The streets of Olfden bustle with activity as shopkeepers call out for attention, promising only the very best wares. In front of the Pathfinder lodge on the outskirts of town stands a statue of a woman wielding a blade and a wand, furiously battling a group of humanoid wolves. Several stone wolves lie dead at the statue’s base, but it’s clear the woman is being overwhelmed.
As if to give voice to the fallen wolves, a chorus of deep barks echoes from a walled yard behind the lodge.
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Harsk paused for a second staring at the elaborate statue - his disheveled, wild, red hair and beard swayed in wind, and and his outdoorsman's clothing was well worn from being out on the road.
"Brave lady" - he commented to himself, looking for some sort of plaque on the statue that would identify the one depicted there.
He unconsciously fidgeted with his own gear - even if his attire looked casual and practical, everything seemed to have its place - from the several hatchets kept in place by straps, to the massive war axe and crossbow at his back, and even the dagger hanging from his belt.
"Probably some sort of wizard" - the dwarf pondered further, taking notice of the blade and wand combination.
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A small figure in brown robes is staring at the statue in the middle of the street. Passersby avoid the Ysoki, staying at least 10 feet away from him. Is it because of his poor attire, his constantly wet robe and hair, or the strong smell of sewers and salt water emanating from him? Or maybe is it because he mutters for himself incoherent words from a long forgotten language...
Seeing the dwarf speaking to the statue, he moves closer and gets the last sentence. With a deep voice he answers as if the question was for him: "An allegory! For our impending doom that neither steel nor magic can prevent."
He laughs frantically while raising his arms to the statue to give more power to his prophecy.
And he smiles to his future companion, a smile he wants warm: "I'm Lazzare. I've been summoned for a mission and I guess we will travel together.", and in a reassuring tone: "Don't worry, whatever end you will meet, it will not be for today...". He waits a couple of seconds before finishing his sentence: "But maybe tomorrow!" and he bursts into laughters, playful ones this time.
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“It’s good to see we may have some joviality on our mission!” A white-haired elf said to the pair in front of the statue, his voice a low rumble in the back of his throat. He stopped short of the ratfolk, gave him a genuine smile, and took a single, deliberate step back.
Sesthyun was well acquainted with the smells of the wilderness, storms, he probably carried some of them in his hair and clothes. But that unmistakable odor of sewage!
“It would appear we are the first to arrive? Hopefully,” he glanced up at the statue, “No lycanthropes will be joining us.”
A hand slipped to the quiver at his hip and began tracing the fletching with a thumb.
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"I..." - Harsk seems to be somewhat at a loss for words as Lazarre addresses him - "Mayhaps" - he manages to reply - "But I'm thinkin' that lass is gonna make it. She looks ta be havin' a fightin' spirit" - he adds.
"I am Harsk by the way" - nods back at the Ysoki's introduction - "And we are probably here for the same reasons, I guess"
“It would appear we are the first to arrive? Hopefully,” he glanced up at the statue, “No lycanthropes will be joining us.”
"Well me ta ye" - the dwarf replied - "Harsk is me name, and this fella here is Lazzare" - he continued - "Lycan... Ye mean werewolves? Better hell not!"
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"Lycanthropes? For a curse, this one's nice...", says Lazzare. And unfortunately he seems to mean it.
A movement from under the Ysoki's robes catches the eyes when a large rat emerges from a sleeve. It looks at the two strangers and then at Lazzare: "What is it that you're doing? Look nice and friendly? The letter said you will be the most experienced Pathfinder on this mission. So you're the boss. Don't be nice, be nasty, give orders, expect complete obedience!"
And the rat starts to growl at the two others. And despite how ridiculous the situation may be, it manages to be really intimidating.
Lazzare doesn't deny the rat's words: "And this is Ratatouille, my assistant."
"SIR Ratatouille, for you, guys. Sir Ratatouille de la Ratatouillette! But you can call me sir."
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Tandang Boreas, a calm and smiling dwarf druid wearing a leather armor, an adventurer's pack and a wooden shield stowed on his back holds hand-in-hand with his potato-like leshy familiar he named Plantina. They walk happily while singing a melodious song as he waves his staff with his other hand. As they approach the beholden female statue, the druid and hr leshy stop singing and gaze at the work of art in awe together.
