Nix shakes out his shoulders to psych himself up and then aims his mirror directly down the cliff face. With a soft bamf the kobold suddenly feels empty air below him. Prepared for this, he reaches out with his claws and scrambles to find purchase
Unfortunately, he picks up too much momentum before he finds a reasonable handhold and is barely able to arrest his rapid descent
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Never the most athletic of dwarves, Dawn nonetheless acquits herself well as she clambers down the cliff.
"Fine, but I refuse to leave Kalla alone. I will stay."
While Kalla speaks, Dehlia does her best to look menacing but fails to overcome her naturally cute demeanor.
When Kalla finishes speaking, Dehlia bangs her shield and shouts, "And if you want to kill her, you'll have to get through me!" While she tried her best to project a loud and booming voice, the result was more like a loud squeak.
"Make sure you can run fast enough to avoid being surrounded," Ursula tells Dehlia and Kalla. "Sharlott, with me."
The great mass of wretched leshies is slow to rouse, even with Kalla and Dehlia's taunts, but they build into an ungainly avalanche, sloughing off unsound body parts against the rough terrain as they hurry after you!
You'll need to run fast to stay ahead of them! Endurance, nimbleness, or practice in managing the rough terrain will be your best methods.
A relative handful of the leshies remain behind near the monolith. At first they do not notice the Pathfinders creeping down the slopes, but when Nixoret crashes to the earth , some of the noisome creatures stir, hooting ominously, but not yet charging.
The leshy crafter still seems insensible to your approach while he puts the finishing touches on a new leshy, a hideous monster made from spindly vines growing through the carved open corpse of an opossum, with two small pebbles serving as the eyes, tied in place with string. The crafter finishes attaching the last limb, and the opossum leshy twitches to life atop the broken monolith, their body suffused with a dim, yellowish light. They take several jerky steps forward, then disintegrate, their head falling off and one of the pebble eyes rolling up against Dawn’s foot.
The leshy crafter tilts his head and considers this. "NO. No, no, NO, ThE River pEBbLES wERE NoT A SuCCEss. vEry DamP. NeEDS aN AdDEr sToNE? YeS. ADDer stOnE worKS. Then ThEy Can SEe EVErytHIng. aLSo, Not SlIPPerY, I Can tIe the STrinG."
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"No going through eithers of us, Deh, so come on, gotta scatter right fast." the bard shouts as she leaps over a stump "Watch your kin there!"
Whether she is talking about the mass of approaching leshies or the stump as Kin is lost as she catches a root on the landing, rolls hard and dusty, before bounding up like it was all planned. She grins at her running mate, before her eyes get big looking back. "Yep, they are closer. Come up you malformed bunnies!" shouting at the horde before continuing.
Ursula is quick and light on her feet, making it to the monolith for cover before any of the leshy can spot her! She stays quiet with her dueling sword gripped at the ready, waiting for the others. Looking over the runes, she tests out her own magic to attempt to disrupt whatever energies were helping out the leader's ritual.
Laszlo follows Ursula's route to the monolith and examines the runes in light of his prior visit. Upon seeing her attempts at defacing the runes he says loudly "No, no, it doesn't work like that. These pieces don't mean anything! You have to adjust these ones over here!"
He then pauses realizing what he has just done. "I knew I should have stayed with the distraction team."
Dehlia raises an eyebrow at Kalla's "kin" comment as she sprints deftly through the forest terrain.
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Nix looks down and grimaces at the busted and bleeding scales on his claws and knees but, not wanting to appear like a doofus, he transitions to a three point stance in an attempt to pass off his tumble as an impressive, intentional entrance.
By the time he looks up, he sees Ursula and Laszlo making for the monolith. Not wanting to be left behind, he pulls out his mirror and aims it behind the rock.
He appears behind the cover of the monolith and manages to mostly stiffle a celebratory squeal which he hopes none of the leshies noticed
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Nixoret and Ursula make it into the shadow of the monolith, but as Laszlo and Dawn move to follow, the seemingly oblivious Crafter turns his head, the jagged chunk of stone in his eye making odd shadows play across his face. "oh, HelLO!
"dO you HAvE aN aDDEr STONE?" The leshy stops and looks around. "or StRiNg? usEd mINE. NEeD More."
