That depends, what information do you have and be willing to give? I'll be willing to pay you for what you know and are willing to give.
"Information about what? You want me to tell you everything I know about this town? We'll be here a long time and it will cost you a lot of gold.
But I'll probably get bored and kill you before long. So make it quick. Why are you here and why did you come up to me?"Does anybody tell her what you are looking for, or what lead you are following?
"Oh, Kline, that guy... yeah, I remember.
He came into Pinkskin with a Bonecarver. They went over to a beardless dwarf, who was selling elven delicacies at a stall, and gave him the what-for! The Bonecarver split the merchant into pieces! It was bloody—something like you’d see at the Bloodworks. But we got to witness it for free! I guess that dwarf done something to Kline."
"And then Kline slipped out of sight. Must have gone to Scabtown, because the next place he popped up was the Bloodworks. I missed the match, but Kline made me lose money on it. If you find Kline, gut him for me. But he's probably dead by now anyway."
"Someone who was at the Bloodworks is the tiefling minstrel, Madiskaal Erindor. You can find her in Scabtown and she can tell you more about what happened."
----
Scabtown is filled with taverns and gambling houses, all made of leather stretched over bone, but the arena known as the Bloodworks is by far the district’s greatest attraction.
Madiskaal is easy to find. The tiny Chelaxian tiefling (standing just over 4-1/2 feet tall) is dressed in finery and brimming with jewels. That someone so small and frail is capable of keeping hold of her wealth suggests she may have some magical power or fearsome reputation. It also helps that she has bodyguards; two orcs stand watch near her, and two more carry her in a litter. A handsome bare-chested human male also accompanies her.
"I hear you are the ones asking about Kline," she says as you approach. "I hear a lot of things. So, what is it worth to you? Make me an offer."
The tiefling looks at you all.
"Ten gold, or the full story of your little quest here. What will it be?"
The handsome bare-chested attendant places the gold into a purse.
The tiefling smiles at the man as he does so.
"Ha, that crazy fellow! Kline! He’s lucky to be alive—if he still is. He cast a spell at the Bloodworks to save some half-orc food from Razorbite, and helped kill the bulette in the process. I saw it all! I wrote a song about it, too—though I’ve been banned from playing it. Some people don’t find it so amusing—Ploog, the Bloodworks’ owner, being one of them. He was hopping mad that day, and he’s been mad ever since, really. No one ever stops the Bloodworks like that, especially not a pinkskin. I hear that afterward the human and the half-orc slave fled toward Belkzen, the half-orc’s old home. Only one who likely knows more than that is Ploog.
You'll be most likely to get an audience with him if you go to a bout at the Bloodworks. Bouts in the mornings and at dusk. Orcs don't like bright daylight. The fee for orcs and half-orcs is a silver, but they'll probably shake down wealthy pinkskins like you for a gold. I wouldn't argue. Stay in the non-orc section."
Finding the Bloodworks is easy, for it is Scabtown’s largest structure at three hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, and nearly sixty feet tall.
The arena is built of bone, stone, and hundreds of stretched sheets of leather, and dozens of banners fly from the rooftop, the symbol of Rovagug being the most prominent among them. Only two entrances admit its bloodthirsty audience, and each has a sign that crudely advertises a ticket price of one silver piece in Common, Orc, and poorly painted pictographs.
The interior of the Bloodworks is very similar to its exterior, with panels of hide-wrapped wood forming a dusty fighting pit in the building’s center. Roughly built bleachers wrap three-quarters of the way around the perimeter, and the northern end is dominated by a keep of earth, stone, and wood with steeply slanted sides and two sweeping sets of stairs that descend to the arena’s floor like a pair of insect mandibles.
Between the stairs is a massive set of wooden double doors large enough to accommodate a pair of mammoths. A few rows of seats sit further up the side of the keep, and immediately behind them rests a large throne crafted from the bones of nearly every creature to walk the Cinderlands.
In the "non-orc" section you see the leather merchant Dorost, as well as many other humans and also a few planetouched - a pair of Ifrit and a woman that looks as if she might be a Fetchling.
Ploog, a slightly rotund but very muscular orc, stands on the arena floor.
He waves his arms to elicit a roar from the crowd and shouts something in Orc. He then switches to fluent Common and then to Giant. Everything he says is shouted and drawn out - to be heard over the crowd - and accompanied by dramatic flourishes with his falchion.
Loud cheers from the crowd.
A calamitous roar from the crowd.
A deafening round of cheers.
Ploog ascends to his bone throne to oversee the main event.
A mighty ettin strides out, wearing leather armor and carrying a pair of javelins. This must be Vroth the Crusher.
Six human gladiators enter the arena from the other side to face him.
