Bruce Campbellesque Functionary's page

After some instruction in common courtesy, and host/visitor expectations, and the arrival of the manor's handyman to fix the door the doorman finally allows you to enter (via the servants' entrance).

Led through well-appointed sitting rooms, ballrooms, and a grand stairway granting a view of an elaborate study, the party finally arrive on the third floor of the baroque house, at the door of what appears to be a study.

Knocking upon the door and announcing his presence, the servant opens the darkly stained wooden door. A large intricate carpet dominates the marble floor in this sitting room. A chaise sits along the north wall and a desk spans the southeast corner, its chair positioned with its back to the southwest corner of the room. Three comfortable chairs are positioned around a small, low circular table.

'wait... what... I bathed last week...'

Yes, but civilized people use a ton of perfume on off weeks.

"You've broken the front door." the man's says incredulously. "Now I shall have to summon the guards and the hounds."

"Ahh. You should have said. Still Pathfinders are not exempt from the rules governing common hygiene." The man clears his throat and looks meaningfully down at the sorcerer's boots and everyone's attire from last night. Then he moves to close the door.

The door flies open revealing a tall, broad-shouldered, red-faced man. "ARE YOU INSANE!? WHAT IN THE NAMES OF ALL NINE CIRCLES ARE YOU DOING!? This-" he shows the party with an overabundance of dignity, "-is a door chime. You 'pull' it not 'strike' it. The door is lacquered."

He turns to buff the door with his handkerchief, ignoring the party.

After repeatedly steaming the area with his breath, and then buffing, he tucks his hanky away, and turns to address the party again.

"What are you doing at the front door? Servants enter at the rear. And gardeners-" he says looking at Doughlas's shovel, "-don't, except the kitchen area once they have removed their boots."

He sniffs the air for a moment and adds: "And neither do drunks."

The servant gives the still blue Jeane a long pitying look. "You're done. Go." He shoos the party out the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were a Pathfinder--one of those clever fearless explorers who haunt the most inhospitable of locales, braving unimaginable dangers, to discover rare and exotic treasures that tell us all more about our world's past. If you think the room was great a challenge I will gladly return the map to Master Salhar's vault, until the genuine articles come to call."

"Took you long enough. And I see it left a few of you feeling a bit blue. If I have the keys back. Including the door key--the scepter. You can keep the maps and the key wand if you like and if it has any charges left...."

The servant ushers the party into a 25-foot-square stone room--"Adieu." and then closes the door behind them.

The Sapphire Sage smiles at the comments and nods to the servant to show you down.

The servant takes a great deal of relish in it.

After leaving the foyer, the servant brings the group back through the spacious, pillar-lined halls, leading them down sturdy stone steps into the cool basement. Down a hallway, after a couple turns, the party ends up at a plain wooden door. The servant opens the door, gesturing to the room with a bow, and waits silently for the party to enter.

Map Folio updated. (Well, rearranged with the most important page on top.)

Currently.

Annuit shrugs as the thug disappears in the crow. "Keep an eye out for that halfling with the tremendous moustache. He may appear again."

He turns and follows the servant through the gates, keeping an eye out for anything else unusual.

"Of course. You can rest assured that no hooligans will gain entry to the Lord Salhar's property." He looks over at Lars.

"Ahem." The familiar-looking servant interrupts with an less-than-genuine look of forbearance. "Coming?"

"I set the hell hounds on him my lady." And with that he exits.

The door to the Paracountess' study opens and functionary returns with a stranger, Annuit. "I found him loitering in the shrubbery with Lord Gyr's press secretary."

The door opens sedately.

"Good morning. My mistress has been expecting you. Please follow me."

Led through well-appointed sitting rooms, ballrooms, and a grand stairway granting a view of an elaborate study, the party finally arrives on the third floor of the house. The servant knocks. "Mistress. The Society agents are here."

"Send them in." A woman's voice returns from beyond the door.

The servant opens the door and holds it for the party to enter.

Jeanne raises an eyebrow. "Uh, one? This seems like an unusual greeting, was Mistress Dralneen told to expect us?"

"Correct. So it is not poor eyesight, but ignorant barbarity that drives you thus." He says sadly.

Growling in his beard, his hand on the handle of his sword

It could very quickly become one less...

"Please. Now I ask you: What doorkeeper would let a group of uncouth, savages into the home of his liege lady? Hmm? Right. Now this is a door chime, and rung thus." He demonstrates and a chime can be heard in the hall behind him. "In civilized society it is used to announce one's arrival at the beautifully lacquered front door of their soon-to-be gracious, would-be host. A person with common sense presented with a door chime will use it, demonstrating to the owner of the chime and all of the house's staff that they are a person of breeding, and refinement--someone worthy of entering the property by the main door and not a mean scullery maid or smelly goat-herd. Now we'll try this again." He closes the door on the party.

Like a patient teacher still probing for an answer ungiven the asks again. "Fingers. How many?"

Chuckeling for a moment he moved past Jeanne and whispered to her softly enough "Us chelaxians don't bite, and maybe the inheretor willing would let you explore the options of getting to know Chelaxians better?" He gave her a wink before he knocked on the door.

While waiting for someone to enter a small symbol would be placed somewhere visible on his clothing to indicate his allegiance to the archives. When someone would open he would give said person a quick bow. "Greetings, we are-"

The door flies open revealing a tall, broad-shouldered, red-faced man. "ARE YOU INSANE!? WHAT IN THE NAMES OF ALL NINE CIRCLES ARE YOU DOING!? THE DOOR IS LACQUERED!" He shouts at Anomander and Keandre, before turning to inspect, and then buff the door with his handkerchief, ignoring the party.

After repeatedly steaming the knocked upon area with his breath, and then buffing furiously, he regains his composure, tucks his hanky away, and turns to address the party. "How many fingers am I holding up?" He asks gravely and holds up the tall finger of his left hand. "Well?"