You have been sent to the recently established Sedeq Lodge in Qadira. The young lodge has quite a reputation for attracting trouble in its short existence. Today you have been summoned to meet with the Venture-Captain, Esmayl ibn Qaradi, for your assignment.
The Venture-Captain is currently occupied in his office, so you must wait in the well furnished waiting room.
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Precious is often mistaken for a toy; the tiny knight of Sarenrae wears a helmet made from a thimble. He's carried aloft on the shoulder of his squire, a one-eyed peasant named Pouk.
Precious's dented plate armor is painted with a crooked yellow sun that has a smiley face. He wobbles around when he carries his lance, which is one size too big.
A little voice booms inside the helmet. Im Sir Precious Thimble, a real actual knight!
Pouk nods. Yessir, dats right an true. An I'm Sir Preciouss squire, Pouk. A real life squire, ain't I? Found each other in Lastwall, we did. He vigorously scratches his behind and burps. Smells like cheap alcohol.
I was a casualty! says Precious. And now Im a knight! He pats a tattered book of Shivalry at his side. If you believe you're a knight hard enough, then you're a knight. Thats the rules.
Last time I was here we ruined a party and blew up a ship in the harbor. In fact this was at least the second ship I seen exploded in the Pathfinder Society. Explosions are very shivalrous. Hopefully we got more of that on the way.
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A far older looking man, dressed in an off-white set of robes with an even whiter beard slowly shuffles down the hallway. He is an obvious man of faith as a softly glowing halo slowly revolves around his head a few inches from the top, it's light illuminating his face in a holy fashion. "Well met Thimble, I am Ithuriel." He offers a gentle smile. "I have been sent from Heaven itself to usher in the God of this World. Perhaps today with be rewarding for both of us."
"What rewarding task are you all here for today?" He asks the Venture-Captain.
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"Do you serve the Dawnflower, Sir Thimble?" a gruff voice calls from beneath a hood. "Or do you mock her countenance?" Two scarred, green hands pull the hood back to reveal the equally scarred face of an orc, framed by a thick beard. His eyes are trained on the smiley-faced sun emblazed on Thimble's armor, a sharp contrast from the battle-scarred symbol of a burning sun emblazoned across his own splint mail. Wisps of smoke seem to escape, barely visible, from the seams of his armor.
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"What? Sarenrae counts ants? Well, I wouldn't laugh at her if she did.
All I know is Sarenrae helps anybody be their best, and that's my goal. I drew this myself 'cause Knights make their own tabards, an' I had to make due with what I had stabbing my way free of Lastwall!" Precious waves around his lance; Pouk winces and covers his other good eye.
Precious flexes his beefy little muscles and proudly shows his tabard. And I'm still working on being the best knight of Sarenrae there ever was!
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A lanky, bald half-elf with the bronzed skin of an Garundi greets the assembled Pathfinders as they wait for the Venture-Captain. Well met, friends, he says, raising his right hand with his palm facing them — a traditional Osiriani 5greeting. I am Hampton Candlewood, Pathfinder and special envoy to the Society from the Risen Guard of the Ruby Prince.
A scholarly hijabi halfling enters the lodge, burdened with a carefully wrapped package, peering out from behind it to catch her bearings. She leans her face against the silk wrapping to straighten her glasses before noticing anyone.
"Ah, hello? Is Esmayl ibn Qaradi here? I brought a gift to welcome you all," she pipes. Noticing Olov and Unusk the halfling, which the two recognize as Casira bint Meji, simultaneously beams and flushes. "Olov! Unusk! A pleasure to see you again! I'll never be able to thank you enough for rescuing me. At least this library isn't full of lava, right?" She chuckles nervously.
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Another orc offers a large hand to shake Thimble's. "Well met. I am Unusk of Hold Burning Sun. My friend and I joined together after we were impressed with the Society's efforts at Gallow Spire some years ago."
She herself has a holy symbol of Sarenrae painted on her armor, along with a scimitar at her side.
She smiles at Casira, though the effect does draw attention to her prominent tusks.
"Casira! It is a pleasure to be here again and to see you."
"Could you do me a favor?" Casira asks and then flushes. "Not that I'm not already quite indebted to two of you. I brought this gift for Esmayl ibn Qaradi." She hefts the large, silk wrapped package in her arms. "It's the Bones of Paresh, a contemporary Qadiran perspective on the Taldan counter-offensive across the Plains of Paresh in 4324 AR, with first hand details and historian notations on ancient battlefields." She bumps her glasses back up her nose with the edge of the package.
"Would you mind giving it to Esmayl when he's ready for you?" She proffers the book. "Ah. Maybe someone other than Olov should hold it. It's rather flammable." She grins sheepishly. "I'd like to peruse the lodge's library while I'm here."
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Wow a real living god?! Tell me more…
Precious is then easily distracted when he meets another Sarenrite and salutes her. A knight is supposed to raise their visor when they meet a fellow, but I can't. You see Precious was once a toy, so his visor is built in.
