"Master Bit. Welcome to Sarini Manor. I wonder if they're planning on renaming it."
"I never really thought about that," Emma admitted. "What would we even call it? Or would that be up to the city?"
"Majara vouches for you and that’s good enough for me."
Emma bites back a sarcastic remark in response to this. She trusts Majara, after all, and it's hard to tell sometimes how the gnome might react to humor.
"This is a Celestial Orchid from Elysium. Difficult to export, harder to raise to maturity outside her natural climes, quixotic in temperament, and – if you choose to adopt and she accepts you – she will probably save some of your lives."
Emma looks at the plant with keen interest after hearing this. Elysium isn't the realm of her own patron, but it's one she's generally held respect for in her short career, and truth be told, one she may have ended up drawn to had her life been less rigid when growing up. She finds herself smiling at the plant, though she feels a little foolish.
"I'm not sure 'hero' is quite right, I think that applies more to stories and songs, to history." She turns to Emma, smiling, always happy to talk up her friend, "Or to those whose deeds are righteous."
Emma's eyes widen slightly. "If any of us could be called hero, all of us could be called hero," she puts in after Hannelia is done.
"We have an Iomedan in our number," she says with a little chin jerk at Emma. "If nothing else, she won't stand for evil acts. I would think that might count for something with the bloom."
Emma accepts the statement with a slight nod. "It's true - I am a Paladin of Iomedae, if that counts for anything. I hold great respect for those of and serving Elysium."
Emma accepts the statement with a slight nod. "It's true - I am a Paladin of Iomedae, if that counts for anything. I hold great respect for those of and serving Elysium."
"It counts for a lot, Emma," Hannelia replies. "Don't undersell yourself. Most of us have to work hard to achieve what you do and most people will probably never get there."
A look of disappointment crosses the gnome’s face. ”Unfortunately, I’m not fluent in her tongue. We’ve worked out a mish-mash language of sorts but it’s more of an approximation. I wouldn’t try to translate her name because I know I can’t get it right. She doesn’t mind nicknames so, if you choose to adopt her, I’d suggest you pick a meaningful name.”
Having mentally cringed at not making the connection sooner, she turns back to the orchid. Switching to her newly learnt Celestial, Hannelia addresses her in what she presumes is the flower's native tongue. "Sehweet, su celestial ol pe sup. El sou etha seck it el sen sooth sa sia si unm sloocktloonn shoonncean. Ann co im sa haprence al cin ee pop sclen co, ee eam hweeckhweth oo."
Switching back to common for the benefit of everyone, including herself and her still green language skills, she asks, "I think we are all in agreement that we would be interested in adopting her. How exactly does she exert her influence? Does she," she casts around for the right phrase, settling on, "work through us - enhancing our abilities? Or does she affect others more directly, such as trying to turn malign actors away from their deeds? I assume she would need to accompany us but does she need to be held in order to best do her work? She is a beautiful living creature so we can hardly just stow her away. But some kind of protection for her - beyond ourselves, of course - feels like it might be prudent."
After Hannelia finishes speaking in Celestial, Bit shakes his head. ”She understands Celestial just fine but if you really want to speak with her… it isn’t that easy. Can get your hands on a spell for speaking with plants? That’s best. Our compromise is a mix of Celestial, First Speech, Sylvan, and interpretive dance. It’s tiring but effective.”
"How exactly does she exert her influence? Does she," she casts around for the right phrase, settling on, "work through us - enhancing our abilities? Or does she affect others more directly, such as trying to turn malign actors away from their deeds?"
The gnome moves the potted plant closer to the team as he explains. He points to the stamen with a vivid apricot-colored head. ”She has three stamen and this is the mature one. There is only one fully mature stamen at any one time. They mature about once per month. Let us say, you are adventuring and you need her help. You would pull the mature stamen out and place the drop of nectar where you need it: on a person, weapon, shield, patch of ground, or whatnot. How you benefit isn’t up to you…. or even her, I think. Elysium’s gift manifests as it will. I can’t speak to all the possibilities but I can give you some examples.”
”Drunk or placed on a person, the nectar can salve wounds, stop poisons, cure diseases, or even end pernicious curses. Placed on a weapon, it can make that weapon anathema to the enemy in your way.” He pushes the plant back towards the center of the table and pats the flower’s head gently as if it were a child. ”Not so long ago, we were traveling and I took the wrong road. I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention. Anyhoo, what I thought were hillocks were actually barrows. Some wraiths came out to say ‘hello’. Well, I had naught but a dagger and my ready smile. I plucked her stamen and dropped the nectar on my blade. If I were thinking, maybe I would have done something else… but that’s what came into my head.” He pauses for dramatic effect, ”In a moment, the blade turned to sunlight, lighting up the dark. I don’t mean it shown like sunlight; it became sunlight. I desperately hacked at the wraiths that didn’t flee right quick. The dagger didn’t care they were ghostly figures. It burned right through them and made them rethink their plan to eat my soul or whatnot. And we lived to tell the tale.”
"I assume she would need to accompany us but does she need to be held in order to best do her work? She is a beautiful living creature so we can hardly just stow her away. But some kind of protection for her - beyond ourselves, of course - feels like it might be prudent."
