Alaxander (-5)
GAB!
Sadaf
Danduun
Uaine
Benson
Hustavan
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Active Conditions:
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A large half orc wearing a Chain shirt and a great ax slung on his back runs in over the rubble. Seeing that others are trying not to kill the dogs. He uses a sap on them.
"Sorry that I am late, I had some troubles with my old boss from Riddleport. I was told I could link up with you here. So what's with the dogs?"
Sadaf casts guidance on Danduun and orders him to attack.
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Danduun attacks the dog.
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The last dog is ripped to bloody shreds with a gurgled whimper as the dinosaur tears into it. The others whimper in their dreams as the sounds ring out.
As the dust settles and the growls subside, the only sound still piercing your earbuds is the sobs of Hustavan as he falls into the fetal position. He barely takes short breaths between more howls of terror.