"You could be like her, strong and fighting," he speaks to Plantina, in which she giggles eventhough he may not understand what he says.
Noticing others near the statue, he greets them with a warm smile, "Greetings, good sirs. I hope you are all doing well. I am Tandang Boreas, and this is my giggly companion, Plantina."
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"Well met" - Harsk replies to Ratatouille, but speaks no further to the rodent who titles himself a 'Sir'
Noticing others near the statue, he greets them with a warm smile, "Greetings, good sirs. I hope you are all doing well. I am Tandang Boreas, and this is my giggly companion, Plantina."
"Nice ta make yer acquaintance Tandang and... Plantina" - he nodded at yet two more newcomers - "We be gatherin' quite a crowd it seems"
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“I would never say no to the extra hands,” the elf smiled at the new dwarf. “Nor paws nor branches,” he added with a nod to Sir Ratatouille and Plantina. “Afterall, a massive stormwall is far more intimidating than a single gray cloud.”
He stood there, rocking on his heels and lost in thought for a moment before catching himself. “Oh! I am Sesthyun Wain.” He scratched at the back of his head, “Though I find that most non-elves wind up calling me Ses. And that will do just fine, I suppose.”
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Hopefully,” he glanced up at the statue, “No lycanthropes will be joining us.”
"Hello dearies!" Calling cheerily out to the group of statue-admirers is a short, plump, elderly human woman dressed in a ridiculously enormous bright red sweater dress. It's so huge on her that she's tied it up in haphazard bunches in various places so that she doesn't trip over it. Glinting out from under it are hints of a chain shirt. She approaches the group and leans on her staff for support a moment, giving the statue a glance with bright, twinkling eyes. Running a hand through her white, curly hair, she introduces herself. "My, my, what a capable group you look to be. Heehee! I'm Mrs. Crinkle, sweeties. Are you here for the Pathfinder mission, too?" Her jolly smile highlights her rosy cheeks.
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Lazzare opens wide eyes when Mrs Crinkle introduces herself. And it's Ratatouille who breaks the silence: "A dwarf who doesn't speak common, another one with a weird puppet and two crumblies... Well, boss, it looks like you offended someone you shouldn't have.".
And the rat laughs so much he falls from Lazzare's shoulder and continues rolling on the floor.
Lazzare needs a few seconds to recollect his thoughts and then says: "We have a peculiar group here. Well, I'm used to be seen as an outsider, maybe for once I'll feel like I really fit in. Are we waiting for someone else? Because I'm in a great mood to spread the blessings of the Lord of the Depths accross the world!"
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"I think we're all here now," says a dwarf you hadn't realized was there, leaning against a corner by the lodge, cleaning his fingernails with a knife. "Definitely an odd crew, as you say. Shall we go see what nonsense they've got for us this time?"
He's wearing leathers and armed only with a short blade and number of knives, along with various and sundry tools.
"Name's Horst, by the way."
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A quick jerk of surprise hits Mrs. Crinkle as Ratatouille sums up the group. "Ooo, you're a fiestly little one, aren't you? Perhaps it's you who've offended someone." She replies with a wink at Lazzare. "I know first hand how running your mouth can get you into trouble. Why, in my younger years, I was at a dinner party one time, when--Oh! How silly of me. Now's not the time for stories. Let's go inside to see what the mission is, shall we?" And with that, Mrs. Crinkle turns to amble toward the door. "Horst, honey, would you be a dear and get the door for me? Thank you sweetheart."
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Ratatouille laughs at Crinkle's response: "Someone with a functional brain, so great. Can I climb on your shoulder? Can I call you Grandma? I want to hear your stories! Please! Please!"
Lazzare grabs the rat and puts it back in his sleeve before following the old lady inside: "Let's see what fate will befall us!"
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Sesthyun smiled as the group came together. “An amicable group,” he thought. “But why would the Society need such a large group?” He shook the worry from his mind and stepped up beside Mrs. Crinkle.
“Perhaps after this is all over, we could exchange stories? Not too often people of our status get together to do something like this.”
