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"OooOooo! Handsome!" Mrs. Crinkle exclaims as Nigel steps into the slightly better light. She bustles past the Carnelian Signet and slips her arm through the crook of his elbow. "Now, dearie, you what happens when you burn a candle at both ends, don't you? Why don't you sit down for a spell while we chat like old friends? You look like you could use a few minutes to put up your feet and rest a bit. Maybe you'd like a shoulder rub?" She winks at him.
"Mrs. Crinkle, have some manners. I believe he is already taken..." She giggles as the woman takes her fancy.
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“Pathfinders…?” Nigel begins uncertainly as he tries to figure out who you are and why you’re here.
When Mrs. Crinkle suddenly takes his arm, he most surprisingly breathes a sigh of relief. ”Ah, the Society received my missives!” he exclaims. Seeing the blank stares in return, Nigel curses uncharacteristically under his breath. “Hells! That means my messages have been intercepted. The question is whether it is the family, the Alliance, or some other organization with eyes on my pursuits. No matter which one, it seems my time here on the island has come to an end. I suppose I’ll find my way back to Mediogalti, and then Absalom with haste.”
He shakes off the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing politely but firmly, nods to the Signet’s point about “being taken,” and moves to the front window. Making sure that no one else is outside, he puts out the “closed” sign and draws the curtains to.
”Now then. To business. You are Pathfinders, I presume. Have you some particular way of proving that? And either way, you say the Society is docked here searching for a missing agent. So it’s just your party of six against this entire island (not that I would be surprised if you say it is)? And is her rescue the extent of your mission? ”
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Nigel looks askance at Zenari’s claim to being related to Calisro when she butchers the Captain’s name. When Eltis produces a second wayfinder, he relaxes. He steps to a table with a couple of chairs (one of which a certain gray-haired lady is resting is) and sits down with a comfortable distance between himself and her.
”Yes, I was asking if you were here to deal with the Dispatch, but since the young lady asked about Khione and other prisoners first, let’s address that. I know of two specifically. One is the Nexian child you mentioned named Tiziri Blacklevy. I’ve dealt with thon’s* father in the past, a construct crafter of some talent. The other is Khione Thidos, and for those who do not know her personally, she is a powerful voice within the Pathfinder Society, and she can make or break a reputation with just a rumor. I could not leave until I found a way to free them both. I believe a third was brought in more recently, but I’ve no information on that one.” He withdraws a small notebook from his jacket’s inner pocket and passes it across the table to the woman who is clearly the “senior” agent (at least by age.) “This has my notes on where I think they are being kept. Make sure someone gets eyes on this.”
”As to the Red Mantis Dispatch itself, well, they’re basically a lie made truth. This is what happens when skilled individuals decide to take on a role they aren’t quite qualified for and do not own the rights to, but drive leads them to dive in regardless. The Red Mantis Dispatch may have begun as a small smuggling operation using the Red Mantis’s reputation to protect their goods from prying eyes, but from my understanding, they have stepped into picking up actual assassination contracts. The trouble is, they aren’t exactly incapable of fulfilling their contracts which leads to other parties conflating them with the real Mantises.
To complicate things further, there are two heads to this monster. A ghoul named Sotroz. They have become far more capable and powerful than any other ghoul I have encountered. The other is an aiuvarin woman named Rowan the Whispering. She is… formidable. Honestly, had she not teamed up with the ghoul, I’d have expected her to become an agent of the Red Mantis herself.”
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Mrs. Crinkle only pouts a little at being brushed off so easily; honestly, she's used to it. That's why she casts such a large net in the first place.
As Nigel sets the open journal on the table, Mrs. Crinkle leans over to scan the words.
Her eyes light up. "Oh, my! What's that stolen bit of useful intel you found, dearie? Come, spill the tea! Heehee!"
Each team of Pathfinders is visited by a simultaneous glowing orb that quickly transforms into the Glyph of the Open Road and reports a message in Venture-Captain Viore’s voice. “Our forward patrols have uncovered information—mostly through force—that claims an old inn, No Rest for the Wicked, is the headquarters for this ‘Red Mantis Dispatch.’ Convene there as soon as possible. According to Giovana, they will have contracts and dossiers for each target. We need all of it for anyone to be safe.”
Mrs. Crinkle seems to have noticed something the Carnelian Signet didn't. She lets her take the lead.
The Glyph of the Open Road also mentions the inn. She suspects it's the same inn the ghouls mentioned. "A Pathfinder's day is never dull, eh Curator?"
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“Well, actually, I’ve been able to abscond with some useful information in my numerous visits to pay the Dispatch for my ‘business license’.” He passes a note across the table to where Mrs. Crinkle is
Sotroz’s elegant script describes mundane experiment notes to an assistant. But hidden in the notes is a tidbit about their ally, Rowan. It reads: “She passes through the mirror to best her opponents from every angle. But it is not perfect. This translocation weakens and disorients her for but a moment. That is the only opportunity to strike.”
