“All Father, I beseech you
Let me not die in this frigid bed like a southern crone.
It is as if the frozen fingers of winter’s blackest midnight clutch at my ❣
I’m freezing from the inside out.”
~ Skëlg the Ripper
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Khorshid is a small frail and weak male gnome.
He is sitting on a military saddle on top of a riding dog that looks like a wolfhound. It is clear that this dog can fight while carrying a rider and the gnome is only slightly in control.
"I am Khorshid. May the order of things give us the opportunity to rise and shape the world. Our strength will be important!" he says with a strange smile.
He salutes you all with a slightly charming nod.
He has purple and gray hair that sometimes illuminates his surroundings. You can see that early signs of The Bleaching have manifested in him with a blanching of skin, hair, and eye color.
He is wearing fashionable clothing and has well groomed eyebrows and a long mustache.
He has a heavy wooden shield in his hand that he can barely wield. Additionally, he wears a Banded Mail armor that looks like it hardly allows him to move.
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A dark-skinned, middle-aged tiefling man with more features of beast than human - curved horns, wickedly sharp teeth, and goat-like legs and tail - enters the room. "I am called Papa Òxọ́lé," he says in a deep, gravely voice, "I am a collector of tales, and occasionally maker of same when called upon - as it seems I have been today." He sits at the table and withdraws a quill and book from his pack. He opens the latter, revealing hastily scribbled notes and maps. "As we seem to have a few moments before the venture-captain arrives, I wonder if one of you would be so kind as to regale me with a story of your past exploits?"
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“Aloha, mah dudes ‘n’ ‘dettes.” The speaker is a freakishly tall, tanned and lightly scaled humanoid, decked out in a dark batik pattern shirt over leather armor. The shirt hangs extra long and covers where his humanoid upper body ends. Below that he humps along on a wide flat tail shaped more that of a great whale or orca than a fish. A necklace of shells, beads, and a few small flowers adorns his neck, and another simpler one graces his long thin right wrist. The bracelet’s bright colors contrast glaringly with the blackened and burnt skin of his hands. He carries no weapons except the iron-shod walking stick he uses to help him get around.
“I’m Kai,”he introduces himself. His speech is strangely accented, and Taldane is clearly not his native tongue.
“Yah, Papa Òxọ́lé, you collect stories? Awesome, man, I collect songs.” He sits down in the seat closest to the door affording him the shortest walk. “I’ll tell you about my last gig and those damn tricksy Mordant elves, and you sing me a song in trade.” He smiles disarmingly at the prospect of both telling a tale and hearing a new song. Though Should Papa Òxọ́lé balk at singing, Kai will happily accept penned or spoken lyrics and a hummed tune to go with them. And either way, he's still glad to share the tale.
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"Well, mates, aren't we a pretty bunch?" says a scarred halfling. He wears simple traveling clothes and carries several weapons: a long hammer with a spike on the top of the haft, a monk's three-section-staff, and a traditional halfling sling-staff.
"You want to hear the story of a halfling farmhand who became a slave, who became a weapon, who became a Knight of Taldor? That's my story mates. Sir Lee of Taldor, at your service. But you can call me 'Lucky'. Keep the titles for the court."
"My job here is keeping you alive. I'll do that by holding the front line. Don't be alarmed if I catch on fire, it happens if I get angry. And I will get angry in a scrap. A 'gift' from the devil-nuns of Isger who poisoned my blood." Lucky's scowl shows clearly what he thinks of the women who wrought the change in him. "The filth they put in me also reacts with arcane magic. I can't cast any spells but I can use wands."
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"Oh dear, that sounds terrible!" Another gnome - this one with blue hair and a bushy beard - wrings his hands. "I mean, the blood poisoning part. The, uh, well, the knight part doesn't seem so bad - right?" He smiles hopefully, then turns to push a few things (a bottle of ink, several long brushes, an off-white chalkboard, and a roll of fine paper) back into his bag.