Ursula is able to determine that her learning could be sufficient to deface this, but it will take more time than she'd hoped...
***
Dehlia and Kalla have earned an early lead, but the woods behind them still churn with the horrors of abyssal life. You could keep trying to just get as much distance as possible, hope that they won't notice if you curve around to double back , or try to hide and go to ground .
"Deh" Kalla says with just the start of a pant "Should da..." she leaps again, this time over brush "checked ta... " a rock JUMPS in front her, she swears, and she spins to avoid it just in time "SEE IF YOU'RE GOOD AT HIDING!" she spits out all the rest quick and higher pitched that a hero would like. Cause the spin made her look back into the writhing sea of mutilated plant people.
The bard looks over at her running companion, thinks that maybe Dehlla is the stealthy type, well hopes at least, and searches for a crack or a log or a manhole to jump into.
Dehlia nods at Kalla and scans the surrounding area. She spots a bush nearby two trees that matches her personal foliage, steps in, closes her eyes, and blends in.
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Something in the unhinged Leshy triggers an instinctive response in Laszlo. "Dawn, you assist Nix and Ursula, I know what I must do."
Turning back to the Crafter, he begins walking over, digging through his pack. "Of course, master, let us see here. I unfortunately am all out of Adder Stones, please forgive this wretch, but I do have some string here. If I may be so bold as to offer, have you considered a soft wood for some trellising? We will obviously have to disentangle before they deform, but it would provide additional structure..."
Falling into old habits, he begins distracting the Crafter with as much tedious procedure and craftwork possible.
"Perhaps you could tell us more about what you are working on here? It seems... interesting. Very interesting," Dawn says, trying to distract and stall the leshy.
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Leshies comb over the scrub and foliage, leaving snail-trails of mysterious fluids and juices. Twice they draw close to Kalla and Dehlia where they hide, but so far as they can tell you blend into the world around you flawlessly.
***
The leshy's head splits in what looks dreadfully like a smile. "I’m ReStORiNg thE NATURal ORder! The fOreSt Here IS VERY unNaTURal. Very strange, SaD. tHE pLaNts ArE a vEry STRaNge COLOR, ThEY'RE GrEeN, The riveRS NEVEr FLoW With bLood, sTRANgE MoNstERS EVErYwhErE! juSt othER DaY, i sAW a ThiNg. LiKE A raT, WITH a LONg, flUfFy tAIL! bUrYING An Acorn in THe GROUND. VeRy hOrRiFyInG! anD mY broTHEr lEShY sayS HE saW A THING, FouR FeET anD A LItTlE whItE TaiL, BraNCHES ON iTS HEAD. mONsTerS everYWHeRe! vErY dISTuRBiNg!"
The leshy looks quite earnest as he says this. One of the smaller lingering leshys, which looks like a fox that has been turned inside out and is leaking dead leaves from within, comes and bumps their head against the leshy crafter, as if comforting him. "sO i THINk - somEthInG muSt BE DOnE! It’S uNNaturAL, ThiS PLace. But I’M ONLY onE lEshY, so i’m MakINg FRIEnDS. tOGetHEr, wE'Ll makE thIs pLace woRk RIght, pROpeR NAturE, WITH Eye-mushRoomS, anD ScREamIng fLoWERS, ANd snAkEs! NOt ThEse baD SNAKes, oNLY onE HeAd. VErY uPSETTING. SHOUld have SixtEEN hEADS! We wIll FIx.
"It's a veRy DIFFICulT ANd iMPOrtANt jOb." The leshy puffs up as he says this. "bUT I can do It. EVENTUaLlY." He pause. "IT May taKe me a BIT, ThoUgH.
"bUT YoU ARe frIEndS Too! YoU Will HElp?" The sharp stone in the leshy’s eye glitters as it says this. "YOU lOOk A lItTle crEepY. But MaybE yOU ARe FrIeNDS?"
Kalla knows they are safe, as sure as kettle knocked to the side of the fire. But Kalla cannot just sit safe when something happens. Well she tries, knowing it is the sane thing to do, but her skin itches with the need of the knowing, so she peaks up to look at the swirling mass of crazy to what is what.
