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Setare Katsu is a compassionate but fiercely determined Pathfinder from a large adoptive family of Halflings, Kitsune, and Ifrits raised in the Forest of Spirits near Hongal under the guidance of a halfling Pathfinder and a devout follower of Sarenrae.
Setare began her life as a Pathfinder in Absalom, where her earliest missions tested whether her kindness and fierce sense of justice could survive the dangerous realities of the Society. During her confirmation, she traveled through ancient ruins and hidden chambers beneath the City at the Center of the World and proved herself worthy of joining the ranks of the Pathfinders.
Soon afterward, she was sent to investigate strange mechanical dangers beneath the city, where forgotten constructs and unstable technology taught her that courage alone was not always enough to survive. Her travels later carried her north into Ustalav and Nidal, where she encountered haunted villages, cursed mirrors, and ancient evils that preyed on fear and despair. In the mining settlement near the Silver Tarn, she fought horrors connected to a fiend bound beneath dark waters and learned how thin the line between the material world and darker powers could become.
She then journeyed into Cheliax, where she infiltrated a grim Hellknight fortress to help rescue an innocent prisoner, openly standing against cruelty and tyranny despite the danger.
Her growing reputation brought her to the River Kingdoms and Thornkeep, where she explored buried vaults from forgotten ages and recovered relics tied to lost civilizations.
In Absalom once again, she became involved in deadly intrigues tied to hidden enemies within the Pathfinder Society itself and survived conflicts that threatened the organization from within. As her experience grew, she traveled across Garund into Osirion, where ancient tombs, buried temples, and the mysteries of long-dead sages deepened her understanding of history and faith.
Within the Pillars of the Sun, she helped recover knowledge guarded for centuries and defended the legacy of the ancient Jeweled Sages. Her journeys then carried her west into the Mana Wastes and the undead nation of Geb, where she investigated disappearances, magical corruption, and distorted creatures born from unstable arcane forces.
She also sailed dangerous waters in pursuit of pirates and stolen relics, crossing stormy seas and battling enemies among the fog-covered islands of the Shackles and Sodden Lands. During one expedition, she entered the Hao Jin Tapestry, a magical demiplane filled with isolated realms gathered from across Golarion, where she witnessed wonders and dangers impossible in ordinary lands.
Her adventures eventually extended beyond the Material Plane itself, including a mission into the Maelstrom, where raw chaos and unstable reality threatened to consume entire worlds. In another conflict, she faced fiendish powers connected to ancient evil beneath ruined cities, strengthening her resolve as both a Pathfinder and a follower of Sarenrae. Over time, Setare transformed from an eager but uncertain martial artist into a seasoned adventurer who defended companions with impossible speed, unwavering loyalty, and relentless determination.
One of her greatest triumphs came on Danger Island in Tian Xia, where she fought in the legendary Ruby Phoenix Tournament against some of the deadliest champions in the world.
There, before countless spectators and rival warriors, she emerged victorious and earned eternal recognition among the greatest martial champions of her age.
Not long afterward, she helped save the Scarab Sages from corruption and destruction in Osirion, fighting beside fellow Pathfinders to preserve centuries of wisdom and prevent terrible knowledge from being lost forever.
Now, as a Seeker of the Pathfinder Society, Setare travels across the Inner Sea and beyond in search of forgotten lore, ancient truths, and people in need of protection, following the teachings of Sarenrae while striving to leave every place safer than she found it.
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Within the quiet gardens of a temple of Sarenrae in Sothis, Osirion, Setare kneels beside a reflecting pool while incense drifts through the air. Her cestus and traveling coat rest beside her.
Her hands rest on her knees as she meditates beneath painted images of the Dawnflower, trying to still her breathing and listen to the whispers that have begun following her since her recent encounters with spirits and ancient mindscapes.
The voices feel distant… but not hostile… if the spirits truly are reaching toward me, then I must learn to hear them without fear.
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The wine is Chelaxian, Kal'ryon made sure of it. And a good vintage too.
He has taken a table on the terrace of a rented villa... nothing extravagant, only the best the cliffside had to offer... and has spent the better part of the afternoon doing precisely nothing of consequence. The Inner Sea stretches out below, catching the late light in the way only an ocean can, and the small motes drifting at the edges of his form catch it the light too, briefly, before settling.
