Blackwood Scenic Tour (Closed) (Inactive)

Game Master Dennis Muldoon

Please dot in here.

The summons was simple: “Please attend a mission briefing in the Kortos Room in Skyreach at 3 bells.” Now the time has come, and you find yourselves seated around a large conference table with a handful of other agents…but no Venture-Captain to give you an assignment. How strange. The wait does at least give you a moment to get to know some of your fellow agents, however.

Once you’re ready to go, please introduce your character. Once everyone has done so, I’ll take that as a sign we’re ready to launch. Please also fill in the information in the slide deck, linked at the top of this page (and in my tagline).

A lean, muscular woman with greenish-blue skin, webbed ears, and closely cropped blue hair sits at the table, her back straight. She greets each of the other agents with a wave and a grin. You can see her hands are wrapped with cloth.

"Hi! I'm Ennillee. This is my first actual mission! Between the School of Unbreaking Waves and the School of Swords, I feel like I've been training forever. I'm ready to go do something!"

"A pleasure to meet you, Ennillee" Zalmora says, taking a seat at the table. She slouches, brushes a few strands of tousled blonde hair away from her face, and adds, "This is my first mission too for the Pathfinders, though since the Ironfang invasion I've been wandering all parts collecting bounties. That plus having skirmished with the Ironfang legion is enough to count as 'on the job' training, I guess."

The ranger looks every part the hunter. Her clothes are muted colours that deflect attention, and her leather armor barely creaks as she moves. Her most impressive item is a recurve longbow, the leaf and vine carvings it bears hinting at elven craftsmanship.

"This is my first time in Absalom though. Lot of people here," she says as dog of indeterminate breed plunks down beside her chair. Zalmora reachs down to pet the animal. "Oh, this is Baxter. He's a good boy. Very helpful."

A low growl greets Zalmora's introduction of Baxter, and a lean, sprightly, dark-furred amurrun in brigthly-colored robes gently scolds a scrawny, tiny dog whose head pokes out of the catfolk's backpack. That's enough, Bruzer. I'm sure Baxter is just fine.

Don't mind him, the newcomer says with a toothy smile. His bark is far worse than his bite. He extends a hand to both Zalmora and Ennillee. Dewin Bryse is the name. Pleased to meet you.

Gobo… has… arrived!

A hobgoblin unlike any you have seen before strides into the room. He has clearly spent almost all of his money on fine clothing. His head is adorned with a tall multicolored wig that wobbles back and forth, always in danger of toppling over. A dull grey ioun stone circles his head, bejeweled with glitter.

Are we to be adventuring today? What do you think?

He carries an elegant fauchard at his side. He gives it a twirl from hand to hand and drops it. It slashes the curtains, then cuts his fingertip. Do you see? He holds aloft the finger, careful not to dribble blood on his nice clothing. Let this be a demonstration of the dangers of our chosen profession. Gobo would note that his spells are even more insidious than this accouterment. He taps the blade of the polearm. Stylish as it is.

A mellifluous melody echoes off the walls of the Grand Lodge hallway. A short sharp "Heh!" followed by a longer "Heeeey!" before the song starts begins again.

The song stops.

Only to be replaced by a soft silky voice of passion. Faint sobs and sniffles punctuate the breathy gaps in the song. "Tomorrow night? I'll be there, girl."

The doors blow open of their own accord as a greenskinned kobold strikes a practiced insouciant, yet flamboyant pose.

"Greetings fellow Pathfinders! My name is Alladin Sarsippius Sulamanagic, the Third! I am here as the latest, greatest, most groovy representative of her majesty, Queen Yiddlepode; queen of the most feared and revered kobold tribe: The Sewer Dragons! Yes, yes, please do try to contain yourselves. I'm only one kobold."

Aladdin makes his way to the table handing out daps and high fives to the assembled Pathfinders and ear scritchies for the dogs.

"So what's up? Where we going today?"

A dwarven man makes his way into the room. He seems a little frazzled, and is pitching a little back and forth, as if he was standing on the deck of an ocean going ship. "Sorry t' be late. Just made it back from me yearly visit t' Dongun Keep, and me ship got delayed by a storm as we sailed past Okeno.

"Bah. What I need now is a good stout, and a bowl of mutton stew."

The dwarf is dressed in simple adventuring clothes, with padded armor, a buckler on his forearm, and what appears to be a stout pistol and dagger at his waist.

Just as you finish introductions, the doors of the conference room open and three individuals enter. A male elf, garbed in fine red robes with gold embroidery enters first. The second to enter is a woman with snowwhite hair and a cluster of multicolored gems orbiting her head, laden with books. Finally, a bald human male with a bushy beard smiles widely and then curses to himself as the array of weapons along his back get stuck in the doorframe.

