"Quite the desperate move if I do say so myself. I wish I had the magic to ask him some questions about the experience."
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Prof. Poppo casts feather fall on the mercenary mage's pellet of bat guano as it leaves her hand, immediately cancelling his concentration on the ritual, just at the point her spell is about to go off.
"MY WHALE!" wails Prof. Poppo. *koff! koff!* "Can anyone see what's going on outside?"
"I'm about as down as I can get!" yells Poppo from the moist, stale tongue.
"Okay, that might be necromancy!" says Poppo from the floor.
"AAK!" *THUD!* "What'd we hit?"
"Haha! Reminds me of the legend of the Wind Fish. It was a flying whale that trapped people in its dreams and tasked them with killing the nightmares within." Aquavius jokes. "But it always said I AM THE WIND FISH IN NAME ONLY." "Really!?"
There's a rope ladder hanging down from the hatch above. The inside is--moist, and smells like the insides of someone's mouth had that person not eaten anything but fish their whole life and then died. The "floor" is covered in a couple of inches of water near the back and only a little dryer upfront, where there is a nice squishy tongue the size of a very flabby red carpet to stand on. The professor has rigged some glowing crystals strung along some rope and then tacked onto the ceiling that provide slightly-better-than-dim lighting. The windows bulge outwards like sideways domes for better viewing.
"Actually they're mammals! Poppo begins to explain professorially from the center of the glowing magic circle.
"Just try not to disturb my concentration, or who knows what might happen." Aquavius keeps her trident out, and hands her wand of Cure Light Wounds to the Unseen Servant. "Hey! Hold onto this."
A few rays of red sunlight streak into the narrow grotto to glint from the ocean outside to the shallow water within. Poppo sloshes through the water to pull at a stepping-stone in the middle of the cavern. It dislodges with a pop, and a small swirling whirlpool gurgles in its place. “Quick!” Poppo says, as low but urgently as he can. “Into the blowhole!” It's not a stepping stone after all, but a sort of hatch. The carcass is wedged in the inlet, which is much deeper than it appears. The whale itself is cavernous, its throat littered with improvised tools, sealed kegs, and broken bits of small boats. An intricate ritual circle glows on “floor” (tongue?) of the whale. “All aboard! We’re setting sail! Or whale... I haven’t figured out the jargon yet. I need two of you to keep an eye out the portholes--er, the old eye holes to tell me how to steer until we get out of the cave.”
Poppo considers for a moment and finally says "Alright, I'll do it, but it'll take time to perform the ritual to ready the Magically Propelled Undersea Whale Carcass Vessel. I'll have it ready by tomorrow morning. That'll give you some time to do whatever it is you have to." With that Poppo collects together some clean beakers from the countertops and heads out the door.
"Yes, I rather like the name too." Poppo says proudly. "Still it's not finished. Once I have it perfected, then maybe, we could all get away aboard my Magically Propelled Undersea Whale Carcass Vessel."
"IT'S NOT-" Poppo begins hotly, "necromancy." he ends in a hissed whisper. Olandil stares at him. "It's not exactly a flying ship.... It's more like the opposite actually.... A sinking ship.... Well, more of a sinking whale carcass really. I've used magic to convert it into a sort of undersea vessel. I'm calling it Professor Poppo's Magically Propelled Undersea Whale Carcass Vessel, but it's not necromancy!" he glares challenging anyone to dare second guess him.
"And 'no'. No one said 'Necro-you-know-what.' Now go away, and stop listening at my door!" Hix departs.
"Don't you knock man!?"
"The Galtans have been really active, stirring up a lot of chaos and mischief since your group arrived. They might be the strongest just now."
"Hey, you! What are you doing there!? Put that down! It's NOT Necromancy!" Candledark - Actually it is a Knowledge (arcana) check: Candledark riffles through a large bundle of notes involving a monstrous 150' whale carcass, a lot of specialized digging equipment, a steel bulkhead, some glass and a lot of transmutational magic. It all adds up to a submersible craft made out of a huge dead whale. Without--and I can't make this point any more clear--without any necromancy! Candledark doesn't see any glaring flaws with the plan.