"Oh, sorry, my name's Drelluandast. Oh, and this is Ratholomew!" A well-fed rat sticks his nuzzle out from inside the gnome's sleeve, sniffs once, and returns to his cozy den.
A huge human man wearing creaking leathers marches into the room. He looks at each of you, as if he were appraising a handful of spuds freshly pulled from the earth, and nods curtly. Some of you know him as Adril Hestram, a longtime Pathfinder and rumored to be the unwitting architect of the Katapesh slave riot of 4702 – and divinity scholar of the Savage North apparently.
“Hei! Welcome, friends. We have something of a problem. Skëlg the Ripper came to Absalom one month ago. Like many Ulfen warriors, he joined the Longaxes, the Taldan Emperor’s personal guard whose duty it is to protect the embassy and Taldan visitors. Skëlg also dropped a hefty sum of gold to purchase a manor in the Ivy district, something a Longaxe isn’t paid well enough to do. It is widely assumed that he brought most of his wealth with him from the north—a rumor I know to be true.”
“It seems that Skëlg also brought a curse with him. In his letter to me, he speaks of lying abed in this miserable summer dying from the cold. Neither physician nor priest has been able to cure his ailment, and there are no signs of disease or poison. Of course, for such a man, there is no greater dishonor than to die in bed instead of in battle.”
“Normally, the Pathfinder Society would monitor these events and let the authorities deal with them. However, there are three factors that have drawn our interest. First, Skëlg is himself a member of our Society and has asked for our help. Second, he is a personal friend of mine, and finding a sparring partner as worthy as Skëlg to replace him would be a trying task. Last, he claims that artefacts of great power are involved, and that we may be able to recover them for the vaults of the Grand Lodge.”
“We view this situation as having enough importance to assign you to investigate it. Go to the home of Skëlg the Ripper, learn what you can, and do your best to help him. If you find an item that is somehow connected to the curse, obtain Skëlg’s permission to retrieve it for the Society.”
“Although this task is straightforward, I trust you still have trifling questions with which to annoy me?”
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Quietly humming the tune that Òxọ́lé provided, Kai listens carefully to the tale of the accursed Skëlg.
Cha, dude, uhh, Sir," he corrects himself in response to Adril's icy stare. "Why do they call him 'the Ripper'? Did he rip someone's gills out? And maybe more importantly, what else did he say about these artifacts?"
“Cha, dude, uhh, Sir.”
VC Hestram taps his fingers impatiently on the desk.
“Why do they call him 'the Ripper?'”
The big man gives Kai an astonished look. “That’s actually a good question … Agent Fish, is it not?”
“I had heard worrying things about the crowd you run with …
“Perhaps I should form my own judgement about these matters.”
He clears his throat as he returns to the actual question. “You’d think the cognomen ‘The Ripper’ would relate to some intimidating pseudo-gladiatorial BS.”
“In reality it refers to a number of heists Skëlg undertook for the Society in his youth, in which he ‘ripped people off.’”
“More importantly, what else did he say about these artifacts?”
Hestram sighs. “I knew it wouldn’t last …”
“Precious little. That’s why I’m sending you to find out.”
“It’s actually the nickname of Taldan Imperial Guard. As well as protecting the Sovereign, Longaxes guard Taldan embassies and perform ceremonial duties during Taldan State events.”
“Some Ulfen Pathfinders are Longaxes on secondment to Lady Morilla’s Sovereign Court. They claim the title, ‘Huscarl.’”
VC Hestram observes Lucky through bushy eyebrows. “Lucky Lee, right? I’ve heard you have an overfondness for gold.”
“I suppose that’s possible, Mister Lee.” Hestram snapes at Lucky.
"The man's life is obviously important for you Venture Captain so I will respect that …
“Very pleased to hear it.”
… but Zarta will surely want to get her hands on whatever this magical item is!"
“PARACOUNTESS DRALNEEN shall have to wait in line like everyone else!”