Her heart stop leaps when she comes face to face with a sniffing squirrel thing made up of a mass of sweet gum seed balls. She is made, dead, eaten... no wait, not face to face, but face to butt. That fluff at top is a tail not an abnormal ear. Quiet as silk against butter, Kalla slips back down into her hidey hole, but not before she sees all she needs to see.
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Nixoret flares his ears in an attempt to hear and absorb everything the Leshy crafter is saying.
But he is distracted by trying to picture the grotesque creatures the Leshy is describing and can't make heads from 16th heads of what might be going on
Accepting the invitation, Laszlo sidles closer after whispering to Dawn "Don't worry, you're not that creepy looking"
Arriving at the makeshift operating table, the fleshwarp begins engaging the crafter in a discussion of (im)proper biology to hold his attention. "Are you sure sixteen heads is correct? While people think even numbers are better for symmetry, an odd number like seventeen lets you pick a middle head. It's also prime, which helps prevent the heads from fighting with each other, they can't make balanced groups."
"I can assure you, we are your friends," Dawn says, giving the leshy a reassuring smile. "We only want to help you."
Kalla sees a gap in the tide of leshies - a moment where she and Dehlia can make a break for it. You should be able to get back to the monolith without the leshies seeing. You wouldn't be able to distract them further, but they also won't be able to find you in their search.
Nixoret and Ursula begin their work on defacing the sigils, but they'll need more time!
Dawn and Laszlo's words are met with a serious case of side-eye, though the crafter doesn't yet lunge to attack.
"wHy arE DISgUstinG CREaTUrEs lIkE You wANTinG to HeLp uS? whAt do yOu wanT to dO To HelP?"
Kalla slips down shoulder to shoulder with her companion and whispers "think we gave them enough time?" she points back to where her friends were talking with the maker. "you should we run some more like we dropped a hot coal down our backsides?"
"Well I can't see much from here, but if they're not on us now no sense in waiting around!"
The roots at Dehlia's feet withdraw from the ground and her flowers curl back into bulbs as she sprints out of her hiding spot and toward the monolith.
Kalla grins in a wild 'escaped dog' kind of way and then sprints after the flower child.
"Something about this place has tainted your spirit," Dawn says. "We only wish to restore the natural order. We can make you whole again. You will feel much better once we are done. Please, will you allow us to lend you our aid?"
Laszlo pitches in to support Dawn. "Yes, think back, clearly this place wasn't always unnatural. We can help remove the veil from you eyes so you can see clearly again. We're not the unnatural ones, you are!"
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"Well, I couldn't have asked for two of the least believable distractions ever..." Ursula quietly mutters as she works as fast as she can. Who knows if Kalla and Dehlia would be back soon.
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As Ursula continues to strategically deface the cyclopean runes, the Crafter balefully regards Laszlo and Dawn. "I Don't tHINk you SEe The BEaUTY of WHaT I'M MAKiNg. I DoN't Think yOU'RE friENds AFTEr alL!"
But before the remaining leshies can swarm, with one final flourish Ursula finishes her workings. Uncanny yellow light flares from the glyphs one last time, then fades forever. The leshy crafter observes this, blinks a few times, then suddenly rips the monolith shard from his eye and smashes it against the ground.
He stands stock still for a moment, raising a hand to touch the gaping hole in his face where the cyclopean shard had so recently rested. He gingerly probes the hole, swaying like a sapling in the wind. "Oh. Oh." The leshy crafter looks about slowly, taking in the twisted and deformed leshiess, the Abyssal plant life, the burnt and ruined valley. ".oH. Oh. ...iT’S PossiBle THaT I Might hAvE - That I might have misinterpreted one or two things."
There is a very long pause.
"Oops."
And with that, the threat of the Abyss-warped leshies seems to end. Free of the monolith’s pollution, you can watch the leshies that remained gradually slough off the rocks and animal parts that the crafter used to form their bodies; though they retain signs of their Abyssal origin. One has a bark pattern that looks vaguely like a bleeding skull, another extra vines that sway in an unfelt breeze...
The crafter looks on in undisguised wonder. "You must be the greatest heroes I have seen in my entire life!" He looks at your wayfinders in slight confusion. "Have you been here before?"