Vroth hurls his javelins, killing one foe, and draws forth two flails. Three of the remaining humans charge, with one being crushed as soon as he enters the ettin's reach. Two attack and one manages to draw blood, but both are swiftly pulverized by a flail for their efforts. The other two attempt to engage at range. Vroth chases them down, and draws out their demise - he knocks the weapons from their hands, sends them sprawling, then picks up one to smash the other. The crowd laughs and cheers as blood spatters everywhere.
The main event concluded, Vroth raises his arms to the cheers of the crowd and walks out one end of the arena. Ploog greets some other orcs in the crowd and then disappears into the ramshackle keep at the northern end of the arena.
A number of orcs guard the doorway through which Ploog disappeared. If you wish to pass to meet with Ploog, you will need to persuade them.
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Deluge winces as the fates of the challengers unfold, nearly biting his cheek while chewing as the ettin bashes the two final contenders together.
How do I get myself into situations like this. Oh, yea, frickin' Pathfinder Society missions. Please don't make us go out there, please don't make us go out there.
*sigh*
"Looks like we need to follow that Ploog fellow. Which of you fine fellow wants to take the lead."
Deluge looks pointedly at the silver tongued Kane.
Kyra and Two Blades catch the ear of one guard, who mutters "Twenty gold."
James seems to have another guard almost smiling, maybe enough to let him in.
The orc guard shakes his head at James. "Heh. You tough. Not tough enough but you good try."
Two other guards laugh at Deluge and Fethril. "New toys for Vroth! Bossman like."
The broad summit of Ploog’s keep in the Bloodworks sometimes serves as a second stage for particularly elaborate events, but more often than not he uses it to entertain particularly important guests. Two 15-foot deep covered cisterns are cut into the floor and collect the rare rainwater that falls on the Bloodworks’ massive footprint. At one end of this summit is a door, through which is Ploog's office.
Ploog’s office is an uncommonly well-built, domed structure of leather, wood, and an irregular assortment of stone blocks that occupies the back half of the keep. At its highest, the ceiling rises twenty feet, and several windows cut into the leather walls allow a refreshing breeze to ventilate the room.
A pile of large rocks sits beneath one of these windows, and several nearby potted trees lean toward the light. On the opposite end of the room are several chairs and a divan upholstered in tanned leather. In the room’s center stands a desk covered in sheets of parchment and stacks of coins whose irregular sizes and shapes betray origins in at least a dozen nations, and a pair of decoratively crossed swords hang on the desk’s front.
Two orcs escort you in, and two more guards stand in the office.
Ploog himself wears crimson and silver robes and a feathered cap. By the furnishings in the office and the pile of coins, you can tell he is wealthy and successful. You know from his fluency in three languages that he is at least reasonably intelligent, though his build and movements make clear that he would also be dangerous in a fight. At the moment, Ploog is seated at a desk counting coins.
He does not acknowledge your presence.
An orc guard says "Hey boss, visitors."
Ploog still counts the coins.
Should you make any attempt to speak, your escort holds up a hand. "You quiet."
An uncomfortable silence.
After a few moments, Ploog rises. He speaks, his voice only slightly hoarse from addressing the audience. "So. Who are you and what brings you here?"
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Deluge heads towards the divan and lowers himself carefully. In spite of his caution it groans alarmingly.
"I'm Deluge. We are tracking down the infamous Kline. He has something we want and he is as elusive as an eel in coral reef. Every time we think we've found a lead and track it down, we get passed on to another person. Makes me want to give him a good thumping when we finally catch up with him."
"Kline hasn't been here in a long time," the orc begins slowly.
"Am I angry with him? Yes. No point denying it. Razorbite was a prized attraction.
Kline is definitely not in Urglin. It was six years ago that he came through. Now, I know he wasn't here just to make trouble for me. Kline was looking for something too. A way into Urgir. He asked Gutter to find him a guide, but rumor has it that Kline found another way. With that slave he stole.
Is that what you are looking for? A way into Urgir? Or is it something else? Does he owe you money or something?
Be truthful with me, and maybe we can come to an arrangement. Take me for a fool, and see how well that works out for you."
He glances to Fethril. "Sometimes it is a burden to be the only clever one around."
Then he addresses all of you again. "Why do you seek Kline?"
The orc leans back against the wall and waits for a response.
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I seek Kline because I'm a Cleric and Clerics are good. I'm not a Lawful Good Paladin, but close enough. I seek Kline to make him apologize to everyone he has wronged, make him right the wrongs he has wronged, and make him see the error of his ways and change him for the good. As well as convert him into my religion. When I'm done with him, he will accept Sarenrae as his savior.
Ploog looks at Kyra for a minute, and his jaw drops.
