We begin our adventure in the gladiator city of Tymon, at Smine’s Weaponworks, famed smithy and clandestine Pathfinder lodge run by the friendly dwarven Venture-Captain and smith, Holgarin Smine.
But before we to Smine's briefing, why don't you introduce yourselves?
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Macondi stops suddenly while headed towards the doors of the lodge, completely fascinated by the life size sculpture of a deer made entirely out of worn out horseshoes that is standing near the hedge nearby. "Well, that's interesting. Never seen something like that before." The Gnome finally notices that he is getting left behind by the rest of the group and hurries to catch up.
Stepping in to the front lobby of the lodge, the Oracle stops and stares once again, almost instinctively beginning to count how many of each type of weapon is on display in the room. "They are art. And I'm sure they could be used too."
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Barak, long blue hair blowing in a breeze that only seems to affect him, grins at Macondi. "I know, right? Look at them all! I wouldn't mind having my room covered in that kind of 'art'!" Then he turns to his fellow gnome and pulls him into a big hug. "I trained for a bit at the gladiatorial school here while you were off adventuring, but I missed you so much! That's why I decided to join you this time! What have you been doing with yourself?"
Barak's dragon tail perks up in excitement. "This will be awesome! Just think of all the trouble we can get in when we're together!"
Then he turns as he sees the rest of the party come in. "Oh, hey, I'm Barak, and this is my pal, Macondi." He extends out his hand to shake, then offers an easy smile. "Macondi's the smart one, but I'm not half bad in a scrap. Who are all of you?"
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"Shadows and specters? Eep!" Barak shudders. "Bro, I'm not good with anything I can't bonk with a flickmace, and you know it. A musty library filled with shadows and specters sounds like exactly my worst nightmare."
Barak drops his head into his hands. "I can hear Grandma now, asking why I don't apply myself more... But I have been applying myself, it's just not to the skills Grandma Beryl is interested in!"
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Macondi shrugs. "The others seemed to bonk them just fine. My mental spells didn't do anything. So I just zapped them." He gives Barak a shove on his shoulder, which ends up moving Macondi more than it does Barak. "And you don't have to convince me that you apply yourself. I've seen you training. It might not be what Grandma expects, but she'll come around."
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A mature looking man dressed in plain wizard robes enters the lodge with a great grin on his face, his elven ears drawing back from joy. "I have longed to see your works - Venture Captain Smine! I am Aztryx and I aspire to build great things as well! You are my idol!"
The plainess of his robes contrasts with the handsomely crafted staff he wields. No jewels or gold adorn it, just a wooden staff finely carved into the shape of a lithe elven maiden.
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The door opens once more somewhat abruptly behind Aztryx. A construct standing over 6 feet and shaped akin to a sphere with stocky arms and legs and a dome shaped head looms in the open doorway. It’s size and stoic stance, shadowed by the interior, may give it a more intimidating appearance than was likely intended.. as indicated by the lopsided smile painted in white across its otherwise featureless face.
”Ugh!” calls out a small raspy voice from behind the construct’s legs. ”Move, bolt-brain!”
The construct takes a few steps forward before coming to a stop as it no longer blocks the doorway. The sound of leather boots gently smacks against the floor and the door is shut behind the machine.
A gold colored kobold steps out from behind the construct, his tail swinging back and forth rhythmically as it gives away his excitement. The small thing wears a heavy trench coat over leather armor adorned with small gears and gizmos, with a toolbox hanging from his shoulder under one arm, a holstered pistol on the other side, and sleek silver goggles covering his eyes with tinted blue lenses.
”Hello, hello, hello..” he says with a shifting gaze as if counting out the word for each present, ”I am Amperex..” with a gentle rubbery slap he pulls up his goggles and lets them snap onto the top of his head, revealing his light blue eyes, ”..inventor. Oh! And this is Cogswork.” He gestures with the thumb on his left hand to the construct still standing silently behind him.