He is dressed in white linen, loose at the collar, blue piping tracing the cuffs and the line of his shoulders. The fabric moves well in the sea breeze. He has opinions about fabric that moves well in a sea breeze. His guisarme leans against the terrace railing within easy reach- adamantine head, shaft carved and engraved with patterns that catch the eye if you look long enough- the kind of weapon that suggests its owner regards it as both tool and personal statement. Which is accurate.
The remains of lunch occupy the far corner of the table. Something with shellfish, something with preserved lemon, a small dish of things he could not identify and ordered specifically because of that. The plate is largely demolished. The lemon thing was exceptional. Worth finding out where they source it.
Seeker. He turns the word over again, the way he has been doing since the ink dried on the commission. It fits. He is not particularly surprised it fits... he has been doing the work of a Seeker for long enough that the title feels less like elevation and more like paperwork catching up with reality. Still, there is something satisfying about finally being named correctly.
Below the cliff, a fishing vessel makes its slow way across the water. He watches it until it rounds the headland and disappears, then refills his cup. His hair drifts at the edges in the sea wind. Or, perhaps, independent of it. He stopped tracking the difference some years ago.
The afternoon is good. The wine is good. The sea below is doing exactly what a sea should do.
He is mid-pour when he hears footsteps on the terrace stairs...
The quiet around Setare is broken by two pairs of footsteps arriving near her location.
One of the pair of footsteps belongs to a young Osiriani man, an attendant of the Sarenrite temple. He wears light clothes, standard to the desert region. The colors are also the warm customary colors of Sarenrite worshippers, light browns, yellows, and oranges. Despite his warming dress, he wears a poorly hidden irked expression. The expression is directed at the other footstep owner.
The other interrupter is a young Taldan woman in her barely twenties. She is clearly 'Taldan proud' and ignores the customary dress of the region. This has inevitably caused a flushed face and light beading of sweat due to the clothing interacting poorly with the hot, dry environment. Why a Taldan is here is made obvious by the glyph of the Open Road displayed prominently on an amulet hung from her neck. It is easy to tell that this pathfinder has yet to become a full field agent, and is likely in the later stages of her training.
The young Taldan offers an unusual scroll. The symbol on the seal is not the standard glyph, but that of the Decemvirate. "This is-" she starts with all the manner of a herald, but is interrupted by the irked attendant.
"Shhh!" he shushes, "This is the quiet garden!"
The woman bristles at being shushed and impetuously thrusts the scroll at Setare, completely unaware of the significance of what she carries.
The footsteps are revealed to belong to a half-elven woman with tattoos on one side of her face. She is dressed in the usual light clothing of the Merab region, though the colors are darker. Her serious expression goes well with her appearance as one who has seen plenty of sh. Kal'ryon recognizes her as Diya Akan, the Venture-Captain of the Twisting Garden Lodge in Merab. In one hand she carries a scroll, a strange one with a rarely seen symbol seal. The symbol is that of the Decemvirate.
"I got this missive for you," she says seriously. "Apparently the Ten themselves have something for you to do. That's exceedingly rare," she adds as she holds out the scroll.
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"Ugh, why I summon you... Not want hear your stupid words, not so early in morning." Amaranti rubs his bald head, the revelries from the previous night now turned into irritating headache. And the sad part is that Kaisharga is right. The Garundi looks down, to witness the pot belly that didn't use to be there. He doesn't quite know how it happened - he used to be lean, dark skin bulging of muscle. But that was when he still was an active agent, travelling the world for dangerous missions. But these past years, just lounging here in the Grand Lodge. Sometimes teaching junior agents, sometimes some stupid desk work.
And drinking and eating. That he always liked. And with plenty of boredom, that has become his favorite pasttime. Perhaps it is true what they say - in time summoner and eidolon start resembling each other. And Amaranti clearly has taken some habits from his devourer wurm.
But another day awaits, and why bother suffering through it sober. So the summoner grabs a pitcher of wine, and throws himself on his lavish recliner.
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Xilt sits in a library at the Grand Lodge reading through a large pile of books stacked neatly on a large desk in front of him. He plays with his small tusks with his left hand as he reads through a mission chronicle about a visit to the city of brass.
The wizard shakes his head at some of the descriptions which he knows to be patently false.