“It seems, despite their alliance and business relationship, the Red Mantis Dispatch is mostly two individuals that do not trust each other at all. I imagine both have been seeking ways to undermine the other when their relationship inevitably sours, but I was only able to find this tidbit in a book hidden in a cloakroom while Hessil was getting us drinks. Lucky for us, he doesn’t have many people to talk to and craves companionship. Ultimately, if they aren’t brought down soon, I’m curious to see whether Sotroz or their dangerous business partner, Rowan the Whispering, comes out on top. Other than that, I don’t have any further verified information about either of them,” he finishes by way of answering Shalosar’s question.
At the appearance of the glowing message Glyph, Nigel Aldain smiles to the Carnelian Signet’s comment. ”Sounds like it’s time for you to get on your way. I look forward to speaking to you again in Absalom. Swing by the museum, and I’ll arrange free tickets to the newest exhibit if you can find a way to bring down the Red Mantis Dispatch.”
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"OooOoo! Looks like it's time to make a social call! I hear the service there is *dreadful*. Let's go find out! And I'll be sure to stop by the museum to say hi, dearie! Heehee!" Mrs. Crinkle waves coquettishly at Nigel, then scoots out the door. At this point, she's just flirting to be silly, though one would have to be rather perceptive to notice.
"Say hello to the Missus for me." The Carnelian Signet blows a smoky kiss on her way out.
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Nigel Aldain nods absently as the party of junior agents bids him farewell. He adjusts his snooty glasses and begins pulling a few select books off the shelves and packing up to depart this horrid island.
The Red Mantis headquarters is an old inn called No Rest for the Wicked. While it is mostly boarded up, it looks like it sometimes houses dock workers looking to get rid of a little steam while waiting to get paid for their labor, while also helping to alleviate the pain of carrying all of that pay. The doors to the inn are unlocked as befits such an establishment.
Next to the main taproom, a dusty dining chamber sits lit in candlelight from wall sconces and in small, melted columns on the three tables fit into three of the room’s corners. Each table is covered in layers of old plating, empty cups, and piles upon piles of notes, records books, coin purses, and empty crates. Over everything, a cloying layer of thick dust covers any exposed surface like dirty snowfall over a mountain range. Seated at a round table in the northeast corner of the room, an elderly man updates his record book and moves coins and papers from one pile to another, periodically stamping a document with a red and black inked stamp with a crude image of a pair of chitinous clawed appendages. As you step into the room, he doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “If you’re here to start a business, like that aiuvarin, we’re full up. Unless you fork over 200 gold pieces. Otherwise, get back to the docks. Payday isn’t until Oathday.”
"Really? It's full already? I swore there was one more spot."
"Unless you're telling me our boss is wrong. Let me take a look at that."
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As they walk, Zenari pipes up. The Blakros? Yeah. Apparently so. Haunted artifacts from what I heard. Plus the building itself used to the the home of a really crazy mage. Goodness knows what they left behind.
Upon arrival Zenari frowns seeing the state of the inn. It seems to her that maybe the only thing this place is good for is a good old fashion bar brawl to properly put this place out of it's misery.
What a dump
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Unbeknownst to either of them, Mrs. Crinkle agrees with Zenari's assessment of the inn. Before she can start flirting with the bookkeeper, who's probably as much fun as reading ledgers while hungover, the Carnelian Signet gets all demand-y, and Mrs. Crinkle likes it. OooOooo! Time to play along! Heehee!
She bats her eyes at the cranky, probably-dry-as-a-mummy old codger. "Oh, let her take a look, handsome. Teehee!"
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The old man glances momentarily at the Carnelian Signet and seems to see right through her. It sends a shiver down the vigilante’s spine, and she’s sure that although her bluff was totally believable, he seemed almost immune.
When Mrs. Crinkle speaks more Diplomatically*, his ancient face doesn’t actually smile, but it’s clear he’s receptive. ”Ah, my dear,” he says looking directly at Mrs. Crinkle, ”a pleasure. What can I do for you?”
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”Hrrmm,” he murmurs as he looks up again from his work. ”You are a distraction, but not entirely unwelcome. Oathday is still a few days away, and I’ve no one to talk to between the paydays. Very well, have a seat my small friend,” he gestures for Eltis to join him at the table covered with what you quickly realize are the complete financial records for the Red Mantis Dispatch, as well as several open assassination contracts.
”Ah, I see you’ve noticed the contracts. As I’m sure you know, holding a physical contract can keep the target safe, but I would be remiss if I did not also inform you that without the related dossiers that the Whisperer keeps, even retrieving these contracts does not guarantee these targets’ safety.” He pauses as he shuffles through the papers as if searching for something. Finally, he stops, reorganizes all of his piles neatly, and explains that there was a fourth contract, but it and its related dossier have somehow disappeared.