In his right Amperex still grips a small sheet of paper. Obviously a bit scatterbrained, he glances down at it and mutters some words aloud, his thin tail flicking back and worth, ”… Weaponworks… dwarf..” He looks at those present, ”Since none of you match the description of..” he glances quickly back at the paper, ”a Mr. Smine?… I assume we will all be working together on this little venture.”
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"Yeah, Macondi and I have been not-brothers for a long time. We practically grew up in each other's houses. Though... mine was more of a cave, really. Or... lair?" His draconic tail points upwards like a question mark. "Okay, a really well-decorated cave. But very comfy!"
Barak shakes Aztryx's hand. "Thanks for watching my not-brother's back. Any friend of his is a friend of mine."
Then he smiles at the kobold that just entered the room. And then up, up, up at the construct who preceded him. "Wow. Cogswork is cool! Did you build it? What does it do?" Barak's tail keeps curving up as he stands on his tiptoes to examine the construct. "Oh, and nice to meet you! Yeah, we're going to be teammates for whatever this is. My name is Barak. I bonk things. And this is Macondi, who knows things and casts spells. He's trying to teach me how to access the magic in my heritage, but so far my head has been too thick to figure it out. And this is Aztryx. I have no idea what he can do yet, but he dresses nice."
The door opens and a large feline head pokes in. "Rawr?"
Ignoring the yells of surprise, the cat pads inside the room, followed by a tall slender woman dressed in leathers.
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"Oh stop that, Scouty!" she chides gently.
Stepping fully into the room, she looks about, clearly uncomfortable with her surroundings.
"Well met! I assume you are the group I was sent to meet. I apologize for my tardiness but I am unused to being in the city. And Scouty here, " with an affectionate pat on the cat's flank, " decided that dogs would make a tasty snack! I am Heather Brightflower, by the way, and this is Scout, my loyal friend."
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"Bitty? Bitty... Bitty... where have I heard that name... oh! I read in a recent chronicle that Bitty Blue and some Pathfinders recently completed a training mission in Absalom. They were even awarded some medal by Marcos for their part in an Aldori woman's challenge. She's your sister?! Sounds like a wonderful woman! I would love to meet her sometime!"
Scout bumps his head affectionately against Barak and Macondi, almost knocking them over.
"Aye, seems so." One of the workers, a grim-faced halfling woman barely taller than her own anvil, flashes a smile and points to a narrow staircase at the back of the smithy.
The din of ringing steel and the simmering heat of the forge made Smine’s Weaponworks easy to find, beyond even its sterling reputation and its well painted sign. An open sliding door lead into a work area filled with apprentices, each toiling to fuel the ceaseless demands for weapons to feed the city’s famed Arena of Aroden.
Climbing the indicated stairs provides a small respite from the din and the heat, with hanging bowls of cloves and aromatic bark making a heroic, if futile, effort to cover the smell of coal and sweat.
The Pathfinder Lodge above the smithy resembles an adventurer’s boarding house, providing an excellent cover for the comings and goings of the Society’s agents. A door to a kitchen opens, and a soot-smudged dwarf dressed in a leather apron steps out: Venture-Captain Holgarin Smine. The dwarf’s gestures brusquely to a table within the kitchen, his hands wiped passably clean of the ash and grease of his trade. An assortment of bread, cheese, and cider has been set out on the table for refreshments, as is a bizarre doll made of dried wheat stalks.
“Hope the journey went well,” Smine greets the Pathfinders, “Dangerous these days. More dangerous further west, so suppose I shouldn’t complain.” His short sentences almost match the staccato cadence of the forges below. “Won’t waste your time. Ever heard of the Mosquito Witch?”
