Please Dot in once you post in the Recruitment.
If it matters, you will start on the streets of Absalom. If you want to, you can make a little scene of where your character would be in Absalom, and what they'll be doing.
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As usual, Cenae (see-nay) is relaxing at an outdoor table waiting for her meal to arrive. The Quadiran woman recalls her day was pretty normal one, for where she is staying. Wake up, complete her prayers and meditations, select a variety of useful spells and then get some food. The Inn she is staying at is decent, but nowhere near the opulence back home. Then again, she isn’t back home for several good reasons.
She sips her wine and waits for the appetizer. Something new tonight, a breaded and fried cheese with a tomato based sauce.
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Khellek sneezed. Yes, the old treaty scroll was... old... and dusty...
He straightened his spectacles. That had been quite the whopper really. Glancing toward the clock in the corner he squinted, removed his glasses, polished then, and then put them on again.
"Oh my... is that the time already."
With a weary sight he stood, collected his notes and went to return the scroll to its' hole.
Todays class, first year history, was not going to go well. He knew it in his bones. He just hoped there were no paladins of Shelyn in the room today. They would probably point out he was already half an hour late. Maybe all the students would be gone before he arrived. All in all, that might be the best outcome.
But no, history was a tough task master, and the students needed to know it to avoid repeating it. Or to possibly repeat the more popular bits of it. Straightened his shoulders as if about to go into battle, he opened the door to the lecture theatre, ducking the first of the inevitable paper darts that filled the air.
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"Oh I hope not." sighs the elderly scholar, who peers over his glasses at the large half orc. "Ahh, Mr Grog. Why that brings me back. Bakc when I were a youth, cutting a rather dashing line through the dance halls of Varissa, Grog was something else entirely. "
He pauses lost in memory for a moment. "You know, I think I am overdue for a mission. Surely the decemvirate has seen fit to finally send me on something that we get me on the cover of the Chronicles. Did you see last months edition. That despicable Dr Jones with his sparkling smile on the cover. Again. Why I've forgotten more lore than that upstart ever learned to begin with."
As usual, Cenae (see-nay) is relaxing at an outdoor table waiting for her meal to arrive. The Quadiran woman recalls her day was pretty normal one, for where she is staying. Wake up, complete her prayers and meditations, select a variety of useful spells and then get some food. The Inn she is staying at is decent, but nowhere near the opulence back home. Then again, she isn’t back home for several good reasons.
She sips her wine and waits for the appetizer. Something new tonight, a breaded and fried cheese with a tomato based sauce.
A blind gnome with bright blue hair walks down the boulevard, banging his probing cane against a tin cup. "Please, a blessing for a man down on his luck? A copper, a silver, anything will help." He grasps Cenae's hands before doing anything. "Please, a blessing from your goddess." Before Cenae can even consider reaching for her coin purse or her holy symbol, she realizes he slipped a piece of paper into her palm.
Always on the lookout for jewels with potential when it comes to magical crafting, Numair has just finished-up browsing the stock of a wholesale gem merchant, and is enjoying a quiet, introspective walk through the city streets.
A red-headed half-elf woman shouts after Numair on the city streets, "Sir, sir, you must have dropped this!" She presses a year-old copy of a Pathfinder Chronicles into Numair's hand. Its not his, but on a makeshift bookmark is a message addressed to Numair.
Khellek sneezed. Yes, the old treaty scroll was... old... and dusty...
He straightened his spectacles. That had been quite the whopper really. Glancing toward the clock in the corner he squinted, removed his glasses, polished then, and then put them on again."Oh my... is that the time already."
With a weary sight he stood, collected his notes and went to return the scroll to its' hole.
Todays class, first year history, was not going to go well. He knew it in his bones. He just hoped there were no paladins of Shelyn in the room today. They would probably point out he was already half an hour late. Maybe all the students would be gone before he arrived. All in all, that might be the best outcome.
But no, history was a tough task master, and the students needed to know it to avoid repeating it. Or to possibly repeat the more popular bits of it. Straightened his shoulders as if about to go into battle, he opened the door to the lecture theatre, ducking the first of the inevitable paper darts that filled the air.
A tall, brawny Tian man with a knot top barges into the room. "Sorry, your students left after the first 15 minutes. I was using the chamber pot after they left. I was going to pose as a student, and give you a 'late essay', but no reason to keep up the charade now-- wait a second," he turns and looks at the half-orc.
"Khellek good to see you again? Do you have a cold?"
"Wait, are you Grog? We had someone who was going to run into you at your building, but-- Well, can both of you share this note?" The Tian man gives the two Pathfinders a piece of parchment.