Bit grins and pulls a contraption from the basket. It is a mélange of mesh, fabric, rods, hooks, and straps. With a minute of work, Bit turns it into a tiny tent with mesh sides. The various straps hold the plant and pot securely. He lifts it up to display the hooks and straps dangling beneath it. ”Ties securely to the top of any decent backpack and is available for the bargain price of 10 gold wheels. This is where I really make my money.”
Hannelia raises an eyebrow. "I can imagine. I've heard of such magics but it's not something I currently have access to. I assume it's nature-based, which as I said isn't my strength, so I can't guarantee it would work. But I can certainly look to acquire something." She looks over to Majara. "Do you have any concoctions that could help us here?"
"You fended off an entire group of wraiths?" she says, impressed. "That's incredible, Master Bitborium. And a genuinely inspired piece of assistance," she adds, addressing the orchid. "I'm glad you lived to tell the tale; related but not really important here, if I may say so, you're natural storyteller. You have a way with words that I appreciate and I suspect it helps make you a successful salesman."
Hannelia flicks her hair, getting back on topic and thinking through the orchid's gifts. "So. It's clear that we are restricted in how often we can call on her powers so that means we have to be judicious in when to use them. Or to save them for an emergency such as you found yourself in. And the effect is not within anyone's control, it sounds almost like it has an understanding on some level of what is needed in any given moment? Would that be a fair assessment?"
She laughs as Bit pulls out the plant's storage apparatus and, given her fascination with devices and how they work, watches carefully as he constructs it. Hannelia nods approvingly to herself - it seems practical and sturdy, while allowing the orchid access to the light and air she knows it needs to survive. She's pretty confident that she understands how it works and could construct it and take it apart without too many issues. She dips into her belt pouch and pulls out the requisite number of coins. "A bargain indeed," she says, offering the gold. "That's a clever piece of kit. I'm pretty sure I can put it up and down as required. And given the amount I paid for my backpack, I'm confident that it's sufficiently sturdy." She pauses, looking around the group. "I may be getting a bit ahead of myself here. I would be honoured to carry her and she may also have a preference that we should take into account. I also think there are practical considerations - while I have the utmost faith in Roger and Emma to protect her from harm, she would potentially be more at risk given their skills lie in close combat. We probably don't need to make a decision on this yet though."
"You fended off an entire group of wraiths?"
The gnome waves off that assessment. ”I was just trying to save my skin. The glowing blade did all the real work. Wraiths are nearly powerless in sunlight, you know. I just had to give the obstinate stragglers a reason to leave me be. When they lit out one way, I grabbed my cart and ran in the opposite direction.”
”…if I may say so, you're natural storyteller. You have a way with words that I appreciate and I suspect it helps make you a successful salesman."
His response is an enigmatic smile. ”We are all in a set of stories. It’s best to craft the narrative as well as we can. Thank you for the compliment.”
”And the effect is not within anyone's control, it sounds almost like it has an understanding on some level of what is needed in any given moment? Would that be a fair assessment?"
Bitiborium considers this briefly. ”I think that’s on the nose. I see it as me (or you) controlling the ‘where’, ‘when’, and ‘why’… But the exact ‘what’ is in someone else’s hands.”
"I may be getting a bit ahead of myself here. I would be honoured to carry her and she may also have a preference that we should take into account. I also think there are practical considerations - while I have the utmost faith in Roger and Emma to protect her from harm, she would potentially be more at risk given their skills lie in close combat. We probably don't need to make a decision on this yet though."
The gnome nods, ”Which neatly brings us to care and feeding. It would certainly be best if she wasn’t on the front line. But she can only be carried or cared for by persons of good temperament or those who have affection for her. Her diet is a bit unique. She only feeds on the souls of the damned.”
He lets that comment hang before bursting into laughter, ”I jest! I jest! Her only curious need is holy water. A vial of it, once a month. Other than that, she is like most other plants. Sunlight, fair weather (though she is hardy), and occasionally refresh the nutrients in her soil.”
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The orchid is a gift to the team but also to the other GMs. As we go into middle and higher levels, more and more monsters have interesting/nasty abilities that can accidentally kill characters if the team is unprepared, the GM underestimates the monster’s abilities, or the Dice Gods are especially malevolent. We all make mistakes. The orchid is a chance to clean up horrible, accidental outcomes that the GM didn’t want to happen (without resorting to retcon or divine intervention). It also gives the team the ability to ‘punch above their weight class’ in a pinch.
The players determine when and where the orchid gets used but the DM controls what abilities are invoked.
I’d prefer to leave the orchid’s abilities vague because as the team levels up, we may need to expand them. If you guys would prefer to set them in stone, we can certainly do that. Here are my notes on it:
Orchid Rules:
Only 1 mature stamen is available to the team per game month.
A mature stamen provides one drop of full strength nectar. ‘Full strength’ means the drop provides one or two of the abilities listed at the orchid’s CL. In Bit’s example, the dagger was converted to sunlight and received the Ghost Touch ability.
Pulling an immature stamen provides one drop of reduced strength nectar and hurts the plant. ‘Reduced strength’ means the drop provides one of the listed abilities at half the orchid’s CL. ‘Hurt’ could be the orchid taking two months to grow another stamen, requiring special care, can’t be taken on adventures, etc. It’s a TBD.