VC Hestram frowns at Khorshid, before his expression opens into a fish-like gape, as if the Mesmerist had reminded him of something.
“Speaking of our Chelaxian cultural attaché, I believe she asked me to forward a message on to Agents Drelluandast and Kolris.”
“You’re Kolris, right?”
VC Hestram keeps a watchful eye on Papa Òxọ́lé as he continues rummaging through the Pathfinder Pouch attached to his waist like a fanny-pack.
“Ser and ser … there you have them.”
Drawing forth two envelopes bearing the livery of Liberty’s Edge and the Concordance of Elements, he places one before Lucky and the other in front of Papa Òxọ́lé, without looking to see if he matched message to agent.
“And allow me to remind you that the Ten and I look most unfavorably on those who jeopardize the main mission to curry favor with their Faction Head.”
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Having received letters directly from the Paracountess before, Drelluandast lets the taller elf take the letter without fuss. "Well, it seems straightforward enough. Do you have Skelg's address? And do you want us to take anything to him from you? We could maybe stop by a flower shop or..." The gnome's voice trails off uncertainly. "...or somewhere else if needed on the way."
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Khorshid nods after receiving the additional assignment.
"Well, I am ready and strong as ever. This mission should be no problem for someone of my power! Skelg's address please as indicated by my fellow Drelluandast." Khorshid says.
"By the way Drelluandast, you do not coincidentally serve the lord of hell, do you?" he ask with a raised eyebrow.
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… Agent Fish, is it not?”
"Hey, man, no need to be rude," Kai replies sorely. "My name is Kai Makani; Agent Makani if you wanna be formal. But callin' a merfolk 'Fish' just ain't cool. I mean, you wouldn't call him Sir Slip," he says with a polite nod towards Sir Lucky.
Damn Legs think we're all alike.
"And the 'crowd I run with' is Pathfinders, sir. Has been since I had to leave the Fever Sea."
The normally pleasant and happy merman stands and nods to his colleagues as they get their final instructions and the directions. "I think we're done here, dudes," he finishes with a sour look at the VC as he slowly makes his way to the door.
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Khorshid raises an eyebrow.
"Please Mr. Makani do not believe that this was an insult. I believe that the Venture Captain is just enjoying his position of power and is playing with his subordinates ... which would be us! Would we not all do exactly the same in his postion? I mean I was expecting a comment on my weak physique any moment." he says with a big smile.
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"By the way Drelluandast, you do not coincidentally serve the lord of hell, do you?" he ask with a raised eyebrow.
"What? No, Zarta's just in charge of managing the archives," Drelluandast answers quickly. "She's got her own agenda, which I suppose everyone does, and she does have some rather severe mood swings, but she's got an excellent cataloguing system!"
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Lucky watches as the two gnomes debate the Dark Archive's agenda. He strips off his robes, and then the mithral shirt that he wears beneath them. Lucky's torso is a patchwork of scars, many of them obviously the result of the lash of the whip, others harder to identify.
"THIS is Hell's work" Lucky practically snarls. "Do you know what my crime was? I was born in Isger. I survived the hobgoblin raid that killed my friends and family. They sold me to the Sisterhood of the Golden Erinyes. Friends of yours, perhaps" he glowers at Khorshid. "They beat me frequently, and most often for no reason other than to inflict pain. Then, for reasons they never bothered to explain, they started their experiments. I don't know exactly what they put in me, but devil's blood is my best guess. Once they were satisfied with the results they sold me to a gladiator stable. Lucky for me I lost my first match, got left for dead in a gutter. A halfling Pathfinder found me, brought me to his Lodge and had me nursed back to health."
"Don't you dare glory in Hell's patronage when I'm around. Whilst I'm on your team you're assured of my protection, because that's what I do now. But I'll shed no tears for you when Hell claims your soul."
Lucky puts his shirt and robes back on.
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The pink haired gnome watches Lucky with fascination.