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Eyes twinkling merrily, Mrs. Crinkle breaks into a wide smile. "You'd like to hear my stories? Why, I've got a good one for you. It's the explanation for my gloriously be-a-u-tiful dress. Don't you like it?" Here she briefly poses like a poster girl. She gives a wink that could be directed at either Ratatouille or Sesthyun. "You can call me either Grandma or Mrs. Crinkle." She deliberately doesn't respond to the request for a shoulder-ride, as she doesn't want to deal with a mouthy-drama-rat. Resuming her normal posture, she settles in to tell her tale.
Olfden’s Pathfinder Lodge, Silver Moon Sanctuary, is decorated with trophies from adventurer, as well as gifts from grateful townsfolk.
When the Pathfinders enter, Luna waves them into a homey reading room with an assortment of plush chairs and side tables haphazardly piled with books, where she awaits them. She’s an older woman with startling yellow eyes.
It’s immediately clear to the Pathfinders that she’s the woman depicted in the statue outside.
Venture-Captain Luna Aldred sets down a steaming mug as she leans back in her chair. She smiles and gestures for everyone to find seats as she props her feet up on a padded stool and reaches down for her knitting. She looks like the picture of retirement, but a sword hilt and wand poke out of the basket of yarn at her side.
“Welcome to Silver Moon Sanctuary,” she says. “Olfden doesn’t see as much activity as some lodges, but I’m always happy to see agents. I recently learned a group of prospectors discovered an entrance to what may be an old dwarven ruin on Droskar’s Crag. It could be part of a much larger complex and may hold significant historical value.”
Her silver knitting needles click as she continues.
“I’d like you to take a look, see what you can find. Oh! It’s probably not a surprise, but it sounds like you’ll be sticking your hand in the wolf’s jaws. The prospectors didn’t all make it back out.” Luna shakes her head sadly. “I couldn’t get many details of what happened—the survivor is pretty upset; I had to push a pocketful of gold on him and swear nobody would get hurt before he would draw a map—but maybe you’ll have more luck. He’s been staying down the street at the Silver Bulette inn, if you want to talk to him.”
She sets down her knitting and sits up, yellow eyes intense as she emphasizes her next words.
“I don’t know how big this place is, so don’t go too deep. Explore as much as you can, but I don’t want to send a recovery team in a month just to find out you’ve followed some path to a fey party in the Vale. Clear out any threats and make a note of any tunnels leading deeper into the mountain, but save them for another expedition. All right?”
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[before going in]
Ratatouille sticks its head out of Lazzare's sleeve and listens to Mrs Crinkle story. When finished, he says: "Great story Grandma. It changes from Lazzare's ones, where there are always terrible sea monsters and cataclysmic tsunamis. Even if unlike yours Lazzare's stories are all true."
[after going in]
When it sees the old venture captain knitting in its chair, Ratatouille can't refrain from an exclamation: "Elderly team reporting to elderly venture cap...", but can't finish it as Lazzare pushes it inside his robes.
After the briefing, Lazzare asks: "Droskar’s Crag? The volcano?". He continues with glistening eyes: "Its eruption caused a great cataclysm engulfing an entire empire and snuffing thousands of lives in its wake... Fascinating." Realizing that he may scare his fellow companions, he continues with a sentence he wants reassuring: "Don't worry, there's no mountain high enough, no volcano hot enough to challenge the power of the Lord of the Depths. Ultimately, the oceans will cover the surface of the world and nothing can prevent it."
He says this last sentence with a deep voice while raising his arms to the... ceiling. Realizing that he may have gone a bit too far, he coughs twice and says: "Well well well, we will see this prospector, then. He will talk: Someone has to live to tell the tale. He owe it to his companions and to the unstoppable march of destiny."
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Ratatouille sticks its head out of Lazzare's sleeve and listens to Mrs Crinkle story. When finished, he says: "Great story Grandma. It changes from Lazzare's ones, where there are always terrible sea monsters and cataclysmic tsunamis. Even if unlike yours Lazzare's stories are all true."
"Heeheehee! Shows what you know! Mine's true too, you cheeky little chatter!" I only exaggerated a little bit.