If there are no stamen, the orchid dies within a day.
Pulling all three stamen at one time nets a team-wide benefit at 2x CL but it kills the orchid immediately. The exact effects are TBD but I’m envisioning this as something to avoid an imminent TPK… like a team-wide Heal, Raise Dead, or Greater Teleport.
Orchid Abilities: (at CL10 currently)
On a Person: Up to Cure Critical Wounds, Neutralize Poison (Greater), Protection from Evil, Remove Disease, Remove Curse, Restoration (Greater)
On a Weapon: Bane, convert the weapon to a ‘material’ that exploits an enemy weakness, Ghost-touch, Holy
On Armor: Shield of Faith, Bastion, Deathless, Defiant
On an Area: Hallow, Mass Protection for Evil
The gnome waves off that assessment. ”I was just trying to save my skin. The glowing blade did all the real work. Wraiths are nearly powerless in sunlight, you know. I just had to give the obstinate stragglers a reason to leave me be. When they lit out one way, I grabbed my cart and ran in the opposite direction.”
"I well understand the messy reality of these things compared to how they sound when they are reported or told in tales, but it's still impressive regardless of who was doing the work or what exactly happened," Hannelia says.
The gnome nods, ”Which neatly brings us to care and feeding. It would certainly be best if she wasn’t on the front line. But she can only be carried or cared for by persons of good temperament or those who have affection for her. Her diet is a bit unique. She only feeds on the souls of the damned.”[/b]
He lets that comment hang before bursting into laughter, ”I jest! I jest! Her only curious need is holy water. A vial of it, once a month. Other than that, she is like most other plants. Sunlight, fair weather (though she is hardy), and occasionally refresh the nutrients in her soil.”
"That all makes sense and should be workable." Hannelia looks around the group, processing the information. "Given all of that, while I'm happy to vouch for the character and skills of everyone here, I think it probably makes sense for myself or Majara to carry her while we're on the road. With respect, I'm not she would be particularly comfortable with your patron, Nerissia," she addresses the tiefling, hoping that the woman sees this as a logical position rather than a slight. "As I have plans out of town in the next few days and given Majara is best versed in the care of plants anyway, my suggestion is that she looks after her in the first instance."
"Aye, that we are. And this litle one'll have quite the knack for storytelling. A power ye can never know what'll be? The suspense'll keep you to the edge of yer seat."
Hannelia nods in agreement at Roger’s words. ”Hard to argue with that.” To Bitborium she says, ”Do we owe any commission or does the money for her carrier plus the warm glow of a successful arrangement suffice?”
Emma smiles. "And I generally keep a supply of holy water with me on a regular basis," she puts in. "Though it wouldn't surprise me if Majara does the same, if only for something alchemical. I try to put myself in the center of things as much as possible, provided I don't lag behind because of my armor."
Hannelia nods in agreement at Roger’s words. ”Hard to argue with that.” To Bitborium she says, ”Do we owe any commission or does the money for her carrier plus the warm glow of a successful arrangement suffice?”
The gnome laughs heartily. ”I’m not that easy of a sell, Miss Venator. People undervalue what they receive cheaply. I pride myself on an even exchange. Let me confer with the orchid for a moment.”
Bitiborium speaks in a variety of tongues while doing a strange set of dance movements – largely canting his arms, hands, fingers, upper-body, and head in odd shifting angles. Hannelia recognizes the odd word in Celestial and Majara understands a few other words in Sylvan. Nothing said in particularly revelatory. The orchid responds largely through the movement of leaves, stamen, and shifts in color. After a long minute of what would seem absolute gibberish (and a horrible dance routine) to outside observers, the ‘discussion’ ends with the gnome pulling out a kerchief to wipe his flushed brow.
The gnome explains, ”Right. She’s amenable to being adopted. Only Nerissia is an unsuitable caretaker – no offense meant. She’s rather impressed with Strapping Lad’s beard. I don’t know why she made a point of that… but there it is. She did have nice things to say about all of you, by the way, so don’t feel slighted. As for her adoption fee, we haggled a bit. In the end, we agreed on four terms:
1. At a time of my choosing, I’ll ask you to perform a task for me. It won’t be something that violates anyone’s morals – not murder or thievery. It might be as simple as transporting some trade goods.
2. I require a lock of Miss Vael’s hair.
3. I need a secret from Strapping Lad that he’s never shared with anyone.
4. Once, at some point in the future, I will ask you to ‘trust me’ and you have to do it.”
His eyes sweep across the group, ”Are those terms accepted?”
Hannelia listens to the terms. They aren't the sort that she's generally used to agreeing in business, being both too open-ended in some cases and perhaps a little esoteric in others for the average meticulous Chelaxian contract. Still, within the context of the meeting and the arrangement she can't say that she is particularly surprised.
"Are the first and last terms connected? Or are they two separate occasions? And not that I have any intention of breaking the agreement, but I think it would be prudent to ask what would be the penalty for doing so?" She looks to the others. "Broadly I find them acceptable, though it's a group decision and the terms do ask a little more of Roger and Nerissia." Hannelia looks pointedly at the pirate and the huntress, trying to assess how they are feeling about the requests the gnome has made of them. "And I think we're all in agreement about the merits of Roger's facial hair," she adds with a note of levity.