"Tzleztor, it is amazing that they allow just about anyone to join the society. Some of them barely have their heads attached to their bodies. Is basic literacy too much to ask?"
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The salt mephit just shrugs.
"Well what do you expect from these people? Why are we wasting our time here anyways when we could be celebrating our time away maybe at a hot beach or desert locale."
"Only you would spend your entire vacation reading and researching during your downtime."
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Kal'ryon does not stand immediately. He takes a long drag from his glass and glances back off to the horizon. Only then does he set the cup down, with a degree of unhurriedness that comes from having decided that whatever *this* is, it is not more important than finishing his pour.
Then, almost absently, he looks at the seal.
The Ten themselves... The motes of possibility, at the edges of his form, still briefly, in a way they do not usually do. This is so beyond his Ganzi control of reality that he had not seen in his future... in any future.
He takes the scroll from Diya with two fingers, studying the seal for a moment before looking back up at her. His hair drifts at his temples, this time the absence of an inciting breeze is evident.
"Exceedingly rare," he repeats, tasting the phrase. "Diya. You came all the way out here yourself. Should I be flattered or concerned?"
The corner of his mouth does something that is almost a smile. He does not open the scroll yet.
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The footsteps are revealed to belong to a half-elven woman with tattoos on one side of her face. She is dressed in the usual light clothing of the Merab region, though the colors are darker. Her serious expression goes well with her appearance as one who has seen plenty of sh. Kal'ryon recognizes her as Diya Akan, the Venture-Captain of the Twisting Garden Lodge in Merab. In one hand she carries a scroll, a strange one with a rarely seen symbol seal. The symbol is that of the Decemvirate.
"I got this missive for you," she says seriously. "Apparently the Ten themselves have something for you to do. That's exceedingly rare," she adds as she holds out the scroll.
Setare slowly opens her eyes and carefully accepts the scroll while her little hedgehog familiar pokes his tiny nose out from beneath the fabric to sniff curiously at the parchment.
The Decemvirate… this is no ordinary assignment.
She studies the seal for a long moment.
“It seems the Society is sending me back onto the road once more.”
She starts to pack her bags to follow the instructions and to begin her journey.
Diya gives a small huff exhale and then says, "Missives from the Ten are rarely easy, but always important in some way." She shrugs and continues, "They've given some hard missions and dangerous missions. Sometimes they call on Seekers to do something easy that is important and can't run the risk of complications." She then turns to leave. As she walks away she says, "It is hard to say without reading it." With that, she can be heard walking back down the stairs.
a booming voice calls from across the library. As is always the case, such loudness is responded with a cascade of shushes. The boomer is a tall, bulky figure with a gap-toothed smile and a bushy blond beard, none other than Venture-Captain Adril Hestram. He is unfazed by the collective response as he saunters up to the half-orc with a curious looking scroll in hand.
"Looks like the Ten themselves got something for ya," he says at a reasonable volume as he extends the sealed scroll toward Xilt.
Sure enough, the symbol on the seal is that of the Decemvirate, the ten individuals that run the Pathfinder Society. Their identities have always been hidden, not just from the public, but neither Pathfinders or Venture-Captains are said to know their identities either. Xilt has even heard (or read somewhere) that their masks even hide their identities from each other.
After Xilt takes it, Hestram doesn't spend any time to chat. He turns on his heel and starts walking to the library's exit. "Sorry to run, I'm being sent to Galt. Oh, and Amaranti got one too. You might want to go get him," he calls as he leaves. Which, of course, causes another chorus of shushes.
"The wurm is right you know," a voice says from nearby. Venture-Captain Adril Hestram stands nearby with a concerned look on his face. His body language makes his tall, bulky figure less imposing or intimidating, and more solicitous. "Amaranti," he says gently, "You didn't even notice I had arrived while your wurm did. Are you alright, friend?"
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Xilt simply nods at the busy venture captain. The wizard gets his familiar to return all the books and scrolls to their rightful place while he finds a more private place to read the sealed scroll. After reuniting with Tzleztor the two of them try to find Amaranti.
"Well, we better get going Tzleztor. It looks like your dream of a sand bath will have to wait."
Tzleztor sticks out his tongue at his master as he returns the books and scrolls to their rightful places. He looks at his new wand that his master had freshly procured for him.