Smine grins and leans across the table, picking up the grotesque doll. Beady, painted red eyes and a needle-like snout is barely visible through shaggy wheat-stalk hair, and six handless arms are clutched to the doll’s chest. “Local legend. Ugly thing. People claim it lives near a town out here called Shimmerford. Hunters have been trying to catch it for over fifty years. No one has managed to. Villagers sell the failed hunters dolls and souvenirs instead. Fun for all.” He frowns and sets the doll down. “Not now, though. Mosquitoes and bloodseekers started plaguing the villagers. Killing livestock. Swarming people outside. Getting into food. Been happening for a year or so. People are
starting to leave the town entirely. They blame the Mosquito Witch. I don’t. Doesn’t matter. It’s a problem either way. You’re going to stop it.”
Smine leans back and folds his arms over his chest. "Questions?"
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Macondi follows the instructions to the lodge room. He grabs a bit of cheese and some cider and listens to the instructions from Smine.
“Won’t waste your time. Ever heard of the Mosquito Witch?”
"I've heard of mosquitoes. I don't think they are smart enough to become witches though. Maybe with some magical enhancements - but who would want to do that for a mosquito?"
"Now, bloodseekers I have also heard of. Witch or no witch, if people are being swarmed by bloodseekers we should definitely do something about that."
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"Mosquito Witch?" Heather's eyebrows shoot skywards. "I've heard of local legends, but this is new. We should do something all right. This should not be."
The slightly musical tone of her voice gives away her elven heritage, as does the slightly pointed tips of her ears that now peek under her golden hair.
Beside her, Scout growls softly, sensing his mistress' apprehension.
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"Hello Macondi! It is a pleasure to work with you again. I call this a 'Maiden Staff'. Its' simply my nexus staff, a tool to express my magic... a thesis I'd worked on at Absalom's school of magic." He presents it to anyone who wants to see it, holding the staff at what would be the maiden's waist.
"Hello Barak! I'm curious why you call each other "not-brothers"? It is my pleasure to work with all of you. We all have each other's back."
"Hi Amperex! That, is an awesome creation. Greetings to you too Cogswork!" he says with obvious awe. I wish I could build something like that too someday.
Aztryx faces the half-elf and gives a deep bow. "Well met Heather. A pleasure to meet you. Scout looks quite capable, and friendly enough..." and Aztryx finds himself at a loss for words.
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"Hello Macondi! It is a pleasure to work with you again. I call this a 'Maiden Staff'."
"I'm curious why you call each other "not-brothers"?"
Macondi reaches out and gently touches the staff at about the knees. "Because we aren't brothers, but we are," he says absentmindedly and as though that makes perfect sense.
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"Say thank you for the compliments Cogsworks.", the kobold says without even looking up. The construct looks to Amperex, then to those preset and makes a beeping sound as it bows slightly.
"As for this mosquito witch.." he strokes his chin, "it could be a witch who turns INTO a mosquito monster? Or maybe a mosquito monster that became a witch?? Either way it sounds like it will be disease ridden and quite unpleasant to look at."
He thinks for a moment, scratching the side of his head, "I do wonder what has changed to make things so different now than the last fifty years though." He looks to those present with a more distinctly "magical" trappings for ideas.
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Macondi notices Amperex looking to him for suggestions and turns his attention to the wheat stalk doll. "So many different possibilities. But I think you are right though. Something changed recently. Something new. Something old but newly different. Hard to tell from here. We'll have to go there to find out more." He looks around the room a bit sheepishly. "Anyone know where Shimmerford is and how to get there?"
Aztryx knows that the Mosquito Witch was originally spotted almost 60 years ago in a forested location now known as Witchtop Hill. Most of the witnesses were teenagers.
“Looks like this.” Smine wiggles the wheat-stalk doll. “Missing the wings, though folks disagree about that piece. People claimed to see it
a while back. Some claim they saw it more recently. No one’s proved it. No one’s caught it. No one’s sure what it is. Would be exciting if we found out.” Smine smiles wryly. “Don’t expect us to. Villagers used to be more scared. Embraced the legend. Sell dolls like that to tourists. You can take this one. Call it a good luck charm.”
