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"Typical." grumbles the lanky, pale, Ulfen woman with an obvious black leather belt and buckle fetish. She casts her icy, blue gaze about the place, obviously not liking anything she sees.
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”What’s typical ma’am? Our group seems just as varied as usual. I find everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. Only working together can we make this a better world.”
The gnome speaking wears a basic brown and grey explorer’s outfit and carries a backpack. Dexter seems very positive about things. Or naive. Next to him is a young boar vigorously snuffling the ground.
The boar seems prepared for combat and exploration, armored in studded leather with a loaded pack saddle strapped to his back.
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A well-appointed Taldan man enters the room, bow close at hand, wearing odd armor that looks to be made from leaves and bark. He sniffs disapprovingly at the tone of the Ulfen barbarian in his midst.
He addresses the gnome, "Greetings to you. Don't mind those who weren't raised with the advantages of civilization where they learn manners. I am Gaius Marius, Inquisitor of Hathor. And you are?"
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"AH!" proclaims a muscled Ulfen man walking in. "It's been too long since my last mission!" He wears no armor, and has several monk-looking weapons at his belt.
"Hello, new friends! My name is Byron Beehren, disciple of KURGESS. You know Kurgess, don't you? He's the one with a holy symbol that looks like THIS." He flexes one arm, smiling broadly.
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"AH!" proclaims a muscled Ulfen man walking in. "It's been too long since my last mission!" He wears no armor, and has several monk-looking weapons at his belt.
"Hello, new friends! My name is Byron Beehren, disciple of KURGESS. You know Kurgess, don't you? He's the one with a holy symbol that looks like THIS." He flexes one arm, smiling broadly.
"So it's going to be one of those missions, is it?" says the woman, completely unfazed. Her voice creaks like it isn't used much.
"Natula Thako." she says extending a mock-friendly hand encased inside of dangerous-looking spiked gauntlet with huge blade in the end seemingly made of pure silver. She smirks slightly .
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"AH!" proclaims a muscled Ulfen man walking in. "It's been too long since my last mission!" He wears no armor, and has several monk-looking weapons at his belt.
"Hello, new friends! My name is Byron Beehren, disciple of KURGESS. You know Kurgess, don't you? He's the one with a holy symbol that looks like THIS." He flexes one arm, smiling broadly.
"I know Kurgess."
And then Gaius recites many facts about Kurgess.
"Although there's also a chain on Kurgess's holy symbol so it's not quite the same."
He grins a bit to let Byron know he's not being critical of him.
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In the middle of the night, you were summoned to the Grand Lodge. It is abuzz with rumors of something monumental happening in Oppara. In the formal briefing, you were informed that transport has been arranged and the team of agents is being sent to the Oppara Lodge.
A swift boat ride, a quick trip through Taldor’s gilded capital, and a coded knock at the front door lead to the unassuming, windowless Pathfinder Society lodge masquerading as a bait and tackle shop called Rods and Reels. The strong smell of old fish permeates the dwelling, which has somewhat of a ill cared-for, haphazard appearance. The light of a single, whale-oil lantern forms strange shadows on the floor among the nets and buckets that fill the lodge’s ground floor.
The middle-aged venture-captain who runs the lodge —a ruddy-skinned and pockmark-faced man named Muesello —emerges from the narrow spiral stairs to the lodge’s second floor and addresses the PCs. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Pathfinders. Let me bring you all up to speed. It seems that I may have gotten myself, and by extension the Society, into a bit of hot water. You see, lately the Taldan government has been growing particularly protective of what it considers its national treasures. Grand Prince Stavian seems to have taken a personal interest in anything older than last week’s fish stew, imposing heavy tariffs on any antiquities being sent out of the country.”
The grey-haired man lets out a deep sigh and his shoulders slump. “This is where my own idiocy comes in. I thought that I could save the Society a few pieces of gold by smuggling items out of the city, using my contacts in a secret cult of local Sarenites known as the Dawnflower Blossoms. They receive significant support from people in Qadira, and oversee regular shipments to and from Katheer.