“Hey! They’re right here! The most-definitely-not-perfunctory Passfinders! By the way, any stomach cramps? At any rate, if you want to counter the Loyalist’s lies, one of the factions might be able to help you there too.”
“One word of warning. Once you leave here, the Passfinders are going to be blamed for everything, right?”
“Hey! I’m right here! And like I said, 'flawless escape plan.'”
“No!” Poppo marches up to Olandil. “I’ve been researching for months, but I need time to actually perform the last stages of the ritual properly. If I try to rush it, the whale might collapse, or explode, or sprout feathers, or any number of things that would normally be fascinating but aren’t going to get us out of here. At least not in one piece. And I like being in one piece! Don’t you? You’re just going to have to wait a while. And then we’re all going to need to pray to Gozreh and Nethys that it works.” Poppo’s voice drifts off, his bright eyes losing focus for a moment, before he clears his throat and announces with renewed optimism, “What I’m saying is, my ritual is a work of art. Just give me a little time, and I’ll have our flawless escape plan ready.”
Professor Poppo in contrast is tinkering in his private lab. The group can tell it is his because of all the interestingly shaped glass beakers on the 18" tall tables and the stuffed crocodile that hangs at about human eye-level hanging from the ceiling. "Well did you learn any thing about Orandil? Oh!" Poppo grabs up his note pad, "and have any of you experienced any noticeable lack of libido, or unexplained loss of memory?" He waits with his ink quill expectantly.
"Any shortness of breath?"
"Any significant weight change or hair loss?"
Poppo is up bright and early in the morning clipboard in hand. He takes the paperwork from 575, winks and puts one finger to his nose. "Good morning again!" Poppo pulls out a complicated looking pen with an ink bladder. He notes the time and continues. "How do you feel? Do you remember your name? Do you know where you are? Madge's cart? I believe she winds all along the waterfront. How many fingers an I holding up? You know where the waterfront is? Say 'Ahh'. Good. Good."
"I know what you have in mind." "You do!?" Poppo says in alarm. He grabs a bit of light metal foil on the way back to the lab and wraps it about his head twice, before once again donning his own hat, and all the others he pulled from the student stores. Later, he corners the strange figure of Candledark and asks "How about now? I have flashcards with little symbols on them if that helps."
"Just tell them it's your wizard's staff." says Poppo.
"..yarr... couldn't pass for a wee lad student anyways... cunsid'rin' the squareness of me shoulders an' all... I'mma fishman all the way 'tis time... all the way! Inkwell in the mornin' or lunch or whatevah! I'mma hittin' the hay soon lads and lassies! POPPO! do ye have a supply of ale here fer the night? or at least sum naiiiice crisp 'n fresh water? would be much obliiiiged if ye do..." "There's a water pitcher over there. Just don't confuse it with any of the sample containers."
"Probably for the best--it's rare to see half-dragons around here." says Poppo reassuringly.
Aiden: "Doesn't sound familiar. Alas, I'm not good with human faces. You all look like a big pair of nostrils to me. Er, no offense."
