A weak sun glows faintly over the well-appointed courtyard surrounding royal summer estate of Queen Anastasia. Located a scant two miles from the western edge of Irrisen’s Hoarwood Forest, the relatively modest manor has served as a quiet meeting place for many queens with business too sensitive for the machinations of Whitethrone. The warmth of the Irriseni summer has left the snow only ankle deep, with scant patches of frozen dirt and decayed pine needles littering the grounds. An impressive singular fountain stands in the center of the courtyard, the flow of water strong enough to prevent it from freezing over. Any noise it might generate is easily lost in almost a dozen different conversations dancing around from the several distinct groups, each parked in their own secretive corner of the grounds.
Greeting all who enter the gates of the estate is a handsome young dromaar, impeccably dressed in a suit of icy blue and purple silks, complemented by a pair of dark leather gloves and a thin collar of white wolf fur. After greeting the others, he steps forward, giving a practiced bow that would put the politest Taldan courtier to shame.
“Good morning, Pathfinders,” he says in a deep, calm, rumble. “I am Calix, advisor and gracious servant to Her Majesty Queen Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, Fifteenth Winter Queen of Irrisen, Mistress of Thronehold, and your host for this historical event. Prior to this post, I was a member of the Pathfinder Society and translator for my cousin, Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen. Her Majesty is awaiting your arrival with great anticipation. Given the vagueness of your invite, I am sure you have much to discuss with her. If you would be so kind as to follow me, we will endeavor to answer whatever questions we can.”
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"Oh my, we're going right in to see her?" A petite young woman quickly begins brushing at her burgundy hair and pulls out a small mirror, examining her image. "Oh, I look a fright. And this place is so beautiful. I don't know why my cousin never wanted to come back."
Gwen tries to dust off her dress and frowns at the bits of mud on her boots and hem. She touches a hand to the scarf tied around her neck, a floral pastel affair. Then she shakes her head. "No, I'm sure they would notice such a thing. Better to be forthright." She sighs. "Well, if we must see her now, then I suppose it will have to do. Besides, charm isn't all about appearances." She says the last ironically as if she's not quite sure it's true.
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A kobold with golden scales hesitantly enters the courtyard. "Mek? Mek mek mek mek?" Seeing the blank stares of the assembled Pathfinders, he shakes his head, as if remembering something.
Greet them in their own language, Huang Tong!
"Oh, well met, smoothscales! I am Huang Tong Dragonkin! I am named after my cousin, Jinlong Dragonkin, who is named after a famous Pathfinder adventurer Rhaegal Dragonkin!"
Seeing a face that had only been described to him, his face lights up and he walks up to Gwen.
"Are you Gwendolyn? I was asked to seek you out. I was told that you can instruct me in some of this 'adventuring' business. Do you really know the great Rhaegal? May I meet him someday?"
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"Are you Gwendolyn? I was asked to seek you out. I was told that you can instruct me in some of this 'adventuring' business. Do you really know the great Rhaegal? May I meet him someday?"
Gwen nearly drops her mirror as the little kobold rushes up to her. "Oh, yes, of course! Hello little one!" She kneels and bows in a way that the insufferable Rhaegal has shown her. "I do know 'The Dragon', and I've met Jinlong too! Oh my, this little extended clutch is starting to grow."
She looks Huang Tong up and down. "Now, we need to ensure you're presentable to the queen. But stick with me, little one. There are some tricks even Dragons don't know." She winks at him and blows a kiss. A burst of glitter rains down on the both of them, and colors seem to swirl around the girl.
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Hmm, why wouldn't we go right to see her and get to business?
A quiet, generally reserved man with a thin, gaunt face asks. He wears a black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head, but still his wiry long black hair falls out of the front in an unkempt mess. A hefty bastard sword is slung over his back along with a longbow.
It's been some time since I've been back in the cold.
He breaths deeply.
Smell that fresh air!
He then looks around at the group assembled.
I'm Nikma. Well met Lan, Gwendolyn, and Huang Tong.
He notes the catfolk curled up on the ground, but figures its best to not disturb their sleep.
Calix leads the group in a straight path through the courtyard, past the fountain and up the polished marble and slate steps of the estate. After a few hallways and turns he pauses at a door carved out of blackened oak. The dromaar knocks ceremoniously before swinging it open and bowing deep in a single, effortless motion.
“Your Majesty, the analysts from the Pathfinder Society, as supplied by Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen, have arrived.” Calix raises his head to peer into the room. After seeming to confirm something, he stands and motions to be followed.