"I am itching to try out this bad boy. Alright let get the boring meeting over with and then maybe we will be able to blast something."
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He watches her go until the sound of her footsteps fades below the terrace lip. Then he looks back out at the sea for a moment, cup in one hand, scroll in the other.
Rarely easy but always important. At least, thats what they like to say... Sometimes easy but important. His annoyance shows on his face for the briefest of moments. Very helpful, Diya.
The motes drift at his periphery, catching the last of the afternoon light. He sets the cup down, breaks the seal, and reads.
------
He reads it once, then again, slower.
An escort? A sword and a long road mindless travel. He sets the scroll down on the table beside the ruined lunch and considers it like most things that are wrapped in more ceremony than they seem to warrant.
The motes drift quiet at his edges. He picks the cup back up.
The Ten do not send Seekers to carry luggage. So either the sword is more than a sword, or the road is more than a road... or someone expects the package to be argued over before it arrives. He considers the possibilities over without any obvious urgency.Likely all three.
He finishes the wine. It would be a pity to leave good wine, and a worse thing to arrive in Galt sober.
"Well," he says, to the sea and the empty terrace. "I suppose it's better than paperwork."
He rises, collects the guisarme from the railing, and goes to find out who the Ten have decided he is working with.
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Amaranti lazily turns his eyes towards the Venture-Captain. ”You too, Hestram? “ he snorts, and takes a big swig from his wine.
”If I want nag, I get married. I is fine, just bored. Bored to death…“ The Garyndi lounges back, unmoved by Hestram’s disapproving gaze. He tries to resume his drinking in peace, but it looks like the Venture-Captain is jot going anywhere.
”And what you want?“ he asks after a moment of uncomfortable silence. ”Need Amaranti for something? More paperwork? Need to watch young agents, so they not kill themself? “
Hestram shrugs and his bushy blonde beard parts to reveal a gap-toothed smile. "I dont, the Ten do," he says revealing an unusual scroll he had been holding. "I'm assuming that they have a job for you." With that he unrolls the scroll without looking at it, sets it down, and turns to leave. "To look at when you want to stop being bored," he gives another smile over his shoulder and walks out.
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"Hrmm..." The Garundi breaths out, frowning. The mysterious big bosses want something. So that should not be the typical chores of late, at least. He lowers the wine pitcher onto the table - perhaps this is a matter better handled with a clearer head. Of course, partly too late for that.
But better see what they want. Amaranti reaches out to pick up the unrolled scroll, and starts reading.
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The journey to Galt had been fine, but as the walls of Woodsedge finally came into view, Setare felt a little nervous.
Hmm … Galt. The city here has the scars of revolution drawn on it. I hope the people rebuild their lives among the chaos. she thinks.
“Come on, little one. Let’s find Venture-Captain Petulengro and complete our duty.” she says to her hedgehog familiar and Setare enters the Pathfinder Lodge.
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The journey to Galt will surly be fine, but as the walls of the Grand Lodge finally come into view, Setare feels a little nervous.
Hmm … Galt. The city there has the scars of revolution drawn on it. I hope the people rebuild their lives among the chaos. But first let’s see what the Grand Lodge has to offer. she thinks.
“Come on, little one. Let’s find find the others and complete our duty.” she says to her hedgehog familiar and Setare enters the Pathfinder Lodge in Absalom.
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The villa is behind him.
The Grand Lodge is loud just like it always is, full of agents with somewhere to be and opinions about how to get there.
Kal'ryon moves through it without hurry, guisarme resting across one shoulder, the motes trailing faint at his edges. He has been told nothing about who he is working with, which means the pleasure of finding out is still ahead of him. He has always preferred surprises he can see coming.
He follows the noise... and the particular smell of a building that houses too many wizards, and somewhere in the spread of it he catches a familiar shape at a familiar distance: a half-orc with small tusks and the posture of a man who would rather be reading.
Well. There is a face the road remembers.
"Xilt Sphinx," he says, pitched to carry but not to disturb. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Either the Ten have a sense of humor, or they have run out of competent people and started reusing the old ones. I am choosing to be flattered. I think you should too."
He does not wait for permission to close the distance. He has bled beside this one before. That is its own kind of introduction.
"Tell me they gave you a real reason to leave your books, and not just a sword that needs walking somewhere."