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Dozens of Pathfinders begin to assemble and mingle in the grand courtyard of Heidmarch Manor in the great city of Magnimar, Varisia as they wait for a special announcement from the new Venture Captain. Pathfinders are questioned and interviewed about their skill levels and special abilities by eager Pathfinder trainers and scholars. After being questioned, the six of you newly appointed Pathfinders have been assembled into a group. Excitement is in the air and there seems to be plenty of time to get to know your fellow adventuring partners as you wait for the big announcement.
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Physically Leon is a hulking brute. Covered in armor with a nasty sharp farming tool strapped to his massive back he looks quite dangerous. Especially those massive hands that each look like they could snap a normal human in half.
He doesn’t smile much but does offer a meaty handshake with his name, ”Inta da fiah agin, raigh?”
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Intadafiahagin surely isn’t his name, Caelreth thinks to himself. The tall, brown-haired elf-lord gives the mountain of a man a reserved nod and returns the handshake. Armored in scalemail and carrying a long sword and a shield, he replies, “Caelreth. I don’t recognize the accent—the River Kingdoms?”
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An older man joins you, seeming to be part of this group. A cheetah heels closely with him as he walks around to introduce himself. "I'm Beren, and this is Kuti," obviously meaning the smallish cat. He wears simple clothing--all of natural materials--which displays a reasonable amount of wear that looks to be mostly hand-mended, though it's definitely been recently cleaned up--probably for today's event.
He nods approvingly at Leon's scythe. "That'll take heads off if you know what you're doing with it. You look like you do." He offers his hand to the elf. "Glad to see I'm not the oldest one here. How long you been walking this ground, ancient one?"
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Another human, also advanced in age, strides forth adorned in a tall, elongated helmet and vestments of blue, green, and gold. Around his neck, prominently displayed, is a holy symbol bearing a winged eye in a circle.
"Greetings, Pathfinders. Before you stands, Sir Astingaire Morrington—the Last Holy Knight of Aroden,” declares the man as he removes his helmt to show his bald head and white beard.
He looks around at the mass of beings. "I wonder what manner of edict warrants such a gathering?"
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He offers his hand to the elf. "Glad to see I'm not the oldest one here. How long you been walking this ground, ancient one?"
The elf returns Beren’s handshake. “Not long. Only a century,” Caelreth says with a wry smile.
The elf then turns to greet the old man with the winged helm as well. “You’re a paladin then, Sir Astongaire?”
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"If by paladin, you mean a solider who dedicated to the battle against evil," Astingaire replies dismissively. "Then, no. Soldier was but one of many the guises of the immortal Aroden. If the god of humanity does not allow himself to be defined by a single mantle should not I, as one of his faithful, also refuse any such limited manner of title or office?"
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A small red-haired female halfling in a Mithral Chain Shirt armor and a small longsword on her hip comes walking towards you at a fast pace.
She is wearing a regular sized spell component pouch around her waist - and also an adorable little backpack on her back.
The halfling starts shaking the hands of the pathfinders, introducing herself.
"Hello, fellow pathfinders! My name is Corba... Corba Nana. This is my fourth mission! It's nice to meet you all!"
When facing Leon, she looks up and smiles brightly.
"You must be Leon! My friend Merida told me so much about you! I'm exited to be working with you!"
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Malakar is nose deep in a book and barely notices the other Pathfinders surround him. The halfling is nervous and calms his nerves by reading (and re-reading) his spellbook, making sure everything looks good.
"One more page..." he mutters to himself as he flips to the last page.
Eventually he slams his spellbook closed and looks up. He's lost in thought but ready for an adventure. He spots Corba, another halfling.
"Ah hellow there! My name is Malakar. Do I need an introduction?" he smirks and bows flamboyantly. "A wizard here. Do you know what this whole thing is about?"
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"If by paladin, you mean a solider who dedicated to the battle against evil," Astingaire replies dismissively. "Then, no. Soldier was but one of many the guises of the immortal Aroden. If the god of humanity does not allow himself to be defined by a single mantle should not I, as one of his faithful, also refuse any such limited manner of title or office?"
"I...see." The elven paladin makes a note to keep an eye on the human supremacist. Clearing his throat, he turns to the two newcoming halflings.
"Well met, Malakar, Merda. Given the number of us, I'd say it must be an important announcement. Maybe hunting down an evil cult? No, probably something to do with an ancient archaeological dig. But then, maybe we're stopping an evil cult from disrupting a dig?" With a shrug, he finishes, "Who knows?"