"Are the first and last terms connected? Or are they two separate occasions?”
Hannelia’s questions raise the gnome’s eyebrows. ”I hadn’t thought of that. My intention is that they are separate matters… but someone unscrupulous could try to merge them. Of course, that would likely be an attempt to abuse the caveat against ‘violating anyone’s morals’… which would nullify the agreement. So, to keep it simple, term #4 cannot be used in relation to term #1, at all.”
”And not that I have any intention of breaking the agreement, but I think it would be prudent to ask what would be the penalty for doing so?"
Bit rubs an orchid leaf gently, considering. ”At a minimum, I’d reclaim her and we would never do business ever again. Other restitution might be required, depending on the circumstances. For instance, if she died in your care and then you decided to renege on performing a task for me… since I can’t reclaim her, you would owe me the value I place on her life as well as the task.” There is no threat in his words but you have the impression the merchant takes deals very seriously and will collect what he is owed, one way or another.
"Thank you," Hannelia says. "I was seeking clarity, not loopholes. And I would expect that - reneging on an agreement seems to go against her spirit and we would not have proven ourselves worthy allies in that case anyway." She puffs out her cheeks, thinking. "I have no further questions right now."
Bit looks to the others for further concerns, questions, agreement, or refusal.
Majara has been continuing to make notes on the physical nature of the orchid the entire time, seeming near oblivious to the discussion of their suitability except for her occasional interjections.
Having seemingly exhausted her observations for the moment, however, she tucks the wood-encased bit of lead she uses as a writing tool back into one of many pockets and clicks her tongue against her teeth, gazing from the orchid to Bit to the others.
"As the terms require relatively little from me other than my participation in the group aspects: I'm fine with them," she says, rather drily. "Would you ask her if she's fine with the nickname Glory?"
"Oooch, aye, that's a tough one- a secret I've never shared? Huuuh." Roger's expression seems to be less of unwillingness but rather of racking his brains. "Shared a lotto things, thinkin' a one I never did's a mite tricky."
"You are something of an open book," Emma teases the pirate. "So am I, I suppose. I find the terms agreeable, myself...the last one, though, is only acceptable if trust does not involve potential harm befalling another. I will not violate my oaths in that case."
"A fair point, Emma," Hannelia says, "though I doubt our good gnome here has any intention of asking you to do such a thing. A friend of such a plant seems unlikely to place a request on you that goes against your oaths or values without losing said friendship in the process." She looks to Bitborium for confirmation.
The gnome nods, ”Consider it as me asking you for a leap of faith. It may never happen, but if it does, I won’t be putting your lives or oaths in peril.”
Hannelia is satisfied with the answer and hopes that it has put her friend’s mind at rest too. Leaps of faith are not her favourite thing, preferring to have as much knowledge and as many contingencies as possible, but she also recognises the need for them. That’s what faith is, after all. I trust my luck to Desna every day. And while such bold, possibly even reckless, actions aren’t something that comes naturally to her, it doesn’t mean that she is immune to taking decisive action.
"Would you ask her if she's fine with the nickname Glory?"
Returning to Majara’s question, she turns her focus back to the orchid and asks, ” Ee ep scleckcea ann co ep flim so ounn sclat? Oo ffaa sut oo ep un sa suththeann eann ut sloo unm hwofloum ou unm ennespol.”
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Bitiborium notes the orchid's response - a sudden configuration of anthers and leaf flutters - with a smirk. "Glory is fine… but she laughed at being called benevolent." He raises an amused eyebrow at the orchid’s additional commentary. ”Oh, so you’re a salty adventurer now? I see. Well, practice your Common then.” He translates that last into Celestial.
After a moment, the lowest orchid petal curls up at the edges. The anthers rearrange themselves above the petal in imitation of a face. Glory looks much like this:
:-)
Emma nods at the leaps of faith. Though she's not certain what it will entail, she's satisfied at the knowledge that it wouldn't involve anything against her oaths.
She smiles at the name, and laughs out loud when the plant forms a facsimile of a smiling face.
Hannelia joins in with the laughter. Not just powers and a personality, she thinks, but a sense of humour too. Maybe a bit like Shel.
With the terms and conditions accepted, Bitiborium nods. ”You now have responsibility for Glory. Treat her well and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.” He gives the orchid a pat and leaves a bit hesitantly.
Hannelia books passage for Elidir and arrives in that city (a couple days later) after a banal and uneventful trip.
During the pathfinder’s absence, things in Saringallow are not entirely run of the mill… It is a cool day, presaging the on-coming winter. And there is a bit of a ‘to-do’ or perhaps a ‘to-don’t’ in front of Gunty’s Bread. It draws a bit of a crowd and (eventually) the constabulary.
The following day, Hanelia heads north towards Elidir having secured passage on a river boat. The journey is uneventful, giving her plenty of time to get her head down and work on some research work, poring through a few volumes she has brought with her and making copious notes. Without any resources to do so, she doesn’t give too much thought to her quest - there’s not really much new to be gained from too much speculation based on too little information.