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"Ahh. The Saucy Wench! Why, I remember, not so very many decades ago, when I would head down there with a book to while away the night in good company." sighs the elderly historian.
"But it has been a while. Still, ready to travel eh! Sounds like they have a new ancient site, if that is not an oxymoron, that requires my unique expertise. Ancient Taldan ruins perhaps? "
He sneezes again. "Oh, I always get sick before a sea journey. The price of living on an island."
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Cenae evokes a short blessing in Kelish, basically wishing the light of Sarenrae to burn away the darkness around the gnome. She subtly takes the note and reads it when no one is watching.
When the waitress returns with her appetizer, the priest requests her meal to be packed to go. Finishing her wine and breaded cheese snack, she pays and collects the food. Stopping by upstairs she grabs her pack and returns to the front desk, letting the clerk know if she doesn’t come back tonight they can rent her room out tomorrow. With that settled, Cenae Eohe heads to the start of her next mission at the Wench. Probably. Or a trap. Which is also probable.
A porter boy leads the various Pathfinders to a table in the back of the Saucy Wench, where there's a man who looks like he's gone down a hard stretch of road recently. With a nod, the porter boy whisks away and returns with a gallon cask of ale along with four wooden pint cups. The man with bloodshot eyes and several days worth of stubble is Osprey. After everyone takes a seat and serves themselves a drink, he leans in and in a croaking, gravely voice, he begins to speak.
"One of my field operatives, name Eiastor Wyrn, has been undercover with a team of Aspis agents. Recently, they discovered the fabled Drowning Stones, and recovered from them a stash of rare and deeply disturbing demon-linked stones. That was two weeks ago. I'm starting to grow concerned. I was preparing to send a large force of Pathfinders to track down the Aspis agents and recover their discovery. A sudden change of circumstances prompts me to send someone immediately. "
He stops and takes several gulps of his beer. "If what we think we know about these stones is true, then we cannot risk having them in Aspis hands any longer. Do you understand? We'll be sending you to the Mwangi Expanse."
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The cleric takes a small sip of the ale. It’s not great. She listens intently to the briefing, taking notes as she does. Then speaks while looking around at the group, ”Hello all, I am Cenae. I bring divine power granted to me by the goddess Sarenrae.”
She looks over to Osprey next, ”Ok, we got the jist of the mission. What other details do we need to know? Where do we start looking to pick up the trail? What do we know about the drowning stones? What was this deal about the demon linked stones? What other dangers may we face in the Mwangi Expanse, other than angry Aspis Agents? And how will we get there?”
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"Ahh, the Drowning stones. Why... I could tell you a thing or two about them..!" says the scholar.
"Of course, if you had attended my lecture on ancient Mwangi lore you might already know this.."
As if realising that perhaps Grog is the only one who knows him he adds "But of course you recognise me. Khellek, historian, lecturer, and soon to be (finally) gracing the cover of the Chronicles!"
He looks around the group. "While I am familiar with that hot place, and should have no problems with the heat, you may all want to take some precautions..."
"In anticipation of an expedition like this finally happening, I have made some preparations.."
Osprey looks at Cenae. "I'm sending you to a waystation where a couple of young Pathfinders on their Confirmation have been camping and making maps of the area near Jaha. Based off our intel, they're the closest agents to Wyrn's last known location, and much too green to be of use to me. Drowning Stones, they're a pair of megaliths carved to look like humanoids. Nearby waters will wash over them, and into their open gaping mouths, makes 'em look like they're drowning. They were a center for demon worshiping cultists in the Expanse, ritualistic murder-suicides, cannibalism. We suspect that one demonic power, most likely a full demon lord, has power there, though which one has been lost time."
Osprey downs his beer, and fills his cup again. Then he drains about half of it before continuing, "As for dangers, its a jungle out there. Disease and venomous animals. Khellek's got the right idea that the heat itself could be an impediment. The Pathfinder initiates have made some peaceful contact with a local tribe there, the Rumawa, I think they're called, but there could be other tribes there without much use for outsiders like us. And the closer to the stones, I'd have to imagine, the demonic energies seeping into the nature. Demonic-infused beasts, or demons themselves. And o' course, a deep dense jungle could hide big scary things that I'm failing to imagine."
"As for how you're getting there, the Decimvirate views this a priority, and have authorized Aram Zey to give me the big guns," Osprey pats a scroll tube slung on his side, "You'll be at the waystation before I get my desert." He finishes his beer, and gestures for the Pathfinders to drink up if they'd like.