“Everything went very smoothly until last night. A group of local guards known as the Porthmos Militia conducted a violent raid on one of the cult’s safe houses here in the neighborhood of Westport. A man named Chalfon Dalsine, a minor noble who was himself nearly a Pathfinder in his youth, led the attack. This gang slaughtered half the members of the cult, even those who didn’t fight back —it was horrible. A few members were able to escape, but the rest were either slain or captured and dragged away for interrogation.
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"I'm not sure what you mean by one of THOSE missions" says Byron, gladly shaking Natula's hand. "But I'm SURE we'll rise to the challenge!"
*******
"Killing the ones who didn't fight back?" Byron frowns. "Well, that's hardly fair play. I thought the Sarenrites were usually more STABBY than that, though."
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Muesello goes on to explain that while the deaths were tragic, his primary concern is that he had given the Sarenites several parcels for transport just last week. The parcels included a number of notes written in a personal cypher, but anything involving codes eventually makes its way to the Lion Blades, the secret spies of the Taldan government. It’s only a matter of time before they crack the code or use some divination magic to track him down.
Muesello continues his explanation. “The Society is in a very delicate place at the moment, especially here in Taldor. The upheavals caused by the Shadow Lodge have only made things worse. If the government tracks those packages back to me, they might formally expel all Pathfinders from the country! Now what I need you to do is …”
A loud knock on the shop’s front door interrupts the venturecaptain mid-sentence. A strong voice calls out from the other side,
Muesello plays up his age, and calls to the guards outside the door that he must find the key, motioning for you to remain quiet. As he loudly fumbles around the shop to make it sound as though he’s searching for something, he whispers to the gathered Pathfinders. “Ten of the escaped Dawnflower Blossoms members are hidden here in the lodge. I was able to rescue them after the raid. They’re all upstairs —five in my bedroom and another five in my supply room.” He knocks over three hay bales along the room’s east wall, revealing a trap door beneath. He flings it open to reveal a ladder descending into darkness.
“You’ve got to get those people out of here,” he pleads, gesturing frantically at the hatch. “In my basement there is a staircase leading down to the ancient catacombs under the city. At the bottom of that staircase, there is a large lever on the right, just a few feet down the connecting corridor. Once everyone is clear of the staircase, pull it down and it will collapse behind you. That should keep anyone from following you. Once you’re in the catacombs, just ask the cult members for directions; they should know their way around. Ask them to take you to the Vault of Sarenrae—it’s their last hiding place. Oh, and track down this Chalfon Dalsine, and see if you can find my parcels: two beautiful sets of armor crafted by the fey of the Verduran Forest. Last I heard, the Porthmos Militia had taken them back to Dalsine’s home.”
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Byron shakes his head at Muesello's explaination. That much because of some relics? Why would the Society bother to-
The pounding on the door interrupted his train of thought. Well, this just got worse, didn't it? Still, he would rise to the challenge... silently!
Moving only as slowly as necessary, Byron hurries upstairs to collect the fugitives.
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John seems intrigued (at the first part), "Well, we rarely get called when things go right. I suppose we can try to fix this mess."
After the pounding on the door occurs he narrows his eyes disapprovingly, "Well then, our timetable is a biiiiiit quicker now." He rubs his forehead, "Alright, nothing to do about it now. And I'm guessing talking our way out of things is an option long past. Any idea where Dalsine's home is located?"
John is a friendly looking human in a pretty basic, but well tailored, explorer's outfit. He carries a long spear, dagger and pack.
He tries to quietly follow Byron up the stairs, "I'll help convince them to go with us."
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In the middle of the night, you were summoned to the Grand Lodge. It is abuzz with rumors of something monumental happening in Oppara. In the formal briefing, you were informed that transport has been arranged and the team of agents is being sent to the Oppara Lodge.
Good. There will be an actual team of agents this time.
A swift boat ride, a quick trip through Taldor’s gilded capital, and a coded knock at the front door lead to the unassuming, windowless Pathfinder Society lodge masquerading as a bait and tackle shop called Rods and Reels. The strong smell of old fish permeates the dwelling, which has somewhat of a ill cared-for, haphazard appearance. The light of a single, whale-oil lantern forms strange shadows on the floor among the nets and buckets that fill the lodge’s ground floor.