Their two distractions burst into the scene just at the horde of Want To Eat You leshies stop being so Want to Eat You. Kalla bends over, hands on her knees, taking a moment to breathe, or try to breathe given how hard she was running for her life.
"Not greatest..." she paused to catch more of that wonderful air, and making everyone think the bard has found humility. "Just Great." well found a little at least. She beams a wide smile at the leshie. "You look better without that accessory." a wave toward the crafter's eye. "How'd ya decide that was a good idea?"
"No! The Greatest! I am only six months old though." The leshy extrudes a pinecone from his body and throws it at the rock in a moment of pique. "I grew around it. Many spirits are waking up, but usually there's someone to pick our bodies for us. Maybe without a crafter, that was like..." He flaps his hands a bit to show something flowing or splashing. "Like a lake or a dammed stream. A place where spirits would stop their flow. It seemed like a good eye too! Not so squishy and wet like your eyes."
"Oh, I was asking the other leshies, but they haven't learned words yet. What name should I have? I was thinking Foxglove, or Yew, or Oleander, but maybe... maybe something nicer? Like Blackberry? I am the greatest and smartest spirit of this forest, the eldest and wisest, self-maker and leshy-maker; I need a good name too."
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"Oh good ones, and heck names are as bad as choosing a single marble. So many swirls inside the glass how could you pick ONE." she sighed as if she has had that experience "No reason you gotta, course. Yew and Blackberry has my gander, I don't mind saying, so if you ignore the One rule... Yew Blackberry? Course, my favorite of all time is a single marble of a name. Sara, and I won't say why." she rambled a bit, smiling again at the end, but a tingle of melancholy has found its place there.
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Dehlia cocks her head to the side and consider the names. "Yew... yew... what about Dew?" Nodding at her own suggestion, she continues, "Dew shows on plants with the light of dawn. You're young and were born into the world without purpose, but are a part of nature's beauty."
Her flower buds slowly reveal light blue orchids.
The leshy crafter's vacant eye socket gapes in amazement. "Dew, it's perfect! Thank you cousin! Thank you!" Dew embraces Dehlia in delight. "Oh wisest cousin, thank you again!"
Dew's face draws up in sudden solemnity. "Do not spare my feelings, but do tell me in truth and fellowship, did you stop me in time? Who do I need to help?"
***
Dew makes good on his offer, traveling with you to meet with Cenenviel the Druid, Kaana Korag of the Redpines, and of course, Urwal of the Pathfinders. With the introductions made, and a fortunate scarcity of blood shed, it seems that your intervention won't be long needed...
And soon, the great Iobaran Expedition will begin!
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Tromping through the woods near Mishkar, Laszlo stops upon reaching a large tree and turns back to his students with a crooked grin. With him are some of the local children, young enough to not have apprenticeships yet, but old enough to learn: a Centaur foal, a Human boy, a Leshy sapling and a Halfling... child? I'm still so bad at determining Halfling morphology. She could be an adult. In fact she has to be, she must be a chaperone. Really! Who would send children alone with me into the woods?
"Gather round, this is the perfect place to start your lesson! Now the Druid Cenenviel and your elders will tell you that herbalism is an art, the gentle persuasion of encouraging growth until carefully harvesting at the perfect time as told to you by each flower and berry. Alchemy, on the other hand, is a science! It is combining the correct materials at the right ratios in accordance with the determined best formula to get the same result time and again. Travelling Alchemy, however, is a bit of both. When I am in a new land, I do not always have access to the same materials that I learned to use, and I certainly can't wait to order some from afar. After all, often it is we Pathfinders who are bringing those resupplies to alchemists in distant lands. So, I instead make do with what's around me." So saying, he steps back and pats the tree behind him.
Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a book and squats so the children can get a good view of a formula covered in margin notes and crossed out and written over words. "For example, the recipe that I have for an elixir of life, most useful to any adventuring party, requires Children's Teeth- no, no, stop covering your mouths, not those teeth. It is the name of a plant native to my homeland, Ustalav. They are called that because they are white flowers that bud early in their growth and grow among the roots of trees, so they look like... well you get it." Reaching down with a free hand, he plucks a hardy blue flower from amongst the tree roots, pulling slowly to maintain a significant portion of the root structure. Holding it before the children, he spins it between his fingers so they can see all sides of it. "Importantly, they don't grow here BUT, these do. I have heard them called Striving Raindrops. Now, are they exactly the same as Children's Teeth, I don't know, probably not. But I can tell from their structure, where they grow and what grows around them, and their general mana flow, that they are probably similar. That takes much learning and practice before you will be able to make the same estimates, but there are some things you can learn much quicker." He snaps the book shut with the flower pressed between the pages and returns it to his bag before crab walking a short distance and pulling forth another flower with his bare hands.