”Yes, yes, I have seen such treatments very often in cheliax. These sisters are often overly brutal. I don’t understand this to be honest. But may I correct you. I doubt that it was only your nationality. It surely was a matter of race that caused you such hardships. Halflings are not very powerful in Cheliax. But you are so strong now!! Good, very good for you! But I’m strong as well … so don’t worry about my soul dear Lucky!!“ Khorshid says approvingly.
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"You think halflings deserve the way we're treated in Cheliax? If gnomes were more numerous they'd get the same, don't doubt it.
Mortals never come off better in deals with devils. I've seen plenty of evidence of that, in Isger and since becoming a Pathfinder myself. Hell's been playing its power games since before the world was made. Reflect on that; you're not going to come out on top."
“But callin' a merfolk 'Fish' just ain't cool. I mean, you wouldn't call him Sir Slip,"
Hestram gives Kai a look suggesting he probably would.
“Do you have Skelg's address? And do you want us to take anything to him from you?”
“Here are directions from the Grand Lodge to the Ivy District where Greydog Manor is located. It’s just across Parkview Street from the Golden Serpent restaurant if any of you know it.”
The Big Man *sniffs*
“In the meantime, feel free to continue your fascinating debate outside. Good day to you, Pathfinders.”
As you head north into the Ivy District, there are opportunities to gossip with the locals about their new neighbor, Skëlg the Ripper.
“The old gent seemed somewhat out of place in the snobby Ivy District, but once the Good and the Great discovered he was a Longaxe, they decided not to push the issue too hard.”
“He moved into an estate known as Greydog Manor on Parkview Street.”
Parkview Street is true to its name, running the entire length of the Ivy District park. Standing like a tomb in a flower garden, Greydog Manor is easy to find. Six-foot-high walls surround the massive, stone building and an immense iron gate flanked by granite statues of hunting dogs stands open, offering access to the interior. Looking along the street, it is clear that locals give the estate a wide berth. The manor has several windows that can be seen from the street, but all have curtains drawn.
A quick glance through the gate reveals a pair of Ulfen guards standing outside the front door.
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Kai trundles along beside Drelluandast, swapping stories of far away places they've each seen, from the depths of the Arcadian Ocean to the River Kingdoms and even Tien Xia. Though their pace is slower than the rest, it's a pleasant stroll to and through a nice part of town.
He thanks the young au pair, pausing to chat her up and arranging to meet her on her next day off. He's already planning a day at the beach with the buxom lass when he rejoins the others at the manor gates.
"Cha, dudes, we were sent by Captain Hestram. We're from the Pathfinders," he adds to Khorshid's request.
“Oh! Pathfinders. Better come in, we have bad news to share.”
The courtyard is cool and shady compared to the street outside. Dead leaves are scattered across the flagstones and the granite steps where the two Ulfen warriors stand. Each wears a chain shirt and a surcoat bearing the Taldan Monarch’s arms and carries the traditional imperial guard long axe.
The male guard looks like he doesn’t know what to say, as his female partner speaks quietly. “The Ripper is in bed very ill.”
“He will soon be welcomed into Valhalla. He wants no Southerner to see him in this state.”
She stands stoically, though her expression is sympathetic. “Tell us what you would have us do, and let us work out how to balance your task with the Ripper’s wishes.”
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Kolris reads the note from Paracountess Draleen with keen interest. His eyebrows raise as he ponders the contents. He offers it to Drelluandast casually, shrugs when the gnome seems to lack the interest to read it, and pockets it.
"Hmmm," Kolris speaks up, finally. He'd exchanged a few words with everyone along the way, but only simple questions; he'd been doing a lot of listening and observing up until now, without offering much else up himself.
"See," he says, addressing the guards, "that doesn't line up with what we were told. We were explicitly sent here to meet 'the Ripper,' and I don't intend to miss a meeting that interesting, you know?" His hand falls to his rapier, casually, but not too casually. "That, and you're not wearing your livery right." He draws his rapier and begins using it to point out where the surcoats are on backwards. "Seems a small point, but people in houses like these, they don't get those kinds of details wrong. So how about you let us in like we planned, and make off to wherever it is your from, and there won't be any trouble here today. Sound good?"