He nods at Heather when she says this is different. “Been fifty years since people spotted the witch. Plenty of time to do something like this. It hasn’t. Just sticks to the forest, scares people, gives omens. Doesn’t send things into the town. Maybe something riled it up. More likely it’s a Ghlaunder worshipper. Something similar, anyway. Probably heard stories about the witch. Took advantage of them to cause trouble.”
Smine points vaguely out the window. “That way, but you don't need to know the way. I hired you a boat. Good ship. Good crew. They’ll take you down the river to Shimmerford. I’d stay inside while traveling, though.
Clouds of mosquitoes are hanging by the shore and above the water. Doesn’t sound pleasant. People passing by on boats been jumping into the water to get away from 'em.
“Never been there myself. Small town. Cheery place. Tourist attraction. Sells Mosquito Witch dolls, masks, bread. See them in the markets here sometimes. Hold a big festival for the witch once a year. I’ve never gotten to go. Too busy.
“When you get there, find a gnome woman named Galia. Not a Pathfinder.
Knows me, though. Knows we fix problems. She’s the one who sent a letter about the situation. Would have a better idea of the situation on the ground. After that, find what’s causing the problem. Stop it. Report back.
"Anything else?”
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At the mention of a 'Ghlaunder worshiper', Macondi wracks his memory for who Ghlaunder is.
"Can anyone recommend precautions versus mosquito bites and what we can expect from that?"
"For venemous things like mosquitoes? For what we could even afford? Antidode or Juggernaut. Maybe Blood Booster but that is harder to find."
"Ghlaunder? God of parasites and disease. Likes mosquitos. Likes bloodsuckers. Cultists summon them a lot. Not a popular god.
"I don't have any of those things. You can get them in town. I'd shop here. Might not be able to in Shimmerford."
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"Okay, will do, " Barak says decisively. He purchases an Antidote. "If we drink one of these when we arrive in Shimmerford, it should offer protection for our first six hours there."
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"Ghlaunder? God of parasites and disease. Likes mosquitos. Likes bloodsuckers. Cultists summon them a lot. Not a popular god."
"Ah. No wonder I didn't recognize the name."
"If we drink one of these when we arrive in Shimmerford, it should offer protection for our first six hours there."
"Oh, that's not a bad idea." Macondi picks one up too. "Don't want to use it now though. I don't know how long it will take to get there."
Detour to town market out of the way, Macondi heads over to the docks to find the boat that they are supposed to be taking.
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Amperex fiddles through his pouches at the mention of antidotes, looks into a coin purse, and faintly huffs. "ah well, it should be fine." He knocks on Cogswork as if for good luck.
"well, as an associate used to say: nothing to it, but to do it." he says with a shrug as he begins to make his way to the docks, ".. now where's that boat.."
Macondi also remembers that the Mosquito Witch was originally spotted almost 60 years ago in a forested location now known as Witchtop Hill. Most of the witnesses were teenagers.
Shimmerford turns out to be a forested town located near the East Sellen River’s first fork, just east of Riverton. The Pathfinders can travel to Shimmerford without any incident, though as they approach, thick clouds of mosquitoes hanging over the shoreline become more prominent, until the earth seems covered with writhing black masses of flying insects. The party arrives to find not the festive village that once was, but a suspicious settlement with empty streets and clusters of mosquitoes hovering over each puddle of water.
When the they disembark from their boat, a gnome with blueberry-blue hair and copper skin emerges from a tiny house that has been mosquito-proofed with cloth and wax crammed into every crack and seam. "Galia Farrsmith," she hurriedly introduces herself as she hurries over
to greet them, wringing her hands and swatting away any mosquitoes that come near her.
“Oh, thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness! You actually came! Smine actually sent someone! You must be them, right? No one comes here a-anymore unless they’re planning to help! Do you want to talk inside? My house is mostly mosquito free! Can I get you anything? My beet juice is also mostly mosquito-free! Would you like to sit down? A fresh haircut, maybe? Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”
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Seeing Barak and Galia together, Heather hides a smile. She is constantly amazed at how diverse (and similar) nature is.