"Wait! You guys? Snuff me now, Pharasma."
The middle-aged venture-captain who runs the lodge —a ruddy-skinned and pockmark-faced man named Muesello —emerges from the narrow spiral stairs to the lodge’s second floor and addresses the PCs. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Pathfinders. Let me bring you all up to speed. It seems that I may have gotten myself, and by extension the Society, into a bit of hot water. You see, lately the Taldan government has been growing particularly protective of what it considers its national treasures. Grand Prince Stavian seems to have taken a personal interest in anything older than last week’s fish stew, imposing heavy tariffs on any antiquities being sent out of the country.”
"Oh so the Taldan don't like the Society stealing all of their families' best stuff?" Natula makes a sad-eyed, pouty face. "Big surprise there." she says and rolls her eyes.
“Everything went very smoothly until last night. A group of local guards known as the Porthmos Militia conducted a violent raid on one of the cult’s safe houses here in the neighborhood of Westport. A man named Chalfon Dalsine, a minor noble who was himself nearly a Pathfinder in his youth, led the attack. This gang slaughtered half the members of the cult, even those who didn’t fight back —it was horrible. A few members were able to escape, but the rest were either slain or captured and dragged away for interrogation.
"Isn't that standard operating procedure when dealing with dangerous cults, smuggling stolen goods out of your country?"
"Killing the ones who didn't fight back?" Byron frowns. "Well, that's hardly fair play. I thought the Sarenrites were usually more STABBY than that, though."
"Yeah, I like it when they fight back...." says the woman to no one in particular. There's a weird gleam in her eyes as if she's savoring the memory of something.
Muesello goes on to explain that while the deaths were tragic, his primary concern is that he had given the Sarenites several parcels for transport just last week. The parcels included a number of notes written in a personal cypher, but anything involving codes eventually makes its way to the Lion Blades, the secret spies of the Taldan government. It’s only a matter of time before they crack the code or use some divination magic to track him down.
Muesello continues his explanation. “The Society is in a very delicate place at the moment, especially here in Taldor. The upheavals caused by the Shadow Lodge have only made things worse. If the government tracks those packages back to me, they might formally expel all Pathfinders from the country!”
"Oh, so you go stick your foot in it, and we have to clean it up!? Is that it!?" Natula's voice rises and her face begins to flush red.
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A loud knock on the shop’s front door interrupts the venturecaptain mid-sentence. A strong voice calls out from the other side,
Natula turns on Muesllo with a snarl.
She sees Byron and John sneaking up the stairs.
Through gritted teeth and with great self-control she says. "Why are you two sneaking around like stage villains ? MOVE!"
She looks back at the door.
"We need a distraction." she says in a low growl before smiling wickedly and adding more brightly "Muesello, mind if I burn the place to the ground?"
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Earlier that day: a strange figure is slumped in the corner of the Venture Captain's office, snoring loudly. He is covered in tattoos, all of them displaying words in a variety of scripts and languages, so many of them that it's a bit difficult to make out whether he is human or perhaps an elf or perhaps something in between. He is wearing a wayfinder over a set of tie-died pajamas and the pajamas appear to have a variety of notes pinned to them.
He startles violently, stretches lazily, yawns, spits, and looks around the room with bleary eyes. "Oh. Hello. I'm - I'm - I'm..." He trails off in confusion. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm..." He looks around the room, as if perhaps he might find some clue or indication, something to get his bearings. He rubs his eyes to be sure that he is actually awake, and gives himself a good strong pinch. "Ow! Hmm, well I'm awake, no doubt about that, but that doesn't help much to know that, if I don't know who it is that is awake, now does it? I don't suppose any of you know? Frightfully embarrassing, I must say, I'm sure that it will come to me in just a moment, but for just now, I have to admit that I don't have the faintest idea who I am or what I might be doing here. Perhaps you can assist me?"