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"Well, Mr Grog. You do seem to show up when demons are on the menu. And I confess to being pleased to see you along on this expedition. Though I imagine these demons will be less pretty than the ones we saw off recently, eh?"
He offers a nod to Numair, another familiar face. "And a priest of the Dawnflower is always a valuable addition to any expedition."
He turns to Osprey "The stones themselves? Are we to investigate them while we are down there? And while I think of it, can you give us the names and descriptions of these agents on their confirmation - on the offchance we run in to them?"
"Aye, any insights you can gleam on the Stones, capital S, would be appreciated, Khellek, as well as reclaiming any lower-case s stones that you find. Hopefully, the new agents should be close at hand when you arrive, but they are Dirch, a half-elf wizard native to the area, who's been using sending scrolls to communicate back and forth with Venture Captain Sharrowsmith, Unaku Does-Not-Laugh, a Shoanti wildsman, Quarter-Orc Bob, a, well, self-explanatory, but trained to handle locks, and Guzwullumpers, a gnome cartographer."
"As for Wyrn, he's young and Chelish, with red hair, but he's also a master of disguise. For information security purposes, I didn't know his cover identity with the Aspis, but I do know he bought a bastard sword the last time he was in Absalom."
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Nuamir bows politely to the others.
"Most of you I have worked with before, but for those who do not know me, I am Numair Salmalin, the Grandidierite Sage. I am somewhat skilled in the give-and-take art of Diplomacy, and know a reasonable amount of history - although not as much as a scholar such Khellek.
In combat, I generally specialise in buffs and debuffs, although I can be counted on for anti-swarm spells, too."
When the mention of Jungle is brought up, Numair nods.
"I generally rely on my magic to keep me protected against the vagaries of heat and cold."
His brow wrinkles into a frown.
"More demons? They seem to crop up in every mission I have been on, recently - the damn things are like roaches!"
Osprey finishes his beer, and then quickly chugs another beer. He considers the cask a little bit, since no one else had much of a drink, but decides against it, and has the group follow him into the basement of the Wench. "Watch your head, especially you, Grog," he says, ducking under the floorboards.
He pulls out a scroll, starts muttering something, and a blinding bright blue light flashes, and the Pathfinders find themselves somewhere different as their sight returns.
There is an assault of hot, sticky air that reeks of mildew and soil. Canopied beneath an oversized tent, hammering sheets of rain slam against the thick canvas like the flapping wings of a huge, primordial beast. Drops plink into buckets scattered about the floor, while additional canvases lie draped over shipping crates and other supplies.
Despite all effort, the rains soak through the tent, turning the dirt floor to a muddy soup crawling with roaches. A young man perches on a nearby crate, cloaked in a thick oil-canvas to keep dry. Cracking a wide smile, he raises his voice to speak, but his words are barely audible against the din. "I'm Dirch. You must be the strike force team being sent here!"
"Alright, I know I am just an initiate, and you lot are some of the most powerful members of the Society, but I've got a couple of push-rafts to give you, and I've got some ideas, as well," the half-elf Dirch says, "Based on what Eiastor has gotten to us, we think the Aspis agents are on the other side of the Rumawa's territory. We don't think they've gotten past the Rumawa, at least. We've traded a little with the Rumawa, but they're not entirely peaceful, so... Last message he got to us, they're upriver of the Rumawa."
"Highly recommend that you use the rafts. Walking through the jungle is like being swallowed by a kraken."
"The Rumawa? Some of our spare metal spearheads for some musical instruments, mainly to show that we could be trusted. Do any o' you speak the local language? That might be an issue, as only Guzwullumpers spoke it for us."
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"I do, but I also speak Polygot, and roughly twenty other languages, without needing to resort to magic." admits Khellek.
"Still, I find it helpful to keep some magical help available for when I meet an unexpected group or especially ancient tome. And being able to bestow the ability to speak another language for a period of time on others has its uses as well."
The party rests, and gets going in the morning. Quickly, the heat and humidity becomes overbearing for everyone who isn't magically protected, in which this case is Grog.
The heat is beating down, but close to the end of the daylight hours, the clouds open up and pour down rain. It's hard to see in the downpour, but the heat breaks.
The forest beyond quickly darkens into an endless void of shadowy leafy claws. Impossibly tall trees stretch up into the sky, as if strangling the sun into fragments of amber that slip between their angry branches. The ground below is barely visible beneath a carpet of thick green shrubs and mosses. The lush vegetation grows right up to the water, obscuring the stream banks. The waters run slow, dark and murky with rich black sediments from the recent rains.