The room beyond is a spaciously appointed council chamber, complete with a meeting table made from lacquered cedar with matching chairs to seat a dozen. From a chair toward the center of the table rises Winter Queen Anastasia. A slim human woman with an ageless quality, her grace and complexion mark her as very young, while the streak of ice white hair and naturally weary cast to her face hold years of strife. She wears an elegant dress of deep blue, hemmed with white and cerulean, and an angular crown made of solid ice.
“Welcome, Pathfinders,” she says, giving a shallow curtsy. “We apologize for the lack of information, we asked Venture-Captain Torrsen to keep his dispatch to you brief. Allow us to reveal why you’re here. Our father ruled over a very large nation on our home planet of Earth. We didn’t have any magic to speak of, such as you are accustomed to here, so to travel great distances we devised all manner of technologies from steel and other resources. One of these was our father’s great passion, an invention called the ‘train.’ It was like a linked stream of iron carriages that moved along a track, pulled by a device of fire and smoke at the front. We wish to bring this wonder to the people of Irrisen, and later, we hope, to the rest of Golarion.
“The resources and technology of Earth are not the same as that of Golarion, and so we don’t expect trains to be the same either. In fact, we can give little more direction on how it should work. That is why we have assembled a host of minds and peoples from across the Inner Sea to offer their ideas. You, as Pathfinders who have seen all parts of Golarion and know its peoples, are to help us judge which proposal has the most potential to succeed.”
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Gwendolyn takes a deep breath and steps forward. Despite her attitude, it was the first time she had ever met royalty. She never really believed any of those boys in the hanging out by the theatre. She dismisses the thought that the queen has the same name as her mother. They're nothing alike. She won't try to kill you.
Gwen drops into a deep curtsy, deeper than the queen. She didn't know royal protocol, but she had heard stories of the faerie queens and they were strict. A lock of hair falls in front of her face as she dips her head and she quickly brushes it away from her one vibrant green eye. "Your majesty, it's an honor to be here and to be in a position to help you. I'm Gwendolyn Faran. These are my companions." She motions subtly to Huang Tong to come forward.
"You wish to build iron carriages that are pulled by fire and smoke? That sounds a bit like harnessing a demon. Wouldn't horses be safer up here? They can dance through a silver storm while fire grows as dim as an ember." She gives a small smile to the queen.
"Besides, I don't know anything about steel making. I do know a certain kittycat who might help, but he's far from here now. How can we be judges?"
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Lan steps forward and bows to the queen. [B]"Greetings queen Anastasia. My name is La'Anneril, I know that can be a mouthful so you can call me Lan if you like. I'm knowledgeable in warfare and all carriages are pulled by some beast of burden are you suggesting a carriage pulled by fire elementals?"**
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Nikma frowns.
Earth... like the element? Train?
He's never been to Numeria and so technologies such as this are never on his mind.
Why would carriages need to be iron? Are there particularly powerful beasts on the Plane of... I mean "Earth." How do the tracks help them? Carriages may go anywhere on roads, may they not?
He looks around at the rest of the party present, wondering if his question is daft. None of this makes sense to him.
Neither Gwendolyn nor Nikma recall anything helpful.
Anastasia explains the project in more detail to the Pathfinders. “As we said, think of it as a group of linked carriages in a line, that is pulled along a prescribed path,” Anastasia offers. “The carriages were called ‘cars,’ each of which was quite large and could house twenty people or more.” She pauses for a moment before clarifying, “Twenty human-sized people, that is. When we rode in them, they had small rooms and hallways inside them to accommodate many separate groups traveling in the same vehicle. Unless your horses are much different than those on Earth, a train will be able to transport many more people and in more comfort. They were limited to moving across a pair of iron tracks, like a road all to itself.”
To the questions about the plane, she replies, "It seems to be a linguistic coincidence that your element and my world share a name."
"The reason we brought Pathfinders in was that we couldn't think of a group who would know more about this land. Examine all the options and use your judgment as to what design would be most feasible and most useful."
"While there is a chance that a train could come off its tracks, they are unlikely to fall from the sky. Still, any insights you have on safety would be appreciated as well.
"If there is nothing else, let us move on."
Calix leads you into the courtyard, where six groups of representatives are putting the finishing touches on their trains. The queen encourages you to roam and speak with each of them.
Calix gives a quick summary of each contractor to you.
* Firozet Botosar is a human elementalist who has some fame for using spirits to power mahcines.
* Danixki is the leader of a witchwarg pack that looks like an oversized sled dog team.
* Siraya is a huldra who seems reluctant to interact with the other groups.
* Lieutenant Surkzin is a female hobgoblin member of the Oprak Engineering Corps.
* Ivinder Greaseblood is a male dwarf who has been experimenting with gunpowder.