At the request of hosts Canayven and Sheila Heidmarch, you have been invited to attend a private meeting at Heidmarch Manor. A large number of your fellow Pathfinders have clearly also been given a similar invitation, however the appearance of Sheila Heidmarch suggests all is about to be made clear. She calls for your attention, and as the noise dies down she begins to speak.
”Dear friends, welcome to Magnimar and the newest Pathfinder Lodge—Heidmarch Manor. For those of you who do not yet know me, my name is Sheila Heidmarch—venture-captain of Magnimar. This lodge is also my home, which I share with my husband Canayven. While we are far from the comforts of the Grand Lodge at Absalom, we shall do our best to accommodate you with our humble Varisian hospitalities. My husband and I both spent many years in the field, so we know well what you do and appreciate that you have answered our summons. We are both extremely grateful to receive you and your support.”
”As you well know, Heidmarch Manor is a new lodge. Presently it is funded almost entirely from my own resources. Although I adore Magnimar, we have as many enemies here as friends. This being the case, I seek to court the favor of more powerful allies, specifically members of the Council of Ushers and the Office of the Lord Mayor.”
”This brings the conversation to our current situation. On one of their more recent salvage runs, the wondrous artificers of the Golemworks uncovered a strange relic while dredging stone from the bottom of Magnimar’s harbor. The relic appears to be some sort of a giant key, etched with ancient Thassilonian runes that their learned arcanists speculate may even predate the coming of the mysterious runelords. Because the key falls outside their area of expertise, the Golemworks donated the curious artifact to the Office of the Lord Mayor. In turn, the Lord Mayor intends to auction off the key to the highest bidder in short order, to fund municipal projects. The auction will be run by the Cathedral of Abadar, gold in hand—meaning immediately after the final bid is accepted, the bidder must pay for his prize in full.”
”We want the key. However, we want it legally. Our establishment in Magnimar is relatively new and our footing tenuous. We need to secure more stable political relationships with the Lord Mayor’s office and the Council of Ushers to ensure the Society’s long term success in this city; especially since the Aspis Consortium already has such a strong foothold here. The legitimate purchase of the Runecarved Key from the local authorities would demonstrate our respect for the city’s government, which would go a long way toward improving our public image with these people.”
”That said, we can greatly increase our chances of winning the auction by persuading our competition to back out. While there are some we believe we can outbid, we are a new lodge with far fewer funds than many. Thus, we must find out who else is interested in the key, how much they can bid, and whether or not we can knock them out of the auction.”
”To assure our success, our espionage must be extensive. Therefore we have divided the task between our agents. While division stands to place field operatives in greater danger, we cannot risk revealing ourselves by working en masse. If you are discovered, we will disavow any association with you. We cannot aid you if you get arrested or fall into the clutches of the enemies of our Society. While this is unfortunate, I hope you can understand our position.”
”For now, please make yourselves at home. We have provided accommodations for each of your groups. Feel free to drop off your things and prepare yourselves. Then meet me in the manor’s theater in five minutes.”
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The nice lady drones on about getting something and subtlety, not Leon’s strong points. He figures his allies will point him at the threats or they will be so obvious he won’t need any help. Then he realizes he should tell them this.
”I ain’t a sneak. I ain’t a talkah. But if’n we getsta trubbah, I kno whatta do.”
Even before the venture-captain arrives, the theater in Heidmarch Manor is crammed with Pathfinders. Heidmarch enters quietly, then slips through the crowd, takes the stage, and speaks.
”Tonight, the Council of Ushers is sponsoring a pre-auction gala, to be hosted at the Cathedral of Abadar. During the party, the auctioneers intend to display the Runecarved Key in order to entice potential bidders. Anyone serious about entering the auction will be required to place a deposit of ten thousand gold coins in an escrow account at the cathedral.”
”We need you to attend this event, both to submit our deposit as well as to determine who else might be interested in the key. While most of those attending received invitations, the event is semi-private and open to anyone with enough money to place serious bids. While the city provided me with an invitation, my appearance would give our many enemies cause for suspicion. For this reason, I ask that all of you go in my stead, and enter as my proxies. Still, we do not want our enemies to speculate on our own intentions. For this reason, you must keep a low profile and avoid seeming too eager about the key. Each of you will be given a portion of the full deposit to take to the temple to present to Proctor Imikar.”
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One of Sheila's many servants hands you a small metal strong box. She tells you that within is a portion of the deposit in the form of five gold trade bars, each worth 100 gold pieces. She reminds you to be sure to give it to the Proctor at the Cathedral.