The contracts that you can see are:
Zarta Dralneen: Zarta’s contract is on the top of the pile. It does not mention who the client is but is stamped with the mark of the House of Thrune.
Kassi Aziril: Kassi’s contract also has a Thrune mark on it but again has no client information.
Mafika Ayuwari: Mafika’s contract is from a jorogumo noble in Shenmen. An addition to the contract for the death, it includes raiding his office for multiple books and notes from recent experiments he’s been working on with the Plane of Wood.
On the long table, a detailed map of the settlement marks not only the inn, but a dockside tavern, a nondescript building, and a hospital on the outskirts with the names Thidos, Chirper, and Blacklevy near each respectively.
It is clear that you can simply take the contracts, and he will not stop such a powerful - and polite - group.
Why am I not surprised House Thrune has it out for dear Zarta? And Kassi, too. I wonder if I did enough to get a contract on my end? The Carnelian Signet lets the more polite teammates finish talking.
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”Ah, I see you’ve noticed the contracts. As I’m sure you know, holding a physical contract can keep the target safe, but I would be remiss if I did not also inform you that without the related dossiers that the Whisperer keeps, even retrieving these contracts does not guarantee these targets’ safety.”
Mrs. Crinkle leans in, hoping to obscure the actual taking of the contracts so this almost-cooperative crook (or crook-aider-and-abetter) can honestly say he didn't *see* anyone take them. "Oh, too be sure, honey! Redundancy ensures success. Perhaps I could stop by a little later with some wine and cheese? Then we can have some of our *own* 'redunancy'. Heehee!" She gives him a wink.
Eando’s team of Pathfinders, including both Zarta Dralneen and Giovanna break into No Rest for the Wicked with undead creatures hot on their heels.
Sotroz glances about at the number of Pathfinders and casually compares it to their own gathered minions. “Ah. I see the gang is all here. Finally.”
Kline dispatches a ghoul on the end of his blade and eyes the powerful ghoulish foe. “So, this is...”
“Sotroz,” Giovanna answers for him, easily fighting off a pair of magic wielding ghouls.
Zarta seems about to make a sarcastic comment, but a lumbering ogre, forced into undeath, bashes away an inattentive Pathfinder and draws her full attention.
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A fourth contract? Who was that for?”
She gets ready to swipe the three contracts she can see unless someone else does so.
”Some Absalom woman, Dhrami Blakros the name was. I don’t know anything about her, of course, but that contract should be here,” he concludes as Mrs. Crinkle leans in over the desk providing just enough of a distraction for the ancient bookkeeper to have plausible deniability as to how the contracts disappeared.
Suddenly, all hell breaks loose as Eando, Zarta, and Giovanna arrive at the Inn. ”Pathfinders, nice job,” Zarta acknowledges your team as Eando gives a tight nod and Giovanna decapitates another ghoul in the room.
As you turn back to where Hessil the bookkeeper was just sitting, he’s no longer there, gone in a puff of dust and leaving the records untouched. Zarta examines what you found and directs you to search the rest of the Inn for whatever else there may be of value.
Following her instructions, you move further in, and in the northeast corner of No Rest for the Wicked, a brightly lit room is covered in colorful carpets and pillows. On each wall, a pair of mirrors gaze into the room almost hiding the small chest hidden in the back.
The chest in the room is locked but not trapped.
"Well met, Zarta. A little piece of home is after your head." The Carnelian Signet motions to the contracts. "Hmm, and our host is gone..." The smoke puffs away. "Looks like Nigel got ahold of the last contract."
She smirks as Sotroz emerges with their army. "Hopefully that means the prisons have fewer guards."
When they enter the room, the Carnelian Signet looks about. "Beautiful taste in furniture. And a locked treasure chest? Don't mind if I do."
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Inside the chest are three folders with the names Mafika Ayuwari, Kassi Aziril, and Zarta Dralneen written on each respectively in a crisp, tight handwriting and a crude map of the settlement with names over several of the buildings in the same script: the Crafter, the Pathfinder, and the Thief. The dossiers inside provide skillfully painted images of each target with coded notes detailing the habits and regular travel routes along with known allies of each target.
The chest also holds a small diary.
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Eltis gives the Signet a genuine smile,"You intimidated the lock! I knew you could do it!"
He takes a quick look at the papers and diary but will let others ponder them first. He's afraid that he'll wrongly declare the diary the collection of love letters from a pirate queen to a known happily wed monarch or something similar...
"That is one way to do it..." The Carnelian Signet grins.
She flips through the folders, trying to discern anything about them.
And what about this diary?
"...no idea which is which. Does anyone else want to take a look?"