"Well now, you have to handle traumatized survivors delicately. If we all approach him together he'll immediately get defensive. Also with the religious stuff. That only works with the ones who already agree with you. Everyone else thinks you're nuts. Heehee! No, the best bet is to trickle into the place in ones and twos, and only one or two people interact with him at a time. That way if he clams up we can try again. Get him good and drunk, then ply him for answers. That's the way to do it. And all of us can have a good time getting drunk too! Heehee!" Mrs. Crinkle raises an imaginary tankard to toast her idea. Her red sweater dress swings ponderously under her arm, evidence of bingo wings.
"Droskar’s Crag? The volcano?"
...
Luna is happy to give you a quick recap of the history.
"The ancient dwarven empire Tar Khadurrm dominated this region for centuries. It was known for its cities Jernashall and Raseri Kanton, which were centers of trade in southern Avistan. But when Droskar’s Crag erupted in an event known as the Rending, it destroyed the cities and led to the empire’s demise 500 years later."
”Why is he refusing to talk, Master Aldred?” - the dwarf speaks up, but then catches himself and pauses, offering a curt nod - ”I am Harsk”
"Well met, Harsk. He's been incredibly distraught at his friends' deaths. Perhaps if you could build a connection with him, he'd open up a little ..."
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"I could see that working," Sesthyun nodded to Mrs. Crinkle, "Though I've seen plenty of people ignore the change in the winds. Sometimes people need to see the lightning strike a tree before they seek help."
He turned back to the venture captain, "You mentioned a map. You were able to get one from the man?"
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Harsk nods at the response from the Venture-Captain, but his gruff demeanor returns almost immediately as he hears some of the comments around him - "I... I am no good at plyin' others for answers, or gettin' them drunk" - he shrugs - "So I cannae help much there. But I can easily play the part of a dwarf in a group of dwarves"
devastating the region.
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"Do you know anything else about him or his lost companions? That might help us build that connection. Prospectors, you said?"
"They were the usual sort, three of them looking for gold. The survivor is a half-orc man named Elsitt. The other two were a gnome named Gethel and a human woman named Floria. Like I said, Elsitt was pretty upset. The trio were used to handling themselves in the mountains, but they weren’t expecting whatever they found."
"Why is it called the Rending?"
"Maybe we can talk to the survivor dwarf-to-dwarves or dwarves-to-dwarf."
"Oh, dear, apparently there's been some confusion. The survivor is a half-orc. But, of course, your dwarven ancestries will come in very handy if you run across any ancient dwarven artifacts in the course of your investigation!"
"You mentioned a map. You were able to get one from the man?"
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Lazzare whispers at Mrs. Crinkle's ears:
"It's important to stick to the character, don't you think, Grandma?", he says, insisting on the last word.
"Fate awaits us at the Silver Bulette. Let's move on, we don't want to be late to meet our fate!" he says while standing up and moving to the door.
At the Silver Bulette, the rugged half-orc is well into his cups of dwarven whiskey as he mourns his slain friends. He looks up blearily when the Pathfinders approach, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
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Whatever Lazzare whispered in Mrs. Crinkle's ear sets her to giggling. "Heeheehee! Why, you're full of surprises! We're going to have fun, you and I."
Spotting the mourning half-orc easily enough, Mrs. Crinkle gestures the others back. "Maybe he needs a grandmotherly shoulder to cry on." She approaches him with an expression of gentle concern. "Oh, why honey, what's the matter?" After he responds , she replies: "Sure thing, honey. I'll be right back." Soon enough she returns with two tankards of Corr's Light. Passing one to him, she toasts: "To oblivion!" --which may not be *quite* the right sentiment for this mission. Even so, she soldiers on for about 20 minutes, alternating between drinking in silence and telling anecdotes about her youth, rambling in as disarming a manner as she can so as to earn Elsitt's trust. Eventually she gets around to the topic that actually matters. "So, dearie. What's heavy on your heart right now?"
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Arriving at the Silver Bulette, Lazzare quickly gauges the tavern. It seems too quiet and too classy for him, so he tells his companions he'll stay outside. He just gives Ratatouille to Mrs. Crinkle: "Just keep Ratatouille with you, it'll make me a report. Don't be scared, he knows how to behave with the ladies."
