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Deepening the color of his red hooded cloak to a wet crimson, a humanoid figure darts between stalls on this precipitous afternoon taking momentary refuge from the rainfall, splashing over and through puddles here and there, carelessly spraying other passerbys who curse or shake fists at him, otherwise minding his own business, and keeping up a strong enough pace so as to discourage onlookers from doing more than just that.
Feeling into his coin purse, our irreverent hero pinches fabric against fabric, the heft and clink of coin ostensibly absent, and so, on a whim of sorts, or perhaps a reflex, he decides to head to the Grand Lodge, to check in with his most reliable employer.
Pushing forward on inverted ankle, Axel Zeldo frolics towards the small cluster of people also gathering outside the front gate, where he stands just outside of the circle, and crouches to all fours - an awkward metal protrusion foisting out at a perpendicular angle, unable to bend. The white-furred kholo then shakes furiously, sending a sprinkling spout of water flecks onto the rd person to make their post after him!
Seemingly forgetting to apologize, and grinning as with a pleasant mania...
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A half-orc in furs doesn't seem to mind the rain as he makes sure his new triceratops companion is safe and warm in the Society's stables. He doesn't say much to the stablehands as they check the pair in, other than "Speaks Softly" with a hand on his heart and "Big Stick" with the hand moving to the dinosaur beside him.
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A tall and muscular female Elf walks in from the rain. Seeing the varied and diverse assembly of beings, she assumes they are part of the rest of the Pathfinder team she was supposed to meet.
She is over six and a half feet tall, lean but muscular. She wears studded leather with a shield on her back and with various weapons about her person. Her skin is tanned, her hair brown, long and in a single braid. Her eyes an odd shade of green. If she stood still next to some trees she might blend in surprisingly well. A longsword, bow, arrows, a hatchet or two and a few daggers are placed about her person strategically.
As she nears the group her tired and road warn expression changes and she smiles.
"Fellow Pathfinders, I assume? My name is SIndrailla. You can call me Sindy or jsut Sin for short. Nice to meet you. Where is our welcoming reception?"
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Feeling into his coin purse, our irreverent hero pinches fabric against fabric, the heft and clink of coin ostensibly absent, and so, on a whim of sorts, or perhaps a reflex, he decides to head to theGrandLantern Lodge, to check in with his most reliable employer.
What was he doing in Goka?
Hell if he knew himself. Vagabonds like Axel tend to just keep runnin'. From what? The law. People they've hurt. Bridges burnt down. All things temporal, specific to locations, replaceable. You can always reinvent yourself on the run.
"Don't get one!" he responds to the elf.
"Speak Softly" he agrees with the orc, with an important caveat: "Big Gun" for indeed, dwarfing his own tall frame, strapped to his back, is such an implement.
He paces, impatient. Something should happen now.
The Lantern Lodge is already bustling despite the early hour, Pathfinders exchange greetings as they make their way in and out. Several local vendors are parked just outside the door with wares pre-marked for their regulars, who snatch up their breakfast and make payments with practiced ease. In the midst of it all stands Venture-Captain Yi Da Som, smiling serenely.
“Good morning, Pathfinders. Thank you for being so punctual. Please, follow me and we’ll get your briefing started.” She heads into the lodge, politely greeting anyone on the way, and opens the doors to a private meeting room. A covered meal of dumplings and rolled eggs as well as a large pot of tea sits on the large table for guests to serve themselves. Already seated is a woman in flowing robes and an equally flowing waterfall mask that obscures her entire face.
“Hello, Pathfinders,” she says. “You may call me the Waterfall. Help yourself to some breakfast and introduce yourselves.”
After the agents’ introductions, the Waterfall continues.
“You’ve been called in because we need assistance forging a potential alliance with a powerful entity. An ancient dragon by the name of Valashinaz dwells beneath much of Tian Xia. She’s known to be a collector of great knowledge and artifacts and has more recently become open to sharing said knowledge.
“I was able to contact Valashinaz’s assistant, a kobold called Purepurin, who has been arranging meetings between her mistress and interested parties. Venture-Captain Yi Da Som and I have secured a meeting for this afternoon, in about—” She glances at a water clock in the room. “—five hours.”
“The Decemvirate and I have other business to attend to prior to the meeting,” Da Som chimes in. “It would be remiss of us to attend such an important meeting without presenting a gift beforehand, but we are unable to arrive until the exact meeting time.”