These three are the deans of the Pathfinder Society. Kreighton Shaine, the elf Master of Scrolls; Sorrina Westyr, the oread Master of Spells; and Marcos Farabellus, the human Master of Swords.

Kreighton takes the empty seat at the head of the table, while Sorrina takes an adjacent seat to his side. Marcos half-jogs to join his colleagues, but after a few seconds of awkwardly trying to seat himself and his panoply of back-mounted weapons, he pushes his chair in and stands behind it with a wide, if apologetic, grin.

“Regrets for the sudden nature of this meeting. I’ll try to be brief.” Kreighton begins. “One of our most enthusiastic Pathfinder initiates, a fungus leshy by the name of Rain in Cloudy Day, was recently approved for his Confirmation. In case you’ve forgotten, a Confirmation is a mission we send initiates on as a final test before recognizing them as full field agents. It was a mission to the nearby nation of Taldor to search for some ruins in a swamp near the city of Cassomir. Standard fare for a Pathfinder mission, but Rain hasn’t reported back, and it’s been a week since his expected check-in.”

Sorrina Westyr extends a hand. “This is where you come in. Even though Rain in Cloudy Day is still an initiate, the Pathfinder Society doesn’t leave its own behind. Us three masters have agreed that a special exception is necessary. For those of you who haven’t finished your own Confirmation, we’re willing to offer each of you a place in a group Confirmation. We’ll provide a stipend of gold for you to book your passage to Cassomir, and from there, you’ll need to find out what happened to Rain.”

The Master of Swords, Marcos Farabellus, chimes in with a chuckle. “Exactly what my associates have just said. Find a boat, head to Cassomir, enjoy a bit of the city’s livelier elements, and then head into the swamps to find our missing initiate. Of course, if you find little Rain alive and well... then you can really prove yourselves by helping him discover those ruins and finish his own Confirmation! Now, any questions?”

"Tracking a... leshy? Well, that's a new one for Baxter's nose," Zalmora says, punctuating the statement with a shrug. "What does Rain in Cloudy Day look like? Do you have any personal effects that might still carry their scent? And just what sort of ruins were they looking into?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any of his personal effects, no. As for what he was looking for: he uncovered some evidence that some old ruins in the Blackwood swamp, just north of Cassomir, might date all the way back to the Azlanti Empire, possibly to Azlanti people who survived Earthfall. Details are pretty thin beyond that, though, which is why he was headed there to see them for himself."

"And what does he look like? I know that leshy aren't exactly common, but this will help when we're asking questions in Cassomir."

Yep, Dewin adds, Cassomir's a big city. Even looking for a talking plant isn't likely to narrow it down enough.

Gobo puffs himself up when he sees the Shaine in his fancy robes and Sorrina with her aeon stones.

Surely this "Confirmation" is a pointless formality for Gobo, as he has dutifully served as a representative of the Society on four missions to date. Nonetheless, he shall acquiesce to convention — especially to help a fellow Pathfinder.

Gobo asks but two things. First, operatives typically have written instructions or an itinerary of some sort. Did Rain on Cloudy Day provide you with any such program?

Second… do you have a band-aid?

"Want some mud? I can help with that. Healing plaster, as it were." replies Ingmar.

"So, this Rain on Cloudy Day. What was his mission?"

Gobo is horrified at the idea of putting mud into a wound.

No one tell him you're going to a swamp he's still in denial

"We'll be sure to find him!"

She goes through her pack and hands a strip of cloth to Gobo. "Will this do? It's what I wrap my hands with."

Cleanliness is a state of mentality and principle. Gobo thanks you. The runelord carefully wraps his hurt little finger in the cloth.

Ingmar looks a little insulted that his offer of nature's bandage was not accepted. "Well, to each their own, I guess."

He pulls out his clan pistol and starts cleaning it.

Gobo puffs himself up when he sees the Shaine in his fancy robes and Sorrina with her aeon stones.

Surely this "Confirmation" is a pointless formality for Gobo, as he has dutifully served as a representative of the Society on four missions to date. Nonetheless, he shall acquiesce to convention — especially to help a fellow Pathfinder.

"Good of you to be so understanding" Sorrina, her voice level so as not to betray any sarcasm or intense desire to roll her eyes she may or may not be feeling.

Gobo asks but two things. First, operatives typically have written instructions or an itinerary of some sort. Did Rain on Cloudy Day provide you with any such program?