There comes a knock at the laboratory door. The professor motions everyone quiet. Poppo goes to the door opens it just wide enough to slip his small bulk through and then leans into it on the other side snapping it shut. There are voices outside. Listening through the door? - Perception (DC 15):
Apparently it is one of Poppo's students (called 'Thibnus' by Poppo) come to deliver his paper regarding the composition of the cheese that Golarion's moon is made of. He was told to deliver it just before midnight and only just made it saying that "the ink on the last few pages is still wet." Poppo gasps at the time and laments missing practice, and dinner, and the after-dinner snack, and 10pm brunch, and finally the wizards' nightcap in the uncommon room. The door cracks open. Poppo says "Thank you for this, and good night." There is a echoing good night from someone in the hall and then Poppo sidles back into the lab with all the stealthiness of a pantomime stage villain. He puts a sheaf of papers down on the workbench and sighs. "Well, you're probably stuck for the night. Everything is usually closed Sunday night. There's some room back there near the supply closets. Some of the students made little cots back there for themselves for long lab nights. We don't have many students anymore so...." Poppo trails off looking a little sad. "SAY! That gives me an idea!" He rushes off and returns with the what looks like a armful of gaudy multi-colored curtains with arcane designs woven into their design, and a half-dozen pointy hats made of similarly patterned material stacked up on top of his head. The gaudy curtains turn out to be student wizard robes in myriad of colors based on school and year. "You can all be students of the Academy! It will make you less conspicuous! I mean who would notice you in one of these! Right? You could even walk out the front door."
"Aw come on Poppo! your secret's safe with us!" “Well, if you think you're up to it, the thieves’ guild operates out of here, on Gold Street. Lots of information if you can buy it. You didn’t bring money with you, did you? Nobody takes money here. Maybe the Loyalists, but still, nobody worth spending it on.”
“Auntie's a big big tavern in Docktown, and a good place for gossip. You can try asking about Jax Telandil around there—he’s the Docktown Jax—but mind who you talk to if you don’t want to spread rumors.”
Son of Cay... err... Boratio pauses to look around a bit, then resumes, "So, where da ya think we shud' stert? I've git a mind to avoid tha Academy fer now, if them fancy boots are a watchin'..." "This is the Academy!" "So he's undercover, deep, but they're onto him now. That's why he needs outsiders to get him out of here. We gotta stake out his popular hangouts so we can get in touch with him." She looks to the professor and shrugs. "Can you think of anywhere we can start lookin'?" "Well, um, err... I suppose that depends."
"Actually there are a fair number of places to get a drink at these days. There isn't much else for people to do really. I'm partial to Auntie's myself. If only I weren't so busy...."
"Yes, I prepared one for you here." Poppo clears a space on his 20-inch-tall work table and unrolls a big map of the town.
Characters can attempt knowledge (local) or for 1d4 hours of time a Diplomacy (gather information) check (both are DC 20) to remember or learn more about each individual numbered location on the map.
"The White Thistles? I'd try the Inkwell, here near the mouth of the harbor, on the south bank. It's a literati hangout. Lots of rebels, lots of fights. Someone who knows Jaks the poet, the one in the White Thistles, will be there, I’m sure of it. You could certainly leave here by way of the Guts, but I wouldn't try to get there from here--I don't even know my way well enough to do that. The place is maze and people keep adding on to it. It can be a bit dangerous in some quarters. I can't go with you either, first off the Loyalists are watching. If I stick one blue hair out side they'll be on to me. Second, now that Hix has seen me out and about I'll have to make an appearance on the field this afternoon." He sighs. "Right, professor. What can you tell us about these factions? Olandil seems involved in three of them. What might they know?" "Well, he wore disguises when he was with each so I suppose they only know what he pretended to tell them--except of course the Loyalists who seem to know who he is and what he's been about. That gives them some real leverage over Olandil. All they have to do is expose him to the city and- well, you can imagine. I could imagine it so well I had a nightmare about it last night."
"You know who might know more?" Poppo begins and then stops, rethinking his idea. "No. No, I couldn't. Why the risk involved...."
"It's like it's rainin!" Aquavius laughs as she tries the professor's thingamajig. "But I can't soak in it." Yes, given the multitude of high pressure water nozzles that suddenly pop up from all angles seemingly at random you can all honestly say that you feel clean inside and out. "I guess that's what a bath is for- where'd this cloth come from, anyway?" Inspecting the stitching along one edge of the towel, Prof. Poppo brightly says: "The Egorian Arms Hotel."