Da Som takes out a stack of exquisitely bound books, each bearing an embroidered symbol of the Pathfinder Society. She carefully wraps them in a patchwork silk cloth and places it on the table. “Pathfinders, please take this gift and present it to Valashinaz. Her assistant Purepurin will be waiting at the cave entrance to her vaults to introduce you to her mistress. Show them the respect and dignity of the Pathfinder Society so we can present our case for a partnership that will benefit all the people we serve. Do you have any questions?”
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"Valashinaz dwells in a massive underground cave system normally inhabited by creatures like rats and giant centipedes, but her kobold attendants keep her lair free of pests, including intrusive adventurers. The steward Purepurin curates the guest list and arranges tours and trades of goods or information."
Speaks Softly cannot recall anything helpful.
Da Som’s hands clasp together as she answers. “We are all connected, Pathfinders. For good or for ill, all creatures who exist at this moment share the commonality of being present at this exact time in this world. Yet even in the same circumstances, none of us will have the same experience. Each moment we have in the world is a precious chance to teach and to learn, and there are some who have had many more moments than us.
“Valashinaz has had more time in this world than any of us, and she is now open to sharing her experience with others. It’s imperative we take this opportunity to extend our hand and gain the privilege of learning from her.”
The Waterfall adds flatly, “And if she is amenable to sharing her artifacts with us, that is obviously an additional boon for the Society.”
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Lazy and irreverent, Axel reflects upon the advice. For, at most, a matter of seconds.
He had met many old people in his life. He had met many young people in his life. Sometimes, the old people were smart, and the young people were stupid (according to him). And sometimes it was the other way around. Had he been formally educated, he might posit his challenge worded as something like "Quantity is not always better than Quality: Just because you get more 'moments' in 'life' as a result of your age, does not necessarily mean they were spent in profound learning. What if every moment you were ever given was simply squandered? What then? Am I supposed to forward an unearned respect unto a person whom, by virtue of dumb luck, hasn't died yet, just because they were born before me and haven't died yet!?"
A simple kholo of few words, instead he says "Listen to Dragon, get her Stuff. Easy" again, briefly summarizing the mission.
Infused Reagents (□□□/day)
➤ Bottled Lightning, Lesser (□□)
➤ Dread Ampoule, Lesser (□□)
➤ Bane Ammunition (□□) vs Anticipated possible enemies Underground: Fungus and Plant
He ends up loading an orange corrosive agent into the tip of a couple sharp-pointed bullets, and containing into small vials a dual-liquid agent of sky blue and ocean aquamarine (with a shell red catalyst), as well as a purple vile with a single dot (deposited carefully by a black dropper) of a dark lavender sticky agent, air-sealed. And with that, he smiles, and rolls up his unfurled bag, stuffing it back into his coat, then rises to his feet, and begins pacing...
The bustle of cart vendors and morning greetings gives way to rolling hills and birdsong on the path out of Haseong. Farmers in the distance occasionally pause their work to give friendly waves. Cattle dot far off fields colored by flourishing crops. The cart lent by the Lantern Lodge, enchanted to deal with unpaved terrain, leisurely rolls off the road without issue, the horse at its head expertly leading its charges into rockier countryside. Time passes peacefully, swirling clouds blotting out the vibrant sun to gentle its gaze on the world below.
Two and a half hours into the journey, you spot a cart tied to two unbothered goats lying toppled on its side, one back wheel firmly trapped in a divot in the dirt path. A cheerful working song mixes with Goblin swears as a flustered goblin tugs uselessly at one of the goats’ reins. There’s a small grilling table built into the cart, where two goblins roast brightly colored skewers despite the conundrum. A dangerously loose sign dangles off the back proclaiming “SPICY DEATH CHICKEN CHALLENGE” in multiple languages with prices for their wares.
Several other goblins have set up in the grass to pickle vegetables and sing a merry tune, surrounded by glass jars chock full of meat and pickles as well as ceramic jugs flowing with spices and sauces. Many of the ceramics look too finely crafted to be cookware, their elegant designs and patterns smeared in chili powder and garlic paste.
One of the goblins spots you and calls out for help righting the wagon.
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"Stuck?" Axel asks unhelpfully, for the answer to his question is plain.
Though he could probably bully the goats and lift the wagon, he refrains for now, wanting to know who he is dealing with. Besides, their camp seems to be operating business undeterred, what with all the roasting and pickling going on. He wonders how the latter will be accomplished without a heat source, but refrains from asking. We'll see what they say.
He was never very fond of goblins...
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"Hopefully spicy chicken. I love that stuff."
She walks towards the group, "Need help getting your cart righted?"
As long as they don't say no she attempts to help.