She does spend a little time reflecting on the previous night’s meeting at the Sarini Manor. Researching more about Elysium and its native flora and fauna has been added to her list of things to do when she returns home but she appreciates the new partnership Glory and is flattered that Bitborium was able to facilitate matters. Hannelia is also glad that the orchid is in Majara’s care, knowing that she will tend the plant carefully and suspecting that the gnome’s natural curiosity will come to the fore, hopefully learning a thing or two about the beautiful flower.
Two days’ travel brings her to the Isgeri capital and, while it’s a much shorter journey than the long route to Ravenmoor, Hannelia is glad to have her feet back on solid ground. This evening she intends to call in on a friend, Lady Aemilia Karthis, but first she has business to attend to. After sorting a room for the night, she heads over to the House of the Kinsmen, Elidir’s temple to Erastil, a little outside the town proper. She’s met Asala Pirasi a couple of times, the motherly priestess being the second in command at the temple and a long-time member of the Pathfinder Society. She hasn’t met any of the other members of the group as they have to work covertly, but Asala’s status as one of the best-liked and best-connected people in Elidir means that she’s in high demand from the locals and Hannelia is hoping that the cleric can point her in the right direction for her task.
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The next day Roger is taking what the gentry might consider a morning constitutional as he racks his brain.
"Secrets I have- but not any good ones. It'd be a right shame to bring up a time I farted and hoped no one noticed." Definitely words such gentry wouldn't admit to in public company.
But a racked brain is one quick to latch onto the first ready and waiting distraction, and his attention is drawn to a kerfluffle outside Gunty's.
After the mundane tasks are seen to, Hannelia finds herself at the temple of Erastil and having a cup of tea with the somewhat matronly Asala Pirasi. Since they’ve already met on Pathfinder business, Hannelia swiftly passes through the Society security checks adopted in lands hostile to the Society.
After some polite chit-chat while the tea steeped, Asala gets to the point while dunking a butter cookie in her cup. ”So, Hannelia, is this a social call? I expect you have priests in Saringallow that could attend to spiritual matters for you… which rules that out.”
Glory is settled onto a prime shelf spot in Majara's own chambers, where she can get a goodly amount of sunlight from the window, and, if the plant is so inclined, possibly signal some reactions to the sudden influx of attempted fertilizer blends that are coming the orchid's way courtesy of the alchemist gnome.
"Potash? Bone meal? Eggshell water? Rotted fish?" There are many new and often.... fragrant mixtures to be added to the plant's soil, and copious notes made upon the impact of each.
Whether it's the smell or merely his mistress's presence driving Gellion round the bend, he eventually half-begs, half-forces his boss to leave the back room for fresh air. There is some bribery in there as well as he doesn't hesitate to bring up Gunty's fresh baked rolls and even offers to treat the gnome, out of his somewhat modest wages.
Either way, Majara reluctantly leaves off with Glory in order to willingly take the handful of coppers Gellion proffers to her, and sets off for Gunty's-- only to purse her lips when she sees there's a sizable number of people standing between her and butter rolls.
She spots a familiar pair of boots among the trousers, aprons, knees, dresses, skirts, and other-lower-halves of the town's populace. These boots look to have swashed a few buckles. Making her way to Roger's side through the crowd, she gives him a nudge in the knee before saying, "What's all the fuss over? Use that enviable height of yours to play crow's nest looksee, yes?"
After the mundane tasks are seen to, Hannelia finds herself at the temple of Erastil and having a cup of tea with the somewhat matronly Asala Pirasi. Since they’ve already met on Pathfinder business, Hannelia swiftly passes through the Society security checks adopted in lands hostile to the Society.
After some polite chit-chat while the tea steeped, Asala gets to the point while dunking a butter cookie in her cup. ”So, Hannelia, is this a social call? I expect you have priests in Saringallow that could attend to spiritual matters for you… which rules that out.”
”It is always nice to see you, Asala,” Hannelia replies, ”but it’s not purely social. I suppose you might call it a personal matter. I was hoping you, or perhaps someone else in the Society, might be able to help me. I’m trying to identify a retired Venture Captain, though I have little to go on. They have used the initial “A” - most likely it’s a name or a nickname, though I suppose it could stand for something else. Do you have any records that might detail this sort of information?” She rubs her cheek, thinking through the wording of the letter and whether it contains any other clues to the writer. ”And they’re still alive, so it won’t need to be anything that dates back too far.”
Mental illness frequently brings out the worst in people surrounding the afflicted. So, Roger and Majara are not shocked at the distressed murmurs from some of the locals accompanied by more than a few gestures aimed at warding off evil. The subject of these superstitious actions is a bit more eyebrow raising…
At the center of the muttering crowd giving him a wide berth, is Constantine. He stands shoeless in his nightshirt. He seems unaware of the crowd and his slow movements and blank face seem almost somnambulistic. He shuffles in a slow circle then stops to stare at the wooden wall of the bakery.
