You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
Sorry about that, he says with a wink. I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…? Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors. As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.
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Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
A tall, stalky half-orc is somewhat taken aback as the figure approaches. He begins to reach for the large, wooden staff strapped to his back, but pauses when he catches a whiff of the figure's clothes. Once he sees the Venture-Captain's face, he throws his head back with a hardy laugh.
John laughs. "Good one, Old Man! You nearly had me bashing your skull!"
The bulky man tries to hold back more chuckles, as Dreng continues speaking. Clearly, he thinks quite highly of the Venture-Captain's sense of humor. When Dreng finishes speaking, John declares loudly, "Our grand adventure is a trek to a tavern, then? I think I shall indeed enjoy my time as Pathfinder!"
A catfolk enters the room dressed in light armor.
"Rrr...I am Rouqar. I am new to the Society."
"Come, Rougar!" John says, slapping a meaty palm on the back of the feline Pathfinder. "Let us explore this tavern! Together, we shall delve to the bottom of each stein, mug, glass, or pitcher! Let us leave none unexplored!"
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As the party head towards the Wounded Wisp, Tarin shuffles along behind the party. The scruffy, weather-beaten halfling cuts a rather sorry figure, with his damp clothes and slight limp. "I'll be glad to get to that tavern and out of this miserable weather." He muses, before realising that he'd still not properly introduced himself to everyone. "Oh, sorry, how rude of me, I'm Tarin. It's nice to meet you all." he says with a smile ”I’m new to all of this, so I'm still getting my bearings.”
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A younger human male, with dusty brown hair walks through the streets. He has a spike gauntlet securely fastened to one arm as his leather armor has seen better days. He stops as the stranger asks for spare coin. Much like the larger half-orc he balled up the spiked gauntlet in case the man gets handed with his coin purse.
Hmph, I should have known it was you ya old codger as he sees the face of the prestigious Venture-Captain. Between him and me you could’ve been seriously hurt ya dummy as he looks to the half-orc. Matéo might not know whom he is, but anyone willing to ‘punch first, and ask second’ is alright in his book.
A parcel huh..knowing the stories I’ve heard of you it ain’t that easy old man. I’ll bite though, if nothing else it will get me out of the accursed damned rain. Screw you Gozreh! as he curses the duality god/goddess and of nature and weather.
Matéo will check his coin purse, and feel to make sure the weight is all there. He then put his head down as heads towards the Wounded Wisp.
Matéo will look up as the halfling pipes up, the name’s Matéo Cole. I’ve always been a dick, and that prolly ain’t gonna ever change neither.
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Navigating the rain slickened streets, a cloaked figure joins the others. Once inside the Wisp, the deep hood is pulled back to reveal a gorgeous gray-skinned tiefling. A ready smile dances across her lips as she greets the others. "Well met fellow agents. Please, call me Dia." She hangs her cloak on a wall peg. She stands in the hallway, her scale armor gleaming in the light. After a moment, she decides to keep her nodachi strapped to her back. With a nod, she tightens the scabbard belt and moves deeper into the bar. "This looks like a Hell of a place for a first date. Come along boys. Maybe you can show a girl a good time."
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Suddenly, a massive humanoid half-breed that resembles a boar-like lycanthrope appears.
His skin is covered with short grey-pink fur and he has two boar horns on his head!
It is clear that the more bestial aspects of his animalistic ancestors dominate his appearance.
This humanoid exhibits sharp teeth and although he is wearing a breatplate armor, and has a morningstar at his side, it is clear that his feet are more bestial than human and resemble hooves.
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Zamin is pleased that he finally made it to the mission ... finally some action.
"I am late. But I am here now. Anything to smash already?!” he says and looks at all of you.
"I am Zamin. Member of the Pathfinder Society."
Thanks to the map the Venture-Captain gave you reaching the Wounded Wisp is a pretty easy task. The building is not too far from the Grand Lodge, down the street going West. The place looks like any other dive bar, when you enter the you find yourselves in a long wooden hallway decorated with many adventurer's trophies. The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within. There are already a handful of groups relaxing around the bar, enjoying drink and food.
Woah, says the woman at the bar to Zamin, slow down pal! Beer's coming, but I can't leave the place unattended, you'll have to wait 'til my replacement shows up. She takes a look at the party, as if she's assessing your worth, May take a while, so why don't you get comfortable and mingle a bit with the other Society members? You lot seem like new blood, wouldn't hurt you to chat with some seasoned Pathfinders.
She brings you each a beer—unless you clearly say you want something else to drink—and a bowl of fried sliced potatoes. The beer's quite good, and the snack tasty.
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"This establishment was frequented by the original members of the Pathfinder Society before the Society was even formed," recalls John as he takes in the sights. "Here, acquaintances would share stories about their adventurous exploits with one another. And, no doubt, imbibe a good deal!"
The half-orc walks up to the bar. "A mug of ale--in your tallest mug! Better make it two, no three!"
He then turns to his fellow Pathfinders, "Oh, and would any of you like something to drink?"
Who can I challenge here?!?