"Clerics are good? Have you met the Bonecarvers? I'd feed you to them right now for insulting my intelligence if not that I think you truly believe what you say. Mad as that sounds. You must be a Dawnflower zealot."
"If you seek to make right one of Kline's wrongs, I have a task for you. You can rectify the wrong he did to me."
"'Rectify' means 'make right'," Ploog adds condescendingly.
"You all support this priestess and will right Kline's wrongs? The rest of you don't look like Dawnflower zealots... but I don't care as long as you get this done."
Ploog looks at Two Blades.
"So you're not all naive enough to do this out of charity. Good. I am a man of business, and I know that if you stand to gain something, there is a better chance of you completing this task."
"You seek Kline, which means you need a way into Urgir, since that is where he went - assuming he still lives. If you really do seek Kline himself, you'd still need to get into Urgir to find him. If don't care about him personally but just want a way into Urgir, well, I can help you there."
The orc thinks a minute. "You are probably Pathfinders like Kline was. So the Society wants something in Urgir. If it was Kline himself, some secret he has or something he stole, they wouldn't have waited six years. Hmmm."
He taps his fingers on his desk.
"I need a bulette to replace Razorbite. A landshark. The Bloodworks just haven't been the same without him.
I happen to have the perfect guide to get you to Urgir, and I will introduce you to this rare and resourceful individual if you bring back a live, healthy, bulette for me within 24 hours.
You can find one in the Cinderlands."
Ploog doesn't look at all flustered. He doesn't admit to keeping anything back, but neither does he deny it.
"Those are my terms," smiles the orc. "I have something you need. I will honor my end of the agreement."
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Feeling he has held his tongue long enough, the elf joins the negotiations. He addresses the Orc with respect. "You are right. Intellect can sometimes feel like a curse. However, it still allows use to see the truth at times. While the others in the room may not realize the immensity of what you ask, you and I both know your terms are difficult to fulfill. We could arrive in your timeline, but you could say the beast is not what you wanted in an effort to secure more from us. A day is simply too little time. And, if you truly want a specimen that will allow the Bloodworks to regain the glory of better times, then surely a few extra days is worth the investment."
"Master Ploog, you've literally nothing to lose and only gold to gain by having a modicum of patience."
Rogar knows a bit about bulettes. The creatures are commonly called landsharks because their fins often cut a distinctive wake behind like that of a shark. They burrow rapidly, and can launch themselves from the
soil into the air. Their tunnels are often referred to as “shark holes.”
-----
"That's true, I don't want some runt. I want something fearsome!
Very well, you have two days. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee this guide will still be available to meet.
The best place to find a bulette would be several miles south of here. I would advise you to bring some means of transporting it, since the creatures are roughly the size of elephants.
Do you agree to my terms?"
Deluge knows quite a bit about the bulette.
The foul-tempered creature attacks prey much larger than it, and there is usually little left of its meal, as it consumes bone and even armor and weapons. The bulette’s preferred tactic is to charge, launch itself in the air, and then land on prey, attacking with all four razor-sharp claws extended.
The creature is generally nocturnal and sleeps in craters called “drifts” during the warmest parts of the day. It is most often found alone or with a mate.
Fethril knows all that, and more besides. Bulettes hunt an area in a circuitous pattern, keeping crater-like drifts in different areas to rest along their routes. By checking the creature’s scat at the drift’s bottom, you can tell how quickly the creature will return. Fresh droppings indicate the creature may still be in the area; very dry droppings indicate it may be returning soon from its circuit. However, scat that is dry on the outside but moist within indicates the creature may not return for some time.
As to transporting the creature, Deluge does know that it is a magical beast, and his Wild Empathy may be able to persuade it to come willingly, especially combined with bait or food.
Alternatively, magic might compel it to follow you, though I don't think you have the suitable spells in the party.
Of course, with Rogar among your number, beating it unconscious and dragging it back to town is an option. While it would likely be too big for one wagon, Fethril calculates that two heavy wagons lashed together should be enough. The stronger among your party could probably drag it over rollers. An Enlarged James has a maximum heavy load of 1200 lbs, which means he can drag 6000 lbs in typical conditions. More if the rollers count as favorable conditions, or if he gets a Bull's Strength or is raging.
Ploog does volunteer, "Yeah, Gratzerk has a cage big enough for the beast. Razorbite's old cage. He uses it to host cage fights - small things, not quality productions."
"There are some horses in Urglin, but not many, and they'd be expensive. We've got a lot of oxen and yaks."
Finding a goat is no problem.
The Cinderlands are part of the Storval Plateau, so there is a possibility of finding a Storval Aurochs (these would be Aurochs with the Advanced and Giant templates).
Trying to track down first some aurochs and then the bulette would add more time to your excursion, though it is a possibility.