”I was hoping you, or perhaps someone else in the Society, might be able to help me. I’m trying to identify a retired Venture Captain, though I have little to go on. They have used the initial “A” - most likely it’s a name or a nickname, though I suppose it could stand for something else. Do you have any records that might detail this sort of information?” She rubs her cheek, thinking through the wording of the letter and whether it contains any other clues to the writer. ”And they’re still alive, so it won’t need to be anything that dates back too far.”
Asala frowns, considering, ”Hmm… A Venture-Captain just using their initials isn’t ringing any bells for me. But I’m hardly an expert on Captains past and present. Our archive isn’t grand but – off the top of my head – I know we have books listing most of the active and retired Venture-Captains, some histories of the notable Captains, and even some lodge reports. Those are mostly for training purposes – showing new pathfinders what may be expected of them and the thinking of their superiors. Giving them the ‘big picture’, so to speak.”
She rises quickly and pulls a handkerchief, ”Let’s go take a look. I can at least get you to the right section in those dusty stacks.” She leads the young pathfinder down the secret stairs to the locked basement archive.
[roll redacted]
Majara sucks in a small breath as she catches sight of Constantine. She'd thought he was improving. How the devil did he get all the way down here from the manor? Or was this his day to be at the temple to see Father Ruvarra-- well, no matter. She slips through the legs of taller people until she can clear her throat.
"Constantine. Constantine! It's Majara. Pricknettle. Can you hear me?"
She hopes it doesn't come to needing to manhandle him. Though if it does... well at least Roger is nearby.
Constantine shuffles closer to the wall, staring at a whorl in the pattern of the wood. He doesn’t answer Majara for a long moment. When he does, his voice is remote and emotionally disconnected. ”I’m not hearing anything. Perhaps that’s for the best.”
....well that's a bit disconcerting-- though at least he's responsive, on some level. Frowning, the gnome steps closer yet.
"Well, you're hearing me. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"
You know, other than your brain being fried.
He cautiously touches the wall for a moment then smiles faintly, never looking at the diminutive alchemist. "Majara would say that. I can travel where I want, it's my dream."
"Hrmmf."
One thing that being a gnome gives you is a certain awareness of when it's futile to argue. If a fellow gnome is insistent that she NEEDS to go to the top of that volcano, well, you can either help her pack or not, but you're not going to reason her out of it. Constantine, of course, is not a gnome, but Majara supposes the lesson applies. If he thinks he's dreaming..... so be it.
"Yes, I suppose so. What's there on the wall that's got you so interested? Why are you dreaming about it?"
She looks back over her shoulder to the crowd, and to Roger, as well as any other familiar faces who might hopefully be appearing - trying to signal to them, wordlessly, that the best thing to do might be to try and disperse the crowd. Of course, she's never mastered telepathy.
Coming upon the scene at Gunty's, Emma pauses, shocked at the sight. She'd been hoping to pick up a bit of more bread - one of the benefits of not having to immediately head out to another adventure.
She watches as Majara interacts with Constantine, then cautiously approaches, figuring she'll have a better chance of subduing him should it come to that - though she hopes that it won't.
"Constantine?" she calls uncertainly. "It's Emma Blackford. Are you alright? Can I help you with anything?"
"What's there on the wall that's got you so interested? Why are you dreaming about it?"
"It's Emma Blackford. Are you alright? Can I help you with anything?"
With two people inserting themselves into his ruminations at the wall, Constantine turns to look at them, ”Why are you all introducing yourselves? I know you.” He turns back to the wall, frowns, and searches across the surface as if he’s misplaced something. ”Dammit. It’s not staring anymore.”
He suddenly lunges toward the wall and presses his face to the boards, gazing at the pattern in the wood closely, ”No, it’s gone… Time to wake up.” As if a decision has been made, Constantine’s eyes roll back into his skull and he slides down the wall bonelessly until he is a heap on the ground – asleep or unconscious. The crowd mutters nervously, many taking a step back with only a few coming forward to help.
"....well."
Majara puts her hands on her hips, gazing down at the insensate young man, and resists the urge to tut. She sighs instead.
"Miss Blackford- maybe you can convince the crowd to disperse? Ser Roger, perhaps you'll carry our... friend? The temple might be the best place for him to... recuperate."
"Aye. Sounds about right." Roger hefts up and lifts Constantine over his shoulder. "Thanks for taking wheel on that. Never quite sure what to says."
”All of that sounds incredibly useful,” Hannelia reassures Asala. ”I can’t imagine many people outside of certain higher up members likely have much knowledge of many Venture-Captains. Most people I assume would be limited by their own experience and familiarity with others further afield wouldn’t be relevant most of the time. I could of course be wrong on that but it’s probably just names unless you’re into political manoeuvring within the Society.”
She follows the older woman down to the secret archive, listening to Asala’s description of the stacks and then starting by taking a careful overview herself. ”This is amazing,” Hannelia says. ”If you have other things you need to attend to or you might be missed I’ll be fine by myself. The Saringallow town archives are like a second home to me. I’ll ensure everything is returned correctly. I trust there’s not an issue with me making notes?” she asks.
Emma nods briefly towards Majara, though takes a moment to look at Constantine as Roger carried him off. That had been...unsettling to say the least. A sign of his condition worsening?
Or a bad omen?
Neither was good.