"Look at this flower here. You see the angry red veins that culminate in ugly boils. This is a clear sign of Abyssal taint, and you should never handle a plant like this without gloves and other protection. The fine hairs that you can see on the stem are actually like splinters that try to cut your hand open, and watch this." With a little force he pushes on one of the petals. Rather than bending like a flower should, the petal snaps, the open wound beading with an ichor-like sap. "While there are... some... uses that I can make of this, you should never consume these fluids. They are very dangerous. Now the taint does not always show right away so if you taste... what was it again..." Absentmindedly, Laszlo wipes a bead of the flower with a finger and then licks the finger. "Ah, yes, cinnamon with a dash of hate- I know you don't know what hate tastes like, no child should, but be assured you cannot confuse its taste with anything else. If you taste a combination of cinnamon and hate find a responsible adult right away because bad things will happen. For example, these flowers can cause you nightmarish visions of monsters and violent men and..." Laszlo's attention drifts as his eyes track something floating in the air that none of the children can see, then he shakes his head and pointedly looks directly at the children and not anywhere else. "And ghostly spirits. And that is with the smallest of doses. Now, I want you each to check the nearby trees and bring me ten stalks of Striving Raindrops. When we get back to town I will show you how to make a simple poultice with them. You don't have the foundation for a proper elixir of life, but this should be plenty for every day use. And make sure you stay away from any tainted flowers." Instructions given, Laszlo's attention drifts back to the phantasmal apparitions flying above them.
While the children begin collecting flowers, the centaur foal leans over toward her halfling friend. "Do you think our parents will get mad about this?"
The halfling grins back manically, "Not if they don't find out. And the other kids are gonna go crazy when we tell them that we learned actual alchemy from a Pathfinder!"
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Ursula is pleased to have accomplished much with her assignment to the Society. Now that they have some downtime, she spends a good amount on her arcane training to shore up her knowledge and finish learning some spells. Sharlott she sends out to speak to any caravans from Brevoy to start accumulating some information on what's been going on in the region. It paid to know if the political landscape was shifting, even if that information was likely months out of date.
For fun, she rides out on her new summoned steed. A pure white horse with a long wavy mane that cascaded down their neck. A properly noble mount that she rode everywhere. Not simply to show the people of the region her status, but also to refamiliarize herself with riding. It had been a couple of years since she'd had to properly ride and it was better to ease into it to avoid saddle soreness.
Partly because she does enjoy their banter, she can't help but detour to ride past whichever watering hole Kalla is spending her time in boozing. It is a little fun to needle the bard. She does give her a modicum of respect as a Pathfinder after having seen her in action a few times.
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Kalla was alone.
Well, no not completely, the diviest bar in an area was never really empty. The cheaper the ale the more popular the place, her Da always said. At least the people were not full of themselves as...
"Holy hells in a basket and set it on fire, that horse is a pretty as a snail's smile after sipping a haste potion." the bard nearly gushed, even when she saw Noble-r riding on it. "Course it be you, probably get a rash on your ass if you laid it on a commoner horse." Kalla moved over to the window of the place, well the entire side kind of was like a window with no glass or shutters or anything but a rickety railing and air. Anyway she leaned over it and whistled low and awed like, letting her black eyes trace the elegant lines.
There was pause, a chewing of a cheek and then a question "Hey princess, you know more than thimble full of things. What is wrong with this place? Iobaria, that is. I mean its great for adventuring pathfinders, who need the opposite of calm to feel like they picked the right life path. But for normal folk, like my people are... most of them... well this place seems like a trash fire in the dry months." Kalla was wrestling inside, plagued with the drowning of a dream.