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Upon your arrival to the Cathedral of Abadar, you witness a steady stream of guests as they ascend the stairs and enter the cathedral’s main sanctuary where the viewing is being held. Rows of paladins donning white tabards stitched with the golden key of Abadar flank the main entrance. Their hands clench tightly around their gleaming swords as they stand almost motionless, ever-vigilant stares upon their faces.
As you enter through the great double doors, various acolytes and priests greet you and invite the Pathfinders to partake in food and beverages while they mingle about.
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"If there are no objections, I will handle the strong box," Caelreth says.
Readjusting his equipment, the elven paladin takes the strong box in hand and accompanies the group as it makes its way to the Cathedral of Abadar. Once inside, he casts around to see if he can find someone who looks like a proctor (or 'the Proctor,' specifically).
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Leon eyes the elf, then shrugs. He don't care if someone else has to lug the thing around. Why he had to lug an actual person around on one mission. It ain't really that fun.
At the party he sees the snacks and heads over to help himself. Knowing this is a mission he keeps his drinking to a minimum. After all, he has to carry his tray of food so there is only one hand free for a drink. That seems to be a good way to limit himself.
The temple is abuzz with activity as potential buyers mingle among themselves, enjoying the refreshments and chatting. Acolytes bustle here and there, bringing out more food and directing the incoming flow of people.
Leon heads over to one of the tables to fill a plate with hors d'oeuvres while Caelreth glances about for the proctor. Sure enough, Caelreth spots an Osirion man standing on the pulpit garbed in the most elegant robes of an Abadaran high-priest and wearing a tall miter headdress collecting the bids and logging entries into a ledger.
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Astingaire eyes the strong box. He gives the elf a glance, but makes no objection when the paladin hefts the chest. Inside the temple, Astingaire taps the elf on the shoulder, points to the Abadarn high-priest, and motions for the elf to present the strong box.
"I am by your side should you need additional assistance," he adds, though his voice does not much reassurance within its tone.
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Caelreth dutifully follows after Berenstein. How were we supposed to log this? he wonders to himself. As Pathfinders? Or are we already incognito? Maybe as an adventuring company? 'Caelreth's Champions of Order'? Or maybe 'Durothil's Dragoons'....? Eh, I'll let the others do the talking.
The elven paladin smiles at the presumed proctor and hefts the box a bit, adjusting its weight to bring the box to the man's attention.
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"Well, go on," Astingaire urges the Abadaran, "please log the deposit so that we can get down to business, yes?"
The old man leans in, closer to the priests headdress. "This is Magnimar, after all, is it not? You are familiar with the Sczarni families, I presume? Neither they, nor their associates, are much known for their patience."
The Proctor smiles at your approach and nods his head in greeting.
"Ahh. Yes, yes. Welcome. I am Proctor Jyronn Imikar."
He says in a soft and pleasant Osirion accent. "Now, then... Is this deposit being made on your behalf or are you representatives for another party?"
The proctor opens his ledger and stares at Caelreth, waiting for a name to jot into the ledger...
The proctor gets a nervous look when Astingaire mentions the Sczarni.
"Ah! Splendid! Another part of the payment. I already have Mrs. Heidmarch of The Pathfinder Society written down. I'll just put another tick to note another part has been paid..."
Beren tries to get a quick glance at the ledger, however, the Proctor moves his arm in the way. Beren is unable to see any of the names before the book is closed.
The names you notice in the ledger and the organizations they are representing...
Falrig Sneeve = no organization listed.
After catching a glimpse of names, you head back to the main area and regroup with the others. Leon has a plate piled high with food. He holds a dainty little cucumber and brie sandwich between two of his large fingers, then pops the little thing in his mouth.
Having just regrouped, and before a word is muttered amongst your team about the names you got a glance of, a squat man in white robes steps upon the cathedral dais to address the room. A large object covered with a sheet of silvery fabric sits on the altar next to him.
Introducing himself as the sexton of Magnimar’s High Cathedral of Abadar, he greets his guests with a broad, welcoming smile.
“Good evening, friends! I’m pleased to see so many of our distinguished and honored guests could attend. For those of you not fortunate enough to have participated in our pre-auction festivities, please feel free to take part in all of the luxuries and wonders within these halls. And with my welcome, I have the pleasure of unveiling the auction’s feature lot... Enjoy!”
Upon uttering the final word, he pulls the veil to reveal a large "key" which stands roughly 3 feet tall when set on its Sihedron-shaped base, and is made of stone etched with glowing arcane symbols.
Oohs! and Ahhs! erupt from the crowd and several people move closer to get a better look at the Runecarved Key. Abadaran guards keep awestruck and curious onlookers from getting too close.