"Well, he had a general plan, yes, though obviously being able to adapt to circumstances as they exist on the ground is an important skill as well" Farabellus answers, chuckling at Gobo's reaction to the mud. "In this case, Rain chartered a vessel from here to Cassomir. He was to check in at the Three-Legged Frog, an inn in the city’s Imperial Naval Shipyards district. From there, he was going to find a local guide to lead him into the adjacent Blackwood Swamp to start searching for the ruins. We haven’t heard back since he left, however, so have no idea how far along that path he's gone."

"That's information I think we can work with," Zalmora says, once more petting Baxter. "Search and rescue work isn't much different from the bounty work I did before. Should be no problem."

Right, Dewin say. Rain on Cloudy Day, leshy; Three-Leggged Frog, inn; Blackwood Swamp, Cassomir.

Anything else you may have missed telling us? he asks the three, though he looks directly at Shaine as he says it.

"Do we know what vessel he chartered to get there?"

Ennillee realizes she should write all this down, then realizes she doesn't have anything to take notes on. She focuses hard on trying to remember the details.

"I'm afraid we don't know what ship he sailed on; he arranged his own travel when he got to the docks. Speaking of which," Kreighton says as he pulls out a bag of coins and hands it to Zalmora, "you will need to do the same. Use this money--all of it and only this money--to cover your passage to Cassomir and lodgings once you arrive. Think of it as part of the test for your confirmation, to see how you fare handling logistics. We already have a ship heading that way in a few days, so your return passage is arranged already." Inside the pouch is 6gp per PC. You'll use this to pay for your trip and lodging in Cassomir.

"And hey, think fast!" Farabellus quickly draws two items and tosses them at Dewin and Ennillee! Both are able to nimbly catch what quickly reveal themselves to be vials of dark green liquid, each labeled 'lesser antidote'. Laughing, he also pulls out an everburning torch and slides it across the table to you. Sorrina rolls her eyes at his antics and hands you three more vials, these labeled ‘minor healing potion’, while Kreighton hands over a wayfinder. "You'll receive one of these of your own once you are confirmed as full agents, but you can borrow this one for now."

Any other preparaions or questions before heading to the docks to arrange passage?

Dewin pipes up. Er, ah...I've heard tell that the swamps are dangerous, no? He looks at Zalmora. You'll makes sure we don't die horribly in the quicksand, right?

"Swamps ain't so bad if'n y' know where t' step. I may haf been born in the mountains over a desert, but I've done me research on swamps, too. We'll be fine, lad." replies Ingmar to Dewin. "I s'pose you are a bit like other cats... ye' don' wanna get yer feet wet?"

Ennillee laughs. "I suppose you'd hate where I came from, then! The whole Monastery of Unbreaking Waves in underwater!"

Attend. Fashion and knowledge are Gobo's two favorite armors, in that order. Gobo cannot give others the former, but he freely shares the latter.

Cassomir is wretched city, filled with squalor and scoundrels. Incognizant foreigners make easy marks.

… And in these pestilent swamps he shall walk in the back, allowing others blaze the trail.

Ready to depart. Grabbing a potion for school item

You each start with two hero points (plus any campaign coins), as I'm quite sure there are more six glyphs among you.

Your walk from the Grand Lodge to the docks takes you through much of the Foreign Quarter, its markets and cafes bustling on this sunny afternoon. As you pass into the docks, the type and…repute…of the businesses you pass change, but the energy of the city does not. Eventually, you arrive at the busy waterfront, where you can easily find a list of scheduled departures for the day. Three boats, it seems, are headed toward Cassomir this afternoon, so you have your choice of berths:

"Some dwarf. Keeping a ship in that condition. Such disrespect." mumbles Ingmar.

"I don' know 'bout you all, but I ain't a one fer no fancy private staterooms and elegant parties. Three squares be good enough fer me, jus' as long as it is brown, hot, and plenty of it! My vote be fer Th' Powerful Hector"

Gobo eyes the sleek Mimosa.

Gold tarnishing in a fetid swamp serves no one. Gobo would savor his life before being flung into the stinking quagmires of Cassomir.

Vote for Mimosa

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to have money left over to hire a guide," Zalmora says, shaking her head at the opulence of the Mimoso. It's obvious that the woodsman feel out of place. "I'd like to get there fast, but surviving the swamp will be the real test. My vote is for the Hector."

Dewin looks over the Opportune. Um...no.

Then looks over the Mimosa. Um...no.

Then looks at the Powerful Hector. That'll do.

That's three votes for the Hector, one for the Mimosa. I'll give it until tomorrow after my morning meeting to see if Alladin or Ennillee want to weigh in, then move us along.

"Ingmar, my dwarf, you just need someone to introduce and guide you through the finer things in life. And thank the gods above I am just that Kobold. I will have you stylin and profilin by the end of this watery ride. Trust me, Ingmar. You and me in the stateroom sippin the finest of wines, nibblin the delcatest of delicacies... UMM. You know you want to."

"With a name like Mimosa I can not abide anything less as it is a matter of personal pride that I ride the waves in style."

"I jus' be wantin' to get safely across th' sea, here. Spent far too much time on ships lately. If Torag had wanted the dwarves t' be on the seas, he'd a' given 'em gills and fins!"

Aladdin looks aghast at Ingmar. "Ingmar, are you saying you are doubting the Godfather of the Forge in his infinite wisdom of creation?"

He then winks at the dwarf.

Gobo nods at Alladin. Alladin possesses both and wisdom. Gobo approves.

Finally sampan speaking his language! He walks along the kobold, twiring his fauchard and occasionally dropping it on the ground.

"Not at all." replies Ingmar. "Jus' statin' the facts. Dwarves ain't sea-folk. We're stone folk. We sink like rocks, but are as durable as them as well. The Forgefather knew what 'e was doin'."

"Whoa! Gobo, brother! You can not just be swinging this big ol' spear of yours all over the joint! You might hit me. I have very delicate skin. You do seem like a hobgoblin of wealth and taste, brother. Come, let us discuss the finer things in life. I guarantee you; we will not talk about mud."

"I don't think we need anything too fancy. The Powerful Hector should get us there in time."

A look of confusion crosses Aladdin's face as he looks at the undine. Vague arm motions flit and stop before he shrugs his shoulders and turns back to Gobo. "Heathens..."

"Whoa! Gobo, brother! You can not just be swinging this big ol' spear of yours all over the joint! You might hit me. I have very delicate skin. You do seem like a hobgoblin of wealth and taste, brother. Come, let us discuss the finer things in life. I guarantee you; we will not talk about mud."

Gobo savors the compliment. The definition of "Elegance," Alladin Sarsippius Sulamanagic the Third, is "taste with a dash of daring." Thus, there is little room in life to accomodate caution! The fauchard plonks into a nearby cart. In which hand did the Runelord hold his elegant polearm? Was it stuck strikingly into a cart? These are ephemeral details. What will be remembered is that Gobo had style in all things. This is immutable. The Runelord pulls the polearm out of the cart and trots away before the stevedore notices, and talks with the kobold about sewer dragon fashion.

Over the protestations of Gobo and Alladin (both of whom look wistfully at the Mimosa as it pulls away from the dock and heads out to see), you book your passage on the Powerful Hector. True to the captain’s word, the ship is solid, the meals are hearty, and though the accommodations are anything but luxurious, they are clean and comfortable enough.

You arrive in Cassomir 6 days later, as predicted, and disembark into the bustling port city. Emerging into the Imperial Naval Shipyards district, you have no trouble finding Rain’s last-known position: the Three-Legged Frog inn, its tell-tale sign bearing the image of frog standing on two hind legs while drool from its mouth acts as a third leg to keep the frog’s balance.

Stepping inside, you’re greeted by a friendly halfling woman standing behind the bar. ”Welcome to the Frog, friends! My name’s Aganis, I’m the proprietar here. What can I get you? Something to drink? A warm meal? We have accommodations available as well, if you’re looking for somewhere to stay.”

Gobo has just debarked from a ship of mediocrity. Therefore, he now requires the finest accommodations one can buy for… He counts his gold. Three gold and five silver.

"Ah, well. In that case, I'm afraid the luxury suite is a little out of your reach, but that's certainly enough to cover one of our standard rooms! It's a private room, and comes with fresh linens daily and three hat meals a day at just 25 silver. If you decide you'd rather save a little money instead, we also have a partnership with a hostel down the street. It's nothing fancy, but then again it's only 10 silver and comes with a continental breakfast."

Accommodation options:

Gobo’s eyes tear up as he hears the price structure; his eyeliner runs and the fauchard clatters to the floor.

Aladdin struts forward.

"My dear beautiful Aganis. Please describe for me these luxurious suites of yours?" Aladdin holds her and kisses it.

"Would there be room for say, a kobold and a hobgoblin to share this most delectable of fine rooms? If the answer is yes, why I and my friend Gobo will gladly sign our names to the registry as esteemed guests of the Three-legged Frog. Isn't that right, Gobo?"

"I don' want no bedbugs in me bed, so I'll go wit' th' standard room." says the dwarf, counting out the coins. "Save some moneys for findin' a guide."