A few days into your time in Mishkar, a still-rather disturbing hogweed leshy trundles out of the woods with a scabbarded blade, helpfully labeled as a "legendary sword, for the good monsters." It's a low-grade silver longsword with the image of a grasping arm etched into its blade. Much more crudely inscribed alongside it is the name "Voydflayme"
Ursula sits side saddle on her lovely steed while speaking with Kalla. "Iobaria has a tumultuous history. It was once home to a great empire, but plague rises again and again to collapse most efforts to unite their society. I can't speak for the reasons why. My brother was the one who truly studied this land, and most of what I know was from what he told me."
She glances off into the horizon, practically posed like for a portrait. "He's somewhere in these lands. I have to find him and send him home."
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Not all the leshies created by Dew were accounted for in the aftermath. Young and disfigured, several wandered off into the forest either with intention or because they were lost.
Dehlia spent time tracking them down to provide guidance and find them safety. Their appearance meant folks in the region tended to greet them with fear or anger.
She tracked one particular pair to an area of the forest on the edge of farm land. One was a root leshy that looked like a giant onion, nearly bitten in half by a dire wolf. The other was a leaf leshy, with leaves that looked disturbingly like long mummified fingers.
Afraid to interact with the locals, the hungry pair had been stealing from nearby farms. It wasn't long before the locals were sharing tales of dreadful monsters in the area stealing supplies for dark rituals.
Fortunately, Dehlia tracked them down before the locals put together a posse to find them. It took some effort, but eventually she convinced the farmers they were just leshies. Eventually the locals agreed to take care of the leshies, as long as they worked. They even gave the leshies nicknames: Onion and Mums.
--------------
A few nights later, Dehlia found herself lying in a forest clearing under the stars. She had originally joined the Pathfinders out of convenience and concern, with no thought for what was next. They had graciously invited her to join them, but she wasn't sure she wanted to.
Looking up at the stars and reflecting on her journey, a sense of calm and purpose washed over her. It was a feeling she hadn't felt for a long time now. At the edge of her mind, anxious thoughts warned her not to trust quickly, but protecting people gives purpose. "I hope they'll still take me."
She closes her eyes, lets her roots dig into the soil, and rests through the night. Tomorrow, I seek my companions.
Kalla nods, eyes drifting away even when presented with the prettiest of portraits. "The reason is the bow on the fiddle though, isn't it. It tells us whether it'll happen again, and again, and again."
She turns back to her table, taking her mug and downed it in one quick belt. "I miss them... you see." her voice low, probably meant for herself more than anyone else, which is against the very nature of the bard who speaks for all, no matter if they want to hear or not.
"What a drink? I warn you if you say yes, it is mostly water, and the rest is pretty questionable. But it is cheap, which is good since it looks like you spent all our coin the cherry of all horses."
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Nixoret is no stranger to forgotten places. His time in the sun with the Pathfinders has only managed to temper the feeling of gravity that pulls him down, down below where spaces are comfortably cramped, the air deliciously dank and danger wriggles out of every nook and cranny. The kobold knows that in these places the only thing that separates being underground from being buried underground is preparation. Each overheard rumor, pickled poultice and piece of rusty junk might hold the key that keeps you and everyone around you safe. This is why Nix hoards them jealously, feverishly.
He doesn't have time to carouse in taverns or teach children, no, he skulks in taverns, hiding under eaves to hear snatches of conversation and he pays off children to collect for him the strangest mushrooms they can find. All the while stitching more pouches, more pockets, more hidden compartments in every inch of his coat and belt and pants. Nothing is going to take Nix by surprise, no ruin, no abyss, no taint; he is the danger that needs to be feared underground
Aram bin-Kaleel, the quartermaster for the expedition comes and finds you in Mishkar, inviting you to spare your feet and catch a ride with his supply caravan from Mishkar out to the burgeoning Lodge, which is situated on a ruin in the outskirts of the sprawling Finadar Forest.
Dozens of tents and the half-built frames of several future buildings
encircle a newly constructed longhouse. The tent city looks down on the dense forest of blood-red pine trees, Iobaria’s iconic bruorsivi, dotted with the occasional wisp of smoke here and there. At the forest's edge, huge cut stones nearly overgrown with vegetation and covered in creeping moss hint at ancient ruins reclaimed by nature.