Pinned to his pajama shirt is a note with large, bold writing: "Birseko Naam - if found, return to nearest Pathfinder Lodge."
Staring down at the note, the figure reads it, and then softly whispers, "Birseko Naam, birseko naam... I wonder if that could be me? I feel so unsure of everything just now, it's as if you wake from a dream and you can't decide if you are awake or still asleep..." He pauses, and then exclaims, "Dreams! Yes, that is one thing I DO remember, in my dream, though it was REAL, not a dream at all, mi'lord appeared to me, assuring me that his time is coming, and that I should go forth to herald him. Lord Ranginori returns! Let all know and tremble!" A look of consternation and confusion crosses swiftly over his brow. "That was real, wasn't it? I saw it in my dream but I'm quite sure it was real, as sure as I am of my own..." He trails off, uncertain, eyes aglow with a mixture of fervent devotion and the straining for memories that seem to dance just out of reach.
He looks around at the assembled pathfinders. "So, my friends, here I am, whoever that is, and I am at your service. You may call me Birseko Naam."
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Earlier that day: a strange figure is slumped in the corner of the Venture Captain's office, snoring loudly. He is covered in tattoos, all of them displaying words in a variety of scripts and languages, so many of them that it's a bit difficult to make out whether he is human or perhaps an elf or perhaps something in between. He is wearing a wayfinder over a set of tie-died pajamas and the pajamas appear to have a variety of notes pinned to them.
He startles violently, stretches lazily, yawns, spits, and looks around the room with bleary eyes. "Oh. Hello. I'm - I'm - I'm..." He trails off in confusion. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm..." He looks around the room, as if perhaps he might find some clue or indication, something to get his bearings. He rubs his eyes to be sure that he is actually awake, and gives himself a good strong pinch. "Ow! Hmm, well I'm awake, no doubt about that, but that doesn't help much to know that, if I don't know who it is that is awake, now does it? I don't suppose any of you know? Frightfully embarrassing, I must say, I'm sure that it will come to me in just a moment, but for just now, I have to admit that I don't have the faintest idea who I am or what I might be doing here. Perhaps you can assist me?"
Pinned to his pajama shirt is a note with large, bold writing: "Birseko Naam - if found, return to nearest Pathfinder Lodge."
Staring down at the note, the figure reads it, and then softly whispers, "Birseko Naam, birseko naam... I wonder if that could be me? I feel so unsure of everything just now, it's as if you wake from a dream and you can't decide if you are awake or still asleep..." He pauses, and then exclaims, "Dreams! Yes, that is one thing I DO remember, in my dream, though it was REAL, not a dream at all, mi'lord appeared to me, assuring me that his time is coming, and that I should go forth to herald him. Lord Ranginori returns! Let all know and tremble!" A look of consternation and confusion crosses swiftly over his brow. "That was real, wasn't it? I saw it in my dream but I'm quite sure it was real, as sure as I am of my own..." He trails off, uncertain, eyes aglow with a mixture of fervent devotion and the straining for memories that seem to dance just out of reach.
He looks around at the assembled pathfinders. "So, my friends, here I am, whoever that is, and I am at your service. You may call me Birseko Naam."
*sigh* "Just snuff me now Pharasma."
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Earlier that day: a strange figure is slumped in the corner of the Venture Captain's office, snoring loudly. He is covered in tattoos, all of them displaying words in a variety of scripts and languages, so many of them that it's a bit difficult to make out whether he is human or perhaps an elf or perhaps something in between. He is wearing a wayfinder over a set of tie-died pajamas and the pajamas appear to have a variety of notes pinned to them.
He startles violently, stretches lazily, yawns, spits, and looks around the room with bleary eyes. "Oh. Hello. I'm - I'm - I'm..." He trails off in confusion. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm..." He looks around the room, as if perhaps he might find some clue or indication, something to get his bearings. He rubs his eyes to be sure that he is actually awake, and gives himself a good strong pinch. "Ow! Hmm, well I'm awake, no doubt about that, but that doesn't help much to know that, if I don't know who it is that is awake, now does it? I don't suppose any of you know? Frightfully embarrassing, I must say, I'm sure that it will come to me in just a moment, but for just now, I have to admit that I don't have the faintest idea who I am or what I might be doing here. Perhaps you can assist me?"