“I didn’t believe the things I’d heard about Pathfinders sending folks directly to Niflheim, to let Hel sort them out.”
The Ulfen pair ready their Longaxes. The Big Man deliberately bites into his tongue deeply, letting bloody spittle fly from his mouth to coat his beard as he
“First, you are no Son of Ødìn. Second, I return your salute by biting my thumb in your direction,
Khorshid
Kolris
Papa Òxọ́lé
Drelluandast
--
Blue
--
Lucky
Kai
--
Yellow
lead us off!
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"Kolris, maybe it's just a misunderstanding..." Drelluandast's voice trails off and his eyes widen as he watches blood dribbling down the man's face. "Uh, well, um, maybe we can sort this all out after we've let our tempers pass?" The words slide out all in a rush, as if they too were coated in butter like the gnome's fingers.
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Kolris sees Papa Oxole circling around, so waits to time his stab for when the tiefling gets in position. He strikes, then readies himself to parry a counter-attack when it comes. "You know, this is a great time to explain your master plan. What are you doing here, if you're not Ripper's people? Who are you with? What are your goals?"
Drelluandast Butter-Fingers harnesses some high viscosity arcane energy to spread the love to the hi-BMI warrior.
The Ulfen manages to stay on his feet, eyeing the gnome’s dextrous digits hungrily.
"You are making a mistake! Physical strength is irrelevant!"
“N-N-No. Y-y-you are the mistaken ones.” He sounds terrified!
⚔
Caught flanked and flat-footed, the Blue-eyed woman suffers a slash and piercing strike from Papa Òxọ́lé and Kolris.
“If you're not Ripper's people? Who are you with?”
“But we are of the Ripper’s clan!”
The woman rages, “If our livery is wrong, it is because we slept late.”
“Donning Taldan foppery in the dark is not easy for a warrior of the North!”
She then takes a step to the south.
Round #1:
Khorshid
Kolris
Papa Òxọ́lé
Drelluandast
--
Blue
--
Lucky
Kai
--
Yellow
are go!
A shaken character takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
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"Southerners? Nah, dude, I'm not from the Antarkos. Too cold for me down there, bra'. But I know this cool tune about the undeads down there. Check it, mah dudes."
Kai starts singing in a powerful and melodic voice inspiring his friends to greater heroics.
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"You think YOU'RE angry? You don't know ANGRY!"
Lucky whirls his three-section-staff, creating a defensive screen.
"YOU DISRESPECT TALDOR! YOU DISRESPECT THE LONGAXES AND THE ULFEN GUARD! YOU STAND ASIDE OR YOU WILL FALL!"
Flames flicker into life along Lucky's arms and suddenly there is a strong smell of brimstone...
Kai does a fair bard impression, while Lucky puts on a show with his three-section staff, before a double thrust to the face breaches blue-eyes’ clumsy defenses, pushing her nose bone into the front of her cerebrum, killing her instantly.
“You talkin’ to me?”
Yellow rages at Lucky. “THE ONLY ONE I DISREPECT IS
Having defeated the grease trap last round, the Beserker steps out of the slop onto golario-firma, and continues moving 25’ to engage the Pathfinder frontline.
Round #2:
Khorshid
Kolris
Papa Òxọ́lé
Drelluandast
--
Blue
--
Lucky
Kai
--
Yellow
whatcha got?
“ARE TOO!”
Korlis punctures the Yellow-bearded warrior for a second time.
Drelluandast fails to find a pulse at either the woman’s wrist or neck.
Papa Òxọ́lé suffers a vicious axe chop, but stands bravely to return the favor.
Round #2:
Khorshid
Kolris
Papa Òxọ́lé
Drelluandast
--
Blue
--
Lucky
Kai
--
Yellow
may go!
A shaken character takes a –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.