I already have a book, thanks. Precious holds up his Shivalry book.
"Many thanks!" Casira says as she is relieved of the heavy book. "Now to see what Esmayl has in his library." She hustles off into the hall and toward the lodge's library.
Several minutes later, two Pathfinders exit the Venture-Captain's office.
"Where are we going to find a boat to Okeno on such short notice?" one comments to the other with a hint of exasperation.
"Don't worry! We're Pathfinders," the other encourages the first. "There's always at least one ship leaving for the place you're going." He looks towards those of you waiting. "The Venture-Captain is ready for you."
The two continue on to the hallway discussing what to pack for their trip.
Inside the office, a dozen plain wooden chairs surround the room’s long central table, piled high with scrolls and tomes. Venture-Captain Esmayl ibn Qaradi smiles and stands in welcome. "Welcome, my friends and colleagues. Please, join me and partake of some refreshment to wash the dust from your throats so we may speak comfortably." He gestures to several enchanted carafes of cold beverages and trays of fruit and cheese, all carefully separated from the documents.
"We at last can explore the vast opportunities our new position in Sedeq offers. There’s quite the surplus of leads, and I hope to impose on your help looking through these documents for where we should venture first. And I see you have brought a gift as well. I thought I overheard Casira’s kind voice in the hall. She has gone to plunder our archives further no doubt--what a commendable curiosity. Let us see what she has brought so I may thank her properly."
The venture-captain carefully unfolds the cloth, revealing a centuries-old tome embossed with ornate Kelish writing. More remarkable is the intricate haath phool resting atop the book, its fine golden threads decorated with diamonds.
"Magnificent, but quite unexpected from our friend Casira. What do you make of it?"
The venture-captain pick up and examines the Bones of Paresh, giving you time to investigate the haath phool, a delicate piece of jewelry with curling golden threads embedded with diamonds attaching a ring to the middle finger, and then along the hand to the wrist.
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"Those who follow the Steps will be rewarded. Those who turn from His path shall have neither." Ithuriel explains with some much needed excitement. He grabs a drink from the refreshment tray and takes a small sip.
"That is indeed a book of binding," Ithuriel confirms. "Are you looking to bind an elemental?" He asks curiously.
Strong winds blow the doors closed, though barely fluttering the papers. The sudden rush of air coalesces into an elegantly dressed djinni wearing multi-colored silks, their azure skin draped with jewelry of gold and bright lapis lazuli. The djinni’s arms are bare, decorated only with barely visible cerulean scars.
"Sharp eyes and very shrewd, as I would expect of you, Pathfinders! For today, I come to you as Safa the unbound! I am at last free of that wretched skelm, Fasiel ibn Sazadin. Neither he nor... any other... can long contain one as clever as I. But he still poses a threat to you, while I desire his capture and that he see mortal justice. Perhaps if there were some heroic Pathfinders willing to see this done, we would all get what we want." Safa gives the room a grin, floating effortlessly in the air.
Esmayl stands in formal greeting. "You honor us with your presence, noble Safa. Let our hospitality be your pleasure in this time we have together." The djinni smiles at the formal welcome and respectfully accepts an offered cup. "Perhaps you might explain the situation further? This Fasiel has certainly proved our enemy, and you spoke of one behind him when you last appeared, our true foe."
The djinni raises their hands in warning. "If only the matter were so simple! Don’t ask me of them, but know their influence stretches across the city. They find Fasiel useful still, and before I managed my daring escape, I learned this enemy shall move their puppet to a new hidden lair before the sun rises tomorrow. He, and those he has captured, genie and mortal alike, will vanish. His patron would slow the city’s response, so I come to you. I can guide you to the skelm’s lair, where I leave it to you to ensure his capture."
"The fool of a skelm, it was easy to plant the idea in his head of 'improving' his control over me with flawed diamonds," Safa says to Olov with a giggle.
"I'm glad to see you're so eager," they note. "Fasiel took over a now-abandoned museum in the city where genie-binding was once celebrated. It lies hidden within subtle illusions, but not so subtle I can’t guide you through them. If one of you would be so kind as to wear my haath phool, it will allow me to speak to and guide you."
"Fasiel's master has granted him a cohort of genies, so I'm afraid you may face a feast of illusion and trickery," Safa says, floating over to pat the orc conciliatorily on the shoulder.
"The skelm uses these genies' power to seal himself in safety and opulence," Safa explains. "You will need to earn their trust or steal some part of their elemental nature to open the way. He is also served by several mortal men who spread misery and fear. They have stolen people and treasures from around the city for him."
They steeple their fingers in front of their lips and gaze down at you. "Few are as brilliant as I at outwitting Fasiel, but you Pathfinders
show promise!"
"There should be one genie from each of the four primary elemental planes," Safa explains. "The poetry of magic in the creation of the ward."