The crowd is an eclectic mix of landholders, merchants, and other notable figures from all over Varisia, wide-eyed and curious to glimpse the mysterious Runecarved Key. Hired servants weave through the crowd bearing luxurious platters of fruits, cheese, pastries, and oysters, or trays topped with crystal goblets of heady red wine. Guests mingle slowly, socializing amicably but cautiously with longtime acquaintances, as they feel out potential competitors.
However, besides the ever-vigilant Abadaran guards who are known to be battle-hardened warriors, you do spot...
A gaunt, fashionably dressed Chelaxian handshakes his way through the room, accompanied by a half-dozen followers who appear to be equal parts attendant and bodyguard.
It appears a few of those attendant bodyguards are about your size and may know a thing or two about wrastlin'.
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"I have uncovered the names of three of the likely competitors," Astingaire quietly informs the other agents. "One Falrig Sneeve with no organization listed, a Kresh Vaor of Underbridge Exports, and an independent named Dymal Rinks."
"This 'Sneeve' poses the most mystery, though a company like Underbridge Exports may be more likely to have the means to acquire the Key," Astingaire continues.
Astingaire asks a group of passing servants about Falrig Sneeve. One of them tells you that the man is extremely superstitious. They point you to...
Toward the back of the room stands a gray-haired man in his early fifties, dressed in fine silken robes and flanked by two muscular guards. The man nervously fingers a small silver coin, flipping it about in his fingers.
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Malakar's eyes lighten up when he sees the Runescarred Key. "Oh me, oh my. What a wonderful treasure. I wonder what it does exactly? They probably will never tell someone as lowly as us." He seems to be talking to no one in particular.
He watches Corba wander off and decides to join her, "Us halflings have to stay together, don't you know."
Corba and Malakar stick together to inquire about Dymal Rinks. They chat up a halfling servant who wears a charcuterie platter on her head.
"I know. Humiliating, right?"
She says with a roll of her eyes.
"At least some of the longshanks don't think it's funny and actually feel sorry for me."
Asking her about Dymal Rinks, she points at...
A squat halfling, dressed in plain clothes skates about the edge of the crowd, his eyes flitting back and forth between the key and the exit.
She tells you that Rinks is a compulsive gambler and spent the past three months in Magnimar betting on the bullfights at the Matador’s Lodge. The halfling has run up a sizable debt with the lodge’s sadistic proprietor Master Basaale Minvandu, a ruthless businessman who likely wants to break the halfling’s legs.
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Having divested himself of the strongbox, Caelreth wanders into the crowd to make inquiries about the Aspis representative, Maiveer Sloan. “I hear the Aspis Consortium is interested in the key,” he says to someone nearby. “I imagine that bunch is worth watching. Do you know what their man looks like?”
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Toward the back of the room stands a gray-haired man in his early fifties, dressed in fine silken robes and flanked by two muscular guards. The man nervously fingers a small silver coin, flipping it about in his fingers.
Astingaire approaches the man.
"A fine coin you have," he says, pointing to the silver. "I admit that I am not a local, but it does not appear to me to be of Varisian or Magnimar minting. Tell me, are you a collector of coins? Or are there greater treasures to be had here that have struck your fancy?"
Caelreth asks an attendant about any Aspis Consortium agents that may be interested in the key.
He points at a group of bodyguards surrounding a gaunt, fashionably dressed Chelaxian.
"Yes, that's Maiveer Sloan of the Aspis Consortium over there."
You can see Leon trying to chat up one of Sloan's bodyguards who doesn't seem at all interested in being bothered as he places a hand on the grip of his blade and leans into Leon's face.
"It appears your friend is about to get into trouble."
The Abadaran attendant says with a look of dismay.
Caelreth quickly makes his way over as the bodyguard, nearly a head taller than Leon, gets in his face.
"Back off, knave."
The bodyguard snarls at Leon.
"The boss ain't takin' no 'pointments at this time."
The Aspis Agent stops and turns to see what the hubbub is about. He gently brushes his bodyguard aside.
"What's going on here, Rex?"
The Aspis agent looks Leon up and down with a cocky grin.
"Is there something we can help you with, friend? Are you lost, or just an imbecile?"
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Leon looks down at the punk and gives his usual shrug, ”Naw, ain’t lost an ain’t no royal fancy pants whatever you called me, jus heah fer da food.”
He looks down at his plate, seeing it less full than it should be and heads back to the table.
I bet that one’s a screamer. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find out later.
Astingaire Morrington
Beren Stane
Corba Nana
Leon the Brute
Malakar Wandermore
Caelreth Durothil