"... unless you have been tired out by your visit to the tavern, and require a vacation?" Dreng inquires. "You don't need to follow up; this isn't an assignment, but an opportunity."
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Dreng looks at the assorted documents with a broad smile. "Well DONE, agents!" he beams. "You seem to have stumbled serendipitously across a mystery in the performance of otherwise mundane duties! This is an occasion for which you must always be alert, for a Pathfinder never knows what discoveries lie on the open road. If you only complete your assigned task, you may miss out on greater discoveries." He pauses to let his words sink in before continuing. "As the discoverers of this lost cache of documents, it falls to you to follow up on them, wherever they may lead. I release you from any previous obligations in order to concentrate fully on this new discovery." He pauses again, thoughtful. "I'll just have to head to the Wisp myself and select another bottle of wine..." The Wall of Names is in the grove along the western edge of the compound, and it will take only a few minutes to walk there.
Dreng regards Pan with barely-concealed amusement. "Well, well, I didn't realize we had one of the Decemvirate here!" he grins. "Well, sir," he bows. "As you know, during the testing process for Initiates, part of the goal is to teach them how to adapt to new information and think on their feet. One way to encourage that is to pull a switch-hitter - a mission that starts off one way, but ends up another." He leans closer, conspiratorially, though the glee in his eyes is evident. "Just don't tell them about it, or it'll spoil the learning!" He jabs Pan with his elbow, winks, and looks back at the rest of the group.
“Sorry about my little joke,” Dreng says with a wink. “I always like to see who's paying attention when I see agents in the field. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour. “Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now, and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp. “The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
“Sorry about my little joke,” he says with a wink. “I always like to see who's paying attention when I see agents in the field. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour. “Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now, and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp.
“Sorry about my little joke,” Dreng says with a wink. “I always like to see who's paying attention when I see agents in the field. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour. “Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now, and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture-captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp. “The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.” |