They nod at Olov. "Yes. We should be off! Remember, though," they pause dramatically, "I want this to be a mortal victory and for Fasiel to face mortal justice. Other than leading you to Fasiel's lair, I will help you at most once! So be careful what you wish."
"Despite his past failures, do not underestimate Fasiel," Venture-Captain Esmayl says. "He has powerful allies. Learn what you can about his patron, take the skelm alive, and if possible, do what you can to relieve the harm his crimes have caused and deliver mercy and justice. Let us show the people of Sedeq that the Pathfinders are friendly and helpful new neighbors." He presents you with a wrapped bundle. Inside the bundle are six crystal vials with red liquid inside .
Djinn get along with jann and marids but find shaitans too stiff and harbor undying hatred for efreet. Shaitans culturally love bargaining and games of chance.
Safa's voice directs Olov through the colorful streets of Sedeq. The awnings become more faded, more weathered and less repaired, and the walls become dingier as you follow the directions. Eventually, the streets are drab and the citizens you encounter in this neighborhood glower at or hasten away from you. The friendly chatter of the main streets is replaced with quiet muttering and whispers of people full of suspicion.
You arrive at a dilapidated museum that once showcased the art of genie-binding. An ancient iron archway states in Kelish, "The Grand Binders Museum."
Safa manifests in the swirling sands blowing through the empty street. "The skelm’s hateful influence is a blight on everything near him. But while he delights in other’s misery, he desires only the finest for himself." They snap their fingers, and a sudden sandstorm tears away the illusion around the grand museum, revealing its true glory. Lush gardens and fountains fill the courtyards, while banners bearing Fasiel’s antlered visage adorn the walls. Safa makes a sweeping gesture toward the structure. "I’ve announced us. Let’s not keep him waiting."
Verdant gardens surround the museum grounds, containing radiant flowers of unearthly hues and glittering gemstone fruit. High above, a flock of white birds dances to the mournful sounds of a flute. The rippling, semi-transparent image of Fasiel appears, tall as the building and disrupting the tranquility.
He wears the rich garb of an aristocrat, while two tall antlers protrude from beneath his hat. His red face twists in rage. "Safa! And Pathfinders as well! How dare you intrude on my home. But my power has only grown since we last fought, and I no longer need this useless djinn, for I hold mastery over all genies." The skelm shouts to the sky. "Janni! Heed me and deal with these pathetic fools. Give them a performance to die for!" The image pounds its cane and vanishes.
An invisible voice in the sky pleads. "Stay back, I beg you. I don’t want to hurt anyone." Then the flute resumes.
Safa floats off to dance with the white birds.
The entrance is a pair of wooden double doors that bear an obvious lock.
There is no response to Hampton's overture. The music continues, and the paper birds fly a dance that matches the choreography.
As Ithuriel approaches, the music's tempo and volume increase. The birds swoop down and flying loops across the priest's path as a storm cloud manifests overhead. The supernatural cloud begins to rain torrentially upon you. The wind picks up and whips the rain painfully in your faces.
Go Back! Round 1. Bold may act.
Ithuriel
Hampton
Trap
Precious
Unusk
Olov
Bella
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Ithuriel squints his eyes. "Paper birds you say. Great catch!." Raising his hands fire sputters and fails as they get soaking wet. "Tht is not good." Instead he uses the storm and arcs lightning through the paper.
HP 44/44
AC 21 (+1 Mage Armor; +1 Shield)
Focus Point 1/1
Spells Used:
(1) Mage Armor
(2)
(3)
Staff Charges:
Wand of Heal (1st) 1/1
Healer's Gloves 1/1
Cloak of Repute 1/1
Drain Bonded Item 1/1
Hero Point 3/3
Hamptom finds that Fasiel skimped on the quality of his lock and picks it with ease .
Ithurial chokes as the wind slams his face with rain when he tries to speak the words for his personal warding. Razimir shields him from the weather when he prays for lightning, however, and the arc lances out.
Unfortunately, the birds appear immune to the lightning as it arcs from one to another before jumping into a hedge without damaging a single paper bird .
The flock of paper birds suddenly swirls among you in a swift and dizzying swarm before coalescing into their dancing pattern. Bella manages to dodge the paper beaks. Unusk feels them brushing against her armor forcefully, but none of them touch her skin. Hampton is sliced by a dozen painful papercuts that seep blood. The blood mixes with the rain on the ground.
Precious is surrounded by so many swirling paper birds that sawdust, paint chips, and threads are tossed into the wind .
Now that you have seen the trap in action, you have a sense of how to defeat it. To stop it, you must join it in some way rather than fight against it, though brute force would probably work. Assuming that force is something other than lightning.
Go Back! Round 1. Bold may act.
Ithuriel
Hampton (35/56 hp) (Reflex DC 26 vs. 2d6 persistent bleed)
Trap
Precious (Reflex DC 26 vs. 2d6 persistent bleed)
Unusk
Olov
Bella