Drums begin to pound. dum dum dumDUMdum dum!
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Before the old professor begins his lecture, Cenae beats him to the punch. ”Oh, I know what this is. Quickly we need to act. The drums, the chanting, this is part of a religious ceremony by the animal spirits that the Rumawa follow. They are requesting that we make a sacrifice to the alligators of the river that the Rumawa revere. Not a metaphorical sacrifice. You must capture and offer an animal to feed the alligators.”
Grog, you can attempt a DC 15 survival check to give yourself a +2 bonus on all fortitude saves for the day for traveling in the hot weather. And also give me seven fortitude saves.
Grog is able to pick up the trail of a duikar, a small jungle antelope that would be perfect for a crocodile snack. Grog finds the duikar and is able to trap it, to present to the crocodiles swimming in the river. After the crocodiles tear the little deer apart, the drumming dies down, and the Rumawa hunters leave their cover.
"You have honored the crocodiles who guard the river," one in the back, who seems to be their shaman, says in Polyglot "What brings outsiders to their river?"
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Khellek steps forward to address the shaman, respectfully, in Polygot.
"Great shaman of the Rumawa. We come in peace. Ancient stones with the form of drowning men lie along the river. We hope to visit them and learn about them. "
He offers them a smile.
"We would ask for your aid in this expedition, both physical and anything you can tell us of the stones, or the area around it."
He then offers a translation for the group so they know what he is saying.
He stumbles on some of the words, but his voice carries well through the trees with a pleasing timbre to it.
Grog really, really is struggling in the heat, and takes 10 points of non-lethal damage over the course of the day's travels.
A sense of shock and whispered murmurs descend upon the Rumawa as Khellek announces the intention to go to the Drowning Stones. One of the hunters even starts to draw out his shortbow, though the other shout at him not to.
The shaman's eyes begin to burn, "The Drowning Stones... You are not the first outsiders to come through our lands, seeking out these stones. Will you kill my men as they did? These Stones, they are a forbidden place. A place of murder and suicide. Men go there and become mad like beasts. Demons haunt it."
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"We have heard these stories also." admits the elderly scholar, after translating the shamans words for the rest of the team.
"If we can we would banish the demons that haunt that place. And no, we will not kill your men. We are friends of the Rumawa and the crocodiles."
He pauses for a moment. "I would be keen to learn more of these other men. It may be that we can assist you in dealing with them."
"The other outside explorers, they killed four of us and a crocodile. I did not see them by my own eyes, only one of the girls who escaped. They, too, said they were going to be our friend, but when Bei-Aki said do not go to the forbidden place, they turned on her. So, I will tell you now, do not go to these stones. They are riddled with madness, but we will not stop you from heading out," the shaman said, his eyes darting between Grog's axe and staring into Grog's soul.
"Maybe you will have success against the evil that lurks there. Maybe you all will die; that is to be seen, yes? But you did feed the crocodiles. And that is supposed to bring luck, yes? Hmm, perhaps Bayin," he motions to himself. He is obviously Bayin, "can help you outsiders." Bayin wanders into the forest, and returns shortly, with gifts.
They are two bracelets with unknown yellow teeth connected to them, twelve tiny wooden jars, filled with foul-smelling paste in them, and three tiny clay urns filled with purplish liquid. They all detect as magic.
"We give you these gifts now, but understand, those who go to these stones, they often are tainted by the experience. If you come back, raving and evil in your hearts, you cannot count on the Rumawa's peace," Bayin intones.
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Khellek hands the wooden jars to Grog. "I think you will find the paste sovereign against the heat my large friend. And who knows, maybe the insects too. But that maybe too much to ask."
He passes the clay urns out as well, skipping Cenae with them. "These will heal the worst of each of our wounds if we drink them. They smell alot better than most potions though. And the bracelets... why they will let their wearers climb as well as the monkeys who teeth they are made of."
He translates Cenae's words and then adds his own word of thanks. "We thank you grat Bayin. Given the bad nature of the stones... if it is in our power to remove them, would you have us do so? And if we return in madness not success, it may be a blessing if the Rumawa put us to rest."
"The Stones are huge. You would need a team of giants from Balumbdar himself to tear them down."
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"And if such a team were available?" asks the scholar with a smile.
"My point being, their destruction would be helpful to your people, rather than something you would have us avoid? A skilled engineer may accomplish what looks like works of magic using remarkably small amounts of force."
He gestures to Grog. "And we have not inconsiderable amounts of force available if the opportunity presents itself."