Then, squaring her shoulders, she turns to face the gathered crowd, holding up her hands. "It's alright, folks. There’s nothing more to see - the situation is handled. I'd like to request that you continue on with your days. Thank you for your understanding."
Emma is remarkably successful at calming the crowd and stilling much of the dark mutterings in light of the morning’s events. With Majara trailblazing the way, Roger carries Constantine to the Temple of Erastil.
After getting Constantine back in his bed and examining his condition in both mundane and magical fashions, Father Ruvarra is clearly concerned. His assessment is filled with worry, as he informs the Seekers. ”He is sleeping normally now but when you brought him in he was unconscious. This isn’t quite how he was before, so I don’t want to call it a relapse just yet. We need to see how he behaves when he’s awake. This could even be some odd form of somnambulism related to his mental abilities. I really don’t know. We’ll keep a close watch on him. I don’t think I can say more until we can assess his wakeful state. If you like, I can have someone fetch you once he’s up.”
Asala leads Hannelia into the stacks. She is relieved when the bard takes the burden of searching off her shoulders, as the dust exacerbates her allergies even with the use of her kerchief as a mask. ”Carry on, carry on. Take notes as you wish and I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” She hustles for the stairs as her eyes are already starting to water.
Hannelia spends the better part of the day meticulously combing through the records of the active and retired Venture-Captains from the last fifteen years. She finds no record of any of them going by the nom-de-plume ‘A’. There are a half-dozen Venture-Captains with ‘A’ as the start of their first or last names, however. Two of them are women, so unless ‘A’ has changed gender, Hannelia eliminates them from consideration… leaving four possibilities. Digging into the records more, the bard finds that VC Aristofane Coyn and Gabble Antill retired due to illness and age. Cross-checking against a handwritten missive by Coyn to the Elidir Lodge, his shaky writing indicates the ravages of arthritis… unlike the strong penmanship of ‘A’. And Antill must be nearing 90 years of age according to his records. She is forced to deduce these men also aren’t the mysterious ‘A’. The two final possibilities are both active - not retired. One is stationed in Katapesh and the other is in Brevoy.
While magical methods of fast travel are certainly possible, Hannelia’s gut tells her Kilcrist interacts with ‘the chief’ on a regular basis and some of the boy’s words hinted at ‘A’ being far closer than Katapesh or Brevoy. It wasn’t a certainty but she was inclined to scratch the final two Venture-Captains off the list of suspects.
Hannelia closes the last book with a sigh of frustration, she had spent the day breathing dust and come up with nothing.
Despite Asala’s protestations about the size and quality of the Pathfinder Lodge’s archives, Hannelia finds it more than adequate. There are plenty of folios, chapbooks, scrolls and more and she methodically works her way through them, making notes and stopping to check things or cross-reference others on a regular basis. As thorough as her work is, however, she doesn’t find any obvious possibilities for the identity of her benefactor. All of the leads she finds, she eliminates for various reasons. Having spent several hours working Hannelia decides to call it a day and return tomorrow with some fresh ideas.
While she feels satisfied that she has eliminated the possibilities of the letter A as an initial, Hannelia makes a note over dinner to search for any potential nicknames. She also considers whether the letter is not actually an A but another letter in a different alphabet. She has some training in languages that could be put to the test and then referenced against the race of any Venture-Captains whose native language uses a different alphabet. She considers that the A could also be a group or faction within the Society rather than the individual concerned - less likely, in all probability, but probably worth considering. A code name is another one, though she doesn’t hold out too much hope of that sort of information being easily available. And looking for any kind of ranking that might use letters as a measure is yet another possibility Hannelia writes down.
Having eliminated a couple of potential options for geographical reasons, Hannelia also plans to record a list of names of Venture-Captains within a certain proximity to Isger. Beyond her home nation, she looks at a map of Golarian and decides that the writer is most likely based in Cheliax, Andoran, Druma or Molthune as the countries that border Isger.
Perhaps more ideas will suggest themselves but for now she has plenty to be getting on with the following day. Hannelia also concedes the possibility that her research won’t shed any light on the matter, but at least she will have eliminated a number of possibilities, including the most obvious ones.
The next day Hannelia returns to the temple ready to tackle her various new ideas.
"Well done," Majara mutters to Emma as they depart the area in front of Gunty's. "-- you two, go on ahead to the temple. I'll catch up."
She darts back towards the bread shop. Look, she came here for butter rolls, okay.
When she does rejoin pirate, paladin, and patient at the temple of Erastil, she is bearing a small sack of the bounty in question, and she offers one to Emma, and two to Roger (hauling bodies deserves a bonus), nibbling on a fourth as she listens to the priest discuss their problem.
"Awkward. Perhaps we can impress on Talon or Sirio to keep a closer eye on him. Or, failing that, hire someone to supervise. He oughtn't be able to wander freely. Poor lad."
Majara gazes down at Constantine's limp body a moment, then shrugs, sympathy fading as fast as all her other emotional states. "He did seem-- lucid. He recognized us, was speaking to us... he thought he was dreaming. I can't imagine there's anything special at that bit of wall outside Gunty's, but perhaps we ought to look at it just to be sure. Miss Blackford, you could check it for evil. A pity none of us present can study it for magic. Unless, Father Ruvarra, you might lend ten minutes to a short, odd errand?"