Even in the chill of the early morning, the camp swarms with the activity. of hundreds of Agents. More tents are being set up, and the smell of breakfast emanates from a large cook tent. Agents greet each other and swap stories in the mess tent, and rumors fly through the crisp morning air. Alongside the many agents, other luminaries serve as nexuses of activity.
A great booming baritone and belly laugh announce Gorm Greathammer, Prince of the Sky Citadel of Kraggodan and keeper of the Grand Archive as he directs the consolidation of scholarly materials and translators. Nearby, Head Initiate Janira Gavix keeps a careful watch on a gaggle of junior agents, the halfling polymath greeting Nixoret and the rest of you with a beaming smile and a wave. Flitting between briefings and equipment observations with equal aplomb is Fola Barun, a noted negotiator and fierce advocate for training, equipment, and other support for field agents. Nixoret knows well that her involvement here means that Jorsal has gotten significant support from the upper echelons of the Society.
"Our trailblazers!" she greets you. "Thank you for your efforts; I believe that together we will make this expedition well worthy of our Chronicles. Aram, have you provided them with their allotted supplies yet?" "Not as yet, Captain Jorsal must first decide upon their mission after all, but he should be ready to speak with them soon."
After a short while Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury approaches, an invigorated smile on his face. He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the expansive view before him. The sun glints off the snow-capped mountains to the west, though it does little to warm the air around you.
"Kalla, Laszlo, you were right. Iobaria! I'm still getting used to the chill, between the dry air and the winds off the peaks, it's a good thing I packed my warmer clothes. Come take a look." He waves you over to his worktables, where a series of maps and documents sit weighted down with books, a wayfinder, and several large rocks.
"There are so many mysteries in these wilds! The ancient cyclops empire of Koloran has left ruins that have weathered the ages. The early Iobarian kings maintained their power through dragon-riding knights, and dragons still lurk in the forests and hills all around. Plagues, wars, ancient magic.... Iobaria has seen it all.
"You've all done an exceptional job paving our way with the local inhabitants, but we still need a good base of operations in the area, something more permanent than a couple of rooms in an inn in Mishkar."
The venture-captain slides a large map across the table, rearranging the rocks and books to prevent it from flying away in the breeze. "Down there, deep in Finadar Forest, is the city of Min-Khadaim, an ancient complex of ruins that dates from the cyclops empire of Koloran, abandoned since the Age of Darkness thousands of years ago. Not only is
it an amazing archaeological find, but it also is superbly located to serve as a base for further operations in Iobaria. Cyclopean architecture is built to last, so we’ll undoubtedly find something here to serve our needs. Once we explore and clear the ruins, we can then establish the Society’s first Pathfinder Lodge in Iobaria!"
Jorsal turns to you again and grows serious. "I know that you've worked for this as much as I, but this is also an important operation for the Society’s future, and we have the support of the Decemvirate themselves! In fact..."
Jorsal suddenly seems to focus on something behind you, and he trails off. Two figures walk into the tent, both wearing helms that completely cover their faces. One is short and stocky, wearing a sapphire-studded
helmet that covers their upper face. The other is a taller figure whose face is completely hidden by a flowing sheet of water that disappears into mist just past their neck. Those strange helms immediately mark them as members of the Decemvirate, the mysterious leadership of the Pathfinder Society.
"Yes, Jorsal, the Decemvirate understands the importance of this season of exploration in the wilds of Iobaria," states the shorter of the two in a scratchy voice that sounds older than the speaker looks. "You may call me Sapphire, and you may call them Shrike." The speaker strides quickly to the table and indicates the large map, which shows a large area of forest subdivided into regular squares.
"Based on a preliminary survey, the ruins of Min-Khadaim have been divided into sections. Each team will explore and clear their assigned section - Jorsal will provide the details."
They turn to you. "You may be relatively new recruits, but we, the Decemvirate, need you to understand the importance of this operation. There are mysteries here in Iobaria that go far beyond plagues and dragons. The cyclopes of Koloran fled here when their homeland of Ghol-Gan fell under the sway of evil forces. Those brave and determined souls that made the trip were determined to escape the mistakes of their kindred, yet their descendants still fell into decadent decay as well, long before Earthfall ended their empire. The question of what laid them low at the height of their power is one of Golarion’s greatest unsolved mysteries."