Pinned to his pajama shirt is a note with large, bold writing: "Birseko Naam - if found, return to nearest Pathfinder Lodge."
Staring down at the note, the figure reads it, and then softly whispers, "Birseko Naam, birseko naam... I wonder if that could be me? I feel so unsure of everything just now, it's as if you wake from a dream and you can't decide if you are awake or still asleep..." He pauses, and then exclaims, "Dreams! Yes, that is one thing I DO remember, in my dream, though it was REAL, not a dream at all, mi'lord appeared to me, assuring me that his time is coming, and that I should go forth to herald him. Lord Ranginori returns! Let all know and tremble!" A look of consternation and confusion...
"It's GOOD to see someone so dedicated to self-discovery! Perhaps a few VIGOROUS morning exercises would help you wake up? I know they help me!"
A gloomy figure appears as the conversation is going on between the Pathfinders. The air around her seem stagnant, like her gloom visible. Carelessly tied hair, sloppy clothes and a dishevelled appearance conflict with the leather armor properly worn and the belt with a well-maintained wooden club fastened to it. She stands in the corner of the office, staring at the vigor in front of her.
The sleeping firure provided some feeling of security at first but it soon turns into disappointment when he awakes and words burst out from him. Sigh... Another one talking easily with people...
The second Birseko ends speaking, the quiet figure finally throws out her long prepared line, "I'm Wither, a druid... but not the druid you may think of, and it's better you stay away from me because I often make people feel sick... literally." She finished her self introduction in one breath as if the chance will never come again.
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A gloomy figure appears as the conversation is going on between the Pathfinders. The air around her seem stagnant, like her gloom visible. Carelessly tied hair, sloppy clothes and a dishevelled appearance conflict with the leather armor properly worn and the belt with a well-maintained wooden club fastened to it. She stands in the corner of the office, staring at the vigor in front of her.
The sleeping firure provided some feeling of security at first but it soon turns into disappointment when he awakes and words burst out from him. Sigh... Another one talking easily with people...
The second Birseko ends speaking, the quiet figure finally throws out her long prepared line, "I'm Wither, a druid... but not the druid you may think of, and it's better you stay away from me because I often make people feel sick... literally." She finished her self introduction in one breath as if the chance will never come again.
"Thank you for the warning, I'll never be near you."
Gaius will always keep at least 5 feet between he and Wither.|
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The second Birseko ends speaking, the quiet figure finally throws out her long prepared line, "I'm Wither, a druid... but not the druid you may think of, and it's better you stay away from me because I often make people feel sick... literally." She finished her self introduction in one breath as if the chance will never come again.
While on their way to Oppara, Byron takes the opposite approach from Gaius. Accepting the CHALLENGE of mastering his gag reflex, he stays close by Wither until he's able to fight through the reaction.
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Windows are closed and at least the ones facing the street have thick curtains blocking view from both sides. They are quite broad and likely to be stuck. You can tell by way he looks at Natula, that he is very opposed to any sort of violence toward guards.
With Birseko joining others to help cultists out, time to evacuate is down to 4 rounds.
The pounding on the door increases in volume and an annoyed voice calls out again. “We don’t want to break the door down, old man. Hurry up!”
“Yes, yes, I heard you. Hold on, I’ve got to find a candle.” Muesello turns back and whispers once more, “I’ll hold them off as best I can. Please get the cult members out of here, or they’re all as good as dead, and please don’t try to kill the guards! This is a large group of serious guards who obviously mean business. Any lethal attacks or, gods forefend, a death could spell doom for the Society! These are city guards acting on the authority of the Grand Prince himself!”
Wither also tries to lead the cultists to the exit while keeping some distance from them.
"This way... hurry." The awkward situation is bringing embarassment.