She pauses, then peeks inside the bag. "...You can have a butter roll if you do."
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”Miss Blackford, you could check it for evil. A pity none of us present can study it for magic. Unless, Father Ruvarra, you might lend ten minutes to a short, odd errand?"
She pauses, then peeks inside the bag. "...You can have a butter roll if you do."
Father Ruvarra is powerless to resist the offer of a warm butter roll… but he insists on getting paid up front so the roll is still warm when he eats it while humming happily. After that he accompanies the Seekers back to Gunty’s. They examine the wall closely which causes some fresh mutterings among the patrons. Even Gunty looks a little irked that they are stirring matters up again, but it can’t be avoided.
Fortunately or unfortunately, there are no lingering magic traces on the wall and no hint of evil. A close look at the wall reveals nothing suspicious in the grain of the wood, no curious graffiti, and only the typical signs of abuse one would expect to find on a wooden wall. It all just looks… normal.
Hannelia’s second day in the stacks is a long one. Trying to track down nicknames, figuring out the native languages of various Venture-Captains and then tapping into her linguistical knowledge to determine ‘A’ names in their native tongues takes several hours of effort. As some languages use a syllabary instead of an alphabet, it merely compounds the effort. Tracking down active and retired Venture Captains from adjacent lands adds yet more hours to her day. Hannelia only briefly stops to periodically eat or rest her eyes before continuing the work.
At midnight, working by candlelight, the bard begins to consider defeat. All her efforts have come to naught. Too stubborn to quit Hannelia presses on, nodding off as she re-reads years of mundane correspondence related to nearby Lodges… and then she see it, something foreign, innocuous, and yet familiar. It’s an old slip of paper about a set of routine assignments sent to the Elidir Lodge from Absalom. The writing is familiar. Hannelia shoots up, wide awake now. She pulls out the letter from the mysterious ‘A’ and compares the two notes. The lettering is nearly identical, as is the precision of the letter spacing.
The bard quickly cross-checks the date the note was sent, the location it was sent from, and the sender, sure that she is closing in on her quarry. Once she has these details locked in, there is almost too much information available in the archive. Finally, she consults a book she hadn’t bothered to open for the last couple of days because of two – quite logical – assumptions. The full truth is revealed.
The mysterious ‘A’ (unless there is a remarkable forger) is former Venture-Captain Ambrose A’dair. He became a Venture-Captain in Ustalav at the age of 36… young but not unheard of. At 41, he was posted as VC to the Absalom Grand Lodge – becoming the youngest human to hold that position. The decision caused political waves but, by the accounts in the archive, A’dair proved he was the right choice. He was a brilliant and accomplished pathfinder during his tenure – both in the field and as a leader in the Society. Many of his command decisions are still part of the training curricula for new pathfinders.
A decade, ago after being the VC in Absalom for little more than a year, Ambrose A’dair was killed along with fourteen other people in a fire that burned through a neighborhood in the Ivy District where he lived. His remains were buried with full honors by the Pathfinder Society.
Hannelia, it seems, has been corresponding with a dead man.
”Miss Blackford, you could check it for evil. A pity none of us present can study it for magic. Unless, Father Ruvarra, you might lend ten minutes to a short, odd errand?"
She pauses, then peeks inside the bag. "...You can have a butter roll if you do."
Father Ruvarra is powerless to resist the offer of a warm butter roll… but he insists on getting paid up front so the roll is still warm when he eats it while humming happily. After that he accompanies the Seekers back to Gunty’s. They examine the wall closely which causes some fresh mutterings among the patrons. Even Gunty looks a little irked that they are stirring matters up again, but it can’t be avoided.
Fortunately or unfortunately, there are no lingering magic traces on the wall and no hint of evil. A close look at the wall reveals nothing suspicious in the grain of the wood, no curious graffiti, and only the typical signs of abuse one would expect to find on a wooden wall. It all just looks… normal.
Majara clicks her tongue, standing with her hands on her hips again as she gazes at that spot. Who knows what Constantine saw whilst staring at it? With a sigh, she thanks the priest for his time and digs out another roll. One's physical hunger can at least be satisfied, if not the intellectual sort. She nods at Emma and Blackford to walk with her if they're so inclined, away from the muttering rubberneckers who have been re-provoked.
"Thum quemtimf if--" (Chew, swallow) "--the question is somewhat moot, it seems. It could have been nothing. We really can't be sure. Sadly the best person for identifying odd psychic manifestations is, well, Constantine." Chew, swallow.
"I suppose I could try and talk to him when he wakes up. See if he remembers his dream."
"I suppose I could try and talk to him when he wakes up. See if he remembers his dream."
"It couldn't hurt," Emma says, taking a bite of her own butter roll. "If we decide that, it might be a good idea to have Sirio or Hannelia on hand. Given his affinity for psychic manifestations, I'm wondering if there might be something else going on here besides a relapse of his condition - if it's related to his abilities, Constantine is simply ill-equipped to deal with it in his current state and may not be able to communicate or understand it properly." She shrugs, taking another bite. "We ought to keep our eyes open, in any case."