Later, in what is apparently Prof. Poppo's workshop, Poppo closes the door after nervously looking both ways down the hallway. He wanders about nervously tinkering with things on the low workbenches. Then he stops and turns to address the party. “Split me like Nethys’s eyebrow! I’m genuinely surprised the Passfinders sent people! Sorry for the lack of a good cover story—didn’t have room in the notes—didn’t expect a response—and sorry for the fish guts and the bumpy roads and—oh, sorry for everything. If we had a little more time…” Poppo trails off, but picks right back up after a moment of silence. “Right! You’re here for Olandil. It’s… it’s complicated. He’s, well, he’s not himself lately. He’s four selves. Since your little Passfinder Society left him behind, he’s had to make do—improvise—take on new names and jobs waiting for rescue.” “When I first met him, he went by Jax Telandril and needed me to enhance some goggles of disguise for some work in Docktown. He kept asking questions about Fat Harbor and the town’s magic item economy. A year later he came in needing me to add some disguise charms to an eye patch; I asked him why, and he spilled it all—so tired of keeping secrets—he was also Jacks Falger! The one-eyed Galtan spy!” “He kept coming back over the years. He came in one day as Jaks Arunai, some hot-shot White Thistles poet. Last week, he comes in looking awful, and said he was a Passfinder named Olandil, and I just… I couldn’t process it! Four people! One person!” Poppo gesticulates madly, alternating between raising four fingers and one finger to emphasize his point. “I told him my own secret—that I had been teaching a Passfinder vantage-captain as a correspondence student—and he told me to send her a message saying he wanted out of Pezzack. As though that’s even possible! But I sent it, and he thanked me, he left, and I haven’t seen him since.” “Then the night before last, I had Loyalists—” Poppo smothers the word with disdain, and doubles up on his disgust as he repeats it. “—Loyalists in my office, telling me to stop doing business with Olandil, following me everywhere except the Guts because I bet they don’t like to get their boots dirty. They knew who Olandil really is, too! And they’ve been outside the Academy since, watching, waiting. They don’t know about my ladder to the Guts, but they’ll find out eventually.”
"Err, um, what? Um, yes." says Prof. Poppo. Dr. Hix excuses himself and heads down the hall. "Forgot the Department of Post-Mortem Communications had their offices down here. Out of sight out of mind. It's insidious." ================= Professor Poppo leads the party to a portion of the seemingly empty university building filled with equally disused looking laboratories and workshops. "Here." he says stopping in front of what looks like a closet. "I figured you might want to get washed off so I prepared the hydraulic washing closet. One of our many research projects--most of which have been on hold since the fire and blockade began." Take it for a spin?: Basically, it is a shower (which in fantasy literature is mostly unheard of) with water jets that shoot pressurized water at a person standing in the center of the booth from multiple angles. It features an articulated metal arm with a round, spinning pad of fleece that comes out of the wall (usually from behind for unintended shock value) and attempts to scrub the occupant. At the end, it drops a white towel on the person's from a concealed ceiling hatch.
Aiden grunts as he rolls down with the stinking fish. He wrinkles his nose as he follows Poppo. "Where are we, professor?" "The Guts, they run under this whole town."
"Third-class." whispers Poppo darkly.
Poppo jumps up to about eye level on most of the party. "D-Doctor Hix! You scared me out of 10 years just then!"
"Hurry hurry hurry. Ew...." He gets a whiff Aquavius and the others and puts a small hand over his big nose. "Be mustn't peak here. Fobbow me. Cumb on." He waves the party forward and down a stone tunnel. Poppo takes a deep breath and continues in a hushed tone. "Now we have to get to the cellar, most of the faculty should be outside on the practice pitch for warm ups so we should be safe." He leads the party to a ladder and up through a trapdoor concealed from view behind some old shelving.
A stout gnome with an impressive blue beard steps in. He's dressed in a robe, and pointy wizard's hat, and is holding the light--a very bright bullseye lantern. He shines the light in, and when he sees the group amid all the fish he says: "Hullo there. I'm Professor Poppo. Welcome to Pezzack." He beams and helps the group to their feet, or at least as high as he can. |