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“Yes, yes, I heard you. Hold on, I’ve got to find a candle.” Muesello turns back and whispers once more, “I’ll hold them off as best I can. Please get the cult members out of here, or they’re all as good as dead, and please don’t try to kill the guards! This is a large group of serious guards who obviously mean business. Any lethal attacks or, gods forefend, a death could spell doom for the Society! These are city guards acting on the authority of the Grand Prince himself!”
"So if it looks like the city guards are going to get in, we should kill the cultists since they would die anyhow and might give you away before they did. And before you back talk me, old man, remember that this is your fault to begin with. Why the people in Erogian think so highly of you is beyond me."
She fishes a scroll out of one of the cases strapped to her belt, and--on the likely chance she needs it to cast a spell--a small bead of bat guano out of her component pouch.
"Hurry up, people." she says in a completely deadpan tone; a smile slowly taking shape upon her face.
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The guards decide its time force their way in. Muesello notices Natula's spell components and hushes her toward exit. "Don't even think about trying to be a hero here. I'm holding them back and you should run for your life, along with sarenrites."
Two guardsmen pound the door with a ram, but it holds for now.
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This time they come dangerously close to breaking in.
Everyone manages to flee before door is breached.
Following Muesello’s instructions and descending down the tight spiral staircase takes the PCs and cultists to a narrow tunnel that connects to the ancient catacombs below Oppara. Just as the venture-captain promised, there is a lever a few feet down this hallway. Pulling it triggers the stairway to collapse with a reverberating rumble, filling the chamber with dust, but sealing off the way up.
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"Is everyone okay?" Byron asks, speaking more quietly than usual. He pulls out an ioun torch and sets it spinning around his head.
Byron moves down the line, taking a headcount and checking on the Sarenrites. He pays special attention for the one named "Ahan" - he should still know things had been smoothed over, even if he didn't want his old job back for whatever reason.
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John smiles.
Oh god this mission is already going horribly. We are all going to die.
He clasps his hands together, ”Well, should be safe now. Our boss said you all would know the way to the Vault of Sarenrae. I say we head there and regroup.”
His spear is now in his hands and illuminated with light.
The dark tunnel offers more comfort to Wither. She draws her shield and looks at the Sarenrites eagerly from a safe distance. “Should we move on?”
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This particular group calls itself the Dawnflower Blossoms, believing that they are but a bud of the mighty flower of faithful that will soon grow in Taldor’s heart. 10 refugees travel with you: five human women (Charito, Ionnia, Nellina, Pasara, and Xene), two halfling women (Piria and Sophone), and three human men (Marcian, Narces, and Theodric). All are unarmed young adults or adults. "Were pretty fine, thanks for your concern. I think Xene and Sophone know the way better than anyone else." one replies to Byron
The catacombs twist and turn, the passages ranging in width from narrow five-foot crawlspaces to massive twentyfoot avenues. The walls and floors vary in material from rough-hewn stone to cobblestone to moldering wooden boardwalks. The current stone passage spans a width of twentyfeet and features dozens of smaller, five- and ten-foot-wide, round tunnels branching off every few yards. The air is dry and still.
Regarding the worship of Sarenrae in Taldor.
About Oppara’s vast catacombs.
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"Everyone else proceed, I'll go last and make sure we aren't being followed."
Natula smiles at the thought.
She pulls an already lit, burning torch from her backpack to help light the way.
The dark tunnel offers more comfort to Wither. She draws her shield and looks at the Sarenrites eagerly from a safe distance. “Should we move on?”
Natula rolls her eyes and moves past Wither, muttering darkly.
Regarding the worship of Sarenrae in Taldor [and Oparra's catacombs].
"Great." lies the wizard flatly, regarding the space ahead.
"Were pretty fine, thanks for your concern. I think Xene and Sophone know the way better than anyone else." one replies to Byron.
"Who are they, and which one are you?"
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"Were pretty fine, thanks for your concern. I think Xene and Sophone know the way better than anyone else." one replies to Byron."Who are they, and which one are you?"
Xene and Sophone raise their hands. "I'm Marcian, nice to meet." the man says