Ratatouille winces at the elderly: "Hello, Grandma, do you give me a ride?"
"To oblivion!"
Elsitt bursts into tears.
"My friends are in oblivion! "
After bawling his eyes out a little more, he turns to Mrs. Crinkle.
"You're so old that I bet you have a long and rambling story about something terrible that's happened in your life."
Turning to Harsk, he says, "And you look like you haven't bathed in weeks, I bet you have great stories to tell, too."
And to Lazzare, "I must be drunk, because I see a talking rat. But I bet talking rats have entertaining stories."
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“It’s okay, lad. It’s pretty rare that anyone winds up in ‘oblivion.’” Sesthyun said as he made his way to the weeping half-orc. He paused to address the barkeep, “You probably don’t have any Syrinelle? Some of this Corr's Light should do fine then.” He took a sip of the brew and struggled to keep from coughing it back up.
”You ever heard the about what goes on in Mierani Forest? I can gladly share a tale from my younger days if you'll share one with me.”
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Turning to Harsk, he says, "And you look like you haven't bathed in weeks, I bet you have great stories to tell, too."
"I am no entertainer" - Harsk growls - "If ye think ye're the only one who ever been through hard times well think again boy" - the dwarf adds - "Sometimes ye just have to put your head down, and press on. Maybe even accept that others can avenge yer friends?" - he shrugs.
Sorry, not sure what to roll. Diplomacy?
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Ratatouille winces at the elderly: "Hello, Grandma, do you give me a ride?"
"Oh, sure honey. Let me just make you a nest here." Mrs. Crinkle shifts and bunches up her voluminous sweater dress to make a comfy, cozy nest on her shoulder for the talking rat.
"Well now, I can't say that my experiences would be able to light a candle to yours, but I do have some interesting ones. Now, let's see... In my younger years..." And she proceeds to tell about how her only son, who gained legal power over her upon her husband's death, held her in such disdain that she had two choices: be locked up for the rest of her life or flee, changing her name and losing everything but what she could carry on her elderly back.
It's hard for her to get the words out. Unlike her earlier tale, this one hits too close to her heart for showmanship.
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Tandang and his leshy, Plantina, play together and sing a song out of nowhere but make sure everyone can hear. As Tandang sings and casts dancing lights, Plantina dances her body to the melody of the song. It is about a song on why it is important to enjoy and be contented on what is already there than whine and complain on things we do not have. Plantina seems to enjoy the song and giggles, even she doesn't understand it.
"Oh, we're so sorry. Are we too loud?" he asks his companions. "You see," now talking to the half-orc, "you can cry all day you want, whine about how your friends die and you're still alive, oorrrr, you tell us where did you and your friends go, draw us a map, and tell us what happened there. You can go with us too, much better, if you want. Let's finish what you and your friends did there, even though we are not that your friends." He ends his statement with a smile and talks to Plantina, "Did you hear that, Plantina? Who would have thought I would say that with courage?" in which the leshy giggles happily.
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Lazzare, seeing through the ears of Ratatouille that the discussion comes to a standstill, decides to intervene in his own, subtle, way.
The door of the tavern opens up violently when the ratfolk enters, followed by a gust of cold wind. He waits for a second while everyone stares at him and then moves to the table where his companions are seated. Ignoring them, he goes directly to the half-orc and points an accusing finger right at him:
You are cursed! I see the spirits, two spirits. They are there, waiting still. You are the messenger of the dead. You carry their burden, one you can't hold for long. But you betray them through your silence, you shiver, crushed by the weight of guilt and sorrow! They need closure. Pass the torch! Tell the tale! Give their last breath a meaning. It's all they need to find peace, all they want before the judgment of the Lady of the Graves."
Lazzare takes a deep breath while raising his hands to the... ceiling again: "Through my mouth, the Lord of the Depths has spoken. Listen or be doomed!"
And Lazzare slowly leaves the table and the tavern, taking with him the chilly wind.
Since I think the theory was for some of us to hang back for a second try if the first fails, Horst is just sitting back with an ale watching and listening.