* Coven Matriarch Szvetneera is a haughty female human with a pair of bodyguards between her and the rest of the gathering.
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Huang Tong bows deeply. "Well met, your majesty! I am Huang Tong Dragonkin."
Being a new Pathfinder, he's a bit in awe at being in the presence of royalty during his first mission. "Perhaps you've heard of my uncle Jinlong Dragonkin? Or perhaps the Great Dragon himself Rhaegal Dragonkin? I hope to follow in their footsteps..."
He catches Gwen's slightly shocked look and clamps his mouth shut, wondering if he's managed to offend a head of state on his first time out.
Seeing the numerous designs in the courtyard, Huang Tong can do nothing more than gape at them. He looks around to find Gwen but can't find her at the moment. Left to his own devices, he sees the group with the bodyguards and tries to approach them.
"Greetings Smoothscale! Your model looks interesting. How does it work?"
Surkzin salutes the Pathfinders as they approach. He and his team are standing near a train made of stone. He greets Nikma with a clipped "Sir!" and waits motionless as the ranger studies the device.
Next to the courtyard’s fountain waits an orderly group of tables, set in a grid with precise spacing. A few hobgoblins stand at rigid attention beside them, outfitted in warm layers and holding engineering tools. Their focus is set on one of their number, who wears round goggles made from deep quartz and is deftly polishing the train model she holds.
The lieutenant addresses Lan without moving anything but his mouth. "Sergeant, a demonstration please!" Another hobgoblin takes the train model and lays it out on one of the tables and winds it up. As it moves on its own, she infuses an object in her hand with a bit of magic, causing an obsidian archway to appear in front of it. The model enters and comes out of a different archway on the table next to it.
A tall, lean man paces back and forth in front of a table cluttered with bronze implements and tubes. His sun-darkened skin can barely be seen through the outrageous number of ill-fitting coats layered under a brightly colored robe of emerald and white. He fumbles with an instrument in his thickly gloved hands, muttering curses through chattering teeth in an accent that marks him as hailing from the Golden Road.
"If I find any around here, curse their frozen hearts, I'll arrange for them to be sent to the Plane of Fire to fetch me back something to warm myself." He seems to be distracted by the cold. Perhaps you could do something to distract or help him, and then he will be more forthcoming?
Lan looks over the train as it moves on its track, making some comments about the teleporting toy. The lieutenant explains that the train can use the Stone Roads to travel vast distances in an instant.
Gwen looks at Firozet's model, but can't seem to figure out what is going on. She doesn't get much else out of the elementalist, either. The Pathfinders will either need to get his mind off the cold or start a fire.
Claiming the space closest to the stairs of the estate is a handful of tall Ulfen men, each dressed in warg furs and armed with impressively large weapons. Between them can be seen a thin woman in a shimmering white-blue dress, a resting scowl on her face as she paces next to a nearby table.
"The Stone Road resembles a tunnel, ma'am. It is not clear what is outside the tunnel."
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To Szvetneera, Hadrimos blatantly lies, "The magical coaches of Smapnorra moved by mystical means and did not use tunnels, but displaced the coaches by translating them to the opposite sides of the obstacle. I assume they used transmigraportation magics."
Since he has the Charming Liar feat, this counts as a Diplomacy check to Make an Impression.
Szvetneera sneers as Gwen addresses her, though she gestures for her bodyguards to allow the Pathfinders to observe the device. The train has small chicken legs on the bottom of each car as the apparent means of locomotion. She does at least seem to pay attention to Hadrimos' statement.
Huang Tong can't make heads or tails of the Stone Road Express. It is pretty neat, though.
Nikma's fire starting skills seem to be lacking.
Matriarch Szvetneera - who keeps her nose in the air and still talks at the Pathfinders more than to them - insists that the only proper way to create an Irriseni device is to cleave to tradition. Therefore, she and her coven have devised a method to grow chicken legs on each of the cars, much like Baba Yaga’s famous hut.
The sound of loud pops and bangs can easily be heard coming from a collection of dwarves gathered around a small track. Their leader is a man with a rust-colored beard so long and wide he has tied it like a sash to close his winter coat. He gestures wildly with a hand covered in old burns and missing two fingers. He first needs to be pulled away from a heated debate with members of his group about the optimal lubricant for the wheels of the train (obviously slurk grease) before he will begin to discuss their pitch for the train.
"There are no chickens," the matriarch scowls. Still, the flattery didn't hurt things with her.
Nikma adds his voice to the slurk grease debate. Ivinder cheers loudly and slaps him on the shoulder as the argument shifts in his favor. Now that you have ingratiated yourself, he will be happy to tell you about gunpowder.