"Well met, Galia. We were told about the Mosquito Witch. What else has been happening? Fifty years is not a long time, at least not to elves and gnomes. Are there any changes to the sightings? Any ill happenings?"
Galia's house has a bit of a low ceiling for some of the non-gnome party members, and they'll have to remember to watch their heads when they stand up again. She serves the refreshments and considers the questions. "Well, let's see...
"W-well, you probably noticed the mosquitoes. There’ve been a lot of bloodseekers, too. Those are mosquitoes that are as big as your heads! The little ones are bad enough, but the big ones have been driving people out of the town. One even carried off poor Mrs. McClairby’s cat, and some of them killed all of Mr. Rujat’s prize cattle. It’s been really, really, really awful around here!
“Most people think it’s…” Galia lowers her voice to a whisper. “…the witch. I thought that maybe it could have been a c-cultist of Ghlaunder, but that turned out to be wrong, so I don’t know what else it could be.
“No one knows anything for sure about the Mosquito Witch! It’s a thing that shows up outside of town sometimes, b-but I’ve never heard of it causing this much harm! I even think the little dolls people make of it are k-kind of cute. We used to throw a festival every year for it. Anna always made the best witchbread for the festival…
“I don’t think anything happened to cause it? Um, let me see. Mr. Albi’s daughter ran off with the traveling postman, and there was a big fuss about Mr. Vernon’s rooster getting out to harass Mrs. Favam’s ducks. I don’t think any of that would have caused this, though. Even Ms. Lyons d-didn’t seem to think anything was wrong, until the mosquitoes showed up.
“Oh yes! Ms. Mordha Lyons! She did actually see the Mosquito Witch, back in the day! One of the first! She doesn’t much like strangers, though. I don’t think she much likes a-anyone, truth to be told.”
“Oh! Um. Yeah! Yeah! About that... um. So there was a Ghlaunder cultist who we found lived a little ways out in the woods! But when we found him the others got a teensy-tiny wee bit mad, and um... k-killed him. And then whacked him into pieces. And then burned his house to the ground with his body in it, and then salted the ground where the ashes were. But, um. The mosquitoes and bloodseekers didn’t leave. So I guess... it actually wasn’t him? I… I feel kind of bad about it now.”
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Amperex comes from outside after making sure Cogswork is on guard and out of the way, enough to hear talk of what happened to the cultist, stepping forward as Aztryx retrieves something to write with. "Gruesome though it is, his death not stopping the problem doesn't preclude his involvement. He could have unleashed.. something, with no need to further sustain it." he shrugs slightly and rests his hands on his hips, "Or he could have been working with others; cultists are rarely alone.. one of the unfortunate qualities of cults."
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Barak sighs when he hears the story of the Ghlaunder cultist, his draconic tail twitching. "My Grapndpa Ifekube is sort of a magistrate where I come from, and often... um... eats guilty offenders if there is a lot of evidence against them. But evidence is important. Things get out of hand if everyone is looking for everyone else to blame. Mr. Albi's daughter did not cause this, nor did Mr. Vernon's rooster. In times like this, it's best to stick together rather than accuse each other."
He pauses. "I'd very much like to meet Ms. Lyons, even if she is a hermit. We need all the information we can get."
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"Well, roosters can get pretty mean sometimes," Macondi shrugs. "But they usually just attack things themselves. And eat mosquitoes, not summon them. Sir Ifekube is right, if a rooster gets mean, the best way to deal with it is to eat him. The rooster - not Mr. Vernon."
"I'll come with you to meet Ms. Lyons, Barak. A couple gnomes wouldn't be too scary, right? We can introduce the others once we get her to open the door. But we should all go together to check out the Ghlaunder cultist and his burned house."