She gets a good grip and fails to notice one foot is in a nice mud patch. The cart moves about two inches before both her feet fly out from under her and she ends up face first in the grass.
She laughs at herself, brushes the worst of it off. "Oh my, I see why it's stuck so badly!"
Sindrallia loses her footing while trying to right the cart, but Axel, Speaks Softly and Big Stick combine to tilt it up enough that the goats can finish pulling it onto level ground.
The chicken is definitely dead at this point. The goblins explain the skewers are still marinating in the new recipe and proudly show off a pot of a lava-like sauce that smells suspiciously of ozone. They are happy to let any of you taste.
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Axel eyeballs the meat suspiciously.
"Nah"
But when Sindrailla falls to her underside, he bursts out into annoying, riotous laughter, clutching his belly for fear of it shaking loose, nearly losing his breath from loud exhalations of guffaw, and tearing in both of his eyes, rolling onto his back with shrieking aftercackle!
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Sindrailla joins in the laughter, taking a break to scoop some mud off the front of her armor and throw it lazily at Axel.
When she recovers, "ooh, i'll try it."
She takes the bite, chew and swallows. Tears well up in her eyes. She can only take a few seconds of that before she starts coughing and sweating and shedding tears. She gratefully takes a little of the goats milk and a minute or two later looks to the goblins, "Oh, THAT is good. powerful. What pepper IS that? Well done!"
She then looks to the rest of the party, "Go ahead, give it a try!"
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Bechamel gladly tries the meats. He coughs and sweats uncontrollably for a few seconds, but is otherwise unharmed. The goblins offer him some goat milk to take the edge off, which he gladly accepts.
Bechamel offers to exchange recipes, pulling out his rolodex. "I'll trade you 'Spicy Pickle Brine 4' for this recipe ... AAH! PROTECT THE RECIPES!"
He's interrupted by someone splattering him with mud, and covers up the rolodex with his body.
The goblins joke with the Pathfinders about the sauce, but are happy to hear any suggestions. They won't reveal their own secrets, though it feels like it's more because they can't pronounce 'jojokolea' than any desire to keep information from you. They will happily discuss any topic with you while lunch is served, and send you away with a boxed lunch of chicken skewers, a canteen of goat milk, and a jar of pickle juice that functions as a minor healing potion.
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"Salt, fat, acid, and heat - make sure you have all four in every recipe," Bechamel explains. He points out that pickle brine has a lot of salt and acid, so generally tastes good with things that bring fat and heat, like horse jerky.
Bechamel puts his chicken skewers and goat milk in sealed containers, and will gladly take the jar of pickle juice, giving someone else his more traditional minor healing potion.
The Pathfinders take their leave of the goblins, arriving at the designated meeting spot about two hours before the scheduled time.
The peaceful hills show little sign of civilization, only the occasional rabbit scampering by. The afternoon sun beams down onto the rocky terrain and tall grass and weeds, unhampered by the business of mortals, wave gently in the breeze.
It’s a calm, desolate area surrounded by vibrant foliage. Following the map leads to the brush where the cave entrance is hidden, but no one is there to greet them.
Axel spots footprints of a group that previously entered the vaults. There are no traces of them leaving.
Bechamel notices that some of the rocks look wrong. They look like they are meant to burst when stepped on. They are far enough to the side that you could get past them safely if you step carefully.
Folmyr does think the exploding rocks can be disabled. However, their first attempt doesn't seem to do much other than roll them around a bit.
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Axel grows impatient, and walking right up to the rocks, steps carefully around them.
”Easy”
◆) Hunt Prey
Taking note of the tracks, he heads straight into the cave, grabs an orange-tinted bomb vial from his utility belt, and follows them.
Folmyr's second attempt is enough to disable the trap. It looks like it was meant to spray anyone in the area with spices in quantities that would be difficult for their digestive and respiratory systems to handle. You may be able to recover them later, but keeping them with you in the cave might result in setting them off accidentally.
The cave leads into the antechamber of Valashinaz’s immense underground lair. As the Pathfinders descend, the natural cave floor vanishes into a thickening carpet of gold and jewels. A large bulk of the treasure has been haphazardly pushed up to pile against the right wall, indicating someone has tried to sweep a meager path for visitors. Brightly glowing crystals line the walls about two feet from the floor, though a spare few have been placed higher for the benefit of taller folk. The crystal lights illuminate the path to several vaults deeper into the caverns.
Ahead, the passage turns to the east, revealing two more doors and two other side passages.
Everyone but Bechamel hears the sound of shouting from beyond the door to the northwest, though it is too muffled to make out what is being said.