Shrike meanwhile, has been pacing back and forth, their glare somehow evident even from behind the waterfall. "I say they are too unseasoned. You," they point at Ursula. "What do you know about modern cyclops culture? Will you even be able to identify anomalies in Min-Khadaim?"
"Culture. They had one, and now they don't. They're giants who've regressed to at best loosely organized tribes and at worst cannibals. The anomalies would be anything that indicates they're progressing as a society. The only civilized thing about them is their respect for avoiding harming their eye. So I suppose if they're tearing them out that's another anomaly."
Ursula wracks her head for anything else she recalls from secondhand knowledge of her brother's talks about his studies. "I guess in the past they were great diviners, so a leader with strong divination powers might be one more."
Shrike is of course expressionless, but you can practically hear their sneer. "Introductory. You," they point at Laszlo. "If trouble arises, how will you protect and preserve the irreplaceable artifacts or records you find while in combat?"
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"I'm glad you asked. I've been working a lot with the local flora and minerals and have made some excellent advances! I have an excellent smoke cloud to deter projectiles and spells being tossed around, how did Kalla say it, all catawampus. Also" Laszlo pulls one of his new Blight Bombs out of his pack and uncorks it. The sickly green brew unleashes an awful stench. "I have developed a superior bomb that exclusively attacks organic materials while leaving most structures and objects undamaged! We just wipe it off after the fight and everything is ready to study."
As he works to begin re-capping the bomb, he thinks aloud "Of course, really no fighting is actually safe around sensitive materials. You should have seen the master's laboratory after the Pathfinders came through. Broken glass everywhere, acids and bases eating through the walls and floor, there was at least one fire that I'm pretty sure is still burning because we couldn't figure out how to put it out. I think the real answer is tactics... yes... we would be best served drawing any fight away from sensitive structures and artifacts. If they are grave robbers, we may even let them go. As the master always said 'stolen body parts can be reattached, but what is cremated is lost forever.'" Turning to his companions, he says "By the way, if I were to fall, that is why I want you to recover my body if possible, the preservatives the master used should be good for another decade and I can continue to be useful to the community." Turning back to the Decemvirate representatives, he perks up remembering the meeting they're in. "Ummm... I hope that answers your question?"
Shrike seems almost more infuriated by Laszlo's thoroughness and preparation than they were with what they saw as Ursula's failings. "Fine."
"You, Sewer Dragon," Shrike points at Nixoret. "What was your grade in Master Shaine's Basic Archaeological Principles class? Did you even take Basic Archaeological Principles?"
At this point, Sapphire intervenes, laying a hand on Shrike's arm. "Be at ease; they know what they must do. Trust in their skills."
Shrike pauses to give you all one last look. "Don't mess up," they state bluntly before striding off to the next tent.
Jorsal and Sapphire exchange a glance. "Err, do you have any questions?"
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Kalla had been cleaning her glasses, only partially listening. Anything akin to a lecture brings up a heavy indifference inside her. Maybe it is her utter lack of schooling, maybe it is vast distrust of authority, or maybe she just gets bored Really easy.
But then there is a comment. Two words that make her pools of jet black eyes shoot up and practically Blaze at Shrike. "Hey Water Face, his NAME is Nix, not Sewer anything! He has the blood of dragons flowing through his veins, can figure out more ways through a mess of needles than a thread, and has a smile that can charm a bed off its sheets! All of which is deserving of more respect than a dripping mess of whatever you have going on." She shouts that at the retreating person, loud enough no one might mishear.
Kalla... is well meaning, if not wise her in need to defend someone she likes and respects and might end up dead any second now, but she is standing proud and leaning in for a fight if need be next to Nixoret.
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Dehlia, who spent most of this time timidly standing half-behind her companions, speaks up, "I'm not sure I belong." For the first time since any of you met her, she appears to be trying to make herself smaller and less noticeable.
"I know nothing of cyclops, and I'm not even a pathfinder. The only thing I'm good for is fighting to protect others." Her head bows slightly and her voice grows quiet, "It seems you have high standards for this mission. If I'm to be turned away I'd rather know now."