You see a couple of half-orcs, a man and a woman, looking strong and fit. They're sitting at a not too distant table by themselves, drinking and eating. They look like the toughest guys in the Wisp.
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Matèo was never much for conversation or small-talk. He happily accepted the beer when offered, and picked a spot kinda back from everyone. He sipped the beer, as he watched those around him.
Not bad ale…and food. I’ll have to remember this place next time I’m hungover he thought as he relaxed waiting for the joint to close down.
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Dia looks Zamin up and down approvingly. "This is a being after my own heart. "Tell me Zamin, do you approach every task with such gusto?"
She begins eating the potatoes. "Very insightful Hohn. You must be our resident sage."
Zamin grunts. “Dia, right? Yes, the day is for the taking. Why waste time?! Look over there. Let’s see if those half-orcs are as fit as they look!“
He walks over and sits down at their table uninvited.
”I am Zamin! Who are you? Adventures? Soldiers? Mercenaries?“ he asks bluntly.
He walks over and sits down at their table uninvited.
”I am Zamin! Who are you? Adventures? Soldiers? Mercenaries?“ he asks bluntly.
By my axe! Look Garl, we have company! says the female half-orc, grinning at Zamin.
Well, this sure is a hairy boy, Shrade! the male half-orc chugs the remainder of his beer, Haven't seen one so furry since that time we fought that overgrown puppy, remember?
Oh, I remember well enough, the girl says stroking her fur collar. So, who are you boy, and why you come here to our table? We are the Boartusk Twins, Shrade and Garl! You want to chat or to test our trength? You seem like one looking for a challenge!
Headbutting? the half-orc looks at Zamin's horns Yeah, so that you'll have an edge over me? Are you trying to kill me? Or worse, cheat?
She bursts into a hearty laugh Ahahah, I'm kidding friend, but let's make it something none of us will have any advantage: arm wrestle! She pumps her right bicep, So, you're in?
The half-orc woman sits in front of Zamin, takes his hand in hers and starts the arm-wrestle competition.
The match doesn't last long, and Zamil emerges as the clear winner. Damn friend says the woman, you sure know how to show your strength! Well done!
Oh! Oh! Me next! says the man excitedly, pushing away his sister and putting his elbow on the table with a "thud".
The two warriors start their challenge!
This time is the half-orc who comes out victorious Yes! he howls, pumping his fist in the air, And this means I'm also stronger than you, Shrade!
Yeah yeah, you just managed to beat this hairy boy because I've softened him up for you! says the sister, tapping his finger on her brother's bare chest.
Anyway, that was a real fun challenge! Stay with us a while, we'll drink and share some stories! Are you a Pathfinder too? the woman asks Zamin, while gesturing a waitress to come at the table.
Tarin glances around the room to see if there is anyone who looks like they may be interesting to talk to while the party wait.
Tarin has a pretty good view over the Wisp and its patrons from where he's standing. Plenty of interesting people to talk to, but three of them catch the halfling's attention in particular: an halfling woman talking to a group of very attentive folks in the southwestern corner of the room, a middle-aged man sitting alone and reading a book at the table past the bar, and a lone man in a turban eating his meal at the southern end of the raised part of the room.
The halfling is in the company of a small group of Society newbloods, all intent on listening carefully. She's talking about Durvin Gest and the fabled Lens of Galundari, as far as Tarin can understand.
So you see, Galundari was this very powerful balor lord who earned the title "Scourge of Heaven" thanks to numerous and very successful raids in Heaven. The Archmage Nex, whom I hope you all know about, asked for its aid in the creation of the Lens, and later lured and trapped the demon in that very creation with the help of a vengeful solar. As far as we know no one has ever heard of the balor lord since Gest threw the artifact into the Nemesis Well, but there are still some die hard servants of Galundari researching the Well and looking for a way to release their master.
Oh, but I see we are getting more attention from the patrons of this fine locale, the woman eyes Tarin and gestures him to approach, come, come, don't be shy, we're all here to learn more about the Society and share each other's stories. She extends a hand to greet him, My name is Janira Gavix, newly appointed Pathfinder, but long time Society enthusiast.
Oh, I won't say no to another challenge, pretty face! the woman puts her elbow on the table, takes Matéo hand in hers, and starts the arm wrestling.
Maybe it's Matéo superior strength, maybe Shrade has had one too many beer, but Matéo manages to win the challenge quite easily.
Wo- Ouch! exclaims the half-orc, massaging her aching wrist That was rough... I like it! You're strong and handsome, maybe I like you too she says with a smirk on her lips.
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"Nice to meet you Janira, I'm Tarin." say Tarin "You seem very knowledgeable about the history of the Pathfinders for someone who has only recently joined."
"I'm quite new to Society as well. In fact if you don’t include that strange dream I had where I was a goblin, I'm currently on my first proper assignment for the Society"
Nice to meet you Tarin! says the woman, shaking Tarin's hand, Yes, I know a good deal about the Sciety's history, but it's not something I started studying just a couple months ago. She takes a sip of her drink, You see, before my confirmation I've spent three years studying at the Grand Lodge, like all the Pathfinders who didn't got a Field Commission, and I've been fascinated with the Society since I was a kid, so mine is a hoard of knowledge built well before I put foot in the Grand Lodge.
The small group of listeners makes space for anyone who wants to join, bringing more seats from the vacant tables around, So you're on your first assignment, eh? Anything exciting? Usually the Venture-Captains don't send new recruits to exciting places at first, but maybe you're an exception! So, what is it about?
"Hello...I'm a new Pathfinder and missed my Confirmation!"
What do you mean "missed"? Did you overslept? Or did you failed it? Well, If you failed it I'm sorry about it, but at least you didn't fail too hard and still have your fur on yourself!
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John walks around the table until he finds a view of the arm wrestling contest that he prefers.
"Don't get too full of yourself, My Friend," he cautions Matéo after his victory. "When you beat one arm, chance are that the other one's still in the fight--and may soon be bringing legs to bear and teeth to boot!"
"Knock out the head, on the other hand. Then, you've got yourself a victory worth celebrating!"
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So you're on your first assignment, eh? Anything exciting? Usually the Venture-Captains don't send new recruits to exciting places at first, but maybe you're an exception! So, what is it about?
"To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure. Venture Captain Dreng has asked us to pick up a package for him from here. I have no idea if that's the full extent of it, or if he has any further plans for us."
“Can we get the bottle now?!“
Easy friend, I've told you I need to wait for my replacement says the woman at the bar, When I'm free to leave the bar I'll come to you, ok? Now go and enjoy your drink.
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Tarin glances around the room to see if there is anyone who looks like they may be interesting to talk to while the party wait.Tarin has a pretty good view over the Wisp and its patrons from where he's standing. Plenty of interesting people to talk to, but three of them catch the halfling's attention in particular: an halfling woman talking to a group of very attentive folks in the southwestern corner of the room, a middle-aged man sitting alone and reading a book at the table past the bar, and a lone man in a turban eating his meal at the southern end of the raised part of the room.
Zamin is super bored.
He walks to the man that is reading a book and sits down uninvited again.
“You man. Tell me what you are reading! I am Zamin!“ he says bluntly.
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"Hello...I'm a new Pathfinder and missed my Confirmation!"What do you mean "missed"? Did you overslept? Or did you failed it? Well, If you failed it I'm sorry about it, but at least you didn't fail too hard and still have your fur on yourself!
"Ha no.." Rouqar seems distracted and looks at his fur. "I've just arrived in the city two days ago. I've heard some other Pathfinders talking about it but I didn't join them as I was occupied!"
"Ha no.." Rouqar seems distracted and looks at his fur. "I've just arrived in the city two days ago. I've heard some other Pathfinders talking about it but I didn't join them as I was occupied!"
Oh, so you're here with a Field Commission then! I'm sorry you missed a Confirmation, but don't worry, you will have the chance to assist one anytime soon Janira puts a hand on Rouqar shoulder, her smile is very reassuring.
She looks at Tarin Oh, an assignment from Venture-Captain's Dreng, eh? He's quite peculiar, a genius some would say. Who knows what can be inside that package? Well, what's stopping you from getting it? Janira gives herself a slight slap on the forehead Of course, probably Heryn is stuck behind the bar until someone else replaces her. Well, if you'd like to wait here with us, I can tell you something you don't know about our little friendly group, what do you say?
”Sounds intriguing .” says Tarin. ”I like a good story.”
And I like good listeners! says Janira cheerfully.
Well, surely you know that the Wounded Wisp is considered the place where the Pathfinder Society was born, but do you know how it was born? You sure know that Durvin Gest, Adolphus, Eylysia, Selmius Foster and other remarkable adventurers of the time used to meet in this very place to discuss their findings during their travels throughout Golarion, but why the Wisp of all the pubs and taverns of Absalom? Well, guess what: it was the last place they used to visit during their pub crawls! You know, those trips you do with your friends throughout all the drinking places in the city, to get so drunk you can barely keep your feet on the ground? Well, that was the spark that ignited the birth of the greatest and widest Society in the Inner Sea! Isn't that great?
The halfling then goes on recounting various anecdotes about the Society, its founders, and anything that comes to her mind.
“You man. Tell me what you are reading! I am Zamin!“ he says bluntly.
Waht the- the man almost boggles at Zamin's inquiry, so deep he was into his reading. I beg your pardon? he says with a clearly indignated tone, Where have you left your manners? Do you not have anything better to do than to bother the patrons of this establishment?
He gives a better look at the boar-man from behind his spectacles, and realizing that the individual in front of him looks pretty dangerous, he clears his throat Ahem- If you really want to know, I'm reading through a recount of the military campaigns that brought the Jistka Imperium to its height centuries ago. He adjusts his spectacles on his nose Would you like to be educated on this matter by one of the most renowned military historian in the City at the Center of the World, perhaps? he asks Zamin, maybe a hint